#aliasiing

“Nonsense, everyone should dance to this song at least once in their life.”

Trish is smiling, mostly because the stranger is getting up to follow her to the dancefloor anyway. It is not a common thing, asking a gal to dance, at least in this decade, but everyone is already accustomed to Trish.  Everyone knows that she does not turn boys away when they ask her to dance, but they also know that she always prefers to dance with girls.

The dark-haired broody woman catches her attention immediately, from the moment she walks through the door, and Trish does not take her eyes off of her since.

“Besides, it’s not swing, so it’s really easy to follow.” She does not mind teaching her swing, either, but mostly wants to set her hands around the other’s neck.

Once they make their way into the crowd, the light is dimmed and everyone is swaying in tune with Moonlight Serenade, slowly, lost in their partners and music too.

She growls when her palm is directed to a throat. Her eyes flinch, but her fingers immediately grasp around pale skin, immediately listen when she’s demanded of it. Her fingers twitch and squeeze and she feels a sense of warm, delightful satisfaction that pangs to the very centerpiece of her whole body. Her mouth flicks up to bare teeth-- small and sharp, and she keeps pressing to lean up and nudge a nose into hair the way an animal grazes and learns.

She slams the wall beside the other’s head with her fist-- so hard it cracks plaster and drywall open, so hard her chest is heaving and she can feel the rush of her blood inside her where it moves from its usually stagnant stillness. She growls. Her hand never moves from that throat.

“Jess--” Speech returns itself to her in slow parts-- she can feel the more distinctly animal nature of herself speak to inform the rest of her. She slides across a nose to hover there-- pulls her fist from where she’s marked the wall with the force, “--Yeah?”

    Jesus Christ, does she ever. Lynn nods without a second thought, ignoring that her cellphone’s screen read 2:23 p.m. The saying goes it’s five o’clock somewhere, but she truly doesn’t give a shit what time it is. 

❝  i  had  a  dream  last  night  and  you  were  in  it.  ❞  hardly  true      /      fabricated  fiction  from  an  disillusioned  heart.  only  having  seen  her  once      (      today  ,  actually.      )      possibilities  of  said  statement  quite  the  LIE  but  what  a  conversation  starter  should  it  be  of  any  interest.  ❝  jessica  ,  right  ?  ❞  to  see  someone  once  was  just  enough  for  xara  but  give  her  TWICE  and  she'll  know  your  favourite  movie  !

“That’s HARDLY true.”

Eyes roll, stretched out on the couch, glaring at her computer. Ankles crossed. She’s completely casual, hair up in some messy up-do, slightly too-big flannel shirt and boy shorts. It’s a weirdly DOMESTIC sight for her.

“If anyone’s the KING here – it’s you.” There’s a pause, maybe it’s more thoughtful than uncertain. “I mean – YOU where always pushing me to do things, to be a –” Linger, falter, she’s STUMBLES over the word, don’t you know she still struggles to say it? “– HERO. I would have never BEEN one without you, you know?”

She shifts slightly, adjusts and looks at Trish over her laptop.

“Trust me – it’s the other way around.”

Trish, meanwhile, is fresh off a post-run SHOWER, standing between the living room and kitchen wrapped in a towel. She’s not really sure what inspires the bit of honest, verbal AFFECTION, but she’s sticking by it. Like she always does. Because it’s 100% true.

“I don’t know about that,” she says, thoughtfully, hand to chin. “That big ol’ caring heart you’ve got hidden under all your leather didn’t start with me.”

Crossing the room, Trish deftly plucks the laptop from Jessica’s hands and sets it down on the coffee table-- puts herself in its place across the brunette’s lap. The towel rides up, exposing her from the waist down as she sits astride her wife.

“You SAVED me, and I feel like I’ve been pretty steadfastly doing everything I can for you ever since. Pledged FEALTY or something like that.”

and so, she finds herself before a door in a shitty apartment building, her hand hovering over the lettering on the glass.

                                                 ALIAS INVESTIGATIONS

she knocks.

                  “Jones? Jessica Jones? It’s business knocking.”

Here, not a soul knows who he is, nor what he’s done.

He shudders and shakes in the cold, rainy air, pulling his coat around him tighter tighter, trying desperately to find warmth, but the cold is so so deep within his bones, the world still so so dark despite how his eyes have adjusted to the light of our world.

When he stumbles into the building, his coat is soaked all the way through, and he shakes violently as he takes the elevator up, the stink of piss and marijuana thick in the air of it. When he arrives on his floor, he stumbles all the way down the hall, hardly aware of his surroundings barely noticing if anyone is even there.

Arriving at his door, he pulls out his key and begins fumbling with his key and the lock, and after several tries, he becomes convinced that he must have the wrong key, and begins searching through the ring again. He feels a pang of sadness as he passes every Hawkins Lab key, worn and covered in grime from the years of disuse.

As he searches for the key, hovering suspiciously over the lock, he fails to notice that the door before him is one that reads ALIAS INVESTIGATIONS.

Trish can barely focus the entire night. Events like these required her full attention. Smiling, exchanging pleasantries, all the other crap that were anxiety-inducing and downright exhausting. This is why Jessica is there. She has been there for every single one of these events, since the moment Trish was old enough to bring her own plus one. Sometimes, Jess is simply stalking the waiters to score the best whiskey in the house and lets Trish to fend for herself; but Trish draws comfort simply from having Jessica there.

But tonight... that red pantsuit catches her eye more than anything else, and her eyes follow Jess over the glass of her alcohol-free cocktail wherever she goes. 

She laughs when Jess is complaining about the people there; the comments getting more creative with every glass of whiskey, and Trish cannot help feeling flushed when once Jess comes close enough that she can feel the faint scent of her shampoo mixed with whiskey and just a tiny bit of mint.

Their company excuse themselves to go and get more sushi, and Trish turns around to look at Jess just in time to see that look on her face. Heart beating just a little faster as she leans into the kiss on the cheek, closing her eyes for a split second before realizing where they are. She does not move away though, grins just the same, and whispers back.