In the corridor, there was only the intermittent scuffing sound of William's leather soles dragging on the floor.
Jessica grabbed him by the collar.
It was like she was holding a bag of worthless potatoes.
That irresistible force made him realize that any struggle would only deplete his dwindling dignity.
He could even imagine the look the female Agent in the room behind him was giving all of this.
Those hawk-like eyes.
They had probably quantified his relationship with Jessica, their power disparity, and his potential threat level into a detailed report, ready to be uploaded to a secure S.H.I.E.L.D. server.
"Click."
It was the sound of William's own apartment door unlocking.
Jessica released her hand.
William stumbled, nearly kneeling on his own doormat.
Jessica ignored him, walking straight in as if she were inspecting her own territory.
She didn't turn on the light.
Moonlight streamed in through the gap in the unclosed curtains, casting stark silver edges on her.
She walked to the liquor cabinet and skillfully rummaged through it, glass bottles clinking crisply.
The sound was particularly jarring in the silent room.
William leaned against the wall, watching her back.
This woman exuded an aura of "keep away" and "I'm very displeased."
He wanted to explain, but the words caught in his throat and he swallowed them back down.
Explain what?
Say that he and Barbara were just simple neighbors?
Given that scene, no one would believe him.
Say Barbara was his new client?
That lie had more holes than Hell's Kitchen's sewers.
He felt like a pathetic herbivore caught between two prehistoric beasts; no matter which way he ran, he'd be swallowed whole.
Jessica finally found what she was looking for: a bottle of whiskey.
She didn't even bother to find a glass, twisting off the cap and taking a large swig directly from the bottle.
The pungent smell of alcohol instantly filled the air.
"So," she finally spoke, her voice somewhat hoarse from the alcohol, but still cold, "neighbors?"
William's brain worked rapidly, weighing the pros and cons.
Lies would only make things worse. Jessica wasn't stupid; she was a top-tier private investigator who made her living by exposing lies.
Lying to her was like playing with fire in front of a bomb expert.
He took a deep breath.
As if making a difficult decision.
William, slowly straightening up, no longer looked like a cowering surrenderer.
"Jessica."
He looked at her, his gaze more serious than ever.
Jessica took another drink, tilted her head, and gestured with her eyes for him to continue.
"That woman, Barbara Miller."
William spoke slowly, enunciating each word. His voice wasn't loud, but it was crystal clear in the silent room.
"She's not some 'neighbor.'"
He paused, observing Jessica's expression.
Her face remained unchanged, only a subtle ripple in her eyes.
William gritted his teeth, steeled himself, and dropped the real bomb.
"She's an Agent from S.H.I.E.L.D."
"S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
She casually placed the half-empty whiskey bottle on the liquor cabinet with a dull thud.
Jessica's face was hidden in shadow, only her eyes glowed remarkably in the dark, like two burning will-o'-the-wisps.
"Are you saying I just had a friendly neighborhood chat with a member of Captain America's fan club?"
"I'm not joking."
William emphasized, realizing that he was surprisingly calmer facing Jessica than Barbara.
Perhaps it was because Jessica's danger was written on her face, while Barbara's danger was hidden beneath her most harmless smile.
"Oh, you're not joking."
Jessica mimicked his tone and took a step forward, closing in on him.
"So, a top S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent moves in next door to you, pretending to be a recently divorced office clerk, just to monitor you—an insurance salesman?"
She looked William up and down, her gaze like she was evaluating a worthless piece of collateral.
"Do you owe them money?"
"My clients are a bit special."
William sidestepped the question.
"I specialize in insurance for high-risk individuals."
He met Jessica's gaze, speaking each word distinctly.
"People whom regular insurance companies hang up on the moment they hear their names."
He paused, letting the weight of the statement sink in.
"Like, say, a private investigator who can kick down a steel security door."
The mockery on Jessica's face slowly receded.
She said nothing, just stared at William.
This explanation...was absurd.
But it explained why an insurance salesman would stick to her like a fly, and it also explained why a behemoth like S.H.I.E.L.D. would be interested in him.
"So, you sell insurance to super-powered individuals?"
Jessica's voice deepened, carrying a hint of inquiry.
"Do you think they can afford the premiums? Or do you accept superpowers as payment?"
"Everyone needs protection, Jessica. Especially you guys."
William didn't back down.
"And you know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is, don't you?"
"So you dragged me into this?"
Jessica tilted her head.
He took a deep breath, his tone growing serious.
"I'm not telling you this to show off how cool my client list is. It's because you, Jessica Jones, just dragged me out of her house like a chicken in front of a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent."
"How do you think she'll write the report? 'Target individual violently abducted by an unidentified, super-powered female'?'"
William spread his hands.
"Congratulations, you're now her 'person of interest' too."
Jessica was silent for a moment.
"I already was."
She leaned against the liquor cabinet, picked up the whiskey bottle again, and took another swig.
The burning liquid slid down her throat, but it didn't seem to quell the irritation in her heart.
She hated trouble.
She especially hated trouble involving the government, and organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D.
The bastards in Hell's Kitchen were openly bad, but those in suits and ties, they had refined malice running in their veins.
"Alright."
Jessica finally spoke, her voice hoarse, the two words squeezed from deep in her throat.
William was stunned.
"Alright?"
He instinctively questioned.
"I messed up."
Jessica repeated, much clearer this time.
She set the half-empty whiskey bottle on the table with a dull thud.
"I'll make it up to you."
She looked up, her eyes, remarkably bright in the dark, staring directly at William.
There was no apology, no remorse, only a wild, unquestionable resolve.
William felt his CPU start to overheat again.
But this time it wasn't because of a crisis, but because...he couldn't predict her next move at all.
Make it up?
How?
Would she get him a new neighbor?
Jessica moved.
The pungent smell of alcohol and dangerous aura from her assailed him, more aggressive than before.
William didn't back away.
She stopped in front of him, very close.
So close he could see his own small, bewildered reflection in her pupils.
She reached out, not to grab his collar, but to touch his cheek.
Her fingertips were cool, carrying the chill from the bottle, but her skin felt rough, like the marks left from years of dealing with punching bags and brick walls.
There wasn't a hint of tenderness in the gesture; it was more like confirming the material of an object.
The next second, her other hand grabbed his tie and yanked him towards her.
William was unprepared, stumbled forward, and crashed into her embrace.
He no longer smelled just whiskey.
There was also a scent unique to Jessica Jones, a mixture of leather, old books, and cold moonlight.
This was not an embrace.
This was a declaration.
William's brain completely crashed.
All his plans, excuses, and risk assessments turned into meaningless gibberish at that moment.
He only felt an irresistible force pulling him towards the bedroom.
The light in the entryway was still on, and a dim, yellowish glow stretched from under the door, casting a long, ambiguously lit strip on the floor.