AKA J is Down

September 03, 2018:

Jessica Jones is dying, Daredevil has been captured by the Kingpin, and it's up to Claire Temple to stop the bleeding and rally the Defenders.



NPCs: Jarvis

Mentions: Tony Stark, Matt Murdock, Wilson Fisk, Jane Foster, Enchantress

Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

The text from Jessica Jones is barely coherent. The address in Hell's Kitchen is misspelled, though decipherable. The number 191 is there. And any follow-up questions seem to go unanswered.

The word 'dye' had been in there too.

It's the dead of night. There's a light rain falling, sweeping across the streets in a soft pitter-pat-pat. The area of the Kitchen is one of the more torn up ones, one of the ones on the south side of the neighborhood that hasn't gotten as much attention from clean-up crews. The address proves to be some kind of office building, not new enough to be sleek but not dilapadated enough to have earned the attention of the bombers.

Jessica is nowhere in immediate sight.

The bright colors of one of the Best Presents Ever (aka, post explosion med kit) are hidden within a bigger, shoddy duffel bag. All the better not to attract attention, or at least that's the hope. Without an obvious Jessica sighting, Claire is approaching the apparent address cautiously, giving it (and the surrounding alleys and rooftops) as much of a once over as she can before pulling at the door to see if it will open. The dialing Jess's number to see if she can track down the noise will be a last resort.

PS. There is totally a just in case batch of bleach and dye in the bag. In case it wasn't a typo.

Morgan Freeman's voice drifts down the dilapidated first floor hallway.

"Call from…Claire Temple. Do you wish to answer the call, Miss Jones?"

And then, again, a moment later. "Call from…Claire Temple."

Jessica apparently doesn't want to answer the call, but there may be good reasons for that. She's slumped against the wall, in front of a window that's at the end of the hall. She's mostly sitting, but she has her hand clamped to her neck. There is…a great deal of blood. She doesn't seem fully conscious right this second. Eyes closed while she bleeds, it seems like every last scrap of what she's got is dedicated to keeping as much blood in her body as she can, staying just conscious enough.

There is a small bullet hole in that window. Just a pucker in the glass indicating where it punctured straight through.

Another fine mess you've gotten them into, Miss Jones! "Oh $#!t" says the ever articulate and not nearly as classy as MoFre phone nurse. Claire thumbs off the phone before she crouches down before getting into the window's line of sight. The bags are opened and a pair of purple gloves come out. Then she slides the duffel bag over towards Jess.

Well. Not towards exactly. More between Jessica and the window with a very specific goal in mind - to see if there's another shot coming when there's movement in Jessica's vicinity. It's a makeshift attempt to make the scene is secure* before starting in on the TLC portion of the evening.

*In so much as any evening spent with friends is secure in the post-HK-bombing environment.

The scene seems secure enough. No further gunshots come, and she can't see signs of anyone else out there in the night. Of course, that's no guarantee of anything at all. It's possible an attack could come that Claire would never see coming. It's the kind of determination she's going to have to make in the next minute or so.

Jessica only stirs a little. She drags her eyes open and tries to say something, only to fail on her first attempt. She keeps that bloodied hand clamped to her neck, even as some blood dribbles out of the corner of her mouth. Whatever her healing factor can do normally, it's not going to fix this fast enough to save her right now.

That much is on Claire.

It's not even a minute or so. Once there's no shot ringing out, Claire slides right in after the bag. Treatment's going to the airway first, though Jessica's ability to even try to speak? It at least suggests this may not be an absolute worst case scenario. Bonus, that means she's being quiet so she can listen to Jessica's breath sounds, which forestalls the looming we need to get you to a hospital exclamation.

After the initial examination and any immediate treatment, she finally speaks. "Tap your finger twice if you have on those earrings with the scanning technology."

She taps her finger twice, but she still struggles to speak.

And abruptly tries to grab Claire's shoulder with a little too much strength. Not enough to break it, but it might not feel too good if Claire lets that land. Control is slipping at the moment, and she's desperate. She gasps: "Tell… the others. You've got to tell them. Bastards… took… Matt."

Then she slumps back, letting Claire go. That's all she's got. All the words she has. But they were the important words.

The earrings are easy to find, too. They're in her ears. Normally she wouldn't let anyone near those. The only scar she has, the ugly ragged thing behind her left ear, is too sensitive a subject for her. But she hardly has the wherewithal to complain now.

Her breath is ragged, but it's not a lung that's been pierced. There's no wheezing. There's some bubbling sounds from the wound, but it's higher up than that. Her hand is clamped around her neck and shoulder. The one she didn't try to grab Claire with.

And Claire will get around to honoring that tell the others. But at the moment she's dealing with the good side/bad side of not having a set of super powers.

Good Side 1: She doesn't have super strength which means that there's no additional damage due to accidentally tearing new fashion forwards gouges into Jessica's ears when she gets the earrings out.

Bad Side 1: She doesn't have extra arms to do things like get the x-ray vision earrings out, start treatment, send a group text of jackasses have Matt all at the same time.
Bad Side 1a: Also, the lack of extra arms means that a whole half of her shoulders are currently yowching from that grab.

Right now? Scars are beautiful - they're old wounds. Healed wounds. Wounds that don't leave blood seeping through fingers.

There's going to be some fussing about airway and breathing before getting to all that pesky neck business, though. At least she's efficient about it. There's some cursory muttering about things like pulse ox and the like, but with the breathing addressed, she can move on to the next pressing matter of circulation. Have to make sure the oxygen can get into the body before making sure it can get through it.

Claire picks up one of those previously tapping hands and checks the fingernails for color, pressing on the nail bed to check how quickly color returns. Pulse and bloodpressure.

The texts are done during the circulation checks - voice operated texts to pass on that the Devil Emoji has been taken, requesting the van and muscle. When they're done, she gets the emergency bandaging ready for the neck. NO, no tourniquet!

"We'll keep two taps for yes as long as you can. As far as you know, were you only shot once?

The bullet has gone through Jessica's subclavian artery on the left hand side. Her pulse is dropping, her blood pressure is dropping, and it's a wonder she got that much out. Her fingernails are so crusted with her own blood it's tough to tell, but they aren't returning that fast. Point of fact, she is actually dying here, in real danger of bleeding out. She doesn't answer right away to the question, drifting in and out, but soon she sort of gets back with it and taps twice for yes. Only shot once.

Her head lolls a little bit. She's trying not to pass out, but it's getting there. She relaxes just a little to hear Claire sending a voice text. And then she decides she actually does have something else to say. Even though she shouldn't.

In a ragged whisper she mutters, "Tell Luke I…"

But she never manages to finish the sentence.

"This is where I point out you'll tell him yourself. Stay with me for a minute, Jessica. What's the code to your phone? Then you can rest." Claire is doing her best here, fulfilling medical duty, cliche services, and practicality in case they'll need to examine the phone for clues in a hurry. If she gets the code? Great. But soon enough, she'll let let Jessica start getting some rest. The stillness gives her a chance to -very- carefully position Jessica, the better not to irritate any potential cervical damage. Then there's time to fidget with the earrings and use them for a better diagnostic run - time to see if the bullet can be taken out without doing further damage, and now, or if they need to wait for the next stop on their journey. One Doctor Jane of the far far better medical device company.

Claire keeps busy, though, as they wait for the Cage transportation company. The purple gloves will have a whole new color scheme shortly, even after she changes them out once as she works to stabilize the patient.

Jessica opens her mouth to answer the code, but that's about the time when she just slips out of consciousness entirely. Her hands go limp, and there won't be any other tapping.

Thus, Claire is able to position her any way she wants. The earrings show it's a risky proposition. It can be taken out without doing further damage, but only if it's done just right. What that means for Claire's assessment is up to Claire, but it is what it is. At least it really is her only wound, which is important. It's just a nasty one.

Stabilization, though, is a good thing. She continues to breathe, if only barely, with her pulse dangerously slow and her blood pressure dangerously low. Still, she fights tooth and nail to hold on to life.

Luke knows three things: Matt’s been kidnapped. Someone is hurt. Jessica is involved.

That’s all he needs to barrel through the hideaway in his building to raid supplies and shove them into a backpack with his last stop being a mini fridge decorated in biohazard stickers to grab the bags of blood that Claire requested so succinctly. He’s out the hidden hatch before it even has time to start hissing back closed. The noise of his pulse drumming so loudly in his ears he can’t hear Delford call after him asking if everything is alright as he slams out the apartment building doors and heads to his bike.

Why can’t he breathe? Oh, that would be because his heart is lodged in his throat.

It’s an agonizing commute to Hell’s Kitchen, the earbud connected to his phone calmly spouting out directions to the given address. It’s a good thing the Metro police are busy elsewhere because many laws are broken as his tires squeal downtown, including the fact that he forgot to slap on a helmet in his haste.

The roar of his engine echoes off the surrounding structures in Hell’s Kitchen that are still managing to stand, no matter how crookedly. He barely remembers to slow down before he gets to the office building, much less stopping his motorcycle all together. He just ditches the bike on the wet pavement and eats the asphalt with his hip, the ground chewing up his jeans and grinding the metal of his ride into a hail of sparks that sizzle out in the puddles. He’s already on his feet and running into the building before his poor Harley comes to rest half wrapped around a light post.


Well, okay, but it's going to be really difficult to transport Jessica on the Harley in her current condition! But no doubt he's already on that. Claire doesn't look up from her work, even at the shout. She's got her full attention on the patient. The good news is that she's used to giving reports and conversing even as she works. "Quiet freaking out is fine, but keep it as calm on the outside as you can so we can keep her blood pressure stable. Do we have a van on the way? Call her doctor friend to make sure she's ready to meet us and we get her to the right place." Yeah, he's getting assignments as soon as he enters, even if some of them may be impossible to follow.

Make no mistake. Claire is keyed up and on high alert, but her tone is cool as a cucumber. Business meeting stable.

For now the bullet is staying place. The placement is not one she wants to take a risk with, even with supercharged healing parties.

The new TV hanging on the wall of Owen's otherwise bare apartment is loudly showing tonight's MMA bout between Sticky Lazaro and Greg Gouger Gauge. Owen is about half way into a bottle of whiskey when his phone buzzes. His ringtone is a recording of Luke or at least someone doing a very good Luke impression: "Do I need to slap you upside your damn head? You gotta text."

And in fact he does. A new text from Luke that reads: (address). Need a van. Devil taken. Def down.

Owen's reply is lightning fast as he mentally maps out the city and best place to procure something nearby: 20 mins out. 25 if I need gear.

The reply comes before Owen has managed to make it outside the building, even with a speed burst: U got 15.

His speed doesn't work quite like the Flash, it's bursts here and there with breaks in between. He knows he can't use it while driving, at least not efficiently, so he's not as worried about using it to run, but knows he will really need it for the hotwire job. That would normally take the most time, or getting the door open if he cared about keeping the windows in tact. He doesn't. Sprinting through the parking garage, Owen heaves a sigh of relief in finding a painters van that looks like it will fit the bill. He's stressed out enough thinking that he's on the way to rescue Daredevil, since he was in a hurry in reading the text. He doesn't realize it's Jess. Not yet anyway.

I’m sorry, who does Claire think she’s talking to? Certainly not Luke who just rolled up on his girlfriend splayed out on the floor drenched in blood. Nah, she must be addressing some other six and a half foot tall black dude who’s better at keeping his shit together at that sudden, gut-wrenching sight. He won't remember coming down that hallway, he won't remember wrenching an errant office chair out of his way with a snatch of his hand that leaves the furniture imbedded in the drywall with one lazy wheel spinning defiantly.

He’s on his knees by their side in what might as well be prayer. Hopefully that liquid that is soaking into his jeans is from a leak in the roof and not the one that's been punctured in her shoulder. “Jesus, Jess…” His big hands that are always so sure and strong are hovering just shy of touching her crimson soaked blouse, quaking so much his fingers seem blurry in his vision. No wait, that’s the tears that make them glassy. “What…fuck…” Did Claire ask him to do something? He snaps his gaze up, “Well! DO SOMETHING.”

She is doing many of the things, amongst them not jumping out of her skin when that chair becomes one with flaking drywall.

Swearing, staring, intimidating big guy wanting it all fixed now. Claire's in no position to fix him with the not her first rodeo stare. She's too busy watching what she's doing with the bandaging. "One shot to the neck, no exit wound. I've got her mostly stable. If her doctor friend, the one from the meeting, has better tech to treat her than the hospitals, we'll take her there. If not, we'll load her in the van and take her to an ER."

If its infuriating to have all that said in a completely even, unfussed tone, she doesn't mean it to be. But her hands, the ones in those annoyingly purple (and increasingly slick and red) gloves, are busy and it's easier to go into ER auto pilot. "I'll give you instructions again in a minute. But do something for me. Give yourselves ten seconds to completely freak out inside. Be as scared and upset as you need to be. Count them down. And after the ten, I need you to put it aside while I talk you through some things to do to help. Okay? Ten … nine … "

Parking the van in a nearby alley, Owen bolts out of it and is still moving at speed when he finds the gruesome threesome. He just appears to the two of them, Jess obviously is not so aware of reality let alone Owen's arrival. He takes in Jess's state and then Luke's state and Claire's calm 'Get yo' black ass together' speech before he says anything.

"Numb nuts, move. I got this. When we need to move her, that's you."

He takes his place next to Jess and starts to inspect what Claire's done to treat the bullet wound. He's done enough field dressing on himself and others that he's a proficient if vulgar assistant. He spares a glance over at Luke, to make sure he's not going to freak out before asking Claire.

"What can I help with?"

Inside he's furiously going through his mental Rolodex (okay, for Owen it's a mental contact list) of people who could help in this situation. Dr. Sexy Eyes, but Owen doesn't have contact info. Emery probably got his digits. Danny's got the glow fist that did help, but that might be beyond him? Enchantress could heal this… or she could murder them all and dance over their headless corpses. Probably 50/50, or 80/20 in favor of the headless corpse dancing.

“I swear, you count one more number at me, I’m gonna break you in two.” Comes the growl from Cage, his breathing coming out through clenched teeth and for a moment, he might just mean it. Against all odds, it’s Owen that’s the voice of reason in Luke’s ear, and the mountain shuffles aside to let Mercer in next to his girl.

“What doctor, what meeting?” It’s not that he’s overwhelmed with emotions – though he is – that he doesn’t understand what Claire’s going on about. He honestly doesn’t seem to have a clue. He’s un-shouldering a black backpack and handing it across Jess’ body, presumably the blood and plasma that she asked for. That leaves one more thing on her list. Reluctantly, he leaves his girl’s side, moving like a hulking time bomb towards a door that he unceremoniously rips from the hinges with no more effort than it would take to pull a page out of a book.

"No threatening the nice lady who's saving Jess's life dipshit."

Owen may care very deeply about Jess and Luke but he also doesn't pull punches or temper his usual insults even in time of crisis. Maybe especially in times of crisis. He looks at the X-Ray specs and isn't phased by the tech or by reading the output. He simply nods in affirmation and says "Ok. We roll on your count.."

"Oh .. no. Jane's just a fuckin' math nerd. Uhm. Call Danny. Or … we can take her to Stark's. He'll have tech. She trusts him."

Owen's own aversion to hospitals shine through in that he doesn't think of the obvious even if Occam's Razor here definitely applies. He's perhaps a little too in the deep end of super hero fights that his solutions all revolve around mystic healers or advanced technology and not something as mundane, but purpose focused as a good ol' ER.

Luke grunts, not from the weight of the door but the actual effort it takes to lay it down next to Jess gently. Finesse takes more exertion than brute strength, it seems. Owen answered the bit about Jane which is for the best as right now Luke might have added bits about shooting stars coming out of choice bits of Claire’s anatomy and Mercer reminded him to play nice. She’s helping Jess. It’s not her fault she’s the only target for Cage’s ire. Heaven help her if Jones dies, though. Heaven help all of Manhattan.

Dammit Danny, not the time to lose your Chi. Tony it is. He moves around wordlessly to crouch at Jess’ head, ready to add his strength to move her onto the board. “Morgan, text Stark.” He doesn’t have to unlock Jess’ phone, some where along the line he was programmed in to be able to give voice controls. While he’s waiting for the order from Claire, his thick fingers gently draw loose black curls away from Jessica’s forehead and dictates the text. “It’s Cage. J is down. Don’t trust hospitals. Coming to you. Be ready.”

Luke's text gets little reply for a moment, then…

"Ah, Mister Cage. Mister Stark is currently indisposed, but I shall inform Ms. Potts and let you in the service entrance. You can take the first elevator on the left directly to the Med Labs."

Then a longer pause.

"Of forgive me, sir. This is JARVIS."

The heroes really only have themselves to blame. It was only a matter of time before Claire gave up on telling them they needed to go to a hospital. Today may have been the wrong day to give up the fight.

For the moment, she seems content to leave the where to Luke. The focus is getting Jessica onto the door. "Here," she says. It must be to Luke, because once she has the blood running to Jess, she holds the bag up to him so she can get her hands free to help Owen with the roll. "One hand on her, one hand on this until we're ready to move. Keep it over her head." She slides her hands carefully under the patient and counts off for Owen. "On three. Luke, look away for a few seconds."

It's not so much a concern for delicate sensibilities. It's that the transfer is a matter of efficiency instead of tenderness. It's brusque and it's physical. And the limp limbed unresponsiveness can be unnerving. While the nurse certainly isn't the musclebound one in the group, she's steady as F* when it comes time for this sort of work.

Once Jessica is laid out on the door surveys it for a second. "None of us have belts big enough to use to keep her strapped in. I'm going to hold her steady and carry the bag. One of you, clear a path to the van so we can keep the door even. And Luke, can you get that Jar vase guy on speaker so I can keep them up to date on her vitals while we're on the way?"

At the very least, they aren't too far away. Jessica was shot right in Hell's Kitchen, just off a road that offers a straight shot to the nicer part of Manhattan holding Stark Industries.

None of her vitals get any better, but they don't get any worse. She's stable.

She's also a limp, pale thing. Far, far scrawnier looking there on that door than she looks when she's awake, swearing, asking a zillion questions, stomping around.

Helping roll Jess with a stern far away look on his face, Owen is in the zone, nodding at Claire as she counts off. He moves Jess and just doesn't think about it. He's far more serious and focused than his usual wise cracking, slightly overactive self. He rolls Jess and sets his teeth as she flops around a good bit more than he would like. He's steady enough though, just forcing himself to revert to the training and experience he has and not think about the situation.

When Claire says they need one of them to clear a path, Owen barely stays long enough to say "Got it" Before he's gone in a woosh of air. He has to stop a few times, but it's still a good deal faster than Luke could move. There is a large boom noise down the hall from them as apparently Owen has decided that exploding the doors was the easiest way to get them out of the way. Most people might prop them open. Owen is a little more energetic that that.

Coming back into the room, only slight smoke marks showing on his face, he asks, "Luke you gotta do the heavy lifting here, I can help hold up my end but I'm assuming you got most of it big guy?" He squats down at Jess's head, taking side with the more gore and blood that might distract Luke from his task.

Luke gets his shit together enough to stop bucking the level headed commands of Claire save one: he can’t look away. Barely able to discern the rise and fall of her chest with each strained breath, he’s afraid that if so much as glances away right now he’ll miss the last one she’ll take. Wordlessly, he helps them get Jess to the van, carrying the brunt of the weight as asked and only needing the others to steady the tilt of the door lest they make her injury worse in the transport.

There’s no way he’s leaving her side, even the short drive to Stark’s, so that’ll leave Owen behind the wheel and Claire in the back with him making sure Jess stays stable. Not a religious man by any stretch, the words of a prayer find their way to his lips, muttered under a breath that sounds on the verge of cracking.

"Mister Cage," JARVIS' voice over Jess' phone. "I have taken the liberty of activating the speaker systems. Might I inquire as the state of Miss Jones? So I can have the medical bay prepped and ready."

The cadence is that of an English butler, but most people would know that voice would know of the AI systems.

"I have also taken the liberty of downloading her vitals and…oh my…yes, everything will be prepared for you. Do you need a full surgeon on hand when you arrive?"

Once they're settled in the van, Claire nods to the phone. "Can we get that on speaker and we can keep him updated as we go? And a surgeon would be great, with ENT and ortho consults. I'll have Luke snap a picture of the scans and send them over too," she informs Jarvis. Because there will still be little tasks for Luke as they go, things to keep him occupied. Take a picture of the scans of Jess's injuries - send to Jarvis. Not creepy at all. Then she hands him the blood bag again. "Just keep it steady and up above her so we let gravity do the work."

The things we're asked to do for love. Take a picture of the worst thing. Hold this blood.

There is still work being done once they're in-transit, but when she's got things settled down for a few minutes, there's time to do some Cage Care as well. She finally /looks/ at him instead of little glances to make sure he's following up.

"I know I've been asking you to do hard things. But they're for her. Keeping you as steady as possible helps her stay steady. In an ER, the patient doesn't know the voices around them in a trauma room. They don't hear the stress and anxiety in the voices of people they care about. Heart rate, blood pressure - it can react. So time to be a different kind of strong. If you can? Talk to her. Steady, smooth, confident. Talk about who's going to have to do the dishes next week. Paint colors for the bar bathrooms. Where you want to go on vacation. Luke? We've got her."

And the pep talk done, she'll scoot up to give them as much privacy as the back of the van and the need to monitor Jess allows. Also time to make sure the second part of the message got through, and that means talking to the driver.

"Just checking. Were you two able to get someone else on the case of looking into Mike's … into the devil being taken?" Listen to the 'doctor' taking her own advice and trying to sound totally chill and calm instead of freaking out about the OTHER friend in trouble, the one whose problems she can't do anything about.

Owen does his best to navigate traffic with the minimum of blasting the horn. Though there are some choice words yelled out the window as he tries to navigate the few blocks from Hell's Kitchen to Stark Towers in midtown. He mostly keeps his cool and obeys the laws since getting pulled over in a stolen van won't really help Jessica's situation any. Though it only takes a few minutes, it seems like a few years before they finally pull into a parking garage below the towers.

Just as they are driving through the garage, Owen hears Claire's calm voice ask about the devil. He slowly turns to her and grits his teeth. He already forgot about the misunderstanding with the text. He thought Daredevil had been shot, but no he was taken. He shakes his head, "I didn't. And I doubt Luke's in shape to rally troops. What do we know about it? Was he with Jess? Was he taken from that same place? Once she's up and settled I gotta ditch the van and then I can get on it."

He parks and hops out to open the backdoors, which gives him a second to take a breath.

"I probably at least owe him that much…" is said to no one, but the otherwise empty garage, but it's still true.

Numb. It’s in his fingers as he takes the blood bag from Claire and holds it aloft and in his voice as he answers her in words he’ll never remember saying. The picture is taken and sent over to JARVIS, the surgeon requested from the AI and then he relinquishes the rest of the details of the medical needs of their arrival to Claire over the speaker phone.

Luke has curled his hand into Jess’ limp and virtually lifeless one, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles and muttering soft words like, “We got you, babe.” Over and over. It’s not quite the calm and distracting comments that the nurse asked for, but it’s all he can manage. There is caked blood crusting under his fingernails and a smear of it across his cheek where he wiped away a bead of nervous sweat, and damn it all if another hoodie is ruined but this time with the life blood of his girlfriend.

As soon as the van stops, he doesn’t wait for Owen to come around and open the back doors, he merely gives them a swift kick from his seated position and sends them crashing open. It’s time for Stark’s minions to take over but he won’t leave her side until he’s forced. Good luck with that.

"All I know is he was taken. There may be more clues on her phone." Claire's hand is on Jessica's wrist as she talks with Owen, keeping track of Jones' pulse during the conversation. She turns back to look at Luke for the next thoughts, even if the information is for Owen. "I'll be going in to assist with the surgery, so it's good that you'll be able to take on the troop rallying. My focus will be here until someone else goes down."

Hey. The repeated mantra of 'we got you' is just what the nurse ordered, as long as it's steady and not stressed out!

The guys are going to be left to get the makeshift gurney out and moving onto whatever Jarvis has waiting - Claire's going along next to it. After a quick check to make sure Owen doesn't have a broken nose from the boot to the van doors.

Owen tries to get as much of the details form Claire as he can without distracting her from the more pressing matter. He grumbles and tries to consider what his options are for tracking down a swiped superhero. At least they don't need to make a list of who might have taken for him. Kind of useless when it'd be a list of one.

The door sure enough knocks into Owen but doesn't cause too much damage, just a busted nose and maybe some light facial bleeding. It's hard to even tell with Owen, his face is always messed up anyway. But he shakes off Claire and helps to get Jess loaded onto an actual guerny that his helpfully waiting for them in the elevator. But he stops the door before it can close.

"I'm not stayin'. I need to ditch the van and start trying to get a bead on the devil." And suddenly he has Jess's phone in his hand. Did anyone even see him take it? Probably not.

"Luke, I need you to unlock this for me. Or tell it to help me. Or whatever."

He adds this bit from outside the elevator, pointing the phone at Luke assuming that he can do that via voice command.

The moments that follow are a blur of frenetic activity. The service elevator comes swiftly down, and with it private med-staff and a gurney for Jessica Jones. The ones who follow along with her are treated to hours of surgery that leave the P.I. alive-but-barely, deprived of too much blood and oxygen for too long despite all of Claire Temple's best efforts.

She's laid up in a bed one room over from the Tower's own 'indisposed' master, Tony Stark, who has been consigned to his own long night just days earlier.

When will she wake up? They can't say. Will she wake up? They can't say. What will her recovery be like, if she wakes up? And so on.

Which leaves nothing for her friends to do but watch, and wait. Or — perhaps more likely — punch back.

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