Jessica leaned back, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She eyed Max warily. "You seriously haven't lost it, right?"
Max grinned. "I'm not kidding, Jessica." He dropped his playful mask, his demeanor shifting.
He glanced around, then fixed his eyes back on her. "Jessica, you might've tried to hide it, but in the last fight, you were overwhelming. Your strength is... extraordinary."
"You're overthinking—"
"Don't lie, Jess!" Before Jessica could casually brush him off, Max intervened sharply. "You clearly held back that day."
He shook his head, leaning back. "Jess, I could offer you other jobs, but that's not your talent. And let's be honest—I doubt you'd enjoy a set routine."
He looked her in the eye, continuing, "You're kind of adventurous. Even if you deny it, you'd never go for some repetitive, boring office job. Given your strength, it wouldn't even be tedious to be my bodyguard, right?"
Jessica hesitated, her words stuttering. "I'm not that strong."
Max stayed silent, but his eyes still smiled in that annoyingly knowing way, like he already saw the truth she refused to show.
Jessica, finding no easy escape, sighed deeply and asked, "How did you figure out?"
Max grinned, but refused to answer. How could he explain that he'd watched her series, read the comics, and memorized her every appearance?
Jessica Jones, as a Marvel character, had enough potential to be a mainstream hero. Kilgrave managed to leave a scar just when she was beginning her journey as a heroine.
That scar held her back; her PTSD, her guilt, her emotional turmoil left a powerhouse like her stuck in a dark corner of the world, doubting herself.
And yet, even through the pain, she helped others when it mattered. She fought through her own condition while saving lives.
Max wanted her on his side now, before she ever thought of becoming a hero again. When Kilgrave was still a distant shadow and she was still hiding behind excuses.
He rubbed his chin, thinking about her powers. In the comics and even in the series, Jessica's strength was remarkable.
Her durability; in the comics, she endured blasts from Vision and Iron Man. She even had flying abilities, which in the MCU were nerfed into super jumps.
Still, she could pack a punch when needed.
If only she tried, she might surpass even peak human heroes like Captain America by a significant leap.
Captain America wasn't a genius, but he had peak everything: strength, agility, endurance, a mind for tactics. That balance made him dangerous.
And yet, someone like Jessica, if trained well, could exceed him in sheer force and hold her own.
Max eyed her with a gleam. If he could coax her, convince her, he might have a superhuman on his side, maybe even someone better than Captain.
'Maybe,' he thought, 'I should recruit the other street heroes too.'
While his thoughts wandered, Jessica hesitantly replied, "I don't know if I can do a great job. I'm not the best at controlling my strength in delicate matters. You've seen how many broken tables and chairs that poor café went through."
Max nodded absentmindedly, clearly not taking her concern seriously.
Jessica rolled her eyes, then continued, "You don't even know my limit. And how can you just throw around offers like that…"
As she continued making excuses, Max finally had enough. He rebuked, "Jess, what's the problem? If you explain, I'll understand. But stop with these excuses."
Jessica bit her lip, chewing the inside of her cheek in frustration. "Max, you don't understand."
"How would I—if you won't speak?"
In a sudden burst of emotion, she snapped, "I don't want people to think I'm a mutant."
Jessica froze, eyes wide. She clapped her hand over her mouth, the words hanging between them like a secret unspoken too long.
She darted her eyes around the room and sighed in relief upon finding Aunt Grey was still out.
Max, on the other hand, was stunned. Flabbergasted at her outburst.
He uttered a shaky chuckle. "Why would anyone think you're a mutant? There are no mutants in this world…" His words trailed off, muttering to silence at the end.
He stared ahead, frozen as something struck his thoughts. Lips parted, his breathing uneven. Opening and closing, trying to speak but no words came out.
Jessica watched him carefully, suddenly wary of his condition.
His face was pale, his throat dry, his body unmoving.
Max swallowed, then asked slowly, cautiously, as if afraid her answer might shatter the reality he clung to, "Where have you heard about mutants?"
Jessica furrowed her brows. "What are you talking about? You don't know mutants? Even if you lived under a rock, there's no way you've never heard of them."
She frowned at his speechless expression. "Everyone knows. They live among us. People whisper about them. The news acknowledged them after their supposed terrorist leader threatened the world multiple times. Where have you been?"
Max's throat tightened. His face lost all color. Jessica's words hit him like a punch to the gut.
He'd never even heard rumors of mutants, sure. But for even news networks to casually acknowledge their existence?
Most importantly, how could he miss even news channels!
That was beyond anything he was prepared for. How had he never heard anything?
Jessica, noticing his deteriorating state, grew concerned. She leaned forward, her fingers brushing his brow.
"Are you okay? You're burning," she exclaimed, startled by the heat of Max's forehead.
Max stood abruptly. "I'll meet you later. Think about my offer," he said quickly.
Without waiting for her response, Max bolted from the café, leaving Jessica stunned and unmoving in her seat.
But even then, she still heard his muttering as he left.
"What does he mean by 'how could they appear here'? He seemed afraid of something…"
Jessica shook her head, concern weighing on her expression.
"I hope he's not in some kind of trouble…"
…
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