"Let's go grab something to eat."
Jessica walked out of the abandoned warehouse, saying without looking back.
Her voice carried a hint of post-battle fatigue.
But more than that, it was a familiar indifference.
"Uh, okay, Ms. Jones, what would you like to eat? My treat."
William quickly caught up.
He tried to show his "considerate" and "financially capable" side.
After all, a potential big client needed premium service.
Jessica didn't answer.
She walked straight in one direction.
William could only follow her closely.
In his mind, he quickly calculated this "client's" preferences and spending habits.
Hell's Kitchen at night was still a blaze of lights and revelry.
The air was filled with the charred aroma of roasted meat, the sour smell of cheap beer.
And a faint, but now clearly discernible, scent of blood that William could distinguish.
Jessica, familiar with the area, led William to a food truck on a street corner.
The rich aroma of hot dogs mixed with the sweet and pungent smell of fried onions was especially enticing in the cool night breeze.
"Two full meals, extra pickles."
She casually pulled a few crumpled banknotes from the thug's wallet and handed them to the vendor.
William watched from the side, marveling once again at this "client's" unconventionality and… efficiency.
This was probably the law of survival in Hell's Kitchen.
The strong prey on the weak.
Simple and brutal.
Even the late-night snack carried the taste of "spoils."
Soon, two steaming, generously portioned hot dogs were handed to them.
Jessica found a relatively clean concrete step on the street and sat down directly.
She took a big bite, completely unconcerned.
William sat down, imitating her.
The hot dog tasted unexpectedly good.
Perhaps he was hungry.
Perhaps the recent experience was too stimulating.
William felt this was the most delicious and most "real" meal he had eaten since he transmigrated.
Every bite.
It was as if Hell's Kitchen was giving his taste buds a baptism.
"Ms. Jones, about that Daredevil Mr. just now…"
William had just begun to try and subtly gather more information about high-risk individuals when Jessica immediately cut him off.
"Back to my office."
She finished her hot dog in a few bites, crumpled the wrapper into a ball, and accurately tossed it into a nearby trash can.
"Let's have a drink."
William was stunned.
Have a drink?
Was this… an invitation?
He looked at Jessica's retreating back.
Her Shadow stretched long under the streetlights.
Quickly gobbling down the rest of his hot dog, William hurried to catch up.
The sign for Alias Investigations was still crooked.
The room was still a mess.
Files, empty wine bottles, and fast-food containers were everywhere.
The only tidy thing was probably the old computer on the desk.
Jessica seemed completely unfazed by it all.
She walked straight behind the desk.
She took out a bottle of whiskey with a worn label and two slightly dusty, but otherwise intact, glass cups from a drawer.
She casually wiped the rims of the cups with her sleeve.
She poured about half a cup of amber liquid into each glass.
Then she pushed one of them towards William.
"Here."
"Thank you."
He picked up the glass and took a symbolic sip.
The spicy liquid slid down his throat, bringing a burning sensation and diluting some of the strange smells in the air.
Jessica, on the other hand, tilted her head back and took a big gulp.
Her Adam's apple bobbed, and a look almost of relief appeared on her face.
As if the alcohol could temporarily numb her tense nerves.
"That guy in red, do you know him?"
"No, it's my first time seeing him too."
Jessica scoffed, a hint of complex emotion, difficult to discern, in her eyes.
Perhaps it was mockery, or perhaps something else.
"Hell's Kitchen is never short of guys who can't sleep at night and like to meddle."
She poured herself another drink.
"Some guys think they can save the World just by putting on a bodysuit."
"What about you, Ms. Jones? Do you also… like to meddle?"
William cautiously probed.
He tried to decipher her attitude towards such "heroes" from her evaluation of Daredevil.
"I just do it for the money."
Her tone was cold.
"And I never wear bodysuits."
William, sensing the mood, didn't press further.
He just nodded, indicating understanding.
The atmosphere became silent for a moment.
Only the sound of Jessica drinking cup after cup, and the occasional sirens and drunken shouts from outside the window, could be heard.
"Call me Jessica from now on."
"Okay, Ms. Jones."
"Hm?"
"Okay, Jessica…"
William silently observed her.
Alcohol didn't seem to make her more talkative; instead, it made her more silent.
Her entire being was enveloped in a thick layer of loneliness and fatigue.
He suddenly felt.
This seemingly strong woman, full of thorns, might be more fragile and carry more burdens deep down than anyone else.
He didn't know how much time had passed.
Three empty wine bottles were laid out in front of Jessica.
Her eyes also began to appear hazy.
She seemed to want to say something.
Her lips moved.
But in the end, she only let out an unintelligible murmur.
Then.
Her head thumped heavily onto the desk, making a dull sound.
"Jessica?"
William tentatively called out.
No response.
She had fallen asleep, her head resting on her arm.
Her breathing was even, carrying a strong smell of alcohol.
William looked at her helplessly.
Her alcohol tolerance was truly… astonishing.
But her behavior when drunk didn't seem bad; at least she didn't act crazy.
After a few seconds of hesitation.
William stood up and walked over to Jessica.
Professionalism took over.
He carefully picked Jessica up in his arms and walked towards the inner bedroom.
The bedroom door was ajar.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder.
The expected mess.
The blankets on the bed were haphazardly piled up.
Clothes were scattered on the floor.
The air was filled with a stronger scent of her.
William tried his best not to look around.
He gently placed Jessica on the bed and pulled the relatively clean blanket over her.
Throughout the entire process.
Jessica slept soundly.
Only occasionally did she let out one or two indistinct mumbles in her sleep.
Having done all this, William quietly exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
He returned to the outer office, looking at the messy desk, and sighed softly.
Ms. Jones really needed comprehensive home service insurance.
He picked up his briefcase, took one last look at the closed bedroom door, and turned to leave "Alias Investigations"… The next morning, the Sun streamed through the gaps in the blinds, casting dappled light on Jessica Jones's face.
A sharp, piercing pain pulsed through her hungover head.
It was like an entire construction crew was having a wild party inside her skull.
She groaned and reluctantly opened her eyes.
The first thing she saw was the familiar ceiling.
She moved her body and realized she was lying in bed, covered by a blanket.
Hmm?
Jessica sat up abruptly.
This action tugged at her hungover nerves, causing another wave of dizziness.
She remembered last night… drinking with that glib guy in the office.
And then… it seemed like she had blacked out first?
What happened after that?
She tried hard to recall.
The fragments of memory were a bit blurry.
She seemed to have drunk too much, and then… did that insurance kid put her to bed?
Jessica frowned.
She quickly checked her clothes.
Her jeans and leather jacket were still on her, intact.
Just a bit more wrinkled.
That guy… just moved her to bed and covered her with a blanket… and then left?
Jessica leaned against the headboard, rubbing her throbbing temples.
Her expression was a bit strange.
This wasn't like something the men she knew would do.
Especially in a place like Hell's Kitchen.
A drunken woman.
Usually meant trouble or… an opportunity.
That insurance salesman named William Rodriguez seemed… a little more decent than she had imagined?
Jessica curled her lips in a self-mocking smile, her eyes complex.
Who cares.
At least she was safely in her own bed now, and not next to a trash can in some alley.
Now, she needed a cup of coffee.
Or, more directly.
A glass of whiskey.