Chapter Text
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Sometimes, Nick really regretted being an orphan.
It meant it was harder to sneak out and actually do shit.
Though, beating up petty criminals always made him breathe easier at night. Miss Rose would probably faint if she ever found out what he did.
At least on the plus side, he had Peter, well, Spider-Man. They did try to keep to their separate circles, best to keep the bloody Redhood out of the Friendly Neighbourhood Spiderman’s neighbourhood.
Summer Break was a godsend. With no school to worry about and actually having friends, the Roses had become much more relaxed than when he had come back into the system as a ‘flight risk’. Group homes had more bads than goods in his humble opinion. A quick excuse of a ‘sleepover’ at Peter’s, and he was in the clear.
As long as they didn’t call May, who was, luckily, a nurse, so she missed most calls.
Peter had also invited him today, during one of their sparring matches where Nick was teaching him how to fight properly, to watch the trilogy of Star Wars with Ned Leeds.
Usurpingly, Peter and Ned were huge nerds.
Surprisingly, Star Wars was actually pretty good. They would never let him live it down. They’d make him watch Star Trek next, dear god.
On the walk home, his phone buzzed; he checked it with a mild sense of trepidation.
Nick could feel his shoulders tense, scowling quietly as he walked down the sidewalk. Stubbornly, Jones had continued to send the text every second week since twenty-fourteen after that dreadful night.
He hated thinking about that night.
He continued walking through the streets of New York. The Roses would expect him home soon; it was helping out with dinner night, and they were having Patatas Bravas, one of his favourites from Miss Rose’s cooking journey.
And then, afterwards, when everyone in the house fell asleep, he’d grab his equipment.
Then, beat up some petty criminals.
He deserved a little RNR if he did say so himself.
_________________________________________________________________________________
“Trust your senses!”
“I am trusting my senses! You just hit really-really hard!”
Peter was getting better at the basics, Nick would give him that, but it seemed the other vigilante had made the nasty habit of only trusting his sixth sense while being Spider-Man.
A nasty habit Nick was going to train out of him, even if that meant hitting a little meaner than he usually did.
“Alright! Let’s take a break,” Nick sighed, stepping out of their makeshift fighting ring they had set up—one of the many abandoned warehouses near the Hudson after the huge fight in twenty-twelve. The incident, as it was so politely called.
Peter, wide doe eyes and still somehow always chatting, slumped with a dramatic groan. Pouting and sulking over to the bench, a bunch of old tyres and a piece of wood across them, and grabbed his bottle of water.
“God, this is hell, actual hell, why did I think getting super-strength would mean free muscles and no exercise? Are you okay? Y’know this isn’t the military, yeah?” Peter sat on the bench with a huff, downing cool water like a gift from the gods.
Nick smirked, wiping away sweat with one of the small towels Peter had decided to bring for some reason. He had mentioned something about ‘setting the mood for the perfect training montage’. “I know, but if you’re going out there without any training, I’m gonna cram so much in your head, it’d be like Cobbwell before a chemistry exam”
Peter let out another groan, and Nick saw his phone vibrate. Then, vibrate again. And again.
His eyebrows furrowed as he picked it up quickly, ignoring Peter's very not subtle side-eye as he tried to glance over.
Nick frowned, turning his back to Peter and taking a few steps away. His fingers hesitated over the keypad, lips thinned.
His stomach dropped.
After a year. A year. Of recovery, of getting better, building back trust in ACS. Making friends. Getting into Midtown. And he was back? He wasn’t dead? As she said, he was? Nick’s skin prickled with goose flesh, and his throat went dry.
“Peter, I, I need to go, I need you to cover for me” Nick grabbed his bag and his jacket, packing away the little they had brought along quickly, his hands shaking. Peter’s eyes had gone wide, worry flickering over his face, open and caring.
“Uh, yeah, I can do that. Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Pete asked.
“I have to deal with something. It might take a few days, just, fuck, text me if you need to.” He forced himself to take a slow breath, forcing his heart to calm. Nothing good would come out of it. Jessica could be wrong; she could just be panicking. That thought ran on repeat in his mind as he raced out of the abandoned warehouse.
“Okay, uh, text me tonight!” Peter called at his retreating back.
Nick ran, and it took a lot of counting backwards from ten to stop him from going at a full-on sprint and startling bystanders. Throwing a quick text to Miss Rose and Mister Rose that he was sleeping over at Peter’s. Best they never know he stopped in at home.
He grabbed his duffel with his equipment and a few changes of clothes. Mind racing, did Jessica plan for them to what, leave? Jessica didn’t have anything to leave behind, but Nick did; he did now.
But if….
But if Kilgrave was…
“Smile”
Nick shook his head and ran to the subway.
To Hell’s Kitchen.
It was fucking hell, alright.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Waiting outside Jessica’s door, though the front window was covered with a board, and he was ninety-nine per cent sure it was unlocked, he hadn’t wanted to enter. It was strange enough, after a year, that he was actually going to see her again.
His foot was tapping the floor, and he chewed mindlessly on his jacket string.
“Oh, Nick, Hi”
His eyes flickered over to the man, Malcolm Ducasse, though he looked more ragged than he remembered.
Nick gave him a slight wave, and Malcolm went inside his apartment.
It wasn’t long before Jessica came running up the stairs, eyes wide, distant. Nick stood straighter. Their eyes met.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, and she pushed past him and into her apartment.
“He’s back”, Jones stated, surely, stalking to her desk and rummaging through it.
“How? You said he was dead,” the hissed escaped him like air escaping a plane. And her eyes flickered up to him, and then, she was stalking to her bedroom. Nick followed right behind.
“Thought he was.” Her jaw was gritted, and her fists clenched so tight they were white. She wasn’t lying and started yanking clothes out, along with a duffel.
“But how, Jones? How do you know?” He watched her stuff a shirt into the bag before changing focus quickly, pulling open her laptop and typing quickly. Swearing when her shaking hands mistyped.
“He sent a couple to me, he took their daughter, and the one-month anniversary, remember it? He took her to Il Rosso.” Jessica’s voice broke slightly before she shook it off, typing away at the computer quickly.
Nick felt sick.
The monthly anniversary. He remembered. Kilgrave would have him stay in the hotel room and do nothing for hours before he’d send him to the other room, and he’d take Jones to the bedroom.
He felt sick.
His fists clenched tight, shaking.
Jones had already picked up her phone, dialling, before putting it between her elbow and ear and trudged back over to the closest “I need two coach tickets on the next flight to Hong Kong.”
Body twitching, Nick’s eyes snapped away from where they had drifted to the window and back over to Jessica. So she was planning on running, he thought, almost hysterically. But they couldn’t run, could they? Nick had started to build a life again.
“I’ll take it.” Jones pulled her coat hangers from the closet, and Nick ran his hands through his hair.
He had Peter now, maybe Ned. He had Redhood. He has the Roses. He had school, he had never thought someone could care so much about school, but he did, he did after losing it.
“Okay, it’s a MasterCard.” She went back over to the bed, leaning over to read from the computer.
“…Jones”, Nick started tersely. Jessica sent him a look that said be quiet.
“The number is 5-2-7-4-9-3-3-2-0-6-8. That’s Hope Shlottman, two T’s.” Nick’s eyes widened at her words. Who was Hope Shlottman? Was that the other girl? The one Kilgrave had kidnapped, like so many others?
“We can’t leave”, He tried quietly. She gave him another look.
“Shit!” she swore, obviously, the flight attendant had said something she didn’t like. Nick ran a hand over his face. “Okay. Can you just, uh, hold the tickets for me?” Jessica tried.
The person on the phone must have said no, as she bit back another swear and hung up abruptly.
“Jessica, we can’t leave. I have a life now. And what about the other girl? Is her name Hope? Did you try to use her card?” Nick demanded, stepping closer and trying to meet her eye, but she sent him a quick, almost wild look.
“Nick, Kid, not right now, alright?” he didn’t even have time to reply before she was dialling again and placing the phone to her ear. He swore quietly, turning away, running a hand through his hair again.
Jones sat on the bed, waiting. It was obvious her patience was shot to hell and back.
Nick’s was too, but it was holding on by a fucking string.
“I need to get paid for the Spheeris job now.” She stated immediately into the phone, and he rolled his eyes, groaning lowly. He didn’t even bother thinking about what the Spheeris' job was; his brain power was stuck on trying not to have a panic attack.
“Okay, then, I need a loan.” Nick watched as she stood, pacing, moving towards the window with a drawn voice, paranoid. She glanced down and around at the street and up at nearby rooftops.
“I don’t have any goddam friends.” Was snapped over the phone before Jessica hung up. Stalking back to the closest and roughly grabbing the rest of her clothes, pushing them into the duffel.
“I don’t think you fucking heard me”, he snapped lowly, gripping the bag strap over his shoulder as he stepped closer, and she sat down on the bed. “I can’t leave, I’ve finally just got my life together.”
“Well, kid, would you rather loose you’re ‘life’ and become a slave for him again, or lose it and be able to live doing what you want?” She demanded harshly, and his jaw snapped shut.
“Thought so”, She muttered, going back to her phone, hesitating, before letting out a frustrated sigh.
“Come on, leave your stuff.” Grabbing her jacket from her office chair, Jones slipped it on.
Gritting his jaw, Nick dropped his duffel on the ground, slipping out his holster and gun, sliding it on and latching it over his shoulder in familiar movements.
“Where the hell are we going?” He demanded.
“My sister’s”, Jones replied flatly.
They left her apartment, getting in the elevator down the hall. Jessica reached over, pressing the main-floor button. And they both stood awkwardly for only a few moments.
The door, closing, was stopped by a dark hand, Malcolm appearing once again, and pushing the door open.
Malcolm glanced between the two of them idly, observing the obvious tension. He leaned back against the metal bar beside Jessica “You guys look bad.” He commented.
“I need money.” She replied bluntly, Nick went back to chewing at his jacket string, staring at the far-side metal wall of the elevator. He didn’t much like elevators; he hated the feeling of moving slowly downwards or upwards through open air.
“You can have my TV”, Malcolm offered openly. Nick felt his eyebrows furrow slightly. What the hell had happened to him? Nick remembered him being…different.
“Thanks, Malcolm. You keep it,” voice softening, Jessica gave him a slight, reassuring glance. Her shoulders dropped slightly. She might not be much of a talker, he thought numbly, but talking seemed to help distract her. That, and drinking. A copious amount of drinking.
Malcolm hesitated, grimacing, “I stole it,” he admitted idly.
Nick’s eyebrow raised as he glanced between the two.
“I figured.” She replied flatly.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Nick stared up at the building with a deadpanned stare.
“Need help?” Jessica asked, a weak smirk tugging at her lips.
He rolled his eyes “Fuck off, I don’t”, Nick snarked. Pushing strength into his legs, before jumping, grabbing onto the side of the building.
“I’ll race ya!” she called out, and Nick felt a slight smile pull at his face. Making sure his gun was secured to his chest and hidden under his jacket, they raced up the building. Supposedly, her sister, Patricia Walker, lived on the top floor.
Jones reached the top first, holding out a hand for him to slow down, which he did. She peered over the edge “’ Kay, slowly, come on.”
They pulled themselves over the edge, and Nick glanced inside. Walker seemed to have people over. But she quickly noticed them on her fancy, rich-person apartment balcony, which he side-eyed vaguely. Quickly, Walker had her visitors leave.
Once they left, Nick watched Walker eye Jessica for a long moment through the window before slowly walking over and opening the door to the balcony. A long moment of awkward silence followed.
Walker glanced at him, confusion, and then knowing flickered in her eyes.
Had Jones told her about him?
“You could’ve used the door,” Walker stated pointedly to Jones, glancing between him and her with an obviously questioning look to her sister.
“I wasn’t sure you’d answer. It’s important.”
Wasn’t sure she’d answer? What had Nick walked himself into? Stiffly, he turned his attention to the potted plants, observing them with a tense jaw.
“It must be,” Walker stated flatly.
Jessica shifted, more of that unsureness that was rare for her, as she replied, “It’s for a case.”
“Right.” Walker gave him another pointed look. Acting forgetful for a moment, obviously, she wasn’t too pleased with Jessica. Whatever reason they had for coming here, they could have been hitchhiking out of New York by now.
Not like he was going to mention that option. He wasn’t desperate to leave New York as much as his stomach was telling him paranoid shit.
“You became a private eye,” murmured Walker as she relaxed slightly. It seemed curiosity got to everyone, even in adulthood. Walker glanced at him again, and Nick turned his eyes back to the city below.
“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” Jessica asked, a mix of wariness and annoyance.
“Making sure you weren’t dead, since you never called.” Was Walker’s drawn, tight reply.
There was a long pause before Jones, licking her lips in a nervous tell she hadn’t dropped, stated point-blank, “I need money.”
Walker scoffed; she seemed shocked. But not surprised, he thought dryly. It made him wonder what the exact history was. “Wow, uh…” Walker moved to the doorway, leaning on it as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“It’s important”, Jessica added, almost awkwardly.
“You said. But I don’t hear from you for months, six months, actually-“
“I needed breathing room.”
“You shut me out.” Walker correctly gravely, for a second, Nick was reminded of Jesse Nolan from one of his earlier foster homes, the tone of an older sister, she had described it. “And now, you show up here, asking for money? And bring a kid? Who, I assume, is Nicholas, yes? It’s nice to meet you, Nicholas, honey,” She stated dryly.
“Just Nick”, He muttered with a stiff nod.
“This was a bad idea,” Jessica muttered, turning to go back down the building. Nick froze, unsure if he should follow or not.
Usually, he was more confident than this.
He blamed the situation.
“No, you talk to me. You tell me what the hell is so important?” Walker demanded at Jones back, taking a few steps forward. Jessica turned around, back drawing up straight.
“He’s back.”
Nick hated that his stomach dropped at the words for a second time. Hated that he still got that reaction without even a mention of his name.
Walker froze, face shifting, and he knew they both hated the look of care and worry that replaced Walker’s annoyance. It was too similar to pity.
“It’s been a year, Jess. You saw him die,” she stated softly.
When Jessica shifted on her feet, Walker became more insistent.
“You saw his death certificate. This is just your PTSD-“
Nick scowled at the just, nothing was just, just, for them. It could never be that again.
“It’s not my goddam PTSD!” Jessica argued.
“Are you still having nightmares?”
Jones went quiet, and Nick pulled at his jacket string.
“Flashbacks?”
There was another long pause. Jessica and Nick looked anywhere but at Walker, who let out a quiet sigh.
“Jess, you need to go back to that therapist.” Walker’s voice went quiet, stepping close to Jones in what seemed to be an attempt at a semi-private conversation. Nick turned his back to them in an attempt at shaky respect.
He knows he wouldn’t want someone else overhearing talks of him seeing his old therapist.
“That quack that had me reciting street names from back home?”
“A proven method for managing PTSD”
“Two hundred bucks for ‘Birch Street, Cobalt Lane, Bullshit Drive’,”
“I told you I’d pay for it”
“Jesus Christ, Trish!”
Nick twitched slightly at the tone of Jessica’s voice. Rarely, if ever, had he heard fear like that in Jones voice. But it would match up. Nick had never felt as much fear as he did with Kilgrave.
“He’s back.” Jones emphasised, and then continued, “He sent clients to me, this couple from Omaha. He took their daughter.” She said weakly.
Turning back, he could see Walker’s face change.
“Why her? Is she…Is she gifted?” Walker questioned softly.
“A gifted athlete, maybe. Next best thing? I don’t know.” Nick turned back to the conversation at that, his shoulders tensed. It didn’t seem like Jessica cared much to find out why. His stomach curled at that.
“But remember, I told you, he had that one-month anniversary night?” Nick could see Walker’s eyes growing wider the more Jessica spoke. And Nick knew Jones didn’t want to say it again; neither of them wanted to reminisce on those nights.
“And now, one month, from the day he took Hope,” So Hope was the same girl he took, Jessica had been trying to steal the girl's money. Nick ran a hand over his face, his shoulders feeling impossibly heavy. “He’s doing…” Jessica struggled for a long moment, lips thinned.
“The lingerie, the gift, the restaurant.” Jones listed.
“The hotel?” pushed Walker, gently.
There was a long silence. Nick wondered if he might be sick here. He pushed his palms into his eyelids for a moment, shaking his head to rid himself of the memories.
“I’m calling the police”, Walker murmured, eyes glassy as she turned.
“They can’t help, Trish.” Grabbing her sister’s wrist, warning. Nick nodded in agreement, looking to Walker now, throat feeling tight and closed.
“She’s right”, He stated weakly to Walker, imploring.
“You know what he can do.” Stated Jones, voice going quiet, glancing from him to Trish.
“You know what he made me do.”
Nick’s skin felt too tight. It felt wrong to look at Jones now. He shouldn’t have seen what he put her through, shouldn’t have heard it. At thirteen, he had thought he knew everything.
At fifteen, now, he knew that wasn’t true. Not even close.
“So you’re running. You’re both running,” Walker realised softly.
“Yeah, we sure as hell are.” Voice firm, Jessica met Walker’s eyes. “If he gets a hold of me again…Trish”
Nick knew what he’d do to Jessica.
“If you leave that girl with him-“ Walker started softly.
“What would you have me do? What exactly should I do?” Jess demanded, voice rising with old frustration and anger.
“We’ll figure out a way to protect you,” her sister reassured, soft, looking towards Nick, who hadn’t said another word “, both of you.”
Jessica whispered, “We? He’s coming for us, not you.”
“I know!”
“You don’t”, Jessica shook her head. Face grave.
Nick pulled out his phone and sent Peter a quick ‘I’m safe’ text for something to do with his hands. Swallowing dryly, hating the way his fingers trembled around the case.
“I know one thing, you are better equipped to deal,” Jessica turned, moving to the edge again, and Nick followed. He wasn’t really thinking right now. Walker’s voice rising “, with that animal than some innocent girl from Omaha.”
He was already halfway over the edge, numbly noting the best handholds for the way back down.
“You’re still the person who tried to do something.” Whispered Walker.
Jessica froze; he saw it, if even just for a second, she did. Before turning back to her sister. Nick knew the story; she had whispered it to him in a burger joint afterwards. How he had found her. Nick had returned the favour.
“Tried and failed. That’s what started this. I was never the hero that you wanted me to be.” Jones glanced at him, she knew, of course, she did, about his adventures as Redhood.
This quiet was softer, more heartbroken. A relationship broken by what Kilgrave did.
So many relationships. Broken and damaged. Damaged by him.
“I’ll get your money,” Trisha muttered softly, turning back into the apartment.
Nick glanced at Jones after she left.
“I’m fine, kid”, she answered the unspoken question. Voice quiet and tense.
Nothing about this was alright. Nothing about this was fine.
_________________________________________________________________________________
The taxi was quiet, as Jones went through the money.
Nick rested his head against the window, looking out at the passing cars. And then back to his phone in his lap. At the message from Peter.
Nick felt a sense of numbness, reading through the quick texts. He swallowed dryly.
He glanced over at Jessica, who seemed to refuse to look at him, phone to her ear. Most likely listening to whatever on her phone. He turned his eyes to the window again and chewed at his jacket string.
Hope.
Such a name. Hope. Nick doubted she had any right now.
Once the numbness had receded, vaguely, he knew he’d be disgusted with himself for letting Jessica bring him along.
Maybe, if he stayed, Hope might have a chance. Though it was very unlikely Jones would let him do it alone.
“I need to make a stop uptown. 59th and Fifth.” Nick’s eyes snapped to Jessica, sitting up, alert. He’d recognise that address anywhere.
She’d changed her mind.
Jones looked to him, face pinched but set. And his own face hardened. Nodding.
It was the right thing to do.
Hope needed saving.
And who was more able than them?
The taxi pulled them to a stop outside the hotel. Plaza Hotel.
Stepping out of the car, Nick froze slightly as the bus boy called out, “Miss Jones? Mister Murphy?” Neither said a word as they approached, and the bus boy smiled, “I thought that was you both. Welcome back. Uh…”
Jones and Nick shared a look of disgust and trepidation at the building.
“Will you be staying with us again?” The busboy asked.
They didn’t bother with a reply.
Nick followed Jones up the stairs; they knew which room, and when he went to unzip his jacket and grab his gun. She stopped him with a careful look.
Just strength, it seemed.
Soon enough, when down the hallway from the room, he figured out why she didn’t want him to pull the gun. Jessica pulled the fire alarm, and their eyes remained on the far door. Lights going off, and the ringing was echoing in his ears.
People quickly filled the hallway, rushing to leave the building. None paid mind to them.
Walking down the hallway felt like walking through a memory.
The tapping of dress shoes.
The quiet hum of excitement.
Lights flickered above them, fire alarms ringing loudly. Reaching the door, she placed him behind her, a wordless order to stay there. Before she pushed open the door. The lock broke easily.
Stepping into the room felt like a slap.
sitting at the window, stone still, unable to move because Kilgrave said he shouldn’t.
He flinched. Jessica's eyes flickered to him and then away.
He could only imagine what it was like for her.
The loungeroom, where he was made to sleep, made to sit while he took Jessica to the bedroom. Nick shook his head sharply.
Jones jumped, gasping, as she spun around. Nick glanced around quickly. But saw nothing. She wouldn’t look at him as she turned back.
The bedroom door ajar.
“Never go in the bedroom, Nikky”
“That’s where grownups have their fun”
Nick first saw a foot, toenails painted a bright red.
Opening the door further revealed Hope. Lying on the bed, eyes fixated off to the side.
Nick paled slightly at the sight, stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets to hide the shaking.
They slowly moved closer. He could hear her breathing, shaking. Hope looked exhausted.
Jessica glanced around “Is he here?” Her eyes flickered to Hope on the bed. “Is Kilgrave here?”
Nick would shoot him if he were here.
“No”, Hope’s voice was broken, eyes still fixated to the side. He followed her gaze, landing on the clock, and felt frozen in the doorway.
Jones didn’t have that problem.
She stalked forward, eyes glancing over the dresser “How long? When did he leave?”
“Five hours and twenty-one minutes”, Hope replied.
He was going to shoot him.
“Count the time while we’re gone, Nikky”
“We have to get you out of here” Jessica nodded to him, gesturing for him to come forward. She knew Hope most likely wouldn’t be able to leave without help.
Just like Nick, who had been left in the hotel room that very night. He had angered Kilgrave, he thinks. Had been told to wait in the closet and not make a sound.
“Let's go. Get dressed.” She moved around the room, searching for Hope’s clothes. Nick stood, wary but ready at the end of the bed.
Hope murmured, “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can”, Nick reassured quietly, “You gotta try”
Jessica was dialling, phone to her ear as she went through the discarded items around the room. “Mr Shlottman, I found Hope.” Hope’s father, then.
“Is that my dad?” Her voice trembled, eyes never leaving the clock. Nick’s chest tightened painfully.
“Yeah, Hope, it is”, He murmured reassuringly, coming to stand beside her on the side of the bed. Nick had his few shares of victims whom he just couldn’t leave till the sirens were closer. It was a pain, but he could reassure her, at least.
What she had gone through…it made his blood boil with violence.
“You have to get her as far away as you can. Check out of your hotel, and go directly to my office.” Jessica said over the phone, Nick glanced over, unsure what she was looking for.
He reached out and took Hope’s hand, squeezing it gently. She squeezed it back as hard as she could.
Jones came up next to him, letting out a frustrated sigh, “Just do it! We’ll meet you there.” She snapped into the phone. Hanging up and nodding her head, “Come on, let’s go!” she demanded to Hope.
“I can’t.” She whispered, voice shaky.
“Hope you have to get up”, He muttered firmly.
Jessica paused, catching on as she glanced between them, “He told you not to move.” She muttered flatly.
Hope went quiet, fingers curling and uncurling. “I wet the bed.” She whispered.
Nick flinched, grimacing.
He spent hours upon hours out with Jessica, and Nick needed the bathroom, he needed-
He shook his head sharply.
Jessica softened, glancing around, before her eyes landed on a trench coat. She glanced at Nick, wary. And he knew this was about to be a struggle.
“Come on. Let's go. Come on,” Jessica started
“No! I can’t!” Nick grabbed her shoulder as she tried to scramble away from Jessica. At least she looked away from the clock.
“Hope! Come on, come on,” grabbing her leg, Nick kept a hold on her shoulder, gently trying to drag her closer to the edge of the bed so they could wrap her in a trench coat.
“No, no, no!” She yelled, face twisting with rage and desperation, a feeling all of them were too familiar with.
“Come on”
“No! I can’t leave.” Nick held her still as Jones pulled out an arm, slipping on one side of the trench coat.
Jessica pleaded, “We don’t want to hurt you.”
“I can’t leave! I can’t!” Hope yelled, face twisting in such distress that Nick’s trigger finger felt twitchy. If Kilgrave were here-
“Let go of me! I can’t leave!”
“Yes, you can.”
They got her into the trench coat.
Hope continued to yell, struggling as Jessica took one arm and Nick took the other, trying to keep her standing and walking her to the door.
Hope let out a wordless scream, kicking off the door and sending them stumbling and grip loosening, she scrambled, crawling onto the bed, grabbing at the nightstand.
Jessica grabbed her leg, dragging her back.
Sick.
“No! No!” Hope was screeching now, as Jones pulled her over her shoulders.
Nick followed closely behind, things knocking to the floor with a loud crash as Hope tried to grip the dresser.
Sick.
Hope grabbed onto the doorway, and Nick pried her hands off, the girl begging and pleading not to leave.
He was going to shoot somebody.
Knocking down lamps as they passed the loungeroom.
“No! Let me go!” she screeched.
She grabbed at the loungeroom door, hanging on, moving her hands up and down it so Nick couldn’t make her let go.
Sick.
Jessica ripped her away, and Hope’s head banged against the doorway. Her screeching and begging went silent.
Nick flinched.
But they left, striding out of the room as quickly as they could.
Running from the memories.
Running from him.
Nick wanted to be sick.
He wanted to hurt someone.
Nick chewed roughly at his jacket string.
_________________________________________________________________________________
“His control, whatever it is, it wears off.” Jessica’s voice sounded distant as Nick sat at her desk, slowly spinning around in the spinning chair, eyes up on the ceiling. She sent him a quiet, worried look before turning her attention back to Hope, grabbing things around her.
Jessica continued, “But it takes time, and distance, so we’re all getting out of here.”
Hope sniffled, rocking back and forth slowly on the couch, pillow clutched to her stomach as she started, “He made me, do things, that…I didn’t want to do, but…I wanted to.”
Jones paused from where she had been packing USB’s and stuff into her go bag. Nick stopped spinning on his chair, eyes stuck on a particular dot on the ceiling. Tracing it with his eyes as he pulled at his jacket string.
Sick.
Hope swallowed a sob, still rocking as Jessica walked over, sitting down in the chair over from Hope. Giving the girl space.
She needed space. Desperately. After what he did to her.
“What street did you live on as a kid?”
His confusion spiked, attention finally drifting over to the pair. Vaguely, he remembered Jessica saying something about the therapist having her repeat street names to cope. Huh.
“What was the name?” Jessica asked
“Picture the sign.”
Nick would snort, maybe chuckle, at the idea of Jessica Jones using therapy questions if it were any other situation.
But it wasn’t.
“Harrison. Harrison Street.” Hope stated, the confusion and scepticism gave her focus.
Jones nodded, “And the next block over?”
“Florence.”
Hope let out a sigh, a tad more relaxed now.
Maybe he should try to do that. Though, he doesn’t remember the address where he was raised before ACS took him away.
“Listen to me”, Jones started with a heavy sigh, and after a pause, said, “None of it’s your fault.”
Nick felt so, so tired when Hope shook her head. “You don’t know.”
“I know,” Jessica argued, and this felt personal, something he shouldn’t see. A conversation between two victims of assault, from the same predator who calls himself a man. “Okay? I know.”
He saw the realisation flash on Hope's face, gaze flickering from him to Jessica.
“I want you to say it” softly, Jessica leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and Hope had stopped rocking “,’ None of it is my fault’, say it back to me”
“It’s not, my…” Hope struggled, voice shaking as she sniffled, looking to the ceiling to try and stop the tears “It’s…It’s not my fault”, she said through tears.
Jones smiled, “Good, that was good”
She was right. It wasn’t Hope’s fault. It wasn’t Jessica’s. And it wasn’t His.
At thirteen, Nick had met his first, true, monster.
Now at fifteen, he was set to face him again.
It wasn’t our fault.
It was his.
-
“My little girl” Two people came rushing in, an older man and woman. Her parents, Nick thought quietly as he stood up.
They looked like they loved her a lot.
“Oh, thank god. Thank god.” The mother chanted as they wrapped their daughter in a hug, sobbing.
“It’s not my fault.” Hope cried.
“I know, sweetheart.” The mother cried.
That’s what parents looked like.
“She’ll be okay”, Jessica stated quietly, before it turned to warning “You just have to keep her away from the man who took her.”
“Took her? And who are you?” The father’s head snapped up, demanding, shocked. Then turned his attention to Nick
Jessica continued hesitantly, “He…escaped”
Not for fucking long if Jones didn’t make him leave.
She waved a hand over at him, thinking on the spot, “My kid brother, Nicholas. He’s learning how to become a PI, ignore him”, she excused. Nodding her head for him to go to the bedroom and grab his bag.
“And right now your only concern is putting Hope in a car, and driving west, and don’t stop until you hit Omaha,” Jessica stated firmly.
The mother nodded, looking to her husband before looking back to them, “We’re taking our baby home. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Ms Jones.”
Hope walked over and hugged Jessica “You saved my life.” She stepped back from the hug, and to his surprise, looked to him with a thankful smile “Both of you, you saved my life.”
Hope stood in front of Jessica for a long moment, hesitating, before Jones gave a weak smile, “Go!”
“We’re right behind you.”
Nick slowly picked up his duffel, pulling the bag strap over his shoulder. The numb feeling at the idea of leaving, returning. He didn’t want to go, he didn’t.
But it was for the best, wasn’t it?
If he were gone, Kilgrave wouldn’t go after the people he cared about.
Jessica put on her jacket, then grabbed her bag, and slowly walked out of the apartment, looking over the rooms with nostalgia. Before she moved him out the front door with a firm hand on the shoulder.
The elevator dinged down the hall, Hope’s family going inside. Smiling at each other. At least they had gotten the family back together. That was one less thing to keep him here. Even if five more things were doing just that.
He walked beside Jessica, heading for the stairs.
Hope's smile dropped.
She pulled a gun from her handbag.
“No!” Jessica screamed, running for the elevator. One loud bang rings out.
Nick was already racing down the stairs. Jessica close behind him.
Heart racing.
Unzipping his jacket and pulling out his gun, jumping stairs to move faster.
Sick.
Another shot, screaming from the parents.
A third shot, as they came two stories away from the main floor.
A fourth.
A fifth.
He pushed through the exit, wrapping around and opened the door to the lift.
The father fell out, three shots to the chest. Dead. At his and Jessica’s feet.
Hope standing still, gun click, click, clicking.
The mother, shot twice, had fallen against the wall. Unsure if she was dead.
Hope's eyes shifted to them. Her lips barely twitched upwards, in an attempt at a smile.
“Smile”, She stated slowly.
“Smile”
“Smile”
“Smile”
Nick was shaking, pale. He slipped his gun back into the holster over his chest and zipped it up. Jessica slowly stepped away.
Blood was pooling at his feet.
There was a splash of blood in Hope’s hair.
Sick.
He stepped a foot into the lift, hands out, as Hope slowly leaned back against the lift wall. A glint of awareness back in her eyes. Jessica had left his side.
Nick kept his eyes on Hope “Hey, breathe,” he whispered shakily.
He knew, knew he needed to go; he couldn’t be questioned by the police. Or the Roses would be called. He had his weapons and his gear on him.
But Hope needed someone right now.
She slid down the wall, eyes landing on her mother “Mom?” she gasped, dropping the gun.
The mother didn’t move. She was dead.
“Mom!” She screeched, beginning to wail.
Nick stepped over the father’s body.
Blood at his feet.
“Hope, Hope, look at me”, He forced his voice flat, controlled. Blood didn’t scare him. It hadn’t scared him since he was six.
Where had Jessica gone?
Hope grabbed at his shoulders, bawling. He yanked his hood up as people let out yells, seeing the father’s body half out of the lift.
He ran his fingers through Hope’s hair. She was older, in college. But right now? Now, she was a victim, a victim of him.
The monster.
It was his fault.