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You know everything. Remember?

[ 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?

[ 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. ]

You good?

[ 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. ]

Edited 2018-04-29 03:11 (UTC)

[ frank drifts off not long after lying down and though he had been aware of her shifting in his lighter consciousness it hadn't deterred him from slipping further under. with her near, his own nightmares seem to have taken the night off and he falls into a deep, healing sleep. something he's needed for - well, probably his entire stay in reims. in some distant way, he can feel as they edge closer to morning, and he finds himself leaning closer to her as he slowly comes to. it takes him a while to realize anything is amiss, blissfully dozing on until she starts patting the blanket next to him, jarring enough that it gets him to pry heavy eyelids open. he still wants to sleep for a year at least, but he lazily turns her way instead, trying to suss out what's happening without full brain function. there's a tiny start in his gaze when he realizes it's jess next to him and not maria, but then the rest catches up without incident. it's what she's doing now that's truly worrisome.

his hand darts out to wrap gently around her wrist, confusion writ over his expression as jess remains lost in something he hopes to drag her out of. he looks around the tent to make sure he hasn't missed something, but everything is exactly the way they left it the night before. it's only as his gaze becomes more heavy and lucid and true wakefulness begins to grip him that frank starts to put it together. jess had a dream, she's still stuck. it spurs him into action, sitting up as well as he can in the cramped space and leaning in until he can meet her eyes. concern is plain on his face as his thumb rubs over the pulse point of her wrist in a way he hopes is soothing. it's harder than he thought it would be to help someone this way without words. he keeps opening his mouth and shutting it again when all he wants to do is tell her she's okay. ]

[ The signal is still traveling from her fingertips to her brain when it's muddled by new input: his unmistakably broad hand encircling her wrist. Her touch orients itself clumsily as it climbs him, pressing higher on his chest until her fingers slip round his throat. Blood and air drum thunderously against her palm and Jess crashes with relief against him, digging her face into the crook on the other side of his neck. Her knees bracket him, legs desperate to wrap around him though her ankle gets caught in the blanket.

She can't hear herself breathe, though it's the loudest sound in the tent, in the world. She can only hear herself think, a combative, two-sided argument that beats her brain back and forth without rest: He found me. He probably doesn't even known I'm gone. He can hurt Frank. He can't hurt anybody. He got stronger. He can't hurt me. He's doing it right now. No thought, kind or cruel, pauses long enough to take her in. The ceaseless, violent struggle further lacerates her breath into hiccups and shudders from her core ripple to the ends of her limbs. She cries to vent the pressure in her head, jaw strained as she screams silently into his shoulder. ]

[ he leans into the touch though it's risky, he doesn't know if she recognizes him yet. but he's willing to take the risk for her, and he lets out a tiny huff in relief when she collapses against him. his heart is pounding fast now, wanting desperately to end her pain, but he doesn't have that ability. all he can do is be here and hope it's enough when he already knows it isn't. frank turns his face to nuzzle against her, feeling his own eyes fill up with water as the first few droplets hit his skin hotly. his hand shifts, snagging around her slim waist instead so he can facilitate her getting even closer, using any part of him to muffle her screams and cries that she needs. he wants to kill kevin thompson now more than ever, to rip him apart in slow, systematic, silent segments. his jaw clenches and he manages to keep his tears unshed.

he flips suddenly, pulling her forcefully against his chest and resting his other hand on the back of her head in support. he kicks the blanket away from them too in an effort to untangle them both. it's all he can do for her now and he knows how short he's coming up. ]

[ Shoving nails into drywall with her thumb and getting to that sweet spot immediately preceding blind drunk, apparently, isn't sufficient for expressing her rage. Poe's done his part too but there's only so much she can and should demand of a single man. There is no longer any privacy to be at the prison or at home. Jess sleeps with the door open since her sister moved in across the hallway, rendering the soundproof state of her bedroom inutile.

Jess forces it out of her like a sickness, shaking, yelling until her cheeks ache from more than just the memory of smiling. Cold air sticks to the mask of smeared tears on her face, sharpening her focus on reality. The thoughts in her head blur from words to beats, her head pounding from the strength of her weeping. As she fights to deepen her breath, her lungs prickle more and then, gradually, less. All but the tremors subside, with Jess compensating through the stubbornness of her hold on him: his hair clenched in her fist, arms slung over his shoulders, legs roped around his hips and waist. ]

[ having her this close in any capacity is an unwelcome reminder that he always wants her near him. that he'd do anything for her. at least in this moment he feels like he's doing something to make her feel a little less alone, like her existence in this place might be less futile the harder she holds on. a silent hiss passes through frank's lips at the grip on his hair, and he wonders when it became long enough for her to tug that way. he decides then that he doesn't hate it.

as she shakes he stills even more, her shelter in the storm or at the very least an attempt is made. he strokes back her hair and rubs calloused thumbs against her temples, trying to stave off the headache he knows is already gripping her. their bodies press and mingle now in a way that certainly isn't wholesome, but he can't be brought to care, not when she's using him in a way he can actually deliver on. words are still chasing around his head, words he wishes he could spill into her ear, but she's already making too much noise for it to be safe. he focuses on being her buffer instead, muffling every cry and scream with the tough brunt of his hide. and when she begins to relax at long last, frank ducks his head to kiss the side of her face tenderly, tasting salt in three measures from her sweat and tears, but of course also from that omnipresent dust he wishes he could forget even as it threatens to permeate his lungs and extract a cough even now. ]

[ Despite her advice over the network, she has no mantra of her own anymore. Forget Xanax. Jess resorts to cold hard numbers, picturing them in her head: accreting as she breathes in, crumbling to rubble as she breathes out. Just one, at first, but through constant turmoil it builds itself larger and larger, until she can count to two, and then eventually three. Her wild waterfall of tears narrows to a stream, trickling over her lips and teeth. Her grimace holds as she cries tiredly, hollowed from the spouting, seizing catharsis; continually harrowed by how little it's changed.

She sags into him, nuzzling her face to his shoulder to wipe off a layer of saline and snot, before setting it back under his jaw. The tether of her body slackens around him enough for him to pry her away and escape, but her fingers stay twisted in his hair. ]

[ his kisses keep up, across her forehead and down her nose. there isn't a single thought in his mind of pulling away even when given the out, and not least of all to prolong the feeling of her hands in his hair; her body wrapped around his so intimately. his hands stroke patterns up and down her spine, his own eyes closing as he considers just lulling them both back to sleep and skipping the whole day. they're on vacation, right? they can afford to miss out on all the nothing going on outside this tent.

one hand keeps up drawing over her back while the other holds fast to her waist now, his head lolling over hers in a misguided attempt to make her feel safe. just for a moment, if he could only-- he resigns himself to this and tries not to read into the moment any deeper than what it is. she had a bad dream and he was the first convenient body. isn't that how she operates? ]

[ It takes her a while to be able to feel him, blotting away her tears with his mouth and brushing warmth into her back with his hands. Her headache persists, along with shivers of exhaustion and her stubborn grip. Her breath shudders at the base of his throat, the skin that touches her lips soaked in her same sweat. Her tongue works against the roof of her mouth as Jess finds it difficult to swallow. After a couple seconds, she manages.

She is reluctant to move, even to drink. That would be admitting a world exists outside of their living corpses, back the way they came. She wants to keep running away and nothing will stop her once her boots hit the ground. Jess closes her eyes, sating herself with the vow that as soon as she wakes up, she'll get packing. If she falls asleep at all. No sane part of her wants to, considering where it always ends, but she craves the dead space that precedes the nightmares. It's her (heavy use of sarcastic airquotes) "safe space". ]

[ he's as much afraid of the same result if she falls back asleep, or worse: that it will be his turn to spiral out and she'll have to take care of him. that is if she even wants to. frank knows how tired she is of saving everyone, she's earned the rest. he shifts onto his back in an invitation for her to use him as a pillow, an almost-audible sigh leaving his lips when the shift earns another tug to his scalp. he can't think of her that way, not with her so close; and not at all. not when he knows what she's been through. he can live in denial as long as she's (relative term) okay.

frank closes his eyes though no part of him is sleepy anymore. he merely longs for the blackness in the same way that she does -- a reprieve from his thoughts and fears for even two hours would be heaven. instead he's obnoxiously present in this moment, his fingers rubbing firmly down her arm now as he buries his face in her hair. he has no concern for how much they both need showers now, since those had been a pipedream months ago and long since forgotten anyway. his being near her is compulsory now, winding a calf around hers to anchor them both here. ]

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