Two weeks later
Jessica Drew was easier to track than I expected.
She had a routine—patrol in the evenings, report to SHIELD in the mornings, and spend her afternoons at a small café in Hell's Kitchen. That's where I arranged our "accidental" meeting.
I walked into the café with my laptop, playing the role of a businessman seeking quiet workspace. Jessica was in her usual corner, nursing a coffee and reviewing files on her tablet.
I ordered my drink and, as if noticing a lack of seating, approached her table.
"Excuse me," I said politely, "would you mind if I share your table? Everywhere else is full."
She looked up, her expression wary but not hostile. "Sure. Go ahead."
I sat, opening my laptop but not actually working. Instead, I let my presence settle, making sure not to seem threatening. After a few minutes, I spoke again.
"Sorry to bother you, but you look familiar. Have we met before?"
"I don't think so," she replied, though her eyes studied me carefully. Recognition flickered—she knew who I was from SHIELD's investigation.
"Marcus Cole," I introduced myself, extending my hand.
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then shook it. "Jessica Drew."
The moment our hands touched, I brushed against her mind gently—not pushing, not controlling, just reading. What I found surprised me.
Jessica Drew was lonely. Deeply, profoundly lonely. She'd been betrayed by SHIELD, by Hydra, by everyone she'd ever trusted. She went through the motions of being an agent, but inside, she was hollow. Looking for something real, something genuine.
I pulled back before she could notice, but I'd seen enough.
"Nice to meet you, Jessica." I released her hand. "You work around here?"
"Freelance investigator," she lied smoothly. "You?"
"Investments. Boring stuff mostly." I smiled self-deprecatingly. "I come here to escape the office."
We chatted casually for the next twenty minutes—surface level stuff, nothing important. But I made sure to be genuine, to show interest in her as a person, not as a target. When I left, I made sure to say, "Maybe I'll see you here again sometime."
"Maybe," she replied, and I caught the hint of genuine interest in her voice.
Phase one complete.
Over the next month, I "accidentally" ran into Jessica six more times.
Each time, we talked a little longer. I learned about her love of coffee, her frustration with her work, her complicated feelings about relationships. She learned that I was intelligent, funny, and seemingly harmless—just a businessman with too much time on his hands.
I never pushed into her mind again. Never manipulated. I just… was myself. And slowly, she started to trust me.
On our seventh meeting, she asked, "Are you following me?"
"What? No. Why would you think that?"
"Because we keep running into each other. Either you're following me, or you have the same terrible taste in coffee shops that I do."
I laughed. "Definitely the latter. This place has the best espresso in the city."
"It really doesn't," she said with a smile. "But I keep coming back anyway."
"Same." I paused. "Although I'll admit, the company has gotten significantly better."
She blushed slightly—actually blushed—and I knew I'd made progress.
"Listen," I said, "I know this might be forward, but would you want to have dinner sometime? Somewhere that's not a mediocre coffee shop?"
She studied me for a long moment. "Are you asking me on a date, Marcus Cole?"
"I am. Unless you're going to tell me you're secretly a spy investigating me for a government agency, in which case this would be really awkward."
She laughed—a genuine sound that transformed her face. "No secret spy missions. Just dinner."
"Just dinner," I agreed.
"Okay then. Friday?"
"Friday works."
As I left the café, I allowed myself a small smile. Jessica Drew didn't know it yet, but she'd just taken the first step toward joining my team.
Not because I'd forced her. Not because I'd manipulated her.
Because she'd chosen to.
—Friday Night
I took Jessica to a nice restaurant in Manhattan—upscale but not pretentious, the kind of place where you could have a real conversation.
She wore a simple black dress that showed off her athletic figure, her hair down for once instead of pulled back. She looked beautiful, and I told her so.
"You're not so bad yourself," she replied with a smile.
Dinner was easy. We talked about everything—books, movies, travel, life in New York. I was careful to be honest about everything that didn't involve my powers or criminal activities. She was guarded at first, but gradually opened up.
"Can I ask you something?" she said over dessert.
"Anything."
"Why me? You're wealthy, attractive, presumably you could date anyone. So why ask out a freelance investigator with trust issues?"
I met her eyes. "Because you're real. Everyone I meet in my usual circles is playing an angle, looking for something. But you're just… yourself. I like that."
"You don't know me that well."
"True. But I'd like to. If you'll let me."
She was quiet for a moment, something vulnerable in her expression. "I should probably tell you something. I'm not great at relationships. I have… a complicated past. Trust doesn't come easily for me."
"I'm patient," I said. "And I'm not going anywhere."
"Why do I feel like you mean that?"
"Because I do."
She smiled then, reaching across the table to take my hand. "Okay. Let's see where this goes."
When I walked her home that night, she kissed me on her doorstep—soft and sweet, not demanding anything more. Just a promise of possibility.
"Thank you for tonight," she said.
"Thank you for giving me a chance."
As I walked away, I felt her watching me. She was still suspicious—her SHIELD training wouldn't let her be otherwise—but she was also interested. The walls were coming down slowly.
And when they finally fell completely, I'd be there to catch her.