[ guh-od, if she knew it'd make him so happy, she would have taped her fingers together, she tells herself and seals the sentiment with a roll of her eyes ]
Ass [ thank god for all these trashmouth kids or she'd be unable to express herself properly ]
[ that gets a silent laugh, a jump of his shoulders as he looks down at his feet a moment. he has a habit of ruining a lot of things, he's sure she could list them even better than him. ]
Your idea to be stuck with me. [ he shrugs. he thinks if she really were on the fence she would have gone alone anyway. ]
[ Jess shrugs, like it isn't a big deal. if she'd gone on her own, he probably would have come after her anyway. he would have found out before long that she didn't tell anybody where or that she was going and he might take it as the suicide note by omission that it is. she would hate to finally divorce herself from this place and the monsters that live there, only to slip and crack her head open and find herself in the Reset Room, back where she started. and if she doesn't wake up again, Jess can't tell from where she's at if she really wants to die. she plans to figure that out once they get far enough, regardless of if she's going to do anything about it. ]
[ yeah he guesses it is his mistake. it's one he'll keep making though and if she hasn't figured that out she's the dumb one. he nods, allowing the conversation to lapse for the moment as they step off the path and into deeper woods. after a while he can't stand it anymore, her low opinion of herself. the way she constantly fights back against any kindness. of course, that pushback is 2000% hypocrisy, but that's the frank castle way in the end. he ends up pulling out his device in frustration, he'll never get out what he needs to with sign. ]
i've never regertted following you. not from day 2
[ she thought her senses are already keyed up, until she starts keenly listening to the silence they besmirch with the soles of their shoes. she isn't afraid of what's out there, she's afraid of going back to what she does know. but she doesn't regret leaving the knife behind: anything out here, she should be able to handle with her bare hands, or she would have read about it on the network. a callous on his skin scrapes his pocket when he pulls out his device, calling her attention to it before the screen lights up. she anticipates stopping for a piss or something, not... whatever that is. Her lips purse and she looks away, attention now split between thinking and listening.
he isn't telling her anything she doesn't know and it's not his faith in her that's frustrating, it's that it doesn't gel with everything else. the family man bullshit that's so important to him. telling him that would be a confrontation, not a conversation, and she doesn't have the energy to care about winning or losing. ]
I know [ she signs tersely, staring ahead. she knows like he feels: a whole hell of a lot and way too much. ]
[ she knows. she knows everything about him, this place. she's a fucking private eye. he meets her eyes with a narrowed gaze, shaking his head. he doesn't think she does know. she knows the facts, maybe, but not the rest. those are the details he deals in, after all.
but if she wants silence, that he can do. maybe it's preferable after everything they've been through. he drops his phone back into his jumpsuit pocket, moving his gaze to watch their surroundings instead. it's all familiar, but different because of the company mainly. this trip has a feeling of finality he doesn't like. ]
[ now her gestures are lazy, noncommittal. she doesn't particularly care to go to Paris -- city of love and all that tripe, and it's the first place they'd run into someone outside of Reims. probably from Reims, which is the worst part of the whole thing. she wouldn't mind seeing the ocean again but god knows how far that is or if she'd be able to stop herself from wading into it, the way she used to fantasize about as a teenager. she's not even that into the idea anymore. having died once fairly painlessly, drowning sounds the opposite of relaxing. ]
[ he shrugs, but moves into the lead anyway. he knows better than to take her to paris or anywhere else people frequent. maybe they don't eve have to go that far, just enough to forget about the city. somewhere that's just theirs. he turns towards her, expression clearing. ]
[ Jess nods, then digs up some irritation to feel about it. she's not comfortable around him, necessarily, but she's comfortable enough with how they work. just because something functions doesn't mean it's worthwhile.
Jess eyes up the size of his bag, guessing at what it contains. a tent, hopefully. or maybe he knows how to make a shelter, build a fire, tie knots good, all the various badge-earning skills and activities. she wonders if he'll call the day's journey once night falls or keep trudging forward until one of them collapses instead of admitting they're ready to submit to the rest they each sorely need. ]
[ with her go ahead, he splinters off to the right, there's a site not far they can set up camp since they don't have much daylight left as it is. he thinks about how childish this is, or at least immature. but when jessica jones says jump, he's already off the ledge before she can specify how high. it's always been that way and he doesn't know how to alter it now. leading had always come naturally to frank, but with her he has to keep reminding himself it's what she wants. it feels wrong to lead her anywhere, even if it's what she says she needs. to forget.
it's just past 90 minutes to the clearing and he doesn't try to start something up again until they get there. the sun is thinking about setting soon, and he gestures for her to stick close even though she'd done so the whole way here. frank has her help him find tent poles in the brush and then gestures where she should put them since her strength makes it easier to do so silently. then they're draping the canvas from his bag over the structure and it's his turn to use those sailor's knots she'd speculated on.
he steps back to view their work, making sure it's sound enough to get them out of the elements for a night. seems like it'll do fine and he moves inside the tent to set down the bedding he'd brought, not bothering to separate them in such a tight space -- especially since he knows she didn't bring her own bedroll. frank sits down to take a break, and to see if she'll make her way in. he's hungry, but too tired to do anything about it, and he knows for a fact they both prioritized whiskey over food in their packing. ]
[ she would start to feel winded a lot sooner if not for her superhuman stamina. she's not the type to walk for exercise or enjoyment. there was always somewhere to go or to be in New York, a point A and a point B, but in Reims she treks mostly from her home to the prison. her patrol routes have become routine and mundane to her. there are no new routes for her to take, only known ones to mix and match. the city has gotten familiar, made its way into her without offering jack in return. except the whiskey, that she keeps on drinking despite how sick it makes her of herself.
as her breathing gets heavier, she shifts more of her focus to monitoring it. before long she's absorbed in the dryness of her mouth, flexing her tongue and biting her cheeks and swallowing saliva instead of pulling to the side to fish a bottle out of her pack. she sighs privately with relief when his pace relents, then abides his instructions between sips of liquor she's extremely mindful not to slosh. even as they assemble the tent, Jess can't believe the almost cartoonishly barebones nature of it. she didn't think people really camped like this anymore, in this millennium.
when it's done, it's as quaint as her apartment back home. a real Eeyore mansion. Jess wipes her hands on the tarp, sizing the tent up as she stands in front of it -- pretty tight for two -- then up at the sky -- no sign of rain. good. but bad. either way, she can sleep outside if she wants to. she searches herself and doesn't determine a preference either way.
Jess crouches at the entrance, choosing to take out her device to illuminate the signs she makes with her hands. ]
[ he draws his knees up to his chest where he's perched on one side of the blanket and watches her as she comes into view. as ever she encompasses all of his attention wholly and immediately, his expression softening when she signs to him again. it feels like something just for him, even if that's ridiculous in a way he's aware of. she's probably as sick of the device as he is, is all, but the effort could never go unnoticed from someone who notices if she misses a button on her jumpsuit before she ever would.
rather than sign back, he simply holds up a pithy OK symbol at her expense. he's great, honestly, better than ever. after a moment, he gestures noncommittally for her to make her way inside the shoddy tent. if she wants to. ]
[ it's less effort to crawl in that it is to stand up. she has a bottle in her hand, which she places outside the tent first, then picks up again once she's inside. the whiskey was packed without any rationed out to share with him; that shouldn't surprise him. Jess unscrews the top as she brings her knees up too, looping her arms loosely around them. otherwise, sooner or later she'll lean back like an idiot and knock the whole thing down. she tips her head up as she swallows two shots' worth. preparation for a quiet sleep. ]
[ frank would rather watch her than get out his own ration of booze, though he breaks his stare to gaze sidelong at his pack as he considers. he stretches one leg out in front of him and it's telling that he doesn't brush against her given how tight a space they're in together. it's even closer than the treehouse-- which is something he's desperately trying not to recall. of course the more he tries not to the more that's all he can think about, his gaze drawn down to her lips as she takes another drink and his throat drying up. when his eyes meet hers again, his expression is even brighter, eyes deep and dark as they transfix on her face. ]
[ she doesn't need the precedent set at the treehouse to know what that look means. Jess slips her tongue between her lips, sweeping up the smears of whiskey left when she lowers the bottle. she watches him back, remarking for the first time that aside from the ever evolving state of his hair, he looks almost the same as when he got here, give or take the tired, sunken skin under his eyes. hell, though, he looked tired on day one. night one.
Jess cants her head questioningly -- and dry, if a gesture can have a tone. detached, she's curious if he's going to allow himself to do what he wants to do, stifle it and turn in, or overburden them both on night one by trying to explain the look he's giving her. ]
[ predictably, frank hates it when she puts the ball in his court. but she'd followed him here, she trusts him, at least in some minute way. otherwise she wouldn't have asked him to take her away from reims at all. but reconciling all of that with this moment is easier said than done. frank tips forward a few inches, gaze darting from those full lips and back up to her eyes, back and forth like ping pong. she looks as tired as he feels, but there's something about that that's appealing too. like they could somehow find what they needed in each other rather than sleep. he remembers acutely falling asleep on her so many weeks ago now, how she had rescued him from his nightmares. he lets out a shallow breath, his eyes searching hers each time they flicker back up her face, and his hand darts out, reaching forward until long fingers can curl around her knee. ]
[ Maybe he's sensed that he's running out of time to drink her in like he is. His gaze is blunt and solid, it doesn't drip all over her like the eyes Kilgrave watches her through. That doesn't make it shallow, unfortunately. Some of him is searching her for an order to follow. Jess only just left Reims so she wouldn't have to keep giving them, and god knows she'll be testing him that way later. What she has the energy for now is leaning towards him as his grip implores, accepting the pace he puts forward instead of streamrolling over it with her own.
She puts her palm to the ground for balance as her knee falls slowly to rest against his leg. Her cheekbone touches his, her eyelashes curling up against his skin when she shuts her eyes. For once, Jess is content to linger a moment as his breath pours over her mouth and she listens to the rhythm of her lungs: shallow, silent breaths, crucial for day to day survival. Carefully, she inhales deeply and purposefully for the first time in longer than she can remember. It feels like the red dust settled into damp clay at the bottom of her ribs, gently cracking and falling away as she breathes. ]
[ a sharp breath comes to his lips, but he holds it there, going slightly cross-eyed as she comes closer. her face touches his and her leg is a warm point of contact he didn't realize he'd been longing for until it's there. frank closes his eyes when she does, his longer lashes tickling the hollow of her cheek as he bows his head. he doesn't try to kiss her, just stays close, and his free hand skims across her arm, clamping on firmly like he needs them to be touching in as many ways as he can make happen right now. ] Jess... [ it's a sliver of a whisper, not any more than a breath, but there's no way he's pulling back to sign to her now. ]
[ She wishes she knew what to do with that or even make of it. It sounds devotional, pained. She jams her bottom lip between her teeth, taken as tightly as her arm in his fingers. Her next breath is half as deep and it might have shook if she hadn't sealed her mouth against it. However incessantly it threatens to express itself, she's too numb to connect to the misery threaded through her. Her thoughts sink no further than the surface of her skin where it yields against his.
Her other leg folds in against the one practically tucked against him. Divested of the whiskey bottle, her fingertips alight on his jaw, her thumb to his neck, dirt and cold flaking away with his warmth. ]
[ her breath is whiskey and her skin is sweat, and the acrid copper scent of the dust that seems to be everywhere in this godforsaken place coats the both of them thickly; but none of that registers to frank. she's soft and real and he shifts a little closer even when he knows he shouldn't, mirroring her movement so their opposite legs press too. the touch along his jaw has him leaning in, closer though there's no space left between their faces, his lips parting in an aborted gasp at the thumb that brushes his throat. she could so easily hurt him -- snap him even quicker and more silently than she had dispatched of kevin that second night. but he knows she wouldn't, not just because he might be someone she doesn't despise, but because she isn't like him. killing isn't inside her even after ending the same monster's life three times. it's that thought that has him pulling back in fractions, struggling to keep his breathing silent as the brunt of her presence crushes him by proximity alone.
after being so close he's already hyper aware of each inch between them, and it physically hurts to move away. but he can't sleep with her, as much as they both might want it now. to her maybe it's nothing, just taking comfort in another person's arms to escape how fucked up everything is for an hour or two. but for frank it could never be so cut and dried. slowly, regretfully, he shakes his head even while his gaze dances tellingly from her mouth and back up to her eyes. with the utmost reluctance he lifts his hands to ask her simply: ] Sleep?
[ HIs pain echoes in the cave of her chest when he starts to pull back, ricocheting intangibly off the stone walls. She could see his mind work without any idea of its contents, churning gradually like a cement mixer. Jess remains stoically perched alongside him, head lolling onto her shoulder. The sign he shapes is the one she's had the most practice reading, people always wondering when the last time she got any shut eye was. A small sigh bellows from her chest, streamed through her nose.
Jess gives a nod that barely moves her head as she shifts to get her boots off and then tuck her legs under the blanket. She leers at the whiskey barely within reach before leaning across herself to grab it up and have a third long swig. When she's done, bottle capped, she stows it above their heads: the least likely place for her to knock it over in the night. She settles onto her back, staring up at the darkness as her stomach levels out. ]
[ he follows her lead as ever, taking off his boots and hat, but leaving on his sweatshirt as he moves to get under the blanket from the other side. he's on his side facing her on her back, seeming to get just as much as he ever has out of watching her silently. he folds his arm for a pillow and rests his head on his elbow, leg shifting forward as he tries to get comfortable and unintentionally brushing her thigh. even though it was inadvertent, he leaves his leg against hers and shuts his eyes, content when he sees her as plainly behind them as he just had when she was right before them. his breathing is already starting to even out in record time, and he seems content for perhaps the first time since they'd met. except maybe for that time he'd made her a sandwich and sat on the porch with her until she fell asleep. ]
[ 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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Ass [ thank god for all these trashmouth kids or she'd be unable to express herself properly ]
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You like it. [ maybe a flirt, maybe not, as ever. he tips his head. ] I'm impressed.
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Wait til we're gone to screw it. [ she doesn't know the word for "ruin" ]
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Your idea to be stuck with me. [ he shrugs. he thinks if she really were on the fence she would have gone alone anyway. ]
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Your mistake to come.
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i've never regertted following you. not from day 2
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he isn't telling her anything she doesn't know and it's not his faith in her that's frustrating, it's that it doesn't gel with everything else. the family man bullshit that's so important to him. telling him that would be a confrontation, not a conversation, and she doesn't have the energy to care about winning or losing. ]
I know [ she signs tersely, staring ahead. she knows like he feels: a whole hell of a lot and way too much. ]
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but if she wants silence, that he can do. maybe it's preferable after everything they've been through. he drops his phone back into his jumpsuit pocket, moving his gaze to watch their surroundings instead. it's all familiar, but different because of the company mainly. this trip has a feeling of finality he doesn't like. ]
Where are we going?
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[ now her gestures are lazy, noncommittal. she doesn't particularly care to go to Paris -- city of love and all that tripe, and it's the first place they'd run into someone outside of Reims. probably from Reims, which is the worst part of the whole thing. she wouldn't mind seeing the ocean again but god knows how far that is or if she'd be able to stop herself from wading into it, the way she used to fantasize about as a teenager. she's not even that into the idea anymore. having died once fairly painlessly, drowning sounds the opposite of relaxing. ]
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[ he shrugs, but moves into the lead anyway. he knows better than to take her to paris or anywhere else people frequent. maybe they don't eve have to go that far, just enough to forget about the city. somewhere that's just theirs. he turns towards her, expression clearing. ]
You follow this time?
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Jess eyes up the size of his bag, guessing at what it contains. a tent, hopefully. or maybe he knows how to make a shelter, build a fire, tie knots good, all the various badge-earning skills and activities. she wonders if he'll call the day's journey once night falls or keep trudging forward until one of them collapses instead of admitting they're ready to submit to the rest they each sorely need. ]
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it's just past 90 minutes to the clearing and he doesn't try to start something up again until they get there. the sun is thinking about setting soon, and he gestures for her to stick close even though she'd done so the whole way here. frank has her help him find tent poles in the brush and then gestures where she should put them since her strength makes it easier to do so silently. then they're draping the canvas from his bag over the structure and it's his turn to use those sailor's knots she'd speculated on.
he steps back to view their work, making sure it's sound enough to get them out of the elements for a night. seems like it'll do fine and he moves inside the tent to set down the bedding he'd brought, not bothering to separate them in such a tight space -- especially since he knows she didn't bring her own bedroll. frank sits down to take a break, and to see if she'll make her way in. he's hungry, but too tired to do anything about it, and he knows for a fact they both prioritized whiskey over food in their packing. ]
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as her breathing gets heavier, she shifts more of her focus to monitoring it. before long she's absorbed in the dryness of her mouth, flexing her tongue and biting her cheeks and swallowing saliva instead of pulling to the side to fish a bottle out of her pack. she sighs privately with relief when his pace relents, then abides his instructions between sips of liquor she's extremely mindful not to slosh. even as they assemble the tent, Jess can't believe the almost cartoonishly barebones nature of it. she didn't think people really camped like this anymore, in this millennium.
when it's done, it's as quaint as her apartment back home. a real Eeyore mansion. Jess wipes her hands on the tarp, sizing the tent up as she stands in front of it -- pretty tight for two -- then up at the sky -- no sign of rain. good. but bad. either way, she can sleep outside if she wants to. she searches herself and doesn't determine a preference either way.
Jess crouches at the entrance, choosing to take out her device to illuminate the signs she makes with her hands. ]
You good?
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rather than sign back, he simply holds up a pithy OK symbol at her expense. he's great, honestly, better than ever. after a moment, he gestures noncommittally for her to make her way inside the shoddy tent. if she wants to. ]
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Jess cants her head questioningly -- and dry, if a gesture can have a tone. detached, she's curious if he's going to allow himself to do what he wants to do, stifle it and turn in, or overburden them both on night one by trying to explain the look he's giving her. ]
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She puts her palm to the ground for balance as her knee falls slowly to rest against his leg. Her cheekbone touches his, her eyelashes curling up against his skin when she shuts her eyes. For once, Jess is content to linger a moment as his breath pours over her mouth and she listens to the rhythm of her lungs: shallow, silent breaths, crucial for day to day survival. Carefully, she inhales deeply and purposefully for the first time in longer than she can remember. It feels like the red dust settled into damp clay at the bottom of her ribs, gently cracking and falling away as she breathes. ]
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Her other leg folds in against the one practically tucked against him. Divested of the whiskey bottle, her fingertips alight on his jaw, her thumb to his neck, dirt and cold flaking away with his warmth. ]
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after being so close he's already hyper aware of each inch between them, and it physically hurts to move away. but he can't sleep with her, as much as they both might want it now. to her maybe it's nothing, just taking comfort in another person's arms to escape how fucked up everything is for an hour or two. but for frank it could never be so cut and dried. slowly, regretfully, he shakes his head even while his gaze dances tellingly from her mouth and back up to her eyes. with the utmost reluctance he lifts his hands to ask her simply: ] Sleep?
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Jess gives a nod that barely moves her head as she shifts to get her boots off and then tuck her legs under the blanket. She leers at the whiskey barely within reach before leaning across herself to grab it up and have a third long swig. When she's done, bottle capped, she stows it above their heads: the least likely place for her to knock it over in the night. She settles onto her back, staring up at the darkness as her stomach levels out. ]
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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. ]
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