Chapter Text
The men in the backseat looked nervous.
They weren’t doing a good job trying to hide it, either. The short white guy kept staring out the window, foot bouncing, and the muscley Black guy was tapping insistently on his phone. They hadn’t said a single thing since giving him the destination, and they stayed silent almost in hope that Jake wouldn’t ask any questions about the fact that he was bringing them to the docks at three in the morning.
A pretty famous part of the docks. A lot of deals went down in that lot. Jake adjusted the rearview mirror, catching a better look at the short guy. Neither of them were packing, which was a surprise. Still - Jake had no doubt that they knew what to do in a fight.
He grinned widely, propping an elbow on the door. “Nice night, innit?”
The muscley guy didn’t say anything, but the shorter one looked up. “Yes, sir, I’d say so.”
“There’s nothing better than nice, cool nights like this.” Jake swerved hard, pulling them onto the feeder road and slowly speeding up. “They’re really something in New York City. This place is so loud! I couldn’t believe it when I moved here. But, ah, in a few months it was home. You boys get what I mean?”
“It’s very welcoming,” the short guy said warmly. Jake had guessed as much - his accent was thick as hell, his English just a bit too crisp and perfect. “It’s a big culture shock, though. When I got here I couldn’t believe how big everything was.”
“I know, I know!” Jake slapped the wheel lightly, laughing. The muscley guy hid an eye roll. “Where you from, ese ? Sounds kinda like Tibet to me, right?”
The guy brightened, nodding easily. No wonder he was so friendly - Jake had worked a job in Tibet years back, sweetest guys ever. Pity about what he did to them. “You can get there through Tibet, yeah! But it’s really in a pocket dimension. Tibet’s so beautiful. I’ve only visited a few times, I’d love to go back.”
“Pocket dimension, huh?” Jake said. “That’s funny. I love that.”
The big guy looked a little pained. “Danny.”
“What?” Danny asked, before abruptly realizing something. “Oh. The pocket dimension’s…metaphorical.”
“No, no, man, I’m with you.” Jake smirked, smacking his hand lightly on the wheel. “Enough acid and I’m flipping through pocket dimensions like nobody’s business.”
The short guy opened his mouth, clearly intrigued, before something occurred to him. Somewhat dubiously, he asked, “Acid’s a drug, right?”
“Want some?” Jake asked cheerfully. “I think I got a few sheets in the trunk. Don’t tell my boss, he’d want to skim some off the top.”
“We’ll pass,” the big guy said.
“Aw, what do I look like, a cop? You can trust me.”
“Uh huh ,” the big guy said.
Tough crowd.
Once they finally reached the docks they asked Jake to let them out a short distance away from the guard’s station, which wasn’t sketchy at all. About halfway there the short man had started wrapping his knuckles, calming his breathing and tightening his focus. Jake’s interest was well and truly piqued. Preparing for a fistfight, no pieces - whatever trouble these guys were getting themselves into, they weren’t boring about it. Maybe it was a fight club? All of the fight clubs Jake had ever attended were in some loser’s suburban basement.
Jake scrolled the window down, accepting the short guy’s cash fare as he slid out of the car. He flipped through the money, whistling slightly. Five hundred percent tip. It had been a long trip, too.
“Mighty generous, sir,” Jake said. The short guy waved him off easily, and Jake almost worried that the money was just good tipping and not an actual bribe. You get some real freaks in New York City. He was really falling in love with this place. “My lips are sealed. Want me to wait here until you’re done?”
“It might take a while,” the big guy said. He looked over his shoulder, obviously looking for a way to sneak into the warehouse lot. “I wouldn’t want the guard asking too many questions. Go on home.”
“If you’re sure.” Jake stuck his head out the window, adjusting his hat. “Hey, you boys don’t need any help out there? With whatever it is you’re doing?”
The two men glanced at each other - ‘is this guy for real?’ - before giving him twin bizarre looks.
“Uh,” the big guy said, “we’re solid. Thanks.”
“Whatever it is you think we’re doing, we’re not doing it,” the short guy said, somewhat anxiously. “This is very normal stuff. That we are doing.”
“You fellas are so funny. I love it.” Jake settled back in his seat, making a show of tipping his cap. “Call me if you need me, then. Have a nice night.”
“You too.”
“Thank you for the ride, sir.”
Jake waited for them to disappear from view, chewing his tongue. He waited five minutes, then ten. The guard hadn’t seen him - just like he hadn’t seen the two guys sneaking in. Or maybe he had. The guards in the late night dock shifts were always on the take.
Finally, he said, “What d’ya think, Khonshu?”
Khonshu hummed from the backseat. Jake adjusted the rearview mirror, angling it upwards to get a look at the arching bone beak. You will never believe what it is those men are doing right now.
“Oh, man. That’s tempting, Boss.”
Khonshu tilted his head, giving Jake a full access view into his empty eye sockets. Guy was so transparent. Hah. You may want to suit up for this one.
“Whatever happened to keeping us under the radar?”
It’s called an incognito suit , Khonshu said primly. Give it a shot. Taweret’s not the only one here who can design costumes.
Jake grinned again. He killed the engine and got out of the cab, closing the door quietly behind him. He popped the boot - trunk, ugh, fucking Steven - and rolled up the false bottom, unpacking his guns and knives and strapped them underneath his jacket and sweater. They’d appear someplace else when he put on the suit. Magic: convenient, but only sometimes.
He closed his eyes and summoned the suit. He felt the warm wash over his body, but he didn’t sense any new fabric or sick capes or anything. He opened his eyes and looked down at his clothing, frowning. It was his regular outfit, paperboy cap still stuck loosely on his head.
Then he blinked, and realized that the outfit was pure white. Down to his work boots, a pure and gleaming white. Even his damn cap.
“Incognito would be black , you know,” Jake said gruffly. “But close enough.”
They went this way. Better hurry.
Jake easily hopped the fence, flipping in midair just for drama. The suit’s magic heightened his hearing, and it was easy to track down the sounds of what was increasingly obviously not a drug deal to an empty loading bay in the pits of the docks. Familiar and heavy sounds of a fistfight began to echo louder and louder in the bay, and Jake slipped his piece into his hand as he stuck to the shadows of the cargo crates. A gunshot clapped, then two. When he craned his head upwards, he saw black-cloaked figures lying on top of the crates holding sniper rifles.
That wasn’t a gang member or anything. Looked more…ninja-ey? Were those ninjas? Were ninjas allowed to have sniper rifles? There had to be a code against that. Only in New York.
Jake had always wanted to kill a ninja, so he lifted his pistol and shot him cleanly in the head. He collapsed over the rifle, the sound of Jake’s shot missed entirely in the increasingly loud rancor and patter of gunshots.
Jake jumped and grabbed the edge of the shipping crate, flipping himself onto the lid. He flattened himself onto the metal, belly crawling along the top until he reached the corpse. It was wearing a black mask covering the man’s entire face, and his robes had some sort of weird insignia on them. Ninja clan . Wild. Were these the Irish guys or a clan a little more impressive?
No point in wasting a perfectly good sniper rifle. Jake grabbed it, checking it over quickly and recognizing it as Brazilian military grade. He peered into the scope, straining for a better look into what was going on below. How was he supposed to use the suit’s night vision with no mask - there it was. Magic. Gotta love it.
Sure enough, it was the two passengers singlehandedly fighting off an entire ninja horde with nothing but their fists. Jake had to fight the urge to whistle, impressed. He saw another sniper take a shot at the big guy, and although Jake could have sworn that the bullet hit his shoulder dead center the big guy didn’t even pause. The short guy was pulling some seriously heavy combat martial arts moves on the other ninjas, and Jake watched with interest as the big guy occasionally moved to cover him against more sniper bullets. Bulletproof guy. So that was why Khonshu recommended the suit.
The big guy constantly moving to cover his friend was impeding Jake’s view of the action, so he stopped to trace the gunshot trajectory of the other sniper, picking out his hiding place in the shadow of another stack of crates. He had a good line of fire from here, so he went ahead and took the shot. The gunshots died, and the short guy looked up curiously before another particularly impressive ninja drew his attention back to the fight.
Staying up here was boring. Jake stood up, walking over to the side of the crate and hopping easily off. He left his piece holstered and his knives sheathed, pulling out only a cigarette before walking into the fray.
The ninjas at the edge noticed him first, stopping in confusion. Their attention rippled through the group, and Jake bit down on the cigarette to hide the growing grin. The two passengers were the last to notice, and Jake watched with amusement as their expressions bloomed into alarm.
“Get out of here!” The big guy yelled. He smacked another ninja, sending him skidding far across the cement. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” Jake asked, choosing not to answer the question. He looked around the clearing, noting the constant feed of ninjas slowly pouring into the clearing. The short guy was panting a little. “Odds this bad always make me want to throw in with an underdog.”
“Why did your clothes change color?” The short guy asked curiously. His fist glowed bright red, then white, and Jake watched with interest as the energy almost seared a hole in a particularly tough guy’s stomach. “Do you keep a white version of your outfit in your car?”
“You know, it’s a funny story,” Jake said, before a bullet hit him in the stomach.
The big guy yelled, throwing aside the man he was wrestling with to wade through the crowd towards Jake. The shorter man dived for him too, panic blooming across his face, but he stopped short when he saw that Jake hadn’t even fallen.
He looked down, pulling at the hole in his magic sweater. Guess he’d missed a sniper. Sloppy. “That’s just rude.” He looked up, falling back on the night vision to survey the area again. He unholstered his piece, finally picking out a shadow in the darkness. That wasn’t too far. The suit always made this gun somewhat special, anyway. “Why are those guys the only ones here with guns, anyway? They freelancers or something? Are ninjas not allowed guns?”
“It’s shameful to rely on weaponry instead of the power of your own body,” the short guy said helpfully. He kicked another guy, pulling a difficult maneuver where he looped his leg around his head and sent him crashing to the ground, hitting a pressure point with the ball of his foot and making him pass out. “Did you just get shot?”
Jake squeezed the trigger, watching closely to guarantee that the sniper slumped over. Not bad considering the distance. “My shameful weaponry here just took care of your little sniper problem. Now can I help or not?”
“Man, I don’t care what you do,” the big guy said, punching another guy and sending him flying, “stop getting trivia out of Danny!”
“Aw, Luke, he’s just curious -”
“Less talking!”
Jake slid his combat knives out of their holsters, noting with interest that they had turned pure white, gleaming with the power of his mystic knives. Not too bad, Khonshu.
A ninja dived for him and he dug the knife into the man’s throat, withdrawing it quickly and letting the arterial spray coat his white outfit red. Danny choked as blood got into his mouth, giving the guy he was fighting an opening to grab his throat, and Jake threw his knife. It impaled the guy’s hand with perfect timing, making him scream, and Jake raised his gun and shot him in the head.
It was the most fun he’d had in ages. He hadn’t tackled a whole group of guys since Lebanon, and that had almost ended in his decapitation. He hadn’t fought with anybody at his back since his mercenary days, and he’d never done it soaked to the gills with Khonshu’s power. Fighting with his back to some crazy martial artist guy with a glowing hand and a bullet proof man with super strength sending other men flying was weird and new and downright awesome.
There was some sort of ninja leader who exchanged a lot of ominous words with Luke. There was something about a client and some mystic nonsense. He barely caught it - a ninja had gotten in a lucky shot and sunk a barrage of shuriken into his chest, and pulling them out one by one was pretty distracting. By the time he finally stabbed the guy in the neck with his own shuriken the last remaining dregs of the ninjas were retreating, many of them limping or concussed from Luke and Danny’s blows, leaving the corpses of their comrades behind.
It left Jake, Danny, and Luke standing behind in various states of exhaustion or bloodiness. Jake was fresh, but his white outfit was dripping with red. So damn practical, Khonshu.
“Alright,” Luke exhaled heavily. He was physically undamaged but clearly a bit wiped. Punching more than fifty guys into unconsciousness might do that. He had the strength to pick his way through the corpses towards Jake anyway, eyes fixed unerringly on him. “Who the hell are you?”
Surprisingly complicated question, but he didn’t need to know that. “I’m your cab driver,” Jake said helpfully. He doffed his cap, grinning widely. He loved introducing himself - loved the feel of his name in his own mouth. He rarely had the opportunity to share it. “Jake Lockley, at your service.”
“Most cab drivers can’t take a bullet like that,” Luke said shortly. He stopped in front of Jake, crossing his arms. Jake huffed. Hell of a thank you. “What’s your - is the wound closed ? How is that even possible?”
“Hey, buddy, you’re the bulletproof one. How’s that supposed to be possible?” Jake eyed him speculatively, sizing him up. Could Khonshu patch him up if Luke crushed his head like a grape? Guy could totally do that. Jake had asked Khonshu a dozen times if he could survive a hydraulic press, but since Khonshu’s only answer had been ‘ Do you want to find out? ’ it was probably best not to let curiosity hydraulic press this cat. “So is it just your skin that’s bulletproof, or all of you? Are your eyes bulletproof?”
“ Answer the question, punk.”
Jake huffed. Behind Luke, Danny was crouching in front of every individual corpse, praying over each soul. Cute. “I’m a High Priest of an ancient religion in service to an Egyptian god. Who’re you supposed to be?”
“Luke Cage,” Luke said shortly. “I’m a Hero For Hire. And you have to be kidding me.”
That meant absolutely nothing to Jake, but he was kind of preoccupied with the bulletproof question anyway. Was he bulletproof at close range? Who had bulletproof eyes, anyway? Jake could get him in the eyes.
Before Luke could process what he was doing, before he could do anything about it, Jake shot Luke point blank in the face.
The sound was explosive in Jake’s ears and Luke instinctively pulled away from the gun, but the bullet only bounced off his forehead. It ricocheted wildly, scraping Jake’s cheek. He shot the man dead in the face and Jake was the one who ended up with the injury. Fucking amazing. This guy was a riot.
Luke did not think Jake was a riot. Luke was looking kinda pissed. Jake quickly stepped away, holstering the gun and cutting in before Luke’s look of outrage could translate into the man trying to snap his neck. He probably wouldn’t - Luke and Danny hadn’t killed a single ninja. Weird. “Wow, they really weren’t kidding. Bulletproof up and down, aren’tcha? That’s pretty cool. You sign autographs or something, buddy?”
“What is wrong with -”
“Why are you so violent?” Danny asked, somewhat freaked. “You just murdered all of these people. Are you a high priest of a death cult?”
Oh, just rude. “I hate those death cult bastards,” Jake said, ticked off. Luke was also looking a little ticked off. More than a little ticked off. Maybe Jake should have expected this. He had never shot someone in the face and had them stay alive to get upset about it. “My god and their god got beef, you know. I don’t truck with those guys.”
“He’s not a high priest of anything,” Luke ground out. “Thanks for the assist. Buddy . But Danny and I are heroes. We don’t need the help of someone who murders so callouslly.”
Heroes! Jake whistled, stashing his gun. He backed up obediently, giving the angry huge guy some space. “Excuse me, héroe. ” Just to be an ass, he added in Spanish, “Next time I see two weirdos getting beat up by ninjas I’ll mind my own business.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Luke said, in terribly accented Spanish. Jake’s already high respect for the guy rose a few notches. In English, he continued, “There’s a pagan church in Harlem. I’d try them next time you feel like praying. Without a pistol.”
Jake gave him a great big exaggerated thumbs up. “So you don’t want a ride back?”
Danny brightened. “That would be great, thanks!”
Luke opened his mouth to say absolutely not before shutting it, looking conflicted. Finally, he grunted out, “Fine. If you promise not to shoot me again on the way there.”
Wow. Jake was impressed. What kind of freak got in the car of someone who shot him in the head?
“Relax, Luke,” Danny said. “He helped us, didn’t he? Bad people can be nice sometimes.”
These guys were great. He’d have to give them his card or something, see if he could get them to call him next time they fought a legion of ninjas. Hero wannabes had to fight sinners all the time.
This city has a vigilante problem. Khonshu sounded more amused than put-out, and Jake politely ignored him as he gestured the two increasingly cautious men back to the taxi. Why did Steven suggest this city? This wouldn’t be a problem in New Orleans. I hear New Orleans has excellent weather.
Are you kidding? I’m loving this place. Jake rarely went through the effort of speaking mentally, but he didn’t feel like answering unanswerable questions. Didn’t have much of a choice anyway. When Marc was a tyke he wanted to live in the City so bad. Thought it was a great big amusement park. You know how we gotta indulge Marc’s inner child.
Steven is the only one of you with any sense these days.
“True as hell,” Jake sighed. “True as hell.”
“I don’t call shooting me in the face nice .”
But Luke followed him and Danny anyway, and both men had the decency not to complain when Jake cranked up ‘Heaven Is A Place On Earth’ on the ride back. It was a big city, but he could make an effort to run into these guys again.
Next time he’d aim for the eyes. Jake had always wanted to kill an unkillable person.
This place was shaping up to be a right riot.
Six months later, Jake crawled into the Hero For Hire unofficial team apartment through the window. He timed it somewhat badly: everybody was eating breakfast.
In his defense, the fucks were never up before noon. Crime against God, man, and Jessica Jones’ idiot gamer sleep schedule for everybody to be up at fucking 0700 eating fucking pancakes around the dining table. The only reasonable explanation for the whole thing was that they had a late case and had only gotten back to the apartment an hour or so ago. No other reason for Jessica fucking Jones to be awake at seven in the morning. At least Danny had occasional work obligations and Luke had church Sunday mornings. Colleen and Misty didn’t have real jobs either, but they had couples 0500 six mile runs every morning. Freaks.
He climbed up through liberal application of the fire escapes, vaulting onto the balcony and cracking open the sliding door to slip inside the living room. It was directly connected to the eating area, so he was stuck frozen in front of the beer-ridden coffee table, staring directly into the eyes of the Heroes For Hire as they stared blankly at him.
Colleen sipped at her coffee. “Heya, Lockley. What’s this I hear about you becoming a supervillain?”
“Hey, that was a legal murder,” Jake said. “That was a fucking state sanctioned murder, is what it was. I was doing a public service.”
Misty tore a croissant in half like she wished it was his head. “Was declaring yourself the enemy of the Avengers a public service too?”
“That one wasn’t me, so fuck you about it.” Jake fucking hated Misty and Colleen. They thought they were better than him, partly because they were. “I’m an innocent here. A victim, almost.”
Colleen shook her head in abject pity. “The only thing you’re a victim of is that hat, honey.”
Danny dropped his fork on his plate, letting it rattle on the ceramic as he stood up. Jake squinted at him suspiciously. “Where have you been, Jake! We were worried sick! Luke’s called you five times!”
“Yeah, I noticed. It was annoying.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Jessica took a sip of her whiskey, ignoring Jake’s stink-eye. Whatever happened to quitting, woman. “Your adorable alter ego -” Emphasis on alter, Jones. “ - ran crying into the courthouse, tried to kill a guy, fought an Avenger, and then declared war on the Avengers? Why do you have to be as crazy as a box of rats 24/7, Lockley?”
“He did seem really normal,” Danny reported to Colleen. “It was insanely weird. He was…unguarded, almost. There was something gentle about him.”
“And we’re talking about Jake,” Colleen said skeptically.
“He did wage war against the Avengers two seconds afterwards,” Misty pointed out philosophically, as if she had been there. “In character for Jake, at least.”
“Look, man, when you said you’re two other guys in your free time we decided it was better not to ask.” Jessica swirled her pancake slice around in her syrup, cramming it in her mouth and speaking through a mouthful of sticky sugar. “But if you’re gonna bring down heat on us by association we kinda need to know. I don’t wanna get into a fistfight with Iron Man for your honor.”
“Shit, I’d get into a fistfight with Iron Man over a parking spot,” Misty said.
“Rather do it for a parking spot than Jake.”
“True.”
Danny turned to a previously silent Luke, distressed. “I don’t want to be enemies with the Avengers, Luke. That sounds really bad for business.”
“Has Jake ever been good for business?”
This was going to be more difficult than Jake thought. Steven had lost him a lot of psychological upper hand. These stupid fucks had found a chink in his armor, and they were cracking it open like an oyster searching for delicious slime inside. He couldn’t recover from this. Damn it, Steven.
Whatever. That wasn’t going to be a problem from now on. It was the Jake Show now, and he was both the director and the talent. Steven could co-star for the boring stuff if he really wanted, just because Jake was so nice like that, but Jake was the lead actor now.
So why were they still talking about Steven?
“Oh, relax. The Avenger thing’s taken care of. They don’t even know you exist.” Jake made a show of rolling his eyes, nabbing a sausage off Luke’s plate and cramming it in his mouth. Luke narrowed his eyes dangerously. He wouldn’t do anything. Jake had his number. “So stop harping on it. That was a, what do you call it, traumatic experience. You’re retraumatizing me just by talking about it. Steven’s never going to recover from the, uh, fucking ordeal of you guys making fun of him. Make it up to me and give me some pancakes.”
Misty took a sip of her coffee, leaning back in her chair with her leg crossed over her knee. “Meeting Jones is a traumatic experience, all right.” Jessica flipped her off. “Lockley, I’ve never once wanted to know anything more about you than I already know. I actively regret knowing what I do know about you. There are things about you I can never unknow. All of that being said, I regret putting your comfort and sense of safety above my own desire to see your repressed humanity, because the prospect of you having feelings is somewhat akin to discovering that dinosaurs have feathers."
Jake grabbed Luke’s butter knife and threw it at her forehead. She deflected it mid-air. “Don’t humanize me! I don’t want to be humanized! I’m unknowable!”
“You’re only unknowable in the sense that we didn’t know what you did for sixteen hours of the day,” Luke said wryly. “Now we know you’re a secretary. Sounds knowable to me.”
“Fuck you, Cage!”
Colleen sighed and stood up, flicking her girlfriend gently on the forehead and making her scowl. “We’re out of pancakes, Jake, but I’ll make some more. Everybody stop bullying Jake or he’ll run off for another two weeks and we won’t have a ride anywhere again.”
“Loved for my car, I see how it is -”
“What other positive qualities do you have?” Jessica asked flatly.
Danny spooned his almond based yogurt into his mouth. “Steven?”
Jake stood up dramatically and not at all petulantly. “I am crashing here for a few days! I will be in my room ! Until pancakes!”
The guest bedroom held a lot of Jake’s belongings - from personal items like clothes or fidget toys to his robust weapons collection. He could either keep them here or in The Other Bedroom, and Jake lived in perpetual paranoia of Marc throwing away his shit. Jake could take control from Marc during a few circumstances - when he was less aware, sleeping, stressed, or in danger - but he couldn’t do much when the man was committing petty Anti-Jake acts of violence. He had gotten in the habit of leaving his more important possessions at the Heroes for Hire apartment, locked securely in trunks stashed in the cabinet. What Marc didn’t know couldn’t hurt anyone.
That was the way it used to be, the way it had been for almost the last year. The scales had shifted lately. Hence why he was picking up his stuff: these days Marc wasn’t very successful in doing things Jake didn’t want him to do.
For all of the people who passed through its doors and its dual purpose as a makeshift hospital room, the guest bedroom was fairly bare. There were two futons set out, with two more rolled up in the closet, and a laundry basket full of clothes. A dresser held a lot of Jake’s clothes, with a bottom drawer that held a folded up spare cane for Matt. More of Matt’s suits hung on hooks in the closet, but Jake bent down and focused on dragging out the large and heavy trunks stashed in the bottom of the closet.
Technically speaking he finally had free run of Steven’s apartment. The whole place was his now. No oblivious Steven or nagging Marc. But hanging out there just wasn’t very comfortable. It felt like someone else’s house. And it was kind of awkward avoiding Layla all the time.
Layla was a problem.
The door creaked behind him, but Jake didn’t turn around. He focused on punching in the code to the trunk (the day he had thought of the code, because the other two could guess anything else), ignoring the intruder completely.
“I’ve never seen you here so early on a weekday,” Luke said. “Aren’t you normally getting ready for work around now?”
“Eh. I’ll know if they need me.” Jake popped open the trunk, finding his clothes inside. He took a lot of pride in his clothing, but laid out like this it all seemed kind of samey. Maybe he should switch it up? Wear a coat instead of a jacket? “Send a crow or something.”
“Right,” Luke said slowly. Something about his tone made the back of Jake’s neck prickle. Everybody else was back to their usual ‘pile on Jake time’. Damn Cage couldn’t let anything go. “Do you remember what we discussed in the cab?”
“Nope. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jake pulled out the top layer of clothing, straightening and grabbing coat hangers. No more living in suitcases. Time to steal Matt’s coat hangers. “Lots of amnesia, me.”
“So I’m assuming you and Marc came to an agreement,” Luke said, even and calm and infuriatingly nonjudgemental. “And that you aren’t worried he might keep you from us again.”
Jake couldn’t help but snicker, unfolding one of the jackets and sliding it onto a coat hanger. “Marc’s not gonna be a problem anymore.”
“That is the single most terrifying thing you could have said.”
“Pump the breaks, mon ami . Let me guess what you’re about to say.” Jake affected a gravely baritone, an imitation he knew was uncannily accurate. They were great at accents. “ ‘Don’t say it’s none of your business. You made it our business when we met Steven and you put yourself on the wrong side of the Avengers. You’re a valuable member of this team and we just want to help you. So, uh, tell us all of your personal business so we can judge you.’ Please. Hard pass.”
“Do you always assume the worst of everybody?” Assume was a strong word. “You said some worrying stuff back there, man. You were scared. I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I didn’t follow up on that.” Jake hung up another jacket, silent. “Listen to me. If you’re having issues hashing things out with Marc, then maybe I can talk to him. Maybe I can help convince him that we’re y’all’s friends.”
Jake couldn’t help it. He turned around and finally looked at Luke. He was leaning against the closed door, arms crossed and face placid. Jake recognized that look. Thoughtful, considerate, helpful. Same kind of face he always used for a scared client. That was all Jake was to him now: just a scared client.
He couldn’t fight the sneer. Luke’s eyebrow twitched up. “ ‘Let me help you, Marc. You can’t keep managing this by yourself, Marc. We’re happy to finally meet the real you, Marc .’”
“You know that’s not -”
“I knew this would happen. I’m just - what, the defense mechanism, right? There’s a real me and it looks like a schlubby guy with bad taste in clothing.” Jake’s voice soured, and he couldn’t control it. “In two months you’d be telling him to go on antidepressants. Another month and you’ll be nagging him to take antipsychotics. Maybe it’ll finally make Jake go away. ‘Cept for when we need him, right?”
Luke didn’t say anything. He let Jake go back to unpacking, filling up as much space as he could in the closet. His space. His body. His. Antipsychotics were shit anyway. He read online that they made you throw up. You see the shit they did to your synapses? His brain was damaged enough, thanks.
Finally, Luke said, “You done?” Jake grunted. He was, in fact, done. “Good. Jake, I know you don’t have a lot of experience maintaining long-term friendships, so I’ll give some advice.” Left unsaid: and you’re autistic as fuck, loser. “The foundation of any friendship is trust. When I invited you to work with Heroes For Hire, I decided to trust you. That meant no worrying about you stabbing us in the back or hurting innocent people. You haven’t betrayed that trust, Jake. I know it means something to you. I can’t imagine you’ve ever had it.” Jake threw a scarf over a hanger, tying it carefully. “But I need that trust back. I want to properly meet Marc and Steven because they are a package deal with you . You don’t have to believe me, but I hope you’ll try. Alright?”
Jake hung up the last of his clothing, a cable-knit sweater liberated from a particularly fashionable corpse. He’d have to color-code it later. He straightened it all fastidiously before closing the door, turning the lock. He rattled the doors to make sure that they were shut, and he finally turned around to face Luke.
Jake was pretty good at picking his words. He was a born liar and a liar out of necessity. It was more difficult with Luke - everything was more difficult with Luke, he was more of a human lie detector than Murdock - but that didn’t matter. None of this mattered. It was all a moot point.
“You’re sweet, amor ,” Jake said, and Luke raised both eyebrows. “But don’t worry about us. I’m taking care of it. Marc and Steven and I are all on the same page now. Trust me, you’re getting the full package. So just drop it and let me out.”
Luke stared at him for a long second, then two. He straightened and backed away from the door, letting Jake brush past him and throw it open. He was immediately hit with the sweet smell of freshly made pancakes; of syrup and coffee and orange juice. Colleen had made food for him. When he stepped into the dining area, leaving Luke behind, he saw that they had set a seat at the table for him.
Jake took his seat at the table and ate his fill.
“You’re insane.”
They were in Steven’s apartment, more or less. It was his old London apartment, which was considerably more lived-in and homey than their Manhattan one. Steven probably had fond memories of it and the hundred sleepless nights reading dry academic texts, but maybe he just liked anything that validated the idiot British thing.
He was sitting at his dining room table, an entire tea service spread out in front of him. The teapot of Earl Grey was still steaming - would always be steaming - and a full platter of cookies and sandwiches were arranged neatly around him. It was awful, but Jake was sitting across from him anyway. He missed the cab already. At least in the cab you could only look at each other through mirrors.
Marc, at least, had found a way of avoiding looking at them. He was curled up in bed, the large one that Steven had never used. The downy comforters were pulled tight around him, and he was almost invisible in the mass of comforters and pillows. So far as Jake could tell he was entirely conked out. Steven hadn’t been able to rouse him for anything.
“Is it insane if it works?” Jake said snidely, grabbing a cucumber sandwich and stuffing it in his mouth. It tasted like water and wheat. Awful. “Your food sucks.”
“Your food’s half lard,” Steven said, equally snidely. “It clogs the arteries.”
“So does our liquid diet, watch me give a shit.” Jake jabbed a finger at Steven, who just prissily sipped his tea. “You’re just jealous I can do it all by myself. I don’t need you or Marc or anybody. You can’t stop me. I can do whatever I want!”
Steven sighed theatrically, putting his cup down. “So you’ve established . Nonstop. I get it. But I don’t think you’re thinking this through.”
“I don’t have to think it through. I want to do it, so I’m doing it. And if Mr. Spector over there has an objection, he can go right ahead and voice it.” He paused dramatically, looking over at the bed. “Well? Any objections from the peanut gallery?”
Far more gently, Steven called, “Marc? We have food. Do you want to get out of bed?”
Marc didn’t move. Dead to the world. Jake and Steven exchanged glances.
He had been this way since the courthouse. Nothing dramatic enough to wake him had happened, and when Steven tried rousing him just to talk to him he wouldn’t wake up. Steven had fretted that he couldn’t wake up, and it had been so annoying that a few days ago Jake had woken him up by force.
He hadn’t even sat up. He had just blinked blearily at Jake and Steven, mumbled a response to Steven’s anxious questions, and then turned around in a blatant attempt to ignore them and go back to sleep. Man was just being petulant. Or super depressed. Probably super depressed, actually. Whatever. His chronic depression was Jake’s gain.
“I’m worried about him,” Steven said quietly. “This isn’t like him. He’s never left us unsupervised before…”
“Yeah, because he’s a control freak. This is good for him. It’s, like, proof.” Jake stabbed a finger at Marc, ignoring Steven’s forehead creasing. “You saw him. He couldn’t handle control over the body. He didn’t want to be in charge. He always knew it was better off with me. And I’m going to take everything he’s been withholding from me.” He grabbed a hot ramekin of rice pudding, still slightly steaming. “No more threats. No more hating on Jake or calling Jake a serial killer. It’s gonna be open roads from here on out, Stevie. I’m on top now.”
“Are you really?” Steven asked, faux surprised. “I can’t tell. Because you’re locking me out .”
“I’m not doing anything interesting,” Jake said blithely.
“I can’t hear you or access you! We could be in Morocco for all I know.” Steven flicked a hand at their surroundings, at the comfortable and familiar apartment. “I can’t leave this apartment or look outside it at all. Frankly, Jake, it’s quite disorienting.”
“Why are you complaining?” Jake’s spoon scraped the bottom of the ceramic ramekin harshly. Just like Mom used to make. “You got the ideal situation, you know that? The world’s a shit place, Steven. If you’re Marc you think every second’s a slog. If you’re me then you’re high on life when you aren’t sucking god dick. You get to just hang out here. It’s a good deal. Look at all of your books.”
Steven’s hands fisted in his lap. His expression was fierce and intent, but it was reserved too. He was holding back. "Did you argue with Marc about wiping my memories?”
“Sure I did.” The metal screeched against the ceramic, harsh and grating. “It was annoying as hell. Tiptoeing around you two is always fucking obnoxious. But Marc wouldn’t budge and you know how easy it is winning against Marc. Gotta say I didn’t actually try that hard, though.”
“Then don’t give me that ‘world’s hard’ nonsense.” Steven set his jaw stubbornly. Jake rolled his eyes. What a little kid. “You’re just punching back. You’re just keeping me here because you don’t want to hear me complaining at you all the time.”
Jake shrugged. “Guilty.”
“How are you always telling the truth and lying at the same time?” Steven picked up a scone, slicing it in half like he wished he was slicing through Jake’s skull. “You can’t keep this up forever. At the very least you need to tell Layla eventually.” He inspected it carefully before reappraising and cutting it into thirds. “Or you can serve her divorce papers again, I suppose.”
“I got that figured out,” Jake protested, not at all defensively. “When Marc comes back, I’ll make him do it. Make him clean up his own messes.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Steven muttered.
It bolstered Jake’s self-confidence that Steven agreed with him. For some reason. “He’ll tell her about me. Once she learns that it’s the Jake Show she’ll run off. Layla solved.”
“And what if she doesn’t?”
“Even better,” Jake said breezily, leaning back in his chair. “We can do the husband and wife thing. Sounds pretty good to me.”
Slowly, as if he was leading Jake to a conclusion that he should have already reached, Steven said, “And Layla would see no problem with the Jake Show. She’d be very happy with it.”
“You are so naggy. No wonder Marc wiped your memories.” Jake reached out and snagged a coconut macaroon, shoving it into his mouth. “I’ll figure it out. I’m worrying about Step One before Step Two. If you got a problem with it, then save your breath and drink your tea.”
Steven sighed. “No problem, Jake. I got no problem. I won’t fight you for control.”
“That’s your issue, you know,” Jake said, unreasonably ticked off. He didn’t even know why. Wasn’t it a good thing that Steven was obeying him? “You don’t stand up for yourself. Whatever happened to all that courage the Wonderful Wizard Harrow gave you?”
“Because it wouldn’t help. All it would do is make us all miserable.” Steven scraped lemon curd out of a jar, carefully spreading it on the scone. “I'll back whatever play you make, Jake. I’m only asking that you let me help you.”
This kid couldn’t be serious. “You’d help me steal our entire lives.”
Steven bit carefully into the scone, lemon and blueberry and orange zest flavor crumbling happily on his tongue. “I’m sick of this dumb infighting. That’s always been our actual problem. Not Harrow, not Khonshu, not you . Once you realize that your half-baked plan is never going to work -”
“Hey!”
“ - then we’ll figure something out. Together. Finally.”
They both looked at Marc - silent, still, dead.
Steven wasn’t admitting it, but Marc was worrying him. Jake wasn’t admitting it, but it was worrying him too. For Marc, two weeks without fronting was almost unprecedented. He was the one who was always there. That was kind of his whole thing. Being the person who technically actually existed, based on the conventional definition of existence but up to philosophical debate.
Marc would never let Jake do this. He’d never let Jake bully Steven like this or let him leave Layla hanging for two weeks. No matter how good Jake’s control was, Marc would be giving him hell every second. The fact that he wasn’t…the fact that he wasn’t even trying…
“I know you don’t like each other,” Steven said quietly, placing his scone back on the saucer. “But please help him. If you’re in charge, then that means you have to help him…”
This dumb kid. He was so spoiled. Maybe Jake should stop complaining about Marc’s shitty decisions - he wasn’t much better. He stood up, circling the table to crouch down next to Steven. Somewhat understandably, Steven stiffened in trepidation, but Jake just pasted on his most reassuring face.
“ Mijo , baby, you’re safe with me. Everything’s going to be just fine. Just let me worry about it, alright?”
But Steven just eyed him skeptically. “Everything’s a disaster right now. Locking me in this room doesn’t make me worry less , Jake.”
“I’ll handle everything,” Jake soothed, and Steven finally shut up. “You don’t need to worry. You and I are together again here, aren’t we? We’re on the same team. With you supporting me everything’s gonna be good. When Marc wakes up we’ll tell Layla, and our family’s gonna be together again. Better than ever, nene .”
“But Marc…”
Jake put a hand over Steven’s hand, gripping it tightly. Steven squeezed back, untensing his shoulders and relaxing. “Look around. He’s safe here. He’s been pushing himself so hard, man. Let him take the break. Just a little bit of rest. We’ll cover for him ‘till he’s back on his feet. It’ll be safe, so you and Marc can start fronting again. We just have to hang on until then.”
Steven softened, and Jake mentally patted himself on the back. He was so easy to manage. “If you say so, Jake. But just be careful. It’s way easier to kill people than live with them, you know.”
“Come on,” Jake said, “don’t you trust me?”