Jessica Jones woke up slowly.
She grabbed the glass of water on the nightstand and downed it in one go. She was dangerously dehydrated.
Her hand brushed the empty space beside her on the bed. A pang of disappointment hit her, followed quickly by reality. Vincent was a high school student. It was Monday.
Damn.
She fell back onto the pillows, exhaustion washing over her.
She had given up resisting. Vincent had saved her from her living nightmare. He was the only one who knew her deepest trauma, and now, likely the only one who knew his secret identity.
The Ice Demon.
With her detective instincts, it wasn't hard to connect the dots. Vincent moves into Hell's Kitchen. The Triad is wiped out. An Ice-user targets the men who killed Vincent's parents.
But Jessica wasn't a girl scout. She didn't care about the law. She just wanted her chaotic life to stabilize.
"One step at a time," she murmured.
Being with him... felt easy. No pressure. No expectations. Just pure, unadulterated relief.
She glanced at the nightstand.
A stack of cash.
Jessica rolled her eyes. What is this? Prostitution money?
Then she saw the three notes.
"Gone to school."
"My new address in Long Island."
"Money for the bed."
Jessica's face flushed red.
She looked at the corner of the room. The mattress was destroyed. The frame was cracked. The sheets were... a lost cause.
"God, he's a monster," she whispered, a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction curling her toes.
She got dressed, walking with a distinct waddle. Her super-durability usually handled anything, but last night had pushed her limits.
She pocketed the notes and some of the cash—rent was due, after all—and left the hotel.
Midtown High. Dismissal.
"Gwen, do you want to come to the Long Island estate?" Vincent whispered.
Gwen ignored him during class, but now she paused.
"Are you abandoning your penthouse? Are you renting it out?" she asked, eyes hopeful.
Vincent smirked. "Have you considered that if you sleep over at my penthouse, your dad might kick down the door with a SWAT team? We're neighbors, remember?"
Gwen turned bright red.
"Who said anything about sleeping over? You perv!"
She walked ahead quickly, then glanced back, rolling her eyes. "Go home. That Long Island place is huge. Don't get lost."
She was worried. If he was too far away, she couldn't save him if trouble struck.
I need to finish my suit tonight, Gwen thought. If he's a mystery writer, I can't let him out-mystery me.
She had been connecting the dots.
A $44 million payout. A young, male author. A book that everyone was talking about but no one knew the writer of.
Warner Bros had just bought the rights to Fifty Shades. The news was everywhere.
Gwen's eyes widened.
No. It can't be.
But the math worked.
Vincent watched her walk away, checking the System notifications.
[Desire (Romance): +1,200]
[Desire (Curiosity): +1,800]
She's figuring it out, Vincent chuckled. Good. A secret discovered is more exciting than a secret told.
He drove back to Long Island.
Jessica had texted him: Taking a few days off. Don't come over. I need to walk properly again.
Vincent grinned. I need to roll for a Constitution reward next time.
As he pulled up to the gate of his new estate, his smile faded.
A black Ford SUV was parked in his driveway.
Leaning against it was a man in a cheap suit with a receding hairline and a disarming smile.
Vincent sighed. SHIELD.
He had underestimated them. Handing the photo to Madame Gao was the breadcrumb trail. A good agent could trace the motive back to him instantly.
Revenge. Triad. Ice.
But maybe this wasn't bad. In the Marvel Universe, being known by the big players was inevitable.
"Mr. Hall. I'm a big fan of your work," Phil Coulson said, holding up a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. "Would you sign it for me?"
Vincent stepped out of the car. He ignored the book.
He looked past Coulson, up into the tree line of the surrounding woods.
"Hawkeye. Clint Barton."
Coulson's smile froze for a fraction of a second.
Up in the tree, three hundred yards away, Clint Barton lowered his bow slightly, swearing under his breath. How did he see me?
Vincent's enhanced senses—boosted by Hydro-Kinesis detecting the water in Clint's body—made stealth useless against him.
"You know us," Coulson said, dropping the act. "Then you know why we're here."
"I don't care about SHIELD," Vincent said dismissively, walking past him. "If you try to control my life, you'll find out why they call it the Ice Age."
He stopped at the gate keypad.
"And don't try to threaten me. I don't respond well to authority."
Coulson turned. "Mr. Hall. Aren't you going to listen to our offer?"
"The things I need, SHIELD can't provide," Vincent replied without looking back. "And if you're here to play savior, save it for the Avengers initiative."
He punched in the code. The gates opened.
"And Coulson?"
Vincent glanced over his shoulder, his eyes cold.
"Tell Fury to stay off my lawn."