[47] The Aftermath

Chapter 47: The Aftermath

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Silence filled Jessica’s apartment, oddly against the buzz outside. Outside, New York carried on its endless symphony. Sirens wailing, horns honking, people shouting about nothing and everything. But inside these four walls, the world had shrunk to just two people and the ghost of what almost happened.

Jessica sat on her couch, wrapped in the fuzzy purple blanket Trish had given her last Christmas. The fabric was soft against her skin, a reminder that she could feel things by choice now. Her hands… her own hands again… clutched a mug of chamomile tea that Ben had made without asking. Steam rose from the surface, curling in the afternoon light streaming through her windows.

"You know," Ben said from the kitchen, his voice carrying that easy confidence she'd come to associate with him, "for someone who drinks coffee black enough to strip paint, you've got a surprising amount of herbal tea in here."

A small smile tugged at her lips despite everything. "Trish's influence. She's always trying to get me to be healthier."

"Smart woman." He emerged from the kitchen carrying his own mug. As if to make fun of her, it was coffee. "Though I gotta say, watching you bench press a car last week kinda suggests you're doing fine in the health department."

The normalcy of his teasing felt like a lifeline. Most people would be treating her like glass right now, tiptoeing around what happened. But Ben Tennyson? He was giving her exactly what she needed – a reminder that she was still Jessica Jones, badass private investigator and part-time superhero. Not a victim.

She took a sip of tea, letting the warmth spread through her chest. "This is a strange world, isn't it?"

Ben settled into the armchair across from her, close enough to reach but far enough to give her space. "How so?"

"So many people with power, and yet..." She stared into her mug, watching the liquid swirl. "Some of us are so outclassed. He made me like him. Just by telling me to. Made me think I was enjoying the conversation."

The words hung between them. She'd been controlled before, but it was more of some criminals taking some hostage and threatening her to do something. Mind control wasn't exactly rare in their line of work, from what she’d gathered in that superhero forum that was popular lately. But this had been her first time, and Kilgrave was a lot creepier than the stories she read.

He hadn't just puppeted her body; he'd made her want to obey. The violation of it made her skin crawl.

Ben set his coffee down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He raised his wrist, and when he spoke, his voice had lost all trace of humor. "You know what I realized when I got my powers?"

She looked up, surprised by the shift in tone.

"The universe doesn't give a damn about fairness." His green eyes held hers, steady and sure. "It hands out abilities like a drunk dealer at a casino. Some people get to fly. Some can read minds. And some..." He stared at her with an oddly cold look. Jessica wasn’t used to seeing him like that, it was as if he were someone else entirely, far from Ben Tennyson. "Some get the power to turn others into slaves."

"Cheerful thought."

"But here's the thing." He stood, moving to sit beside her on the couch. Not touching, just... there. "Parasites like him? They always think they're at the top of the food chain. Right up until something bigger comes along and reminds them they're not."

"Something like you?"

"Something like us." He corrected gently. "You sent that SOS, Jess. Even with him in your head, you fought back. That takes more strength than anything I can turn into."

The compliment warmed her more than the tea, even though she knew he was just trying to comfort her. She'd been so focused on how helpless she'd felt that she'd forgotten that crucial moment – her thumb finding her phone, sending out a lifeline despite Kilgrave's control.

"Still," she said, trying for levity, "next time maybe you should see the future or something with that crazy watch of yours and tell me that 'his power is an airborne pathogen' thing? Could've saved me a lot of trouble if I'd known to hold my breath."

Ben chuckled. "Yeah, sorry about that. Didn't exactly have time for a PowerPoint presentation. 'How to Avoid Mind Control 101: A Comprehensive Guide.'"

"Chapter One: Don't breathe near purple-suited creeps."

"Chapter Two: Always carry a hazmat suit."

"Chapter Three: Date guys who can turn into aliens." The words slipped out before she could stop them. Heat rushed to her cheeks as Ben raised an eyebrow.

"Date, huh? And here I thought we were just friends with really excellent benefits."

She smacked his arm, grateful for the return to their usual banter. "Shut up. You know what I mean. And mister, it was you who called me your wife last week??"

"Did  I?" His tone was teasing, but there was something else in his eyes. Something that made her pulse quicken for entirely different reasons than earlier.

Before she could pursue that dangerous line of thought, before she could put the cup away and pull him into a kiss, exhaustion hit her like a truck. It happened so fast. The adrenaline crash, the emotional toll, the sheer relief of being safe. It all combined into a bone-deep weariness that made her eyelids heavy.

"Hey," Ben's voice softened. "You should rest."

"I'm fine."

"Jess."

"I said I'm—" A yawn cut off her protest. Traitor body.

Without asking, Ben shifted on the couch, opening his arm in clear invitation. Part of her wanted to maintain her walls, to insist she didn't need comfort, to be stubborn and play along with his ‘you’re my friend’ statement. But a larger part, the part that had been screaming in terror just hours ago, wanted nothing more than to feel safe.

She leaned into him, her head finding that spot between his shoulder and chest that seemed designed for her. He smelled like ozone and something uniquely him which was… probably whatever alien he'd been before transforming back.

"This is nice," she mumbled against his shirt.

"Yeah?"

"Mm. You're warm. Like a space heater."

"Side effect of being handsome," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Comes in handy during New York winters."

"Practical." Her eyes were already closing. "My own personal alien heating system."

His arm tightened around her slightly. "Always happy to be of service."

As sleep pulled her under, Jessica felt something she hadn't experienced in a long time… Completely, utterly safe. Not because she was strong (though she was), or because she could handle herself (though she could), but because someone had her back. Someone who'd cross half a country in seconds just because she needed him.

That was worth more than all the superpowers in the world.

****

The lock turned with a familiar click, and Trish Walker breezed into the apartment like she owned it. Which, yes she did, and Jess was the one living with her sister.

"Jess! You'll never believe what happened at the station today. This caller wanted to know if border hoppers were eligible for citizenship and I had to—"

The words died in her throat.

There, on the couch, was a scene that made her brain short-circuit. Jessica, that tough, independent, walls-higher-than-Everest Jessica, was curled against some guy's chest, sleeping peacefully. And not just any guy. The younger one from that day after the Harlem incident. Ben something.

His shirt was torn at the shoulder. Jessica's face showed telltale signs of tears. The whole apartment felt heavy, like the air after a thunderstorm.

Trish's protective instincts kicked into overdrive. She approached slowly, her keys held between her fingers like makeshift brass knuckles. Not that they'd do much against someone with superpowers, but the gesture made her feel better.

Ben's eyes opened, tracking her movement with an alertness that suggested he'd been awake the whole time. He held her gaze for a moment, then carefully extracted himself from under Jessica, laying her head gently on a throw pillow.

"She okay?" Trish whispered, though her tone made it clear the answer better be yes or things would get unpleasant.

He gave a small shake of his head. Not a 'no,' but a 'not now.' His meaning was clear, ‘She'll tell you when she's up.’

The movement woke Jessica, who blinked blearily before focusing on Trish. Something shifted in her expression, walls crumbling like they were made of sand.

"Trish?"

That was all it took. Jessica launched herself off the couch and into her best friend's arms, clinging like Trish was the only solid thing in a world gone mad. The sobs came then, raw and desperate, shaking her whole body.

"Whoa, hey, it's okay." Trish held her tight, shooting confused looks at Ben over Jessica's shoulder. "What happened? Jess, talk to me!"

Ben moved toward the door, clearly intending to give them privacy. His hand was on the knob when Jessica's voice cracked through the room.

"You're not leaving tonight, Tennyson!"

He paused, sighing with exaggerated drama. "Hah, yes, yes. Can't leave a princess behind." He turned back, a hint of his usual cockiness returning. "Besides, I was thinking I gotta train you a little too."

"W-what?" Trish's face went red, her imagination clearly taking a scenic route through the gutter. "Train? What kind?"

Ben blinked. "...Whoa. I can't believe this. Your sister is a crazy freak, Jess." He gestured vaguely at Jessica. "I meant power training. Did you know Jess can fly and do a lot more than she shows right now? She needs to know her limits so she can surpass them."

"Oh." Trish's blush deepened. "Right. That kind of training."

Jessica pulled back from the hug, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Ben is right. Today showed me I’m not nearly as strong as I need to be to continue working this gig, Trish. Even being one percent stronger will benefit me, I think.”

"Today?" Trish's eyes narrowed. "What happened today?"

Jessica and Ben exchanged a look. The kind of look that said entire conversations without words. "Later," Jessica said finally. "I'll tell you everything later. Right now, I just... I need you both here. Is that okay?"

Trish's expression softened. "Of course it's okay. Though someone better explain why this apartment smells like ozone and why there's a dent in the wall shaped suspiciously like a fist."

"That was from last week," Jessica said quickly.

"The ozone?"

"...Also from last week."

"Uh-huh." Trish clearly didn't buy it, but she let it slide. "Well, if we're having an impromptu sleepover, I'm ordering Chinese. And you," she pointed at Ben, "are paying. Consider it rent for making my baby sister cry."

"I didn't–" Ben started, then seemed to think better of it. "Okay, whatever, I don’t mind feeding my girl and her sister for a night. Orange chicken for everyone."

****

The Triskelion stood against the Potomac like a monument to paranoia, all sharp angles and reinforced glass. Deep in its chambers, past checkpoints that would make Fort Knox jealous, stood Nick Fury before a wall of monitors full of data streams and satellite feeds.

"Report," he said without turning from the screens.

Maria Hill approached, her heels clicking against the polished floor. "Interesting reports today. Zebediah Killgrave was found dead this morning."

Fury's good eye narrowed slightly, the only indication of his interest. "The purple asshole we've been tracking for years and yet always missing by a hair’s length?"

"The same. Found in some apartment an hour ago." Hill consulted her tablet. "Cause of death was... extensive facial trauma resulting from high-velocity contact with a concrete surface. Forensics is having a field day trying to figure out the physics."

"How extensive?"

"Think meat crayon, sir."

"Vivid." Fury finally turned, his coat swirling dramatically because even in private briefings, the man had a flair for the theatrical. "Surveillance?"

"That's where it gets interesting." Hill swiped on her tablet, sending data to the main screen. "Every camera in a four-block radius went dark for exactly one hundred and seventy-four seconds. When they came back online, five hours of footage had been replaced with a perfect loop. No glitches, no artifacts. Professional work."

"Nothing's ever that clean." Fury stepped closer to the screens, studying the data. "Show me what we have."

Hill pulled up a single frame. Pixelated and distorted, captured from a traffic cam half a mile away just before the blackout. A blue-and-black blur, barely more than a smudge, but the motion sensors had caught something interesting.

"Wind speed spiked to forty miles per hour in a localized area," Hill reported. "Consistent with something moving at supersonic speeds. The boys in analysis think—"

"Quicksilver," Fury interrupted.

"That's the working theory, given the color scheme. Though..." Hill hesitated.

"Spit it out, Hill."

"Quicksilver's never shown this level of technical sophistication. Speed, yes. But hacking entire surveillance networks? That's new."

Fury stared at the blur, his expression unreadable behind the eyepatch. "Maybe the kid's been taking computer classes. How long would it take a speedster to master hacking? Or maybe..." He trailed off, lost in thought.

"Sir?"

"Put together a file. Everything we have on speedsters operating in North America. Cross-reference with any reports of advanced technical abilities." He turned away from the screens. "And Hill? Pull Killgrave's full history. I want to know everyone he's ever talked to, everyone he's ever controlled."

"You think this was personal?"

"Someone turned his face into abstract art, and given the reports we received about him before? Yeah, I think it was personal." Fury headed for the door, then paused. "One more thing… Check for any unusual activity in Yellowstone today. Anything that might have drawn a speedster's attention."

Hill's fingers flew across her tablet. "So you’ve seen the videos online too, Sir. There was an incident. Geothermal anomaly, massive energy spike, then nothing. Our agents were sent, but when they arrived, nothing from those videos was present. Something like that can’t just vanish in hours. We think it’s some edit, but there are too many people claiming to have seen it. Local authorities are calling it a freak earthquake, but..."

"But we know better." Fury's lips curved in what might generously be called a smile. "Given the direction of the pixel and wind we got, I have a feeling our speedster friend came from Yellowstone. Find out what happened out there. And Hill?"

"Sir?"

"Next time some purple-suited psychopath sets up shop in New York, maybe we deal with it before a vigilante has to. If he could find Killgrave in minutes, it’s an insult that we have been chasing the man for years."

Maria Hill nodded, already composing the after-action report in her head. As Fury's footsteps faded down the corridor, she turned back to the monitors. Somewhere out there, a speedster with a grudge and technical know-how was operating off the grid.

In her experience, those were the dangerous ones.

If only she knew.

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