bakerstreet | i'm thinkin denny's

[ He slides into the seat across from her quietly (but making enough noise to herald his presence, instead of slipping completely into silent/sneaky mode), gaze flickering toward the menu a waiter sets down, and then back up to Jessica. As far as diners go, it's not a complete wreck. He misses the little ma and pa places that used to dot the New York landscape. But least the food here is halfway decent. ]

I'll take a stack of flapjacks and an omelette. And coffee. [ That's to the waitress. This next part is to his table-mate. ] Hello. Mind if I join you?

[ the location is strategic and she supposes she's lucky it's a) a diner and b) a 24/7 place but after the better part of a week staking out the comings and goings in the alleyway across the street, jess has sworn off eggs in all their forms. now she subsists on endless coffee, the flask in her jacket that's full of whiskey, and an order of pancake puppies when her stomach protests the emptiness (thus making it harder to drink more).

there's a plate of them in front of her, half the order remaining, and she's going over the pictures on her phone when she's joined. a peripheral scan and she knows who it is. his "pay no mind to me" fashion statement blends right in with the low-brow crowd that makes up a third of hell's kitchen but something sets him distinctly apart. ]

Welcome to my office. [ she responds dryly, then puts down her phone and pins him with a stare. right, it's his eyes, they just keep going, like a deep well of all the shit he's had to go through. jess doesn't quail, allowing the silence to sluice in while she awaits his reason for being here. here, specifically. she's usually the one doing the stalking. ]

[ The hobo look tends to insure people don't pay him any attention; long hair, a couple days growth of scruff covering his chin, a baseball cap from somewhere in the Midwest. All part of the mission. Keep under the radar, explore his own history, and slaughter whatever HYDRA remnants he comes across. But he's finding the process unaccountably lonely. Contacting Steve is something he's willing to do only in a true emergency.

Contacting the private investigator he (sort of) knows? Much better idea. Bucky keeps his gaze lowered for the most part. People get to get skittish when he looks them in the face. ]

I like an office with food options. Come to this one often?

[ his reluctance to engage gives her more to read, yet at the same time she feels she shouldn't. he's not under investigation, after all -- he hasn't given her enough to go on. one tragic backstory and a common-ass name. even she's not that good. there's a bearing about him she recognises as faintly familiar but isn't able to put her finger on it. for now, she catalogues him openly and sits back in her seat with an air of laissez-faire as though she really might own the place. ]

Yeah, yeah, small talk, chit chat, blah blah blah. What's up, James? [ sounds like an alias, the way she says it. if it isn't, he can offer up the second part any time. ]

I like to practice small talk, Jessica. That's what's up.

[ There's a flash of amusement, most tangibly demonstrate by the half smile unfurling at one corner of his mouth. Tragic fragments of a backstory and his first name are awfully common, though. Especially around veterans. He still hasn't decided what her potential reaction will be. As brash as Miss Jones is, she's still a touch hard to read. Bucky doesn't want to misstep and end up hurting an innocent. ]

You can ask me one question. I might even answer it.

[ army vets are well outside her typical circle of marks. she's not crazy about digging around in the records of soldiers until she has a little more to go on. if anyone kicked up the details of her therapy sessions after kilgrave, she'd have to put a serious beatdown on them. nobody would enjoy that, especially her.

with the ptsd reminder, the final pin tumbler falls into place: military. it's just a hunch but it's somewhere to start. ]

Business or pleasure? [ she's not one to accept handouts. the waitress cuts in to top up jess's mug and set one in front of james, filling it with fresh brew and mentioning politely that they're working on his omelette. ]

[ Does he really look that much like a vet? If the answer truly is yes, then a) the disguise is working, because who would look for the Winter Soldier hanging around a bunch of old veterans and b) maybe he should drop the disguise for something else. Last thing he wants is to be responsible for more innocent bloodshed. Especially coming down on the heads of people also suffering from the strain of fighting in war. ]

Either. Your choice. [ Hell, he might even answer two. Depending on what she decides to ask initially. Bucky mumbles a respectful 'thank you' to the waitress, and draws his mug a little closer - opening a couple of sugar packets and dumping them in. ] Ain't nothing like a good cup of Joe.

[ could be over-analysis on her part. speculating about other peoples' stories was one way to keep herself going while she was paraded around new york in this or that dress. it stoked the incentive to protect the people around her, the people who couldn't help her. tough habit to break when the alternative is thinking about yourself.

both brows lift quizzically, since she had figuring she'd used up her one. her choice, huh? almost takes the edge off being stalked to a denny's. ]

How'd you find me? [ jess sips her coffee, fresh black mixed with the lukewarm leftovers of her last cup which contained cream. the bitterness cuts right through any lingering sweetness, a blunt jolt to the senses. ]

[ It could be. The real test is when she figures out who he is, underneath the scruff and dingy clothing. Under the not-so-fake homeless vet disguise. What she does what that information will tell him exactly what kind of person she is.

He takes a few sips of coffee, letting the warmth slide into his stomach. ]

Most phones of my acquaintance have GPS tracking of some sort. If you get the serial numbers for the unit, you can track it through cell towers. To a point.

[ Spy skills, bro. He's like a walking Swiss army knife. Sort of. ]

Mmm. Creepy. [ but efficient. must have one hell of a memory. but then she kind of knew that already.

jess sets her mug down and resettles with her elbows on either side of her plate. she picks up her fork and stabs one of the small round pancakes, and barely manages to ask before stuffing the whole thing in her mouth, ] Taking me up on my offer?

Probably. My social skills are pretty rusty. [ Creepy and efficient, that's not a bad description. It fits both his still-emerging personality and the lengths he'll go to once his mind is made up to do something.

Bucky stares at her choice of food for a moment, opting not to glance around and see if the waitress is bringing his food yet. ]

Something like that. How much do you charge?

Standard rate's $75 per hour, plus expenses. [ it applies to 99% of marks: missing people, faithless spouses, shady suits. low risk dot-connecting and photo ops. she can only cross one of those possibilities off, from what she knows of him at present. the bulk of muscle he's carrying around could just be for show or he might lead a dangerous life.

she watches him closely over the rim of her coffee cup, nonchalantly putting forward, ] There's a form -- if I decide to take the job. Need details first.

[ His eyebrow quirks up beneath the ballcap, mouthing 'seventy-five' like she just asked him to rob a bank. He just stares at her for a moment, both looking and feeling a little poleaxed, and then decides using stolen funds for this cause is worth it. Even with the exorbitant prices. ]

Tell me what expenses you tend to incur, first. If I'm paying that much to hire you, seems prudent to know what's involved.

[ And then the nice waitress arrives with his food, so Bucky is happy enough to settle down and devote some attention to stuffing his face while the ball is in Jessica's court. ]

[ times are what they are. he won't find anyone under $50 with a licence. below board, who knows. ]

Usual shit. Cab fare. Damages. [ she continues to dig into her plate at a steady pace. "damage" is synonymous with jessica and she typically waives those costs for clients. and then there's the people who just need help. malcolm talks her into more non-paying cases than she'd like and james has already given away that he's got the cash for the flat fee. the state of her dress might give him some hint as to the extravagance of her lifestyle. she hasn't replaced any of the limited wardrobe rent during the hunt for kilgrave though she couldn't avoid the laundromat any longer. ]

Did you Google my name while you were pin-pointing my serial number?

[ That's true. The economy isn't what it was ten or fifteen years ago. To be fair, though, it also isn't what it was during the Depression either.

He finishes about half his plate while deliberating on what to tell her. How much to give away in a public space. Or even a private one, he has no illusions about the reach of Hydra tech. But he has checked her out, which is what she seems to be getting at. He wouldn't be there otherwise. ]

I googled a lot of things. [ Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and makes a decision. If he has to trust someone other than Steve with this stuff, it might as well be a private investigator with a past. Because don't they all have one of those? ] My legal identity is a bit up in the air right now, but if that doesn't invalidate your agreement, then I'll sign it.

[ He shifts, reaching into his jacket and removing a wallet. From there he peels off several hundred dollar bills and sets them on the table. ]

Here's a retainer, if you decide to take me on. [ Deep breath. ] I want you to track down my family. Find out what happened to them.

i'm thinkin denny's

jessica jones.

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setting after the # thread if that's ok!

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