[ Once they start to feel heavy, Jess shuts her eyes and lets herself tune in and out to the frequency of his breath. Eventually, the tension eases in her spine and her shoulders and neck relax, her face turned incrementally toward him. It takes much longer than that for her to fall asleep and, when close, she deliberately thwarts herself by opening her eyes and shifting gingerly onto her side. After a couple hours, head pillowed on her arm as he had done, his knee to the back of her leg, she gives up the fight and goes under.
There's not a stitch nor a seam to her dream; she's right there, waking up to the dawn light beating dimly onto the tarp. Her limbs are sluggish, unrested, and her face and hands feel clammy from the trapped body heat. Jess rolls onto her back only for the shock of warm, wet blood to soak into her shirt and shoot through her skin. She turns her head before she can register what she's afraid to see, what's lying there beside her: Frank's throat split wide open, gaping from the force with which he drew the knife across himself. There's no room for Kilgrave to be there but the shadows accommodate him as morning seems to fall away and night resumes, as dark as it had been when she fell asleep. Jess doesn't know whether he speaks or signs to her, she only feels his commands root in her brain and then puppeteer her nerves as she lies back.
She hushes and she stays with him and complies as he intends to have her in a bloodbath, though she feels her body revolt in staggering her oxygen. Jess has barely torn free of her soiled shirt before she awakes, clothed and shallowly gasping. Sweat has the fibres at the small of her back glued to her skin, a sensation that tethers her to the nightmare outside the tent, inside her head, and she pats frantically at the bedroll to assure it's dry. ]
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There's not a stitch nor a seam to her dream; she's right there, waking up to the dawn light beating dimly onto the tarp. Her limbs are sluggish, unrested, and her face and hands feel clammy from the trapped body heat. Jess rolls onto her back only for the shock of warm, wet blood to soak into her shirt and shoot through her skin. She turns her head before she can register what she's afraid to see, what's lying there beside her: Frank's throat split wide open, gaping from the force with which he drew the knife across himself. There's no room for Kilgrave to be there but the shadows accommodate him as morning seems to fall away and night resumes, as dark as it had been when she fell asleep. Jess doesn't know whether he speaks or signs to her, she only feels his commands root in her brain and then puppeteer her nerves as she lies back.
She hushes and she stays with him and complies as he intends to have her in a bloodbath, though she feels her body revolt in staggering her oxygen. Jess has barely torn free of her soiled shirt before she awakes, clothed and shallowly gasping. Sweat has the fibres at the small of her back glued to her skin, a sensation that tethers her to the nightmare outside the tent, inside her head, and she pats frantically at the bedroll to assure it's dry. ]