She doesn't like the way that Trish looks at her when there are bruises on her face. The scrapes along her cheekbone are still fresh, barely scabbed over since her last scuffle with the ethereally beautiful zombie woman. And there's that look coming from Trish, just to make things a little more unbearable. It's soft and concerned and there's a little pain beneath the surface.

"Don't give me that look."

Trish feigns innocence, eyebrows shooting up. "What look? There's no look."

Trish's fancy apartment in the sky offers plenty of distractions for Jessica. There's a fully stocked bar with an array of amber liquids floating in crystal decanters, big wide windows to gaze out over the city while sipping the burning liquid. Jessica employs these distractions as best she can, walking away from her best friend to gaze across the skyline. It's cold by the windows, the alcohol burning at the back of her throat is a lie to keep her warm. Trish lets her stew for a minute, and it's Jessica who caves and glances back across the lush apartment. "There's a look. There's always a look."

Trish nods, conceding. "You may be strong, Jessica, but you're not indestructible."

The tumblr clinks against the granite counter top. "Which is why I don't like getting involved in this shit."

"Right… and yet you always do."

Trish is beside her now, her slender hand covering the back of Jessica's. It's protective and loving, and for a moment, the briefest moment, Jessica lets herself wonder what it would be like to accept it fully, to dismantle the cage around her heart. She shakes off the feeling, the cage is to protect them, not her.

Trish continues, "I don't want you to stop, Jess. I think you can do a lot of good."

Jessica scoffs, picking up the drink and tossing back what's left.

"But you've got to learn a few more moves. Brute force doesn't always work."

The soft feeling of Trish's hand on Jessica's is gone. Instead she's using it to slide a business card across the counter. It's for the martial arts studio down the street, the overly fancy place that serves cucumber water in between krav maga. The very idea of popping in at that particular studio feels like fingernails on a chalkboard to Jessica, but she takes the card from Trish nonetheless. "Thanks, I'll look into it."

Trish shakes her head, smiling softly. "Bullshit." The word is said with a smile, and it's not an indictment. "Thank you for humoring me."

The card lies on her desk for one day, a silent reminder of a vulnerability she'd long since tried to push away. She's not indestructible, she's mortal, she's easily wounded, she's half a second from death every time she gets into a fight with someone. The memory of hellboy saving her still grates on her nerves. He's fast, sure, but he's flesh and bone just like her, and he doesn't even have the benefit of being able to pick up cars and toss them at people.

The more she thinks about it, the more annoyed she becomes. He doesn't haveto be doing this. No one expects it from him like they do from her, like they do from Luke. Matthew Murdock could just go back to living the boring life of a litigator and no one would try and guilt him into fighting for others. Except… he seems to have the guilt thing down pat, no need for other people.

Tonight she's fallen asleep in her desk chair, yet again. Lately her bed feels like an unwelcome reminder of things she can't have, and sleep is something she fights anyway. It's better for her to sit at her desk working, drinking… when she passes out like that there are no dreams. But now it's three a.m. and there's a hellacious crick in her neck, and a restlessness in her body that she can't shake. She reaches for the whiskey bottle to start over again, but it's empty.

"Fuck."

When she leaves her apartment she's on a mission, eyes straight ahead, hands tucked into her pockets. The look on her face keeps the assholes at bay. She's looking for a twenty-four hour liquor store, so she doesn't know how she ends up three blocks into Hell's Kitchen, gazing up at a giant buzzing neon sign. Bright pink and purple, it's the most obnoxious thing she's ever seen. Murdock's lucky he can't see it.

Grunting, she drags the nearest dumpster under the building's fire escape, stretching to reach the bottom rung. It's cold and wet against her fingers. She grips hard and hauls herself up to the first landing. She catches her reflection in the window. Her bruises have already started to fade, the scrapes looking less of an angry red and more like rust that's about to flake away. She's never quite understood her powers, didn't really want to in the beginning. There's something of a healing factor that comes along with her super strength. She starts climbing again, absentmindedly wondering if the healing factor is why she can't seem to keep a good buzz going.

She reaches Matt's loft in seconds, sitting outside the ledge to catch her breath. Suddenly she's not sure what she's doing. Matt's clearly got his own shit to be sorting out, and she's too hungover to learn anything. Sighing, she leans back against the window, thumping her head against the glass. Her eyes drift shut. Softly she starts humming a song, feeling a different kind of buzzing in her limbs. Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name. A soft little laugh interrupts her just as she gets to the chorus.

Her eyes pop open, gaze shooting up toward the sound. There he is. Arms crossed in annoyance up on the roof. Before she can say anything he jumps down beside her, perching on the ledge like some kind of gymnast, even though he's only wearing a pair of soft pajama bottoms and a cotton tee. Hair missed from sleep, no shades. He has a very boyish look about him. It's unexpected.

"Nice song choice, Jones."

She raises one eyebrow. "It seemed… fitting."

Something falters in the smirk that's on his face, his head cocking toward her. "Do you have sympathy for the devil?"

She doesn't necessarily like the way he's so intently listening to her. His breathing is shallow, brow knitted as he focuses in on on her. It's probing, invasive even. There are echoes of Killgrave in the way it makes her shivers, her whole body physically reacting to the memory.

Matt's head snaps toward her, an apology already on his lips, but she shakes it off. "It's fine." She shifts uncomfortably under his scrutiny. "And… surprisingly I do have a little sympathy for the devil even when he's insufferably self-righteous."

He settles on the ledge beside her, waiting a moment before asking, "Jessica… why are you here?"

"Trish thinks I'm gonna get my ass kicked by some ninja, and she wants me to take krav maga classes at this hip little martial arts studio up town."

"And?"

"And that sounds about as appealing as pulling my fingernails out one by one with a pair of pliers. So… I thought you could show me a thing or two."

"From the tone of your voice, I'd say training with me is only a slightly more appealing form of torture."

He smirks, and she realizes with some surprise that she never really sees him do that with other people. He's always so fucking serious all the time. She never would have guessed that her own shitty sense of humor would align with his. "Yeah, well at least I'd get to punch you in the face a couple times."

She nearly jumps when he reaches for her hand, an instinct that would have had her smeared across the pavement. His fingers run across her knuckles, and her heart thunders in her chest for half a second, and it pisses her off that he can hear it.

Sheepishly he pulls away. "You don't exactly have a lot of bone built up in your knuckles, either you don't punch people that often, or your healing factor keeps your bones from rebuilding that way."

"I don't…" She wants to deny what he's implying. People not knowing that she heals fairly quickly is the one advantage she has left. "How do you know about the healing thing?"

He reaches up to touch her face, but she flinches again and he drops his hand. "Sorry, habit… I was just guessing. Your bruises have gone down, haven't they?"

She grunts an affirmation, blowing out a gust of air. She's so fucking tired. "Tomorrow then?"

Nodding, he rises from the ledge. "Bright and early."

She snorts. "Figures you're an early bird." She doesn't move to leave, instead leaning back against the window to stare at the blinking neon across the street. In spite of its tacky persistence, there's something kind of pretty about the way the wet concrete reflects the light back. She's lost in thought when Matt says her name again.

"Jessica..." He trails off, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Yeah?" She watches as he runs his fingers through his hair, like he's nervous about something. Again, it's utterly absurd, but he looks like a lost child. The feeling reverberates through her.

"Um… it's pretty late. You could, uh, crash on my couch if you want."

She can't let him see how appealing the offer is. Her apartment is a wreck, bad memories in every crevice, and nothing to wash them down with when she gets there. She nods, hoping he can some how sense it so she won't have to vocalize her relief.

It works, and he's already swooping across the ledge to unlatch one of the windows. Tomorrow is certainly going to be interesting.

a/n: This was meant to be more shippy than it ended up being. It feels like it could use another chapter or two just to get things going. Sorry if it seemed to slow. Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated. (they help sooo much with my motivation to write).