ā¹Ā The Man in PurpleĀ ā¹
Jessica remembered far more of that night than she would have wanted. Thankfully Clint made himself scarce after being launched into the hallway. The impact of him hitting the ground was enough to draw Malcolm out of his apartment, poking his head out from behind the door with visible confusion and concern in Jessicaās direction.
A cold, hardened glare met Malcolm as Clint began his retreat down the stairwell.
The look was a warning to Malcolm; not to ask, not to come near. Without entertaining the risk of further interactions, Jessica retreated back into her apartment. A low, shaky breath slid through her lips as she crumpled back against a wall, dropping her head into her hands. Shattered glass littered the floor. Her heart was still hammering as her mind raced in an attempt to decode what consequence that serious blunder would have. A sting of panicked tears blurred the surrounding office.
āCome now, youāre being more than a little dramatic, donāt you think?ā
A voice purred from the desk. He was there. Feet up, leaning back in her chair. Gloating at her. Tearful eyes held the image for a long moment.
No. Youāre not here. Youāre not real.
Pale hands clenched into fists at her sides. In an effort to block out the sight, Jessica shut her eyes.
By the time Jessica woke up, the world filtered back into focus with a painful clarity. Sheād only gotten one or two hours. The sun had long-since been up by the time sheād passed out asleep at her desk in front of her laptop. In an effort to focus on what she could control, sheād opted to try and look up āClintā. If he was a regular at any locations that would give a good idea on where Kilgrave was hiding out. Already, Jess was cursing herself that she didnāt have a last name to go off of. She hadnāt slipped a hand into his pocket to pilfer a wallet or nab an I.D. or anything. Sheād asked all the wrong questions when sheād had him in front of her.
The name brought up thousands of results in the first registry. Jessica groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She hadnāt even looked to see which direction heād gone after leaving her apartment the night before. After some weary consideration, Jessica elected to take another angle. The number of tabs open on her laptop was stifling.
There were fewer people under the name of Clint with criminal records, and so Jessica attempted to trawl through mugshot after mugshot with a coffee in hand that matched the colour of her mood.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Definitely not. Maybe a brother or something. Nope. Hah, now that guy actually looks like Danny Rand. Nope. Nope. Nope. Not even close. Ah, what the hell.
Jessica slumped back, blinking groggily at the screen.
Sheād lost count of the number of faces sheād looked at before something familiar came up.
Jessica squinted at the face.
The majority of the day was spent digging into the name. Clint Barton: sharpshooter, property owner, criminal record, divorced, Avenger. Jessica was particularly irritated by the latter. It seemed rather pertinent information for one supposedly set on helping to share. That, and now it seemed Kilgrave set his sights on sending more skilled individuals her way to do his dirty work.
If heās like a damned sniper, is he watching me now?
The thought was enough to keep Jessica on-edge.
The past week had been consumed by keeping tabs on the guy. Following him. Keeping track of his movements, his habits, everything. Frustratingly, Clint was giving her very little to go off. The guy lived an exceptionally boring life.
Jessica watched as he left his apartment again. A precursory glance at the watch made clear it wasnāt an unusual time for him to go out, but he didnāt have the dog with him this time. Neatly, Jessica dropped down onto the sidewalk before beginning to tail him at a distance. Knowing what she knew now, Clint was too much of a liability to leave unchecked.
