bakerstreet | (no subject)

[OTA for gen, F/M for shipping. Cast and non-cast welcome. Defenders compliant. 21+]

This was probably not how either of them wanted to die, hunkered down in a walk-in freezer. Even criminals like Ned Kelly got the dignity of a last stand, putting up a fight before going down. They wouldn't be so lucky. Matt didn't even have a shirt on. He looked like someone put him through a meat grinder and then tried to mummify him alive with his torso wrapped in bloodstained bandages that slithered down past the track pants.

When he sensed that the closest assailant was walking away from where they were hiding, he finally let go of Jessica's hand. Stumbling deeper into the darkness, Matt spooked himself as he backpedaled into a frozen carcass. Spinning around, he instinctively threw a punch and hurt his knuckles hitting the rock solid hanging slab of meat.

"Ah- shit." He reached up and held the swaying carcass steady. In any other circumstance they might have both found it funny. Hell one of them might have even made a 'who's drunk now?' kind of joke.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, turning his head towards his shoulder.

Jessica's whole life was 'in any other circumstance' and the notion of there being an appropriate time to be a sarcastic jerk had never really sunk in for her. Or if it had, she chose to ignore it because generally, being a jerk added a layer of a wall between her and others. Just the way she liked it. "You ever feel like giving up both your day jobs, you could get work as a meat tenderizer," she shot back at him, going over to the door to listen for herself. It wasn't exactly that she didn't trust his abilities, but they hadn't exactly had a heart to heart on how he did what he did, so...

"I'm not the one that looks like I just made out with a shredding machine, then decided to walk half naked into a freezer." Even as she said it, she was pulling off her coat and holding it out to him. She had more layers on than he did and being the literally stronger one, she felt she could handle the chill a bit better. Maybe. Besides, the last thing she needed was him complaining about losing a nipple to frostbite.

"Didn't know what it was," he retorted, rubbing out the redness in his knuckles. It'd been safer to take a swing at the outline in case it was someone trying to kill them. The creaking of a half-rusted hook as the carcass swayed only echoed throughout the freezer after he'd set it in motion.

"It's fine, you'll need it. They're locking the place down. We'll be here for a while." That and it wouldn't fit anyway. And he wanted her to make it out of this place alive and preferably well. And maybe he felt a bit guilty for their current predicament, even though she'd stepped in. She could have just- kept on drinking.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this."

He might not be able to see her roll her eyes, but surely he could hear it, along with the huff of exasperation before she stomped over to him, moving to swing the coat around his shoulders. No, it wouldn't fit him, but it would drape over him. Sort of. She stayed close as she did, trying not to look or touch at the marks all over his body, new and old. "Yes, because I'm so well known for being easily coerced into doing things I don't want to. Jessica the sheep, that's what they call me. Dumbass."

He must have looked ridiculous with a too-small jacket clinging desperately on to his shoulders. His lips pressed into a thin line before he lowered his head and breathed out a sigh, fogging up the air between them.

"Thank you." He didn't say it often. Accepted help even less often than that. But unlike the woman standing before him he wouldn't build defensive walls or let what could potentially be their last conversation be one filled with snark or vitriol.

"I thought I wouldn't meet you again." For a while there he thought he wouldn't meet anyone again.

"Yeah," she said, hand resting on his shoulder and giving it a careful squeeze, "I was pretty sure I was going to have to take you out of my fave five as well. Looks like we're stuck with each other for a little while longer."

Their breath steamed in the air, little wisps of smoke emanating off both of them as the freezer started to leech their body heat. She was more concerned about him than herself at the moment; what with him being half-dressed and still apparently recuperating from having a building dropped on him.

Idiot.

"Just let me know when I can make some noise. I'll get us out of here, one way or another. You still owe me a camera."

Fave five? That's as big of a compliment as he could probably hope to get from someone like Jessica. He'd gladly accept that with a small smile and a nod. The fact that she hadn't elbowed him in the face when he took her hand and ran through the building with her in tow was probably already a small blessing.

"You shouldn't have taken photos of me," he whisper-insisted as he gravitated over towards the least cold part of the room, furthest away from the cooler.

"We'll die the slowest in this corner." Probably not what she wanted to hear, but there was no real nice way of dressing it up.

"What kind of camera was it?" he asked when she followed him over.

"You were following me. You were blind. Then you turned into a goddamn gazelle. You sort of founded your own suspicion, buddy." She moved along with him, watching where he settled into place before starting to rub at her arms. She kept an eye on him, looking for the bright red of the start of frostbite, fighting off the urge to shiver.

"The expensive kind. There's not a lot I spend money on, but since good shots matter in my line of work, I thought the splurge worth it." It was the truth. The camera was what made her the money. It caught all the dirty, nasty truths that no one would believe if she told them. Had to be high quality so they could count the pimples on their cheating hubby's ass -- if they wanted to.

"I'm still blind. And what part of 'pro bono lawyer' sounds like 'printing money'? If I'm dead, all my assets will be frozen." God, he hated how she worked him up and made him bicker with her like a teenager, but he couldn't help it. She was so argumentative and caustic, sometimes it brought out the worst in him.

"I'll get you a new camera," he muttered as he turned his head away. He'd get on his knees and beg Danny Rand for forgiveness for making him think he died and ask for an interest-free loan afterwards if he had to. Seriously - they were hopelessly outnumbered by people with guns, knives and grenades milling around outside, and she was worried about her camera?

"You really should take your jacket back. You've still got a good chance of getting out of here." He'd offer to let her come closer so that all this body heat wasn't going to waste, but he didn't want her breaking any more of his bones.

"Uh huh. Yeah. Blind. Says the guy who hears neon. And I'm a virgin." She didn't really care about the camera. Not really. Sure, she could probably get herself another one. Credit cards were a thing and it would pay for itself in the long run. But bugging him? That was just sort of a bonus. The look of almost surprised outrage on his face that she was choosing now of all time to pick this fight was worth it.

The offer had her snorting at him, moving in and tucking the front as closed as it would get around the bulk of him. "Shut up. We're both getting out of here or neither of us are. I'm not los--... Just shut up. Idiot."

"I hear a lot of things." And she was most definitely not a virgin. And her sex life was most definitely a conversation he did not want to have - especially not at this very point in time. Instead he just bit down on his bottom lip, took a small leap of faith, and leaned over to slip his arms around her, undoing her small, unspoken gesture of concern with a hug he was half-expecting her to shove him away from.

She was the first of the group of people to have taken down The Hand that he had encountered after that clown fiesta with Elektra. His memories of everything that had happened in that building were spotty at best when said building came down on top of them. So much of what had happened was a blur. He thought he was sure he heard them get out safely, but he never really knew. Could never really know until he wrapped his senses and now his arms around Jessica Jones.

"I don't- remember much. But I'm glad you're okay." She didn't have to say it for him to know how relieved and angry and confused and frustrated she had been when she had first laid eyes on him.

She didn't want to do this with him. She didn't want to have found him, found that glimmer of hope that she hadn't lost just one more piece of her life, only to lose it in a fucking freezer. She especially didn't want him being sympathetic to the fact that she was having feelings over this shit, but when his arms went around her, she huffed out a steamy sigh and slid her arms in under the jacket, pulling him in so he could take a little of her body heat. "Do you remember that I think you're an asshole? Because you are."

It was muffled against him as she rested her cheek on his shoulder, hating that they couldn't seem to catch a break. "Use your super neon ears and let me know when the building's clear. I'll get us out of here."

"It's just your luck. Always meeting assholes." With Jessica, he was always mindful of what he thought she must have been through. Really if he was being honest, he had no idea, but he's seen the police reports since taking her case. It was easy to give her orders. Stop drinking. Answer your phone. Don't take dangerous cases. Look after the people you care for. Matt tried to show her that he cared about her without telling her what to do. She's spent the worst time of her life being told what to do. If another man never told her what to do ever again, it'd be too soon.

So while he's not walking on eggshells, he was always trying to gauge how she felt about things and whether she was just pretending to give a shit. And when it didn't seem like she didn't immediately shove him away because she was just trying to be polite, some of the tension eased off his shoulders.

He ran his hand up and down her upper arm, trying to keep her warm, bring her some comfort.

"They're getting closer, but I don't think they'll look in here." He'd protect her, and that was something he would do even if she didn't want him to. They both knew that.

"Well, assholes and Luke." Because like it or not, they both had to stop and realize that Luke Cage was a genuinely decent person. Matt was too, and she knew it, but they weren't anywhere near to dying for her to reveal that to him. Yet.

She felt the rub of his hands over her arms, knowing he was still trying to do that thing where he took care of everyone around him. "It's the Catholic thing, isn't it? This whole... shtick. This nice thing that has you putting everyone ahead of yourself and still taking on more than you can actually manage." A sigh. She didn't wait for an answer. "This is why I'll never be religious. Too much fucking effort."

That's right. The hero of Harlem. She never told Matt how they met. He was curious of course, but it wasn't his place to pry. The various media outlets had put all sorts of spin on Luke Cage, but having met him, Matt was inclined to agree he was a good man who would be more than welcomed at the pearly gates when his time came. A better Christian than someone like Matthew Murdock could ever hope to be.

"Heh." Matt lowered and shook his head. This sitting still business wasn't good for either of them. It was draining his energy - he could feel his field of senses slowly shrinking - but he could still clearly hear the footsteps upstairs. He knew they'd hear Jessica trying to open the heavy metal door and come running down straight for them. Making too much noise in this confined space wasn't much of an option either.

"It's a... decent human being thing. Anyone would- want to help." He's not known a time in his life where he wasn't Catholic - didn't know how differently his life would have turned out, or how differently he might treat other people. This one life was really all he had before he had the rest of eternal suffering to look forward to. He was fairly certain he wasn't going anywhere pleasant after this life with his self-destructive tendencies.

"I don't care-... what you think. I care about you. You're worth saving." He wrapped his arms around her a little tighter, running his cool hand down her cheek, trying to keep her warm. He's made so many mistakes pushing everyone away. He didn't want to see her go down that road.

"You've been talking to Trish too much." Trish was the only person she knew that genuinely cared about her, despite the many, many attempts to get her to stop. Well... there was Malcolm too, but Jessica felt a sort of sense of responsibility for him. She hadn't realized that it had been because she'd saved him that had made Kilgrave use him against her. It's why she hated trying. Everyone she tried to save wound up more fucked because of it.

And it was why she was going to make damn sure Matt got out of here. "Good thing I'm not a decent human being. Sometimes the world needs a bitch." Even with words like that, she was still rubbing her hands up and down along his back, trying to keep him warm, knowing that if it came to them freezing in here or her kicking the door down and getting them out of here, she'd risk a fight over watching him turn to a goddamn ice cube.

He hadn't yet met Trish and he didn't listen to the radio often, but it was good to know Jessica had someone who cared. He'd have liked to meet her, but there were so many things he'd miss out on if he survived getting buried under rubble and dust only to die here. He'd be the last person to complain he was tired, but his movements were so sluggish, and occasionally everything would plunge into a disconcerting kind of blackness as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

"Bitches don't give away their jackets," he tried to joke. Having run out of energy and reassuring words to say, he brushed dry lips over her forehead. If he could help alleviate her loneliness in any way, she wouldn't even have to ask. If she would ever rather spend the night talking to someone like him rather than the bottom of an empty glass on a clear crisp night, he would be there for her in a heartbeat.

But maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

"They're going upstairs in two minutes," he murmured, listening to the retreating footsteps doing one last sweep of the floor before he refocused on the slow, light thumping of her heartbeat. It'd be the longest two minutes of his life. He was so tired of losing, he'd have liked to hang in there and make it out without another injury for once. His fingers twitched against her forearms as he rested his heavy head against the wall and his breathing pace evened out. He just needed to close his eyes and shut all his senses off for two minutes. Two minutes and they could get out of here. Get her a replacement camera. Have a chat over some drinks about- drinking or Mr. Cage, private investigating or law, faith or anything they wanted. Everything could go back to normal.

"Bitches do whatever we want. We don't need to explain ourselves." Just like how she wasn't clarifying why she wasn't pushing him away. Her arms were around him, her body starting to sway from side to side in an attempt to keep moving a little. He was worse off than she was, and she drew back to look at him, seeing the white rime of frost already starting to setting in his hair.

"You just concentrate on staying awake. Listen to them. I'm getting us out of here, Matt. I'll do it now if I have to."

If he had the energy to tell her that she was her own person and she could do whatever she wanted without feeling compelled to explain herself, he would. She didn't need to be a bitch to do her own thing. He'd tell her all the reassuring things that nobody else would ever dare to say to someone with such a barbed exterior. For all the lip she gave him, she hadn't yet shoved him away. She wore her fuck-you attitude the way he wore his outfit - it made them feel a little less broken, a little more bulletproof. He'd be the last person to want to take that away from her.

When Matt ended up not saying anything at all, it wasn't immediately obvious if he hadn't sensed they were gone yet or if he'd drifted off already and hadn't heard anything she said.

"Matt," she hissed, drawing back to look at him, shaking him a bit as she started to brush her hands more briskly over him. "Come on, you asshole. Wake up. We need to get out of here. Just... god. You goddamn well better stay alive or I swear to Christ I'll fucking kill you." Panic started to settle in; not for herself, but for the body she was holding against her. She couldn't lose someone else. Not someone who was relying on her to keep them safe -- even if he'd argue that was the case.

Some combination of the touching, the shaking and the verbal insults seemed to work. It was probably the shaking. It disoriented him and made everything else around him shake, and after what felt like an earthquake in the safety of his own home he wasn't very fond of the shaking. Seemed like a bitch couldn't even let him slip away quietly in peace.

He groaned softly and canted his head to the side, listening to the retreating footsteps before giving her a few small nods. Fortunately or unfortunately it wasn't his time just yet, although he was definitely relieved to at least know that she'd be getting out fine.

"Goddammit," she hissed at him, bending to try to scoop him up over her shoulders. She'd carry him in a fireman's hold, keeping his feet up off the floor to stop it from leeching anymore heat from him, then stomping over to the freezer door. It was, of course, locked, but she wasn't going to let a bunch of metal stop her. Her foot came up and she gave the door a good hard stomp. Then another. And another. The metal dented, but didn't give. Not yet. She had to find that sweet spot, that place just where the lock was on the other side to put enough force on it to break it. "Stay awake, Matt. I need to be annoyed to do this. Tell me something annoying, like that I need to stop drinking."

Oh, this was terrible. It was one thing to be flipping around or navigating rooftops, but being suspended upside-down on top of the shaking and the side effects of whatever meds he'd been given was starting to make him nauseous. It was just as well she was focused on the door than Matt being too exhausted and confused to flail like an unwilling virgin being kidnapped and dragged to her wedding.

"I like you," he heard himself say, ice-cold fingers curling into her shirt. If Elektra hadn't had him thinking with his other head from the moment he made her shape out from the other indistinguishable red bumps around him, he might have come to terms with it sooner. He could count on one hand the number of people who knew about Matt Murdock's past, what motivated him to do what he did now both as a lawyer and as a vigilante, and accepted that he just had to do what he did without trying to tell him they knew better.

"I like you but I don't want to do anything about it." Because, like her, he was afraid of people close to him getting hurt in ways that made him feel helpless. And selfishly, he'd rather she come to his funeral than forcing himself to go to another one. Technically she might have already been to his. He wasn't sure what happened to the survivors after the explosion.

Jessica almost stopped kicking for a minute, hearing something she hadn't expected. And maybe something that she wasn't sure she wanted to hear. Real things, things with feelings... she didn't do well with them. She'd walled herself up for so long, actually trying to be there for someone, to care, it felt like something she wasn't capable of. Trish would argue that, but Trish was also biased where Jessica Jones came into play, and Jess wished her friend could see that.

But it had the added affect of pissing her off, because it sounded like an attempt at a death bed confession. "Good. Half-dead blind lawyers aren't really an attractive prospect. Especially Catholic ones." Another boot to the door and there was a screeching scream of twisting, snapping metal. She'd been kicking at the wrong side, breaking off the hinges instead of the lock. Whoops. Whatever. Another solid boot had the door flying out of the way, and she stepped through it, trying to keep him as stable as she could while making for the underground exit that led to an alley-level delivery bay.

Jessica Jones | Netflix's Marvel

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