The Dangerous Path of Synthesis

February 09, 2017:

When Azalea Kingston tells Jessica Jones she fears she is losing her fight to hold on to her humanity, Jessica Jones sets her on the perilous path which may in fact be her only salvation.

Alias Investigations, Hell's Kitchen, NY


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Trish Walker, Red Robin, Batman, Matt Murdock, Zatanna Zatara

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Jessica eventually had recovered enough from her heartbreak to at least try to get back to work. She's used to being the Working Wounded. If Az had been back to the apartment she'd have found the 50 Shades Poster mysteriously missing. Instead, there's a white board with cases…multiple, they've been getting lots of phone calls since the Stilt Man bullshit…and room to disposition the cases, as well as who they're assigned to. Az has been assigned three of them, all in Gotham. There's also a notation.

Additions to Az's blackmail file: 1.

That's her response.

She'd texted Az she wanted to see her. She's at her desk now with her feet on it, head back, eyes closed, waiting. The pulse of inner pain is evident, fresh wounds ripping open old scars. The interplay between them is dark and nasty, but nothing Jess seems truly conscious of. She's not drinking, at least…she's just sort of there. She has a box at her elbow, currently closed.


That voice.

Unmistakable. Reaching back.

"Jessica?"That voice, more real. Here and now. Looming over her. How Azalea got so close is either a testament to her training, or to Jessica's distracting pain. The Dark Devil is dressed as her more heroic self, sans her mask. She wears it as often as she doesn't, but mostly because she also doesn't have a symbol on her chest, and most people wouldn't recognize the super-thin body armor that makes up her top is anything but some underarmor.

The way she looks down at her is not all that different than the way he did, so long ago. Superior. Controlling. It is an air that Azalea Kingston will never shake as long as she has a God-Thing inside her, except perhaps when her humanity must bleed through. When she's allowed to be afraid, broken and torn. But right now she's filled with her hero's confidence.

Right now, she's filled with the echo of victory.

"You sleeping?" The tone of her voice is ever cautionary, as if she realizes something is wrong, some sixth sense that senses weakness. Some predatory right.

It's moments like these that tell the whole world that she could never be considered good in any place other than Gotham.

The British voice is whispering a mocking litany in her head for sure, stuff he never actually said about how she's damaged goods and that's why nobody could ever really love her, that she can never escape belonging to him.

Jessica is half dreaming it, and when Azalea looms over her she drags herself out of her dream with a wrenching gasp, a cold sweat breaking out over her skin. Wide, sightless eyes stare at Az. Then they slowly regain their sight, and she shakes her head violently, gritting her teeth and thumping down her chair. "Yep. Sorry. Not getting much sleep."

She pushes her chair way back from Xihunel's looming.

She also reaches in her desk for an envelope. "Your license came today," she says. "So…If you want them, I've got cases for you. And some gear. Not as good as Bat Gear, but…it'll do in a pinch." She speaks matter-of-factly, crisp and clipped, for all the world like she hadn't just had a full on PTSD misery-freak out right in front of the young woman who had leashed a God and forced him into a life of service as a Hero of Gotham City.

It is not hard to tickle Xiuhnel's fancy. Watching someone in misery strikes a chord. Watching a tall brunette run a gambit of fear and distress strikes so many others. Little more than a slight part of her lips show by way of reaction, little more than a flux of her pupils and a pull of steadying breath.

The words force a blink, and the human chord is struck: Someone's done something nice for her. Xiuhnel wants to go back to what it was doing before, watching, if not participating, in someone's deconstruction. Azalea denies that part of her, and reaches out for the envelope with slightly wide eyes.

It's all over her face in that moment, flushed with just a hint of color that backdrops against her freckles, how much this means to her. It's almost a distracted thing, the way she drops into the chair across from Jessica's desk, opening the envelop to look at the license within.

Her name. Her job. Her purpose.

When those crystal blues find Jessica again, the pinning crush of her Devil Inside is gone, at least for the moment, suppressed behind so much emotion that the conflict threatens to boil over. It's a good thing she's become experienced at hiding it.

"This is.. yeah. Jess? Yeah. Of course I want them. The gear and.. any cases you might have. Honestly, anything to get my mind off of… things." It seems like Jessica Jones is not the only one spinning in some turmoil. Maybe it was something Red Robin had said to her. Maybe it was a bit of callousness she didn't know she had until now, something he'd pointed out. "I'm also.. uh.. sorry about the poster." The smile that comes after is private. The kind of smile you make when you feel a certain way, about a certain someone. "Trish loved it."

Oh God.

Jessica gives a weary smile to see Az's reaction. She just…ignores Xihunel. She sees them as different, not really understanding or caring to understand the places where they merge. She cares about Az. Xihunel is just another monster who is too close, who needs to be destroyed someday. Jessica has already seen what normal individuals can do; she thinks the world of Red Robin and sees the potential in Az.

She says none of this. Instead she watches as Az crushes on her sister. She rubs a hand over the lower half of her face and decides to wait on addressing the issue of Azalea's infatuation, dimly considering her words.

"So. First. Our cases. All in Gotham City." She pushes over the first file. "Majorie Dell has a husband on the Gotham police force. The only way she's getting the help she needs is if you get incontravertable proof her husband is abusing her. You cannot jump in and beat the shit out of him…this woman needs pictures, not questions. You get those, you destroy him. Her mother is paying for this, with her blessing, so there is no money trail. Your portion of the advance is already in the file; I didn't know if you had a bank account so I made out a money order."

"Case #2 is a standard process service. Mr. Michael Arrez owes a $45,911 insurance subrogation debt; he is trying to hide and he needs his papers served so they can sue him. Remember you gotta take a photo of the service but he's still served even if he refuses to touch the papers and you let them drop at his feet. Same deal with the advance; I quoted them a very large number of hours on that case because that is someone with a lot of motivation to hide."

"Finally, your standard bumping nasties case…Carolyn Wisher may be cheating on her husband."

The simple act of going through case files eases the dark places inside of her. They're dark enough to be causing her physical pain, to make her chest ache, feeling too tight to breathe, but she's functional.

She's waiting to find out what Az might need to get her mind off of too, trying to build herself a firmer foundation for providing anything like support to another person.

Thankfully, that hint of infatuation seems brief. Maybe it wasn't Az who was interested in Trish. Maybe it was something darker. Really, she'd never be able to fully explain it, she doesn't even know herself. Slowly her gaze rises from the abyss that is her license, having been drawn back to it, and the money order inside. Holy shit. Actual money.

The cases roll in, and when she hears about the wife beater and how she can't show him a measure of justice he would understand, her teeth grate against one another. But she understands. It shows in her nod.

Her brows furrow when Jess uses the word subrogation. She even takes out her phone to side-eye Jess and look it up, to make sure that it's, you know. Real. Oh the shit she's forgotten as her mind has wilted under a barbaric influence.

Finally, confirming that Jessica has better English than her, she smirks at the final case, sucks in a breath to settle her mind, and then she practically brims with an eager smile. "So. Which do I do first? Or.. do I get to choose? I promise. I won't fuck this up. I think. I hope. Can I just take pictures on my phone? Will that work?"

No, they did not give her a Bat-Camera yet.

"Yes, you can just take pictures on your phone. That's what I do. It's stupid to carry around a $2000 camera when your phone works just as well," Jess agrees. She pushes over the box. "But. You work the one you think you can close out fastest, then the next, then the next. If you hit a wall with one, move to the other for a bit."

Inside the box she'll find her own touch screen phone, which Jessica bought, upgraded, and put on a plan. She'll also find some portable GPS devices, the type one can affix to cars. And a small, slim Chromebook that she can use in the field. Jess-gear. "Remember you cannot use those GPS devices on any vehicle unless you've verified that the client's name is on the car title or lease. If you do, you are breaking the law. TOL and Accurant are both loaded onto the device; I've set you up with your own username and password, you'll find that on the post it note in the box. I'd like you to call me if you get stuck and to update me as you close each case. I have also included samples of similar cases I've done in the past so you can see what the work product looks like; we have to get that right or invoicing becomes a total bitch. Remember in the case of the wife-beater you could be called on to testify in court, as with the case of the cheating spouse, so you must be on the up and up or you open Alias up to fines."

These are all legal warnings Az would have gotten during that two day course, but Jessica feels compelled to add them one more time anyway, knowing that Az, like Jessica herself, had trouble coloring inside the lines sometimes. "Don't worry about the cost of any of this. I'm writing it all off as a business expense. It's yours to keep."

If the inhuman nature of that voice that teeters along the inside of Jessica's skull is the anchor that drags her down, maybe the very human nature of Azalea's expression when she receives those gifts, stricken and hopeful and touched, can be the helping hand that helps her back up again. The way her hands brush over the laptop, especially, is oh so covetous, because she had one once. She had to sell it for rent and ramen money, and like any drug addict, could not look back.

But this is different. This is a new start, and a gift from a friend. Just a few weeks ago, she thought she had just one. Now she wasn't sure where the number stood, to many relationships in flux, but when she looks back up at Jessica there's no doubt how she feels about her.

"I'm not going to let you down, Jessica. Thanks for…" Her gaze trails off, and it's because of a tick at her mouth, a loss of control. Emotion welling. She swallows it away and sinks back, pulling the entire box close to her chest. "I can do this.. I can make sure it's right. When I lived in Paris, and London before that, I used to track down girls all the…"

It might be heartbreaking to see her go from beholden and human to earnest and excited to, finally, a darker place.

Because she never lived in Paris, or London before that.

There's only one reason he would have tracked down girls.

"Anyway." The box finds the ground next to her, gently, and it's time for her to swallow something else down. "Is it alright if I get started on monday? I, uh.. I came back, I was just in Gotham, just for the day, but I kindof need a couple days."

"Sure. Cases take time. They're not going anywhere." Jessica does watch the transition with tenderness, feeling her heart break for someone else for a moment.

Some other person might offer a hug or something, and there have been moments lately where that person has been Jessica, but right now she can't get there. Still, it does give her a moment of feeling like she's doing something with her life, at least, that matters, a reminder it hasn't all been fuck-ups and humiliation.

"Azalea," she asks, quietly. "What's going on with you? Something's really gotten to you. You can talk to me, you know that." Maybe it just took being reminded to give her a little strength, to at least try to step up.

The way she can't stand to look at her is the first sign, seeking solace in a place far off, away from judgement, but oh so thankful for a kind ear. The hard swallow is confirmation, and she crosses her arms in a way most defensive before finally she speaks with a hallowed out version of who she usually is. "I guess it's just the talk with Zatanna. It made me think about the night I kissed her. I forced myself on her. And it was.. there was something else involved. Another influence. I had this vial of.. anyway. It isn't important. I was at my worst."

Her gaze shifts down, and she continues, gloved fingers curling at opposite elbows. "I always thought, that wasn't me, right? She could forgive me, because it was him. But when we talked, she told me it was why she kept me away. I was just so scared, you know? Scared she might die. Even after I talked with her, I thought she was wrong, but what could I say? I did it. Even if it was him, I did it. Even if I convinced myself I could be better, I did it. And then I met Robin. Uh.. Red Robin? Met him for real, not just when we got Bucky back. I told him something. I was so casual about it. I told him how I had come to Gotham again to fuck up some guys who thought they were powerful. That.. they killed someone I had a one night stand with, and I knew they did it to make themselves feel large when they were really fucking small."

Jessica has seen Azalea cry before, but this is fear, welling up. This is something else, and tears do not fall. When her gaze ticks up it's with an unfathomable worry. "He told me how everyone deserved to be cared for. The way he said it made me realize that I hadn't come to Gotham to deliver justice. I didn't care about her. Ever since Muller, ever since he touched my soul, I've been closer to this thing inside me, and on my bad days I was bad, on my good days I was good. And now.. I just don't know. I don't really know if I'm far enough apart from it that I can have ups and downs anymore, Jess. A minute ago I remembered being someone I wasn't, didn't even think about it. Anyway. I just want to stay here a few nights because every time I think about Gotham I want to go find that girl's grave and sob on it."

The cracks begin to show, and lifts a foot to the desk between them, as if rocking in her chair might help, blinking away tears as the fear rushes through her. A fear that her humanity may be all but lost.

To say it is not easy for Jessica to sort through her own reactions right now is an understatement. Azalea is essentially talking about molesting one of her dearest friends; she knows the thing inside her is the same kind of rapist monster who stalks her memories. Yet there is also a young college kid in her twenties whose life is also being derailed by a rapist monster. She feels compelled to destroy the one and save the other, and it makes for a very dark, difficult grapple that forces her to stay attentive but expressionless as she listens to every awful word.

In the end, her compassion for the human wins out over her anger and disgust at the devil.

If there are dark gods there must yet be bright ones; Jessica has seen too many times when horrible things that have happened have paved the way to stop even worse things. Her own brush with Kilgrave had taken everything from her, but then it had given back to her the ability to help save someone who had it worse; the ability to offer compassion and healing. She'd been torn from her world not once but twice; she'd found perspective and an immunity to the same magic at the precise moment that immunity was needed.

She can't discount the possibility that Azalea Kingston has crossed her path at the nudging of a brighter god. Now…she just needs to figure out what to do about it.

Jessica comes around the desk, plants her butt against the edge of it and puts a hand on Azalea's shoulder. "Going to that girl's grave and sobbing on it," she says quietly, "is what a human would do. But so is staying here until you feel strong enough to do it."

Another heartbeat, another moment where she starts sorting through all of this, trying to find a way forward.

Like picking her way through a land mine. "Being guilty of something," she says at last, "Is not the same as being responsible for it. If someone came and dropped a baby on that doorstep," Jessica points, "It wouldn't be my fault. I didn't do anything to make the baby, I didn't drop her there, I don't even know who she is, right? But…suddenly it would become my legal and ethical responsibility. Feed the baby, take care of the baby, call the cops, whatever, but if I just leave that baby on my doorstep, well…now I am guilty of harming someone, all while passing the responsibility for dealing with it, for facing it, to someone else."

Slowly, ever so slowly. "You are not guilty of Xihunel's crimes, nor his past. But now you find yourself in the position of having to be responsible for it. You might have to face those memories head on. You might have to accept they're basically yours now. That for all intents and purposes yep, that was you. But if you are entertwined, then you are no longer really in a battle where you are struggling against this monstrous controlling entity who is stronger than you. If you're really inseparable and merged, then just as he can't help but change you, you can't help but change him. You are still in the driver's seat. Maybe you go right ahead and feel remorse for his crimes. Grieve them like you've never grieved anyone, because those aren't just a lot of dead people; they were real people with real hopes, and dreams, and people they loved, and things they needed to atone for and ways they rose above and did great. Mourn every one of them. And then? When his impulses hit you? You don't allow yourself any glee in his power. You decide that you are Xihunel, and Xihunel is done with this shit. He is ready to atone, because he picked Azalea Kingston, a fundamentally decent person, and now he is stuck with her. Synthesis like that is a dangerous path…I don't gotta be a shrink to know that…and it may make John's job impossible in the end. You might just…be Xihunel…but a Xihunel that others can trust at their backs."

It should never be said that Jessica Jones is not both the heart and soul of every room she walks into. Maybe she's damaged, cut up inside, but her perspective stretches almost as far back as Xiuhnel's past. An impossible feat, for an impossibly compassionate person. Azalea's eyes close at the touch, but it's brief, a steadying breath pulled in before she looks up at her, absorbing every ounce of wisdom.

Drowning in every hard truth.

Her hand rises, curling over Jessica's, giving it a thankful squeeze. "I think maybe with you, maybe living some of a normal life between the nights in the dark, maybe with Cindy and, if I didn't freak her out to much, your sister.. maybe I'll make it."

Those blues turn steely then, and her grip on Jessica's hand tightens. She probably couldn't hurt her. It's just to make sure she understands the gravity of it all. "But if I fail. If I lose, and he wins. If.. even if it isn't that simple, but I'm not a person anymore, someone like Batman, someone I could overpower, fight forever and ever, after learning all his tricks.. he isn't going to stop me. Someone like John, someone like Zatanna, with all their magic.. magic she taught Xuihnel was delicious, that it could eat, well.. they are not going to be able to stop me."

Her hand falls away, and her slump backwards is not defeat, but the cruel hand of reality weighed on her chest. "You're going to have to. You'll have to break me, Jessica. If I lose, if I go bad. You're going to have to kill me. And I need you to promise me that when I smile at you like I'm human, even though I'm not, you'll do it."

Somehow, Jessica Jones knew this request was coming. She hadn't consciously realized that she knew it until the words were spoken and she realizes that she has no surprise at all.

Crunch of her fist in a woman's solar plexus; the look of strange peace on her face as she flew back and hit the pavement. The smell of blood. Kilgrave, satisfied beside her. Horror making it impossible for her to hear anything at all.

If someone had killed her to stop that moment in time, Jessica knows yet again that she'd have gone to her grave happy.

Bucky Barnes, promising to take Kilgrave out from the shadows if he, too, ever dared to emerge from the great beyond where he was hopefully burning in torment even now.

And really wouldn't that be a good trade? If Xihunel wins, killing a host he can't jump out of kills a menace so old that she's having trouble wrapping her head around the sheer amount of misery he has caused. At that point, he would just be another Kilgrave; the prototype of all Kilgraves, just with different and no-less horrifying abilities.

The relief she felt when both James Barnes and John Constantine essentially promised without hesitation to murder her worst nightmare for her sake tells her that she is not a principled man like Captain America, not a non-lethal weapon like the most honorable of the street's guardians in any of the three cities. She knows to her core there are some monsters the justice system cannot manage. She respects the law, she wants to follow it whenever and however she can, she respects life, and on the whole she believes it's better for the worst of the worst to go to prison. SHIELD even has facilities for the super-powered. And sometimes that works.

Until it doesn't.

She lowers her head, hair falling over her face in a dark curtain, soul aching as she prepares to accept this burden. It settles in the pit of her stomach unhappily. Not just the murder of someone who was once a friend, but the subsequent cover-up of it, a few more things to make her fall a little farther from who she'd like to be.

But maybe that's the whole point of baring her face and deciding to be a hero for anyone who wants to walk in on the street or give her a call. The Avengers of the world could afford to cling to lofty principles; they had the resources…and the distance…to do so more often than not. And even then, upset as she is about the collateral damage her own attempts have so recently caused, she's aware they do quite a bit of unintentional harm. Are they really so much better than anyone else who just gets up in the morning, puts on their pants one leg at a time, and tries, fiercely, to give a damn and make the world a little less shitty? Even Cap?

Is it really so much less noble to be the one willing to judiciously do the hard, dark thing when that hard, dark thing is the only thing that will make a desperately needed difference?

"You have my word," she says at last, locking the promise away, the hard little coal in her soul that she'll nurse for as long as she lives. She'll make provisions, she knows now, to send substitutes and surrogates to do the deed in her stead if she has died.

She pushes off the desk, walking to the window, staring at the dirty brick facade of the building behind hers. "Azalea," she says.

"Don't lose."

There is no morality for Azalea anymore, except for a stopping point she has clung to, has not crossed, not even by accident. Not yet. She needed someone who would. She needed a killer, but one with high morals. She needed Jessica Jones.

When in a person's life could the promise of death be such a release? To someone terminal, perhaps? Someone with almost no hope? Azalea could cling to the notion that she was not there yet. That, in fact, she would not lose. Part of that was making sure Bucky came back as himself. Part of it was figuring out a way to earn Zatanna's trust. Part of that was coveting Trish Walker.

Wait. What?

Her flinch away and side-eye at nothing in particular almost drowns out those last few words from Jess, but she's torn back to looking at her, letting the 'parts' of her plan go. Instinct, even driven by Xuihnel, was often the best way to go. Thinking and plotting with his tendrils wrapped around her mind, especially now, could be dangerous.

"Besides my bullshit. Besides that. What's eating at you? Did that Foggy guy get in trouble while I was gone yesterday? I've been tailing him, just like you said." Even if it wasn't needed. Even if her mission was supposed to end. She kept watching. Kept protecting.

"Did something else happen?"

Maybe it was Azalea's turn to listen, or maybe she just wanted her mind away from the death she's had promised to her, at her very own request. Because that was both her highest and lowest, a meandering tower of weight lifted, only to be dropped on someone else. Jessica Jones, the Atlas of Azalea's twin soul.

Jessica has decided not to touch the issue of Trish. There is no good that can come from it; either from pushing Az away from her warm and caring sister, or by allowing that Trish might be more receptive than Az might imagine. She doesn't need to have the conversation that the quickest way to ensure she's going to go snap Azalea's neck is if she actually harms her only living family member.

Instead she flinches at the sound of Foggy's name, a little, and allows, "I think he's safe now, but thank you."

It's a long time before she answers. She's relayed the story several times; she's tired of hearing the words in her own mouth. She has sobbed them at Shadowcrest and relayed them in dull tones to Trish. They've replayed in her aching heart all day long, now that she's finally gotten out of Bucky and Jane's hair and has avoided Shadowcrest for the thousands of reasons why avoiding Shadowcrest is just a great plan for her right now.

But to slap away Azalea's outstretched hand would be wrong. She summons a ghost of a half-smile and looks over her shoulder at her younger friend.

"Nothing earth-shattering. A small problem, really, one others would probably envy. I'm just in love with someone I can't have, is all. It's not something that can be solved. It's also not something that's particularly earth-shattering. It happens to all kinds of people, all the time. I've got it on good authority wallowing it in it for awhile is the right and proper thing to do though. So I am. Wallowing."

"Happened to me too."

It's so quiet, the way she says it. But she says it. She embraces Jessica from afar, a kindred spirit who fell for someone she could never have. Because, really, she can't have anyone. Not really. Not for long. Her almost-fiance was proof of that. But the glimmer of hope she had was stoked by the unusual interaction of their souls. It made her desire, coupled with the faintest hint of some normal life on the horizon, that much worse.

And so with that thought firmly in place she rose to move up beside Jessica, back against the wall, next to the window, head tilted in a way to look at her face, to read her like she reads everyone now. Thousands of years of instinctual mental dissection put to work.

"Wallowing is the best. Ask pigs. People all over the world look down on pigs as unclean things, you know? Even if they eat them. Even if they have their uses. Still, someone will look at a pig and harbor disgust for the shit it drowns in. All except for us pigs who got our own shit-baggage. I'm sure this example is way off somehow. Maybe even unhelpful. I'm not as good at this as you are, but I get what you're going through."

Her gaze drops, and she shrugs a shoulder. "So who is he? Why can't you have him? Don't be coy, I'm a private investigator, official as fuck. I'll figure it out."

If Jessica looks, there's a smile waiting for her. It'll suck her in and lift her up, and like everyone else who looks upon that expression, no one would guess how very deadly it's origins were.

'So who is he? Why can't you have him? Don't be coy, I'm a /private investigator/, official as fuck. I'll /figure it out./'

Azalea Kingston pulls something rare out of Jessica as she makes that joke. An actual laugh. It bursts out of her in real surprise, lightening the band of pain in her chest, bringing a bit of sparkle to eyes that had been dull. She does look, and it causes her own smile to widen. "Nelson's partner," she says. "Matt. He's not an asshole or anything. That's the conclusion people jump to but…he's just already with someone. He's honoring the person he's with. He's not obligated to return my feelings. We're still friends, even, or…will be when I can find it in me to face him again."

Laughter fades to a tired, wry smile. "And I can't even say it's not for the best, can I? I danced around telling him a damn thing because I was afraid I would endanger him. I just lost the fight between what I wanted and what was right. So maybe this is just what's right, and I'll eventually learn to live with it."

She looks up, closing her eyes. "I don't ever think I'll stop loving him though. Even if I don't get to walk beside him while I do."

There's judgement, there. It might be surprising to see. The way she's forced to look away, a slow shake of her head mired in skepticism, lips parting, breath stolen by it all. Wow. Just. Wow.

"Jesus Christ, Jessica. I've spent a long time staring at Foggy fucking Nelson. I don't care how gay you are, you outclass him in every which way. Whoever this Matt dude is must really, really find Foggy's shitty jokes funny to want to stay with him over dressing you in boy clothes and taking you to pound town."

She pushes off of the wall, and with a crescendo her rant intensifies, arms raising up beside her, as she talks to no one in particular. "What the fuck is the world coming to?! Why do they always like the other team? Oh fuck, I know it sounds awful, I know. I know Matt just loves his boyfriend. And shit, it's really cool that you still wanted me to protect Foggy, even though he's dating THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE."

Azalea makes a motion like she's tearing out her hair, then seems to claw down her face.

What? She said 'Foggy's partner'.

Azalea Kingston, private investigator, picks up on all the mother fucking details ya'll.

Jessica opens her mouth as if to say she's not really sure that…

Then she closes it. Nah. Ya know what? Nah. It's funny, she needs the laugh, and why burst Az's official as fuck bubble there?

Besides, now she's got to shut up the little nasty part of her that is saying she too is a private investigator, official as fuck, and she could probably get a look at the Kindergarten Teacher if she really wanted to scope out the competition.

No. Nope. Nuh uh. NOT CROSSING THAT LINE. No becoming a creepy stalker, even if her job is essentially to be…a creepy stalker.

Instead she says, "To be fair…I think I more or less already wear boy clothes."

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