[48] The Fan

Chapter 48: The Fan

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A couch had never felt this small before.

I was trapped in the best possible way, sandwiched between two beautiful women who'd decided my personal space was a myth. Jessica had her head on my shoulder, one long leg draped across my lap like she owned the place. Which, I guess she did for now.

The problem was Trish. She mirrored Jessica’s position on my other side, her own milky-white leg crossed over mine, barefoot occasionally brushing against Jessica's.

The weird part? Jessica didn't seem to care at all that her best friend was basically using me as furniture. No jealous glances, no territorial behavior. Just pure comfort.

Is this what having a harem feels like? I wondered, trying to focus on the TV screen instead of the warm press of bodies. Because I could get used to this.

On screen, Robert De Niro was doing his thing in Cape Fear with his menacing stares. It was the 1991 version because Trish insisted the remake was superior to the original. Something about Scorsese's direction and the psychological complexity. I wasn't really paying attention to her film critique, too distracted by the way she kept shifting against me during the tense scenes.

"Oh god," Trish gasped as De Niro's character appeared outside the family's house, watching them through the window. "That's so creepy. You know, something similar has been happening to me lately."

Jessica's head lifted from my shoulder. "What?"

"At the station. I've been getting these calls..." Trish's voice dropped, and I felt her tense against me. "This fan who knows way too much. Like, scary too much. About my schedule, what I wore last Tuesday, when I get my coffee..."

"Did you report it?" Jessica was already shifting into investigator mode, her body language changing from relaxed to alert.

"I was going to, but then today..." Trish laughed, but it sounded forced. "Today I realized who it was. The voice was disguised, but he slipped up. Made a joke about our third date, about the restaurant where I spilled wine on his shirt."

Jessica's eyes widened. "No way. Will?"

"Will," Trish confirmed.

I looked between them, completely lost. "Um, hello, girls. Who's Will?"

The sisters exchanged a glance, that kind of wordless communication that comes from years of shared secrets. Trish sighed, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Will Simpson. We went out three times, maybe four months ago. He was... intense. Charming at first, you know? Good looking, said all the right things. But by the third date, he was already talking about our future kids and what we'd name them."

"That’s not too bad," I muttered.

"...Anyways. So I broke it off. Gently, I thought. But then the flowers started coming. Every day, different types. Then it was vintage Patsy merchandise - stuff even I didn't know existed. Comic books, lunchboxes, a creepy doll that looked nothing like me."

Jessica sat up fully now, her detective instincts fully engaged. "You didn't tell me about the merchandise."

"I thought it was harmless fan stuff! But then..." Trish's voice got smaller. "Last week I found an envelope under my door. Security footage. Of me. In my own building. Different days, different outfits. Like he'd been collecting them."

The movie played on, forgotten. De Niro's psychotic character seemed less threatening compared to real-life stalkers with security footage.

"The calls started after that," Trish continued. "Always blocked numbers. He'd talk about my Patsy days like they were some golden age. How I was 'pure' then, before the city corrupted me. It gave me the creeps, but I couldn't place the voice until today when he mentioned the wine incident."

"Jess, remember those gifts that kept appearing?" Trish asked suddenly. "The ones we thought were from that network exec?"

"The champagne and the jewelry?" Jessica's face darkened. "That was him too?"

"Has to be. Same handwriting on the cards."

I felt Jessica's muscles tense under my arm. She had that look she got right before she punched someone through a wall. "Trish, this isn't just creepy fan behavior. This is escalating. The surveillance, the gifts, knowing your schedule..."

"I know," Trish said quietly. "I just... I didn't know he was military. Or unhinged. I thought he was just a clingy fanboy with a crush. If I'd known what he really was..."

"Military?" I asked, my own alarm bells starting to ring. A trained soldier stalking someone was a whole different level of dangerous than your average creep.

"Ex-military, technically," Jessica said. "Dishonorable discharge, though I never found out why. He mentioned it once when he was trying to impress Trish. Said he'd done 'things for his country' that we couldn't understand."

Great. A potentially unstable veteran with combat training and an obsession. This was starting to sound less like a Lifetime movie and more like an actual threat.

Jessica and I made eye contact, and I could see her thinking the same thing. She'd just been through hell with Killgrave. The last thing she needed was her best friend dealing with another dangerous obsessive.

Ah shit.

It won't be a good look to leave after hearing this, I thought. Besides, it's just some creep. I can deal with it.

"We should look into this," I said, trying to sound casual. "Make sure he's just being creepy and not planning something."

Trish looked relieved, hugging my arms with an extravagant show-off. "Awh, you'd do that for me, handsome?"

"Of course," Jessica said firmly. "We're not letting another..." She trailed off, but we all knew what she meant. Another Killgrave. Another predator thinking he could take what he wanted.

"First thing tomorrow," I added. "We'll check him out, see what he's been up to. Probably just needs a restraining order and a reality check."

But even as I said it, I had a feeling it wouldn't be that simple. Nothing ever was in this world of gods and monsters and men who thought they were both.

I hadn’t watched Jessica Jones TV Show and barely knew some events from YouTube shorts and Reels. So this ‘Will’ was probably a villain from there.

****

The next morning came too quickly. I'd crashed on the couch after the movie since Jessica had curled up next to me sometime earlier, her head on my chest, while Trish had taken the bedroom.

Now, sunlight streamed through the windows as I juggled coffee and my phone, trying to look casual while Jessica dug through her laptop for information on Will Simpson. Beside me, some disassembled tech lay around which I was messing with using Greymatter earlier.

[Image Here]

"Grandpa?" I said into the phone, keeping my voice low. "Yeah, I'm still in New York. Something came up with Jessica."

"Is she alright?" Max's voice carried that particular tone of grandfather concern mixed with Plumber wariness. "The emergency yesterday...?"

"She's fine. That's handled. But her friend's got a stalker situation. Ex-military guy who's escalating." I glanced at Jessica, who was frowning at her screen. "I figure I should stick around, make sure it doesn't turn into something worse."

There was a pause. I could practically hear Grandpa thinking, weighing options. "You did the right thing, Ben. In situations like this, your girlfriend comes first."

I nearly choked on my coffee. "She's not—"

"Son, I may be old, but I'm not blind. Or deaf. Gwen may have tried to cover for you yesterday, but I know you didn't leave because of bad berries."

My face heated. "It's complicated."

"It always is with girls." I could hear the smile in his voice. "Just be careful. And Ben? Gwen's still a bit under the weather. And mad. Mostly mad. I don’t know why. You might want to call her later."

"Yeah, I'll—"

"BEN!" Jessica's voice cut through the apartment. "Get over here! Now!"

I ended the call and rushed to her side. Her face had gone pale, eyes wide as she stared at her phone.

"What is it?"

"Trish's co-worker just called. There's some crazy shit going down at the station. Someone's attacking the building. During the live broadcast!"

My blood ran cold. "Will Simpson?"

"Has to be." She was already grabbing her jacket. "We need to go. Now."

****

Frank “Will” Simpson had been a soldier once. A good one. The kind who followed orders, believed in his country, and never questioned why the pills they gave him came in patriotic colors.

Red for strength. White for maintenance. Blue to calm down.

He'd been off the pills for months, trying to be the man Trish Walker deserved. But watching her from afar, seeing her corrupted by the filth of New York, surrounded by degenerates and liberals and people who didn't understand what America was supposed to be... it had become too much.

The red pill dissolved under his tongue as he approached the radio station. His muscles swelled, veins standing out like rope under his skin. The world sharpened into crystal clarity. Every heartbeat was thunder. Every breath was fire.

Time to save her.

The security guard at the front desk didn't even have time to reach for his radio. Frank's fist connected with his jaw, sending him flying back into the wall with a wet crunch. The receptionist screamed. Frank barely heard it over the pounding in his ears.

"Where is she?" His voice came out gravelly, distorted by the chemicals racing through his system. "Where's Patricia?"

The receptionist pointed with a shaking hand toward the stairs. Studio B. Third floor. Live on air, talking about movies and feelings and other pointless things when she should be somewhere safe, somewhere clean, with him.

Frank took the stairs three at a time, leaving cracked concrete in his wake. The red pills were military grade, not the watered-down stuff they sold to wannabe heroes. This was the real deal. The kind that turned good soldiers into weapons.

He could hear her voice now, coming through the speakers in the hallway. That perfect voice that had narrated his childhood, back when Patsy Walker represented everything good about America. Before she'd grown up and lost her way.

The studio door exploded inward under his boot.

"Patsy," he breathed, seeing her there behind the glass. Even more beautiful in person than through binoculars. "I've come to save you."

Trish's eyes went wide with recognition and terror. "Will?"

"That's not my name anymore." He stepped through the ruined doorway, glass crunching under his combat boots. "I'm Nuke now. Your nuclear option. Your protector."

"Security!" Trish's co-host was screaming into the emergency button, but Frank had already cut the building's communications. Planning. Preparation. Just like the Army taught him.

"You,” he looked at the useless woman. “Leave me and Patsy alone. Run.”

He didn’t need to say more. The co-host stood up and fled, leaving them alone in the room. “Don't be scared," he said to Patsy, reaching for the studio glass. "I'm taking you away from all this. Somewhere clean. Somewhere safe. The farm in Montana I told you about. You'll love it there. No cities. No corruption. Just us."

The glass shattered under his enhanced strength. Trish scrambled backward, but there was nowhere to go in the small studio.

"Please," she said, voice shaking. "Will—Nuke—whoever you are. This isn't you. You're sick. The pills–"

"The pills make me strong enough to protect you!" He grabbed the desk, lifting it like it weighed nothing. "Strong enough to be the man you deserve!"

That's when the studio door burst open again. Jessica Jones stood there, fury written across her face. Behind her, a young man Frank didn't recognize.

"Get away from her, you psycho!"

Jessica moved fast, but Frank was ready. The red pills didn't just enhance strength, they sharpened reflexes, and combat instincts. He caught her fist mid-swing, his own hand engulfing hers.

"Another corrupting influence," he snarled. "You're part of the problem. Making her think she doesn't need protection. Making her think she's strong enough on her own."

He squeezed. Jessica gasped, bones grinding. She was strong, stronger than normal, but the pills made him stronger. He'd fought super-powered enemies before. The government made sure of that.

"Let her go, good soldier." The young man stepped forward, hand going to some kind of watch on his wrist. Green light flashed, and suddenly Frank was facing something that definitely wasn't human.

“Four A- ah?” The young man had changed, as had his voice. Shrunk, morphed, and became something else. Plant-like. Vine-covered. His eyes looked confused.

What the hell is this thing?

“Oh man, a new one at this time?” the young man grumbled, but it was very low so Frank couldn’t hear it. "Wildvine," the plant thing continued a second later, sounding almost excited despite the situation. "Cool!"

"What the hell are you?" Frank released Jessica, stumbling back. This wasn't in the intel. Trish wasn't supposed to have some weird mutant protection.

Vines shot out, wrapping around Frank's limbs. He tore through them easily at first, the red pills giving him the strength to snap them like threads. "Impressive," he said, cracking his neck. "But I've fought worse in Afghanistan. Things that would make you–"

But more kept coming. Dozens. Hundreds.

Seeds burst from pods on its back, filling the air with some kind of pollen. Frank's eyes watered, his enhanced senses overwhelmed. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe properly.

"No!" He roared, tearing free with pure rage. "No! No! I won't let you stop me! She needs me!"

He charged blindly, following instinct and sound. The plant thing seemed very inexperienced as if still learning to use his powers, still adjusting to its new form. Frank might have lost if the creature was well-trained, but since it wasn’t, he could exploit that. He'd been trained to adapt, to overcome.

His fist connected with something solid. The creature yelped. Frank pressed his advantage, grabbing what felt like its head and slamming it into the floor. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Ben!" Jessica's voice. She was coming at him again, limping but determined.

“Ugh, it’s okay, it doesn’t hurt much,” the creature replied, trying to move its vines.

Frank growled. This wasn’t good. He was getting ganged. He backhanded Jessica without looking, sending her into the wall. Trish screamed. That perfect voice twisted in fear. Because of him. He was scaring her.

"I… I'm sorry," he said, turning to her. "This isn't how I wanted it. But you'll understand. Once we're away from here, you'll understand."

More vines wrapped around him. The plant creature wasn't down yet. Persistent. Frank respected that, even as he tore through its attacks. But he could feel the red starting to fade. He needed another pill soon, or the crash would—

Sirens. Getting closer. Someone had called the police.

"Time to go." Frank made his decision. He'd come back for Trish. Better prepared. More pills. Maybe some of the special ammunition from his storage unit.

He grabbed a desk and hurled it through the window, creating his exit. The plant creature made one last attempt to stop him, vines reaching out desperately. Frank grabbed them and yanked, pulling the creature off balance before driving his knee into what might have been its face.

"Tell Patricia I'll be back," he said, already moving toward the window. "Tell her to be ready."

He jumped.

Three stories down, he hit the pavement in a perfect roll. The red pills made him durable enough to take it. People screamed and scattered as he ran, just another blur in a city full of strange sights.

Behind him, he could hear the plant creature's frustrated roar. Could hear Trish calling for help.

Soon, he promised himself. Soon she'd understand. He'd make her understand.

The red pill was fading now, and the world was losing its sharp edges. He'd need white soon, then blue to calm down properly. But first, he needed to disappear. Regroup. Plan better.

Nuke vanished into the crowd, leaving chaos in his wake. But he'd be back. He always came back.

**

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Author Note: Frank Simpson “Nuke” is somewhat iconic in the comics thanks to his American flag face paint. Jessica Jones TV Show had a ‘variant’ of him kind of, named Will Simpson. I’ve basically mixed them two into one here!

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