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melindaofshield · 6 years

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i saved your best agent || kilgrave, melinda, and phil

summary: kilgrave’s first day training at SHIELD takes a turn for the worst. immediately following this thread.

trigger warnings: injury, violence, murder/murder implications, self-harm, trauma, mind control, kilgrave stuff

featuring: @coulsonsshield @kevinthompsons

MELINDA: Melinda paused for a beat after her fist had made contact with Kilgrave, watching as he staggered backward from the blow. Normally she would have stopped herself or at least held back, but each phrase out of his mouth was another command and he wasn’t focused on his training. He was focused on control. And Kilgrave needed to understand how to react when things were out of his control. But she could see it in his face, the rage behind his dark eyes as he stared at her like she had wronged him. He straightened up finally. But that look was still on his face. He didn’t know how to react -- he had never been taught how to handle situations without simply barking orders.

Kilgrave was looking at her, but then his eyes moved away. Looking just over her shoulder. At the mirror?

And there it was.

An order was thrown out without a second thought -- or maybe he had thought about it. It was specific and crass. Break that mirror. And cut your heart out with a shard. Now. Melinda looked him in the eyes, tried to pause, but the urgency in the word now forced her to turn around. She took a few steps towards the mirror and stared at her reflection briefly, her eyes moving towards the image of Kilgrave standing behind her in the distance. But he wasn’t stopping her. And why would he? This was what he wanted right? Control. His pride had been wounded and he was reacting like a child. But Melinda was paying the price.

She lifted her hand and balled her fist before hitting the mirror as hard as she could and the glass fragmented onto both sides of the wall. A two-way mirror. Melinda’s attention was on the glass that sprayed out in her direction -- but she glanced on the other side, to see who it was that had been tasked with monitoring the situation.

Phil.

Melinda tore her eyes away from him, blood already trickling down her arm from the shards of glass -- but that’s not what Kilgrave wanted. She bent over and turned away from Phil so that he couldn’t see what she was about to do. Melinda gritted her teeth as she looked at Kilgrave. Eye contact as she put the broken piece of glass in towards the center of her chest and made the first jagged cut across the center of her chest. Tearing her shirt and cutting into her chest. But she didn’t scream. The pain was ripping through her but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction if hearing her pain. She pulled the glass away from her body, the blood already staining her clothes and dripping from the shard -- and she put it back to her chest, in the same spot she had started. Ready to make the second cut.

PHIL: When training Kilgrave had been suggested while writing up his contract, Coulson had vehemently disagreed at first. The man was already dangerous enough – teaching him to fight would only make it worse, even though he suspected that Kilgrave wouldn’t use those fighting skills even if he was taught them. He would always be lazy, and learning how to punch would make no difference.

However – after much consideration, he’d agreed to the idea of Kilgrave learning how to fight. Then came the time to determine who would train him, and the first suggestion of Melinda May already had Phil on edge. First Jessica, then Daisy – there had to be one person in Coulson’s life who wasn’t terrorized by this monster. He didn’t want May to become Kilgrave’s latest fascination, or for her to have to deal with him. She’d only just returned, and things were good – or as good as they could be – but he knew that May might be the right person for the job as much as he hated it. Begrudgingly, he’d supported the idea and agreed to it, but on the caveat that he be there to monitor the situation.

And it was good he did, given what transpired when the two met.

Coulson had feared Kilgrave taking a liking to May, seeing so much of Daisy and Jessica in her, but it was far worse than he could have imagined. Kilgrave immediately ordered May to be happy there, a thought that made his jaw clench at the idea of forcing her pleasure, and telling her to be friendlier. May used to be friendlier, used to be warmer, and Kilgrave had no right to expect that from her. He had no right to demand anything from her – but when had that stopped him?

Bitch. He wanted to go in there, punch Kilgrave right then, but knew it would only make the situation worse. So far, everything was fine, and Melinda was safe – if he went in and antagonized Kilgrave, it would only escalade.

Apparently he wasn’t needed to make the situation worse.

The desire to cheer on Melinda for twisting Kilgrave’s arm, for punching him, warred with Coulson’s fear for her life. He saw it in Kilgrave’s face as his decision set in, and Coulson stared to rise from his seat, recognizing the look on Kilgrave’s face and the way he nearly seemed to be looking at him as he stared at the mirror.

It was as if he heard the command Kilgrave gave to May just moments before he spoke it. And then, suddenly, the two way mirror was destroyed by Melinda’s fist punching through it, cuts and slashes scattering over her skin as he saw her, the pure fear etched into her features.

He ran into the other room, just in time to watch, horrified, as Melinda plunged the shard of mirror into her chest, creating a deep gash as blood bloomed against her chest. “Kilgrave, what the hell are you doing?!” He shouted in anger as he wrenched May’s hand away from her chest, pinning the hand that held the mirror shard to the wall and looking back at the other man. “You want to convince everyone you can handle this? You can’t just kill everyone who gets in your way! Remove the command, now!”

KILGRAVE: He didn't usually watch them do it. He had no desire to see the blood, the gore, but since Jessica had pinned the desk against him? Since Daisy had fucked off and abandoned him? He didn't care anymore. He stared at her as the familiar blank look fell across her face, shutting off that infuriating superior expression. There it was. The way they should all look. Her eyes, which had been cold before, were empty now. She didn't look pissed, or afraid. She just obeyed. Just like she should have right from the moment he'd walked into the room.

Agent May turned towards the glass and punched it with as much force as she'd hit him, which seemed fitting. Even at the first sign of blood on her knuckles didn't make him turn away. It was sickening, it was fucking disgusting, but he kept watching her as she picked up the piece of mirror. Cut your heart out. It was brutal. He usually didn't give a shit how they did it, just as long as they were gone. But this bitch? She deserved to suffer. He wanted her to feel every second of it. She'd hit him. Jessica Jones only got away with that kind of insubordination because he couldn't make her pay for it. But that didn't mean every bitch with a smug attitude got to punch him in the face. Jessica and Daisy and even Patsy. At last, someone was paying their dues.

She plunged the glass into her chest, and he made himself stay still and watch, even as she dragged it through her flesh. They never screamed. They never bloody screamed. People had cut off limbs and stabbed themselves and shot their spouses, and they didn't scream while it was happening. He'd heard their screams later, after the command had been carried out, usually as he was walking away. But never during. And Agent May was no different. She stabbed the glass into her chest, right through her shirt, and started to cut. Blood gushed out of the wound, so dark it was almost black, and it made him feel nauseous just looking at it. But she was staring at him -- this fucking arrogant bitch -- and he wouldn't look away now. He kept looking at her hand, so steady, even as she slid it through her skin.

Suddenly, Coulson ran in, and Kilgrave was completely thrown. What the hell was Phil doing here? He tore his gaze away from May and stared at Coulson in shock. Before he could tell Phil to stay there, to not interfere, the other man had crossed the room and wrestled May's hand away from her chest, physically fighting her not to do what she'd been told. Typical. What a Jessica Jones thing to do. Jesus, he was surrounded by all these sodding do-gooders who didn't ever see what he saw. Why had he ever though this would work out? This being a hero lark. What the hell did it get him, anyway? Jessica had stabbed him in the back and Daisy had left him and Phil was a bloody pen-pushing idiot.

Remove the command, now. Kilgrave stared at him. He was so unused to hearing that sort of emotion in anyone's voice, except Jessica. They all sounded slightly off, like actors. The whole world was a goddamn stage, wasn't that how the phrase went? That's all it had ever been. Everything happened around him. It never touched him. But as he stared at Coulson, literally fighting this bitch for her life, he wondered what it would be like to be like them, to be like Jessie. To actually give a shit. To be like Daisy, and cry when a woman didn't commit suicide, because she cared that much about a bloody stranger.

And he was so fucking tired. Of being looked at the way Coulson was looking at him. The way his parents had looked at him. That mixture of horror and anger and sadness and something else, something too confusing for him to name. Jessica looked at him that way, and Daisy looked at him that way, and sometimes the ones who took a moment to obey, they looked at him like that too. He was exhausted with all of it. With trying to be like them, trying to be friendly. He'd tried, with this one, to be polite and smile and act like he was pleased to be wasting his time. Just like he'd tried with Daisy. But, just like every other bitch, this May woman had screwed him over.

"Why?" he asked Coulson. He hadn't asked that in a long time. The last time he actually remembered asking that of another man was when he'd asked his father, when Albert had punished him for some tiny bad thing he'd done. Decades ago, before his powers. Before. And his father had said because I said so. He looked at Phil, and felt uncharacteristically lost in the face of all that emotion. "Why should I remove it, huh? What does she --" he pointed at her carelessly, "-- Mean to you? Oh, and you can stop it, with the glass, Agent May. Stand still. Coulson wants to explain himself properly." The order for Agent May was a necessity, because Phil wouldn't be able to answer if he was fighting her.

MELINDA: The door swung open and Melinda’s jaw tensed because she knew who had walked through that door -- but she had silently begged to not have him see this. Kilgrave looked away from her and slowly, Melinda’s dark eyes found their way towards Phil and managed to catch that look of horror in his eyes when she made that first cut. There was a wave of nausea that hit her and forced her to look away from him, her eyes back on the shard of glass in her hands, watching the blood drip from the tip while she tried to ignore the excruciating pain in the center of her chest. Because focusing on that, on the blood dripping down the center of her body, dividing her in half, was better than the look of horror on Phil’s face.

Phil grabbed her wrist and Melinda fought against him -- she couldn’t stop herself. His words bouncing around in her mind, telling her to cut her heart out, she couldn’t stop. She wanted to drop the glass -- let it clatter to the floor and be done with this, but instead, as Phil pinned her hand to the wall behind her, she struggled in his grip. Twisting her wrist toward his thumb. He shouted at Kilgrave and she stared at the side of his face with a fearful expression. Not for her own safety -- but for his. Even if Kilgrave didn’t hurt Phil directly, he could force Phil to watch her kill herself -- force him to enjoy it if he wanted.

He shouted a command at Kilgrave, demanded that he take the order off of her and Melinda felt her heart pounding against her wounded chest. Each beat hurting more than the last. As Kilgrave started speaking to Phil and her stomach turned again. He wanted Phil to tell him what she meant to him and unfamiliar anxiety filled her chest. She pulled her eyes away from Phil, not wanting to look at him when he finally confessed whatever it was he was feeling about her. Trying not to fall back into that thought -- that she had confessed she loved him and he had said nothing. The lack of anything was more painful than an outright rejection, and she had always wanted to know what he felt, wanted to have this conversation but not like this. Never like this.

Kilgrave ordered her to stop and there was a moment of relaxation that came with it, the mirror shard dropped from her hand and Melinda looked at her palm. There was a deep cut there from how tightly she had gripped the shard. But she could breathe. Melinda had been about to reach up with her hand -- to grab the torn fabric of her shirt and pull it closed to hide the wound she had created on herself, but the muscles in her body tensed. Stand still followed by the narrative that Phil wanted to explain himself. Melinda’s jaw tightened, her back teeth clenched. She wanted to tell Kilgrave that no, Phil didn’t want to explain and that this conversation about their relationship was one they should be having without him -- without any audience. But she swallowed her words and remained still as commanded.

PHIL: Melinda’s blood coated his palm, slick and warm. For just a brief moment, Phil understood Kilgrave’s displeasure, but for a very different reason. For Kevin Thompson, bodily fluids and blood and everything reminded him of humanity, who he felt was beneath him. The thought of blood coating his hands sickened him because it was ‘gross’. Coulson had been in battlefields, had held dying friends in his arms. Held dying loves in his arms. Rosalind. The thought of her came to his mind unbidden, and he didn’t want to think of it, not when he imagined another person he felt so strongly about dying. “Please, I can’t lose you too.” He said softly, nearly inaudibly, staring at Melinda with wide and fearful eyes.

Kilgrave’s anger at Coulson trying to stop him was evident, but Phil didn’t care as he stared right back. But he felt relief as the commandment was removed from Melinda and she dropped the glass. It clattered to the floor, and he kicked it away. Surely, it would have been easy for Kilgrave to just give her another command - there was more glass on the floor, more cuts criss-crossing her arms, and more ways she could hurt herself - or him - all over the room. But it was one inch of freedom they had against him.

“What does it matter to you?” He asked, anger biting his voice for the first time since Kilgrave had rescued Daisy. He had almost believed he saw sympathy in the other man’s eyes, almost believed Kilgrave, with enough effort, could become something resembling a human being. He knew he had to avoid making him angry, because with a quick move Kilgrave could slaughter every agent in the building, or make them kill each other. “This, of all things, was enough to set you off? You’re supposed to not do this. She’s supposed to be training you and you’re trying to hurt her.” He said, but his voice betrayed far more emotion than an agent who should be removed from the situation would have.

Pulling in a deep breath, Phil spoke. “She’s probably the best agent on Earth and someone you would be incarcerated for hurting. She taught countless people far more dangerous than yourself, and I allowed this assignment hoping you wouldn’t do exactly what you’ve just done. If I wasn’t watching on the other side of that mirror, she’d be dead and you would have lost any hope of proving to people that what they think about you is wrong. You’d be doing exactly what you’ve always done.” He said coldly.

Glancing back at Melinda, Phil clenched and unclenched his hand. “She is my best friend, and my partner. Haven’t we already done this before, where you try to hurt my loved ones and I get angry with you? Don’t you ever get tired of ruining their lives?"

KILGRAVE: What did it matter to him? It mattered because Kilgrave had spent his entire life watching people, objects in his life, with these... reactions. Crying and screaming and falling to their knees when their husbands or children harmed themselves. He knew what it was. Empathy. He'd felt it, for Daisy, on that jet. How did these people live like that? He stared at Coulson, and wanted to just let Agent May kill herself so they could talk about this without the distraction. He'd actually come to enjoy the other man's company. They were partners. But here he was, giving him a lecture? Like his dad would have? No, worse than his dad, because at least he'd always known his dad was a twat.

"She wasn't training me," he snapped. Of course Phil would be on her side. "She punched me in the face! You can't honestly believe that's training." Coulson had to see that. This so-called 'training' was pointless anyway. He'd never be a match for Jessica, physically, so why the hell were they wasting his time? He shouldn't have bothered. God, to think he actually put in an effort with this cold-hearted bitch. He glanced at May for a second, and saw the blood pouring down her chest. Good. He'd thought Jessica was the only person he would enjoy watching suffer, but it turned out, there were two. It only lasted a moment, but he looked into May's blank eyes, and didn't bother to try to see what they saw. What, apparently, they all bloody saw. All he could see was a nuisance, something to be removed.

And then, Coulson started talking again, and Kilgrave turned to look at him. He should've expected this bullshit. The best agent, blah blah blah. He rolled his eyes. Jessica had threatened him with prison as well, as if any judge would even want to convict him. They'd see it his way, that this bitch had it coming. Everyone always agreed with him. Just like they never screamed when they harmed themselves and they never begged not to do it. They all just did it. It was always as simple as that.

All it would take would be one sentence. You don't care about her. And then, Phil wouldn't. All that judgement and anger and whatever the hell else he was feeling would vanish. Things could go back to the way they were before this. May could kill herself, and Coulson wouldn't give a shit. But all that emotion, that genuinely confusing, overwhelming, emotion, would be gone. And he'd be looking at the same bloody blank stare, the same hollow eyes, that he always looked at. You don't care about Agent May. And Coulson would say Yes, I don't care about Agent May. Because that's what they always fucking said. And he was so, so, tired of it. It would be like Phil said. He'd be doing exactly what he'd always done.

When faced with Jessica Jones, all he wanted was submission. He wanted that hollow look, the knowledge that she was a puppet and she was finally doing what she was told and bending. But Jessica was the exception. Did he really want that from Coulson? Christ, he was so bored of it. Of them all just being empty.

Phil said they'd done this before, and Kilgrave looked at him in disbelief. "This isn't about you," he said. "I'm not trying to hurt your loved ones. I don't even know who this is." Again, he shot May a disgusted look. "You know this isn't about you, Phil. Blimey, I thought you were clever." He looked at May for a long time. She was important to Phil. But she did deserve to die. He remembered that woman, genuinely thanking him for rescuing her. And what Daisy had said. Just this once save someone’s life. Didn't he ever get tired of ruining their lives? What sort of question was that?

"You want to know if I get tired?" he repeated, throwing the question back at Phil. "Why should I?" He didn't want an answer to that -- Coulson would be able to say anything satisfactory. After a moment, he turned back to May, who was still standing there, blood dripping down her front, her shirt sliced open. She'd hit him. But maybe she'd done penance for that. And he was fucking exhausted with this. So he said, "Fine. Fine. You don't want to cut your heart out. There." He glanced at Phil. "Happy now? I saved your best agent."

MELINDA: She wasn’t looking Phil in the eyes, not at first. But then he spoke, said that he couldn’t lose her too, and her dark eyes finally came up to see that fear in his face. Melinda was quiet for a beat, looking him in the eyes before finally whispering, “And I don’t want to lose you, again.” She had lost him twice before already, once when Loki’s staff tore through the center of his chest and again when his heart had stopped -- it had only been for a moment, but how many chances was Phil going to have at life? How many brushes with death would be too much?

It was like Kilgrave had opened a flood gate. Anger was dripping from Phil’s voice and Melinda wanted to warn him -- beg him to stop. Not to show that much emotion for what was happening to her because Kilgrave could manipulate that. Not that he had to, all it would take was for a single command, a careless thought spoken aloud and he could change Phil and Melinda’s relationship. Could make them not care about each other, or hurt each other, or make them care more deeply for each other. And then inflict pain on them. It just depended on how sadistic Kilgrave was feeling. How much he wanted to punish them for not falling in line perfectly with what he imagined. How far would he go to make them what he wanted?

Kilgrave was living in a bubble. Expecting the people around him to play the roles that he expected and growing more and more furious each time someone didn’t line up perfectly with what he wanted. They were supposed to be his dolls but neither of them were playing his game. Or at least, they were trying to resist it. Fighting against the impossible -- fighting against mind control. Acting like they could reason with him when his emotions changed at the drop of a hat. Melinda wondered why Kilgrave even wanted to be an agent. Was this just to paint himself in a better light? Did he believe that being an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. would change all the wrongs he had done? Did he think people would suddenly respect him? He didn’t understand pain or loss, not in the way any other agent did. He didn’t have the empathy or humanity to understand the consequences of his actions. If he ever did field work, nothing good would come of it. He’d do what he had just done, offer a careless command and jeopardize any real mission. Kilgrave was a liability. But why didn’t the higher-ups at S.H.I.E.L.D. see that?

When Phil started singing her praises, Melinda felt her stomach twist. She wanted to tell Phil to stop -- to keep all that information from Kilgrave. But she knew she couldn’t -- she knew he couldn’t stop because Kilgrave had asked. Demanded it of him. Pulling out the information like a leech. But then Phil glanced at her, Melinda caught his eyes and listened to his words. She is my best friend, and my partner. It was the expected response and Melinda gave the smallest smile. It wasn't a happy smile, there was a small trickle of sadness on her features because again, she didn’t know how he felt. Or maybe this was it? They were colleagues and that was all. She pushed the expression away as Kilgrave finally removed the command. That impulse to hurt herself was gone finally. But the pain she felt wasn’t. Her chest heaved as the pain became the only thing she could feel, but she kept quiet. Her left-hand clenching when Kilgrave claimed to have saved her. He had forced her to hurt herself, and now that he removed the command he was, what? Her savior? Did he really believe he that? He inflicted the harm, he didn’t get to pretend to be a hero when he finally stopped.

PHIL: Happy. That was what Kilgrave wanted to know. If he was happy that he’d spared Melinda’s life. Phil stared at her, heart pounding in his chest as relief flooded through him. Of course he was happy she was alive - he’d nearly lost her too many times and it felt like any time they thought they might be happy, something worse happened and suddenly someone was kidnapped by a mad scientist, or made a deal to die, or another obstacle fell into their path and it became impossible.

But that wasn’t what Kilgrave wanted to hear. Out of all things, Kilgrave wanted approval and love and someone to care about him - and, in a twisted way, Coulson could understand that. “Thank you.” He said hoarsely, his tight hold on Melinda slipping enough to release the tension in him. I’m not trying to hurt your loved ones. It felt somehow worse, to hear that, and remember how his first introduction to Kilgrave had been the man hurting Jessica in a way clearly meant to hurt Daisy. Had he said it? No. But why would he chose someone so clearly linked to Daisy as well? Why wouldn’t Kilgrave have attacked Trish, or Sofia? There were so many people who Jessica cared about - for all that she pretended otherwise. Why else would Kilgrave have chosen him?

“I don’t care that it wasn’t about me, I care that it was about her.” Coulson said, gritting his teeth. At his worst moments, he compared himself to the people he fought against. Kilgrave, Hive, Ward. But he recalled Kilgrave’s agony at Daisy in pain, and how he didn’t understand or empathize. Seeing her in pain brought him pain - it was that simple. For Phil, though, he didn’t want to see Melinda in pain but that didn’t make her pain any less important. And he knew that she could survive it, and didn’t want her to ignore it like Kilgrave had ordered Daisy to. He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm even as Melinda was still stiff against his side. He shook his head - Kilgrave had never done anything in his miserable life enough to become tired, had he? It was just mindless repetition though - the same thing, over and over again. Nothing ever changed when it came to Kilgrave, and nothing ever would.

“You ordered her to stay still. You need to remove that command as well.” He said harshly. But his words turned to ash on his tongue as he said the next part. “You are dismissed for the day. Report to my office for work tomorrow morning."

KILGRAVE: Coulson thanked him, and Kilgrave chose to ignore how flat his voice was, how disingenuous he sounded. It didn't matter how he said it, only that it was said. Phil didn't need to fight May anymore -- she relaxed as soon as the command was removed -- and Kilgrave looked at them both. Phil had called her his loved one, putting this random woman in the same category as Daisy and Jessica. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised -- the man clearly had a penchant for bitches. Jessica, Daisy, now this Agent May. They were all the same. It was typical, really.

She was still standing there, the bitch who'd hit him, with blood pouring down her front from where she'd tried to cut out her heart. She hadn't moved, or said anything -- good girl -- but he could see the loathing and anger in her eyes. He shouldn't have saved her. He should have let her finish the job. What was one less arrogant, hate-filled, woman? Sod what she meant to Phil. He didn't care. And he could still tell Coulson not to care. But he couldn't be bothered with any of them. He was bored with their pair, with Phil's anger, with the whole bloody thing. Though, he supposed, at least they wouldn't try to 'train' him, again. May had proven how pointless it was.

And then, Coulson gave him another order. His tone was sharp, angry. Kilgrave rolled his eyes. Blimey, Phil really was just like his dad. Don't do that, Kevin; you need to rearrange the coloured blocks, Kevin; do what your mother says, Kevin. His old dad, who had ended up being dismembered alive. Kilgrave looked at him for a long time.

He'd been dismissed, like a goddamn child. He couldn't remember ever being dismissed in his life, by anyone, and here was his so-called boss, telling him he was dismissed. It was unbelievable. He seriously considered telling Phil to shut up (actually, he considered telling Phil to put his sodding head through a wall) but again, he just wanted to leave. Coulson was right about one thing. He was done for the day. He was so tired of them both. So, after a moment of weighted silence, he exhaled slowly. "You can move, Agent May," he said, pronouncing her stupid title scornfully. "Do whatever you want. I don't care." And he didn't. He meant that. He rubbed is eyes with his index finger and thumb. "I hope you know, Phil, I won't be training again. Tell your higher-ups that." It was an unnecessary order, really, but he gave it anyway.

And, with that, because he couldn't stand to be around them for another second, he turned way from them and walked towards the door. He didn't say another thing to them, or tell Coulson he would make their meeting. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't. Either way, there wasn't a thing Phil could do about it, and they all knew it.

MELINDA: Melinda was quiet during the entire exchange. Each impulse she felt to move was squashed by the command that Kilgrave had placed on her. She couldn’t grip Phil’s hand or close the opening she had cut in her own clothes. It didn’t matter what she wanted or needed because Kilgrave had commanded something else. Phil demanded that the command be removed from her and in the same breath dismissed Kilgrave like he was a child pretending to be an adult. Her muscles would have tensed if she wasn’t already stiff.

But Kilgrave removed the order, but he couldn’t help himself and slipped in another without a second thought. He likely didn’t even realize what he had said -- he didn’t care enough to pay attention to his own words. But Melinda heard him. Do whatever you want. She didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying, her mind was still trying to process that command. The entire time she had been standing there she had wanted many things. Her left hand came up and she pulled together the fabric of her shirt and hid the gash on her chest from sight again. It didn’t hide the stains on her clothes or the evidence that was dripping onto the ground, but she didn’t feel as vulnerable. At least for a moment.

And then every feeling she had buried in that interaction, every emotion she had bottled up came pouring out. She wanted to cry -- to let it all out. Melinda moved her right arm around Phil, her hip against the side of his body as she turned her head inwards towards him, hiding her face in the fabric of his suit jacket. Melinda May didn’t cry at work, she kept that part of herself hidden away because she was an agent and she needed to keep her emotions ten feet away. Even after Bahrain, Melinda had managed to keep her emotions far away until she was home, behind closed doors with Andrew. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to hold it in and keep pretending that she hadn’t been scared. She just wanted to hold onto Phil -- and a quiet moment to collect herself before they went to have her stitched up. So, she held onto him tightly and tried to mask the sounds of her sobs with his jacket.

PHIL: Phil let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding once Kilgrave left, though he felt the command to speak to his superiors. Kilgrave was right - training just made this worse. But he rationalized that the command didn't have to be immediate, and he had a meeting to discuss how the training session went this afternoon. He could tell them there.

It was when Melinda clung to him, holding onto him like he was a lifeline, that he recognized the last command to do whatever you want. Not intentional, surely, but he was almost glad for it.

Arms encircleing Melinda's waist even as her blood soaked his shirt, he raised his chin on top of her head and pressed a kiss to her hair, his hand moving up and down her back in low, soothing circles. "It's okay. You're okay." He promised softly, the thought of Bahrain and the girl coming to the forefront of his mind and cursing that Kilgrave had become a nightmare. Another monster under the bed. Another drop in the bucket on a long list of traumas and reasons to be cold and jaded towards the world. And yet, Melinda wasn't cold and jaded towards the world, even if she wanted to be. She was the kindest person he knew. "Let him go, Melinda." He said. "He's gone. Let him go. I'm right here."

#c: kilgrave #c: phil #kilgrave: i saved your best agent #phil: i saved your best agent #(( i saved your best agent || discord ))

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queenofgothams · 6 years

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tell me when || fish, kilgrave, jeremiah, and jenna

summary: after jeremiah takes jenna to a separate location, he comes to fish’s office for his final powerplay.

trigger warnings: violence, murder implications, blood

featuring: @jeremiahvalska , @kevinthompsons and @quietbunjenna

KILGRAVE: Fish Mooney had a new club. Jeremiah had mentioned it, but Kilgrave's spies had told him as much anyway. He didn't really give a shit. He'd put Fish on the backburner for now, to focus on Jessica Jones, and Daisy. He still had eyes on her, because it would have been stupid to forget that she was a threat. And, after what Jeremiah had told him, about his plan for Fish, Kilgrave's interest in his enemy had been renewed.

When he walked in, hardly paying attention to Jeremiah following him, he waved the guards away with a thoughtless command -- we can go about our business. Move along. It was exactly the sort of place he imagined Fish Mooney would own. Vortex. He walked through it, barely paying attention to the decor. Jeremiah had told him the truth about why he wanted him there -- Kilgrave had made sure of that. He was there to make sure things didn't get out of hand. He'd declined to mention that he couldn't control Fish herself -- Jeremiah didn't need to know that.

"Everyone, listen," he called, loudly, clapping once to get the staff's attention. When they turned, he said, "You're all going to leave. Now. Don't attempt to come back to work." On second thought, he called to one of them, and ordered himself a drink.

Once it was made, he dismissed the staff member and walked into Fish's office, which was empty. He'd taken care of most of the staff -- if any more came in, he could handle it. This office was bigger than her last one, and Kilgrave sat down at her desk, as he had done the night he'd made a deal for a few hours with Jessica. He swirled his drink in its glass, but didn't drink any yet, and waited for Jeremiah and Fish to show up.

JEREMIAH: Jeremiah had been busy with the young woman. Getting her all settled in the secret location he had picked out earlier. Setting up the green screen behind her the way he liked it and having his men set up the cameras while he did so. He told her to be good before walking out, taking another man with him and leaving Jenna with a couple of his friends. His shoulder was achingaching from hitting the girl the couple times that he did and with all that physical labour he had just done, he has no doubt split a stitch. It hardly mattered however, he had bigger Fish to fry and he couldn't stop now just because of a little more blood.

He walked to the van and got in, letting his man drive him and a little more equipment to the Vortex club. Jeremiah practically hopped out of the car and made his way into the club again. Beyond excited for his reunion with the woman who had tried to kill him. Letting his worker unpack his things and bring it in behind Jeremiah. When he arrived it was clear Kilgrave had already done his part of the job. Getting Fish's people out of the way so they could be alone. All but one who sat at the bar. Jeremiah sighed to himself before taking out his gun and shooting the bartender in the neck before they could do anything to alert Fish. Even if Kilgrave had given him orders not to do anything, he'd rather the man was dead.

The man gripped his neck with was spewing blood everywhere and collapsed to the ground before Jeremiah put his gun away again and turned for Fish's office. He was really aiming for the man's head but his aim seemed to be thrown off by his shoulder. Walking in after his man already took the giant screen in. He took his place and sat on Fish's desk, smiling to Kilgrave. "So glad to see you made it." He mused.

FISH: Fish had been spending the evening upstairs in the living space she and Jenna had shared. The two of them had dinner plans. Since the opening of the club, she hadn’t spent as much time with her daughter as she would have liked, she had been so busy with cleaning out the dead weight in her other business. But Jenna was late. Fish pulled out her phone and sent Jenna a quick message: ’Did something come up? When will you be home?’ As she hit send, she realized the usual noise that bled through the floors from the club below was much quieter than normal. There was still the familiar thumping of music from below, but normally that was mixed with the sound if people and activity. Fish flicked her phone closed and left it on the table in the dining area before standing up and heading down the stairs that emptied into the same hall as her office.

The silence filled that hall as well, but instead of blindly walking to the lobby, Fish opted to head to her office and grab the gun she had strapped to the bottom of her desk. Just in case. She swung open the door and stepped in, only pausing for a moment when she saw the two men --- children, really. “Kevin,” Fish said before her eyes drifted to Jeremiah. He might be alive, but there was a smirk on her face. He still looked like shit. But when had these two become friends? Kilgrave might be an issue given what he could do to her staff, but Jeremiah? He was about as terrifying as a leaf blowing in the wind. Nothing. “And his little clown painted like a whore.”

Crossing her arms, Fish stepped further into the room, glancing at the large screen that had been brought into her office. “You look better than I thought you would, jester,” she said, tipping her head to one side as she looked into his eyes. “I had heard that you were in the bunker when it exploded, I was hoping you were crushed to death. A dramatic death but it would have been so fitting.”

JEREMIAH: Jeremiah let out a soft hum, cocking his head slightly as Fish continued her attempts at criticizing him. Bringing Ecco into it now, as though that was supposed to hit hard with him. He smiled at her, lips parted slightly to show his teeth. "Ecco and myself share a bond you could never imagine having. She couldn't kill me because she was too loyal to me. Your little hypnotist trick only seemed to go so far... Perhaps it's not her who is the defective one." He paused for a moment, allowing it to sink in.

The woman seemed to finally get what he was doing here and Jeremiah let out a low laugh. Watching her carefully as she came towards him. He wasn't scared of her. Not at all. Not when he had the one thing she cared about. "You underestimated me." He replied. "Which was the worst mistake you could have possibly made." She asked him if he was sure and he raised a brow. There wasn't any going back now. "Fish Mooney. I'd like to remind you that I tried to be civil with you. You were the one who chose this path." He lifted his hand and turned on the tv, gesturing to the screen. "You're the reason she has to suffer. If you had just been reasonable from the start... well... your little pet wouldn't look nearly as bad right now."

He then took out his phone and called one of his men, watching the screen as he answered it. Proving that it was a live feed, his eyes then going right to Fish's as he said the next line. "You can start now. See how much blood you can get out of the little bitch." He said, before pulling the phone back away from his ear. "Now," His voice was even and calm as he continued. "Are you ready to talk about what you can do for me to make this all stop?"

JENNA: The pain alone had knocked her out by the time Jeremiah dragged her out of the club And pain woke her up again too, a screaming, searing pain along her arm. She was tied to a chair, her broken arm twisted into an agonizing position. Arm broken, ribs cracked, her entire body felt like one big bruise in the shape of his fingerprints. And she had a feeling they were just getting started.

Two lackeys -- that's all they were, it was all too obvious -- stood in front of her, leering at her. Jenna ignored them, scanned the room she was in. It was too dark to see far, though a spot light was shining directly on her. She forced herself to look directly towards the light, and just behind it, she could see the blinking red dot. This was being filmed -- maybe Jeremiah planned on sending Fish a tape. Or she was already watching.

A ring echoed through the room. So it was a pretty large space they were in. Warehouse, maybe? Abandoned building? Something old, something big, out of the way. Jeremiah wasn't like his brother, he didn't need a big audience or the center of attention. This wasn't about a message. This was about revenge.

The lackey hung up his phone and walked towards her. Jenna stared straight back at him. He slapped her across the face, hard. Like she was just some spoiled kid. But Jenna was more than that. She was Fish's right hand. She was Fish's family. They'd picked her because of that. And now they'd understand what that meant. It meant she wouldn't go down easily. If she had to die, she would die with dignity. If Fish had to watch this, she'd make her proud.

Jenna turned her head back slowly and shrugged off the hit. He slapped her again, moving closer this time. She took advantage of that, and bashed her head against his nose. He howled in pain and Jenna grinned as he stepped back. But his partner came from the side, and hit her with something hard. A two by four, that made her double over, whimpering and gasping as the air rushed out of her lungs. She coughed, and blood spattered onto the floor.

FISH: Defective? There was a smile on FIsh’s lips as he spoke, because part of this was hilarious, even with Kilgrave sitting in the chair watching this like it was a television show and this was the season finale. “I’m sure that’s what it was,” her tone was condescending as she placed a hand on her chest, “loyalty.” It was more likely like he tricked her into believing that she had killed him in that explosion, or he faked his death for Fish’s benefit and the timer had run out on the command. Either way, she wasn’t going to make this mistake again. If she was going to kill this piece of shit, she’d pull the trigger herself next time.

Even now, while he had Jenna taken someplace outside of her scope, she didn’t find him intimidating. Jenna was stronger than he was, whatever he was doing to her, she’d be fine. Fish had to believe that. She couldn’t give in each time someone broke into her god damn club and demanded something. “Did you now?” Fish shook her head, “Because I recall, that you went behind my back to try and force your way into the business. You want a piece of New York, then earn it.” Fish’s attention turned towards the TV as it flickered to life, Jenna looked like she had already been beaten half to death and she was still tied to a chair.

Jeremiah gave the order and the two men started beating Jenna, her body already looked as though it had been broken, but Jenna was taking it all in stride. A smile slipped onto Fish’s lips when Jenna bashed her head against the man’s nose. Jenna probably broke it --- Fish hoped so at least. Even if she didn’t, Jenna was putting up a hell of a fight. The video caught the blood coming from Jenna’s mouth but Fish’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes finally drifted back towards Jeremiah, arching a brow as though she was unimpressed with his work. All this build up, faking his death? The drama of clearing out her club? Being in her office before she arrived? Setting this stage? It was so dramatic and yet, so unimpressive. “You’re not going to get a damn thing from me.”

JEREMIAH: "I don't just want a piece." Jeremiah told her, his voice cold and unwavering. "I'm doing this because I want all of New York... I don't mind settling for a piece for now. Just to make it all much easier for you. I want you to have time to collect as much money as you can before I take everything from you. It's almost Christmas after all." He said with a smile. Just then the TV flickered on and the sight of Jenna strapped to a chair was seen. She was just as broken as the moment he left her and he was a little disappointed that his boys didn't have more fun with her while he wasn't there to see it. Then again, he did say to them he'd prefer if she died that it be on screen and after his signal.

He was almost amused when the girl attempted to fight back. Remembering clearly how she didn't try when it had just been the two of them. When she wasn't sure Fish was watching. She only seemed to try when her mother was there watching her. Encouraging her to be better. It made him wonder if Fish would only be disappointed if she died strapped to that chair, hardly fighting at all. Would she even mourn the kid or would her swollen pride get in the way? Fish told him that he wasn't going to get a thing and he couldn't help but let out a laugh.

"Oh? I'm pretty sure that I will." He said lifting his phone again and speaking into it. The video echoing his voice as it was put on speaker phone from one of the boys, tending to his broken nose. "Fish Mooney doesn't appear to care at all for the girl. Lets give her a time limit. Five minutes and you can put the little bitch out of her misery." Jeremiah said, his silvery eyes on Fish's the entire time they spoke. After getting a 'yes' from him boys. He smiled to Fish. "I want Manhattan, Miss Mooney and if you're not willing to give it to me... so be it."

JENNA: The man with the two-by-four moved around behind her, crashed it down over her back. She heard it splinter, and had to clench her jaw tightly to hold back the scream. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head back. The other man, the one with the broken nose, stood in front of her with a sneer. He pulled his fist back, and slam.

Jenna saw stars, everything went bright white and then black for a moment. When her vision came back, she could feel the blood dribbling down her chin. Her nose matched his now. The men were laughing as she shook her head. A voice rang out -- not one of theirs, too tinny, it was coming from a phone. "Fish Mooney doesn't appear to care at all for the girl." It was him, Jeremiah. He was on speakerphone now. He went on, talking about a time limit, about putting her out of her misery. But Jenna wasn't listening.

What did he mean, Fish didn't care? Was she that angry, about the stolen Vydrate? Had Jenna finally become more of a liability than she was worth? Here she was, kidnapped again, leaving Fish vulnerable once more -- could she blame Fish for not caring anymore?

"You got it, boss," the man with the bloody nose said, his voice slightly distorted. He reached for his belt, pulled out a knife and let it gleam in the spotlight. The man behind her tightened his grip on her hair, slung an arm around her neck to hold her tight. "If we've only got five minutes," bloody-nose whispered, coming in close, pressing the knife to her throat. "Then we have to make them count, huh little one?"

He pulled the blade back, and sliced it across her thigh. Jenna whimpered, louder and more frantic than ever before. He did it again, and she had to bite her lip to stop the scream. But it sat in her throat, just waiting to be released. He cut her over and over. Her legs, her sides, her arms. And then he pulled the knife back, and plunged it right into her hand, and then -- Jenna screamed.

FISH: Fish looked him in the eyes as he spoke, trying to ignore the pictures moving on the screen next to them. He wanted all of New York? He didn’t want a seat at the table --- the selfish little brat wanted the whole damn thing, and he thought she and the other bosses would just roll over and allow this? Jeremiah though the could bully his way in, and that somehow they’d all bow to him and let him rule? He was a jester posing as a king. Nothing more. “How generous of you,” she spat out.

He gave another order and a time limit, five minutes before they killed Jenna. But the time limit wasn’t even what struck her, it was the way that he said that she didn’t care about her --- and that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Jenna had been so strong through this whole ordeal, after what had happened with Kilgrave, and now this? She was still fighting, even now, as the beating got worse, Jenna hadn’t given up. They kept cutting Jenna and all Fish could do was watch. Playing chicken with this clown-faced asshole. But with each cut, there was more blood trickling down Jenna’s broken body, how much more could she take before she died?

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

Time was crawling away from them, and then it happened, a sound that Fish had never heard before. A scream escaped Jenna and Fish felt her blood run cold for a moment --- the sound shocking her back to reality. Fish glared at Jeremiah, “Manhattan?” Fish snarled in his direction, the corner of her lip twitching in anger, her fists had curled before she even realized her muscles were tensing, “Stop your men, Jeremiah,” she demanded through clenched teeth, “and we can discuss the details of our exchange.” Fish’s stared into his strange colored eyes, “But if she dies, you get nothing.”

JEREMIAH: Jeremiah's eyes were still on Fish's, not pulling away from her cold stare. She didn't scare him. He had once respected her. Wanted her to be under his command but he wasn't sure he wanted that anymore. He grinned at her when she said it was generous of him. Clearly pissed off by his words. Bothered by him. He practically giggled. Amused by the woman. "Oh," He whispered. "It most certainly is." His eyes widened as he spoke.

He turned his attention back to his men and how they were handling the situation. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, which was always nice to see. He didn't like hiring men who weren't passionate about their jobs. They started cutting her and blood splattered about from her injuries. When she finally screamed, he grinned uncontrollably. Letting out a laugh from the sound of it. It was so loud. A direct contrast to how it was normally. The sound echoed on the video and he was so caught up in the moment of satisfaction that he almost missed what Fish had said.

She finally wanted to talk about deals. He licked his lips and paused only a moment before lifting his phone and speaking into it. "Stop. Don't let her die." He said simply. Taking the phone away from his lips and smiling at Fish. "I'm glad we can finally reach an understanding." He told her. Folding his hands in his lap and watching Fish carefully. She seemed so angry and suddenly everything felt a little more worth it. He had beaten her. He had won this battle and he was one step closer to winning the whole war. "I want you to move everyone who works for you out of Manhattan by tomorrow morning. I want every building you own and all of the businesses you have control over. I'll come by tomorrow with my right hand woman to collect everything you have for me and we can continue the details of this deal. But right now, I want you to start the process of handing Manhattan over to me." He took out a small notebook from his pocket and stole a pen off her desk. Writing down the address of where he had Jenna. "If you back down from our deal, I'll find Jenna and I will have her killed. Do you understand?

FISH: He was so full of himself, no wonder he associated with pigs like Kilgrave. Jeremiah had that same disgusting attitude about him like he was better than everyone else --- smarter. Even the way his lips curled into a smile dug under her skin, it made her want to reach over and dig her manicured fingers into his throat, pierce his jugular with the tips of her nails and watch him choke to death on his own blood. Each move they made against each other made this more personal.

There was a pause --- like Jeremiah was toying with her before he told his men to stop hurting Jenna. But her eyes were locked into Jeremiah’s as he spoke, only glancing at the television screen to confirm that his men had stopped as ordered. She gave him a sharp smile when he suggested that they had reached an understanding. No, there was no understanding here, this was a ceasefire. A lull in this war that Jeremiah had started with her. He gave his demands, wanted everyone that was under her wing out of Manhattan, and that could be easily done. Of course, relocating Vincent Vaines from his lab in Hell’s Kitchen would likely be problematic, the doctor was nothing if not resourceful. Jeremiah wasn’t going to stop their little deal. And of course, what he didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt.

“Consider it done,” she said in an even tone. Her tone no longer holding the emotion that it had earlier, this was business. Even if she was losing. For now. Her mismatched eyes fell to the notebook he pulled out of his pocket. It was the same notebook that Fish had given Jenna when Kilgrave had controlled her, given that command to jump if he came to any harm. She wanted to rip the notebook from his hands and then beat him with it --- but she didn’t. Fish extended her hand, her eyes not leaving his face as she waited for him to pass over the notebook.

“I understand, sweetheart,” Fish said, her smile sharp as she waited. Unspoken threats hung in the air because she knew that she didn’t need to tell Jeremiah that if he overstepped --- if he tried to move into her territory or if he came after Jenna again, she’d enjoy tearing apart everyone he cared about. Starting with that bitch he considered family. Maybe she’d even have fun with it and send Jerome.

JEREMIAH: Jeremiah watched her as she switched to a more calm and collected attitude. Like she was attempting to seem emotionless. She wasn't as good as it as she probably liked to think that she was. He could see that rage glimmering in her eyes. Deep down he had set a fire in Fish Mooney. But at least she had realized that he was not the kind of man that she could toss aside and ignore. He was stronger then he looked. A force to be reckoned with.

"It's a pleasure doing business with you." He smirked, tossing the small notebook for her to catch. Jeremiah didn't want to risk touching the woman. Even with Kilgrave there to protect him. He didn't like the idea of it. He got up from the desk and took a couple of steps towards the door. She called him sweetheart and he raised a brow. The woman was still trying to undermine him with young sounding nicknames. She was threatened. He chuckled deeply and turned to look at her, eyes wide and smile huge.

"I'm glad you understand.... darling." He joked before glancing back at Kilgrave. "You're free to come with me." He said with a grin. "And you..." He gestured to the screen. "You should probably start making your way to the warehouse... pick up your girl before she bleeds out." With that, Jeremiah turned back around and started headed for the door.

#c: jenna #c: jeremiah #c: kevin #jenna: tell me when #jeremiah: tell me when #kevin: tell me when #(( tell me when || discord ))

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xxjessabugxx · 1 year

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Finally had the time to make this video . Heres my story i want to share . its been four years since ive been to a Convention in general so i’m ready so let’s skip to the good part ! #kevinthompson #tracythompson #fun #life #love #intergalacticcon #rochester #rochesterny #starwars #ewok #actors #susannamalak #stevehershon #startrek #convention #hellohappiness

#intergalacticcon #susannamalak #kevin thompson #Tracy Thompson #Steve hershon #convention

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kevinthompsons · 6 years

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Brought Her Back Alive | Discord

Summary: Kilgrave gets Daisy to the jet, and commands Phil to heal her

Trigger warnings: Blood, Kilgrave things, murder mentions, suicide mentions, violence

Written by: @agent-agent-coulson, @daisy-quaking-johnson and @kevinthompsons

COULSON: The command to guard the plane had been on Coulson and was all he could focus on as he waited, hearing gunshots from inside the Raft but, thankfully, no one came outside to find out how they'd gotten there. He craned his neck as he saw Kilgrave and Daisy exiting the building and was already trying to get out - the command to stay still on him - when Kilgrave ordered him to help.

His legs were moving already and he quickly got to Daisy and Kilgrave, pulling Daisy into his arms as Kilgrave's shook with the effort. He didn't have a moment to consider Kilgrave's physical weakness as he carried Daisy in his arms, stroking her hair and entering the plane. "Hey, hey, it's okay, you're here, I've got you." He whispered reassuringly. He didn't know what state she'd be in, if her fear of Kilgrave was affecting her. How the hell had she gotten so hurt? The noises she was making, the pain she was so obviously in, made his chest ache with sympathy and the desire to help. The wounds on her body looked like mostly bruises rather than bleeding, but that meant that damage could be internal - her wheezing and gasping breaths made him almost sure she had bruised ribs and probably would be black and blue all over.

"I'm going to need your help." Coulson called out to Kilgrave as he set Daisy down on a medical bed and went to retrieve a basic first aid kid. "How the hell did she get this injured? What did you do to her?" Coulson asked stroking Daisy's cheek before he went to clean up the blood and saw the shock collar. Angry, not understanding why it was even on her, he used his cybernetic hand and crushed the metal until he could take it off, checking her neck for more injuries.

KILGRAVE: Coulson came out of the jet, and he ran over to them. Kilgrave passed Daisy to him, relieved to let go of her, and staggered a little as Coulson took her weight. Coulson was hardly looking at him – his attention was focused completely on Daisy, and Kilgrave felt a stab of jealousy, seeing him stroke her hair and speak softly to her. As Coulson carried her into the jet, she murmured in pain, and Kilgrave felt that stab again, that sharp agony in his chest, for her, and he hated it. He followed them, and felt oddly, unsettlingly, out of control. Looking at Daisy lying on that bed, he could actually see the extent of what they’d done to her, the bruises on her face, the shiny blood on her lips, some sort of metal collar around her throat. And he curled his hands into fists at his sides. They hadn’t suffered enough, for what they had done to her. He’d been merciful.

At Coulson’s question, Kilgrave turned sharply. “I didn’t fucking do this to her!” he snapped. “You don’t honestly think I did this to her!” It was an automatic command, thoughtless, and he watched Coulson stroke her cheek gently, and felt again that possessiveness over her. Coulson was supposed to be fixing her, not bloody wasting time touching her like that. Luckily, it only lasted for a second, and Coulson started to clean the blood away from her skin, and pulled the metal collar off her neck. Kilgrave stood at the foot of the bed, staring at her.

“They did this,” he said, his voice quieter now, and he felt a familiar cool anger. Compared to the frantic rage, the uncontrollable fury, he’d felt before, this was welcoming. “The guards. But don’t worry. They paid for it.” He exhaled slowly, and walked around the bed, to Daisy’s side, opposite Coulson. His body was still aching from the effort of carrying her, his throat still raw from shouting orders at every person he’d passed, but he’d done it all for her. And, once she was healed, she would see that. He reached down and ran his hand over her hair, gently. “You’re safe now, Daisy,” he said, softly. “I rescued you. You’ll be okay.” He watched her for a few more seconds, and then looked back up at Coulson. “Come on,” he snapped, in a completely different, sharper, tone. “Get on with it!”

DAISY: She could hardly process it all, all the carnage, all the death. It was a silent horror movie, but she didn't need to be able to hear them to know how much agony they were in. If she were in a better state- if her mind could keep up with what she was seeing, she would've been horrified. She would've tried to do something, tried to stop him because this was her fault. She brought him here. She told him she loved him and then left him the next morning. She should've been in pain from knowing what damage she was causing, but she could only selfishly think about and feel the pain running through her own body.

Each step Kilgrave took hurt her, jostling her body, but she was glad for how much she wasn't aware of. She was glad for those seconds where everything was gone. Nothing existed, not even her. She would hopefully think she was finally dead, and then time would jump ahead to the pain yet again.

She didn't know how long it took to get outside. She didn't know that they were outside at first, but she heard Kilgrave shouting something indiscernible. Then, she was being moved again. She felt the transfer of being in Kilgrave's arms into someone else's. She could only tell because it hurt more. She couldn't hear the words spoken to her, couldn't even hear her own cries of pain.

Then time passed again, and she still couldn't hear what was being said, but she heard enough. She heard the tone, the anger. That anger was so familiar to her, but she couldn't place it. She didn't know who it belonged to, but words tried to fill the tone, spoken from a face that wasn't there. They were all jumbled in her head. It has to carry weight. After everything we've been through, that carries weight! It didn't help her head concentrate on it enough. I will crush them! I'm gonna make somebody pay -- whoever the hell it is. It wasn't enough, but she felt like it was important. Something about that voice was important. She needed to know who it was, but she hurt too much to even open her eyes.

Eyes.

She felt his hand on his cheek, sucking in a breath at the pain of the bruises forming there, but the gentle touch reminded her.

Bye-bye, Angel Eyes.

He was someone who cared about her, not in the way Kilgrave did. It was more important than that, more real

His hands were on the collar, and she should've been happy that he was trying to get it off her, but all she could do was whimper. She tried to move, even though it hurt, and she winced and tensed as her hand moved from her side to his wrist, weakly holding onto him. She wanted him to stop, to let go, so he couldn't take off the collar. It might have electrocuted her almost constantly, but it at least kept her powers away. Now, she'd be more capable of hurting people. She didn't want to anymore, but she couldn't tell him not to. She couldn't speak even if her voice worked because Kilgrave had ordered her not to. Tears slipped out, knowing she was helpless to her fate of destruction as he ripped the collar off her neck.

COULSON: Coulson almost rolled his eyes when Kilgrave completely disregarded his question for help. Of course, he claimed to love Daisy but when he actually had to do a damn thing about it, he was unwilling. But Coulson was too busy to think about that as he checked her other injuries. "I need her to be able to speak and give feedback to us." He snapped at Kilgrave as he continued inspecting her.

The blood on her mouth and her rasping breath made him almost sure she had some internal bleeding. He pushed her shirt up so that it sat at the top of her stomach and inspected the black and blue marks, prodding and almost sure that she had broken ribs. Grabbing a nearby pillow, he put it in her arms so that it sat against her chest, recalling that when Mack had had bruised ribs holding soft objects had relieved some of the pain. It tore him up inside as he gingerly removed her hand from his wrist, pressing a kiss to her bloody fingertips before securing her arms to wrap tight around the pillow. "I'm right here, not going anywhere. Just need to make sure you are keeping safe." He said, even though he was sure she couldn't understand a word he said. Maybe he was just trying to reassure himself that he could help her and he wasn't going to lose her.

He took another pillow and put it under her head to prop it up and stop blood from pooling in her lungs, taking out gauze for her nose and cleaning up the area around her mouth. Next, he dug around for water and some of the bone healing pills that SHIELD kept on hand, but swore when they were out of the pain meds. "Damn it, Fitz." He muttered as he turned back to Kilgrave.

"I need you to help." He said again. "She's too weak. I need you to order her to swallow this medication so she can start healing."

KILGRAVE: Now he knew Coulson would fix her, Kilgrave allowed himself a much-earned second to marvel at his own feelings. He knew he loved Daisy – he’d known that for months – but this was something else. Just seeing her laying there as Coulson examined her, seeing the mottled bruises on her rib-cage and the blood on her lips, and hearing her laboured, rattling breaths, was making his chest ache. He felt sick, but not just from the disgusting sight of her injuries. This was sickness, pain, fury, for her. He stroked her hair gently, and felt a sense of amazement similar to the sensation he’d felt when he’d told her he loved her.

Coulson barked an order at him, and Kilgrave turned to him sharply. He wanted him to command Daisy to speak. He could see the logic in that, so Kilgrave leaned closer to her and spoke softly, wanting her to feel safe, to know he was there for her. “Daisy, darling,” he said. “You need to speak to me. Tell me how you’re feeling.” He completely ignored what Coulson was doing, and just kept his gaze on her. “It’s not difficult. You want to help us make you better.” God, he couldn’t stand it. Looking at her injuries, her blood, her pained expression, and feeling it. How did people bloody live like this? He just wanted it to stop.

Again, Coulson demanded his help, and Kilgrave gritted his teeth and tore his gaze away from Daisy. His Daisy. Kilgrave looked at Coulson hatefully. Every single worthless guard had died for the hand they’d had in her suffering. But he still held Phil Coulson personally responsible for this. If he didn’t need him alive to heal her, Coulson would be dying a very slow, very violent, and very just, death. And Kilgrave hid none of his disdain in his expression. He wanted Coulson to know he was living on borrowed time.

The silence hung, and then he addressed Daisy again, because he couldn’t stand to look at her so-called father any more. “Daisy, swallow these pills for me.” He held out his hand, still not looking at Coulson. “Give them to me,” he said in a blunt voice. When Coulson did, Kilgrave gently took Daisy’s arm and guided her into a half-sitting position. “Sit up,” he told her, softly. “You want to, come on.” And he supported her, gripped her forearm with one hand, and carefully held the pills in his other hand up to her mouth. “Open your mouth, Daisy,” he said, never looking away from her face as she obeyed and slowly parted her cracked and bloodied lips.

He tipped the pills into her mouth, letting them roll off his palm slowly. Careful not to let her choke, he murmured encouragingly, “Dry swallow now, Daisy. Good. That’s good.” He smiled a little, so she could hear it in his voice. “Okay, now you can lie down. There you go.” He held onto her arm as she obeyed, and lay back down on the bed. And, for a moment, he just looked at her fondly before turning to Coulson. “What was that?” he asked. “Tell me what you gave her.”

DAISY: She was still fading in and out of consciousness, still half aware and half lost in the back of her mind where there was only black emptiness and the sound of silence. Sometimes she heard words, voices pulling at her, trying to drag her back awake. I need her... someone was saying that. I need you. . .

I just need you to be my friend right now.

I need you to lead.

Daisy, darling, you need to speak to me. Tell me how you're feeling. She knew that one was Kilgrave's voice. It pulled at her in a way that the other voice didn't, forcing her to focus again, forcing her out of the safety of that silent room of shadows in her head. She had to do what he said. She always did. His soft tone didn't change the fact that he was making her do this, ripping her words out of her painfully. "I- I-" her breathing hitched at every word, sending shockwaves of pain throughout her. "want- let me. . . die. . . please. Let- let me die. . . .I don't want to- to hurt. Please." She let out a small whimper. At least now she wasn't being contained by that order and wasn't forced into silence. He said she wanted them to make her better, but better to her meant what she said. It meant what she'd said. It meant letting her die. That had to be better than this. "Please. Please."

His words were fading in and out of her head now. She heard her name and something about pills and giving, but she couldn't make sense of all the fragmented words. His hand was on her arm, forcing her to sit up, and she sucked in a breath, choking on the lack of air and abundance of blood in her throat. Her mouth was open just because she was having a hard time breathing, but then pills were being put into it. She didn't have the energy to stop it. Swallow. She tried to. It took so much effort, but she did. Lie down. Maybe she could rest now. Maybe they'd be nice and let her rest permanently. "Please," she muttered again. "Jus-just let me die."

COULSON: Coulson almost rolled his eyes at Kilgrave for asking about the pills only after he'd given them to Daisy. Of course Phil wasn't going to hurt her, but Kilgrave hated him just about all the time and thought very little of him - when he could have easily given Daisy something to hurt her, this was when he didn't act like Coulson was a festering waste of flesh?

Kilgrave wasn't just an asshole - he was stupid.

"Bone regrowth pills." He explained, stroking her hair and giving her some water. "Daisy has taken them before so her body shouldn't have trouble breaking them down. They'll help with her ribs - not much else can be done about them past the pills and plenty of rest." He explained.

Coulson's heart broke in his chest and he felt as if he was falling, collapsing back into his memories as Daisy screamed at him. As she told him everything that was bad about her was born of him. She was saying the exact words he'd said. Please, let me die, please! She was begging for death, just like he had, and he felt a sick and twisted feeling in his stomach as he recalled those moments. She didn't even scream, as he had. She didn't even have the energy for that. He wanted to gather her into his arms and push his energy into hers - the opposite of what Jiaying had tried. Whereas Jiaying had tried to take the life of her daughter and take her energy, Coulson just wanted to give his to Daisy, to let her take everything she needed from him so she could stand again. Just like he had done with the first cure.

"I'm sorry. We can't do that." He said hollowly. It wasn't as if he was going to, and he knew Kilgrave wouldn't allow that even if he would try to. He turned to Kilgrave again. "There are icepacks in that fridge." He said, pointing towards a fridge in the lab. "She'll need them. And don't touch her cheese sticks." He added.

KILGRAVE: Kilgrave had heard people beg before. It was rare – usually they were silent – but sometimes, if they were able to talk, they begged for their lives, or for the lives of their families. He usually just told them to shut up, because it was bloody annoying, and, hearing Daisy gasp in pain, hearing her say she wanted to die, felt like that. It was pointless, and it tugged at his lungs the way her pain did now, and he hated it. He clenched his jaw and felt the fury at the guards who had done to this to her rush through him. I don’t want to hurt, she said. “Shhh, Daisy,” he murmured gently. “It won’t hurt for much longer. You’re fine. I’ve got you.”

Now he’d given her the pills, and she was lying down again, he could tear his attention away from her. Bone regrowth pills? Bloody hell. Coulson sidled up next to her and poured water into her mouth, and stroked her hair in an all too familiar way. Kilgrave stared at his hand on her hair. He hated Coulon’s condescending tone – he hated that he had any tone at all. They usually sounded flat, empty. He wanted that, from Phil Coulson. But there was an expression in Coulson’s eyes that Kilgrave couldn’t place, something he’d never seen before. And he didn’t like that Coulson was touching her. He wasn’t there to comfort her. He didn’t need to bloody comfort her.

“Stop touching her,” he snapped, protectively. “Let go of her.” Coulson was there to ease her pain and now, it seemed, he’d done everything he could. Which was sod-all. He hadn’t even given her the pills, Kilgrave had. And he was a shitty pilot. So much for being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Coulson was still looking down at Daisy, and he apologised to her. As if not letting her die was something he needed to be sorry for. What the hell was wrong with him? Kilgrave frowned. “Too bloody right we can’t do that,” he said. “She doesn’t want to die. She doesn’t mean it.” He was sure of it. She was lost in the pain of what they’d done to her. Daisy didn’t want to die. She just wanted her suffering to stop. That was all.

Coulson pointed to the fridge, and Kilgrave looked at it. There was a pause. “So, go and get them,” he said pointedly, not moving from where he was standing by Daisy’s side. “You said she needs them. You’re supposed to be helping her, for God’s sake.” He wasn’t going to leave her side. Not for anything. If Coulson wanted ice packs, he could bloody get them himself. Kilgrave turned away from him, not bothering to watch the order being carried out.

He looked back at Daisy, and brushed some of her hair away from her face. “He was right, you know,” he said. “As much as I don’t want to admit it. I can’t let you die. But you didn’t mean it.” He felt that pain again, that pain for her, the pain at seeing blood on her beautiful face, and bruises on her skin. “You don’t want to die, Daisy. You want to live. You know you do.”

DAISY: Sorry, the other voice said, the softer voice, the safer voice, the voice that didn't want to make her curl in on herself but instead curl up against someone and wrap them both in a blanket, drinking hot chocolate and eating grilled cheese sandwiches. Only the word itself, separated from whatever else he might've said along with it, broke her heart and stole her hope of peace away from her. He wouldn't let her die, and neither would Kilgrave.

Her hearing seemed to be returning to her more now as time went on, though she doubted that it was because of the pills she was given or even how much faster she healed than normal people. It was probably because those sirens from within the raft were no longer pounding in her ears as loudly. It didn't help her breathe any easier, metaphorically or physically. She would've preferred that she couldn't hear, because at least then she wouldn't have to follow Kilgrave's orders.

He was right, you know. The order didn't cut out at all, and she did know. He was right. She didn't know what he was right about. She hadn't heard that much. She'd barely heard anything besides an apology.

She'd known what she said though. She'd believed it until he told her not to. You didn't mean it. It was like a crack in the foundation of her beliefs. You don't want to die, Daisy. Crack. You want to live. Crack. You know you do. CRACK. Just like that, part of her was gone. He was right. She didn't want to die. She wanted to live. It wasn't for him. She'd come here to get away from him, to get away from how he could seem to make her stay so dark and malicious for longer periods of time, but she didn't really want to die. She had just thought that was the best option to keep people safe from her. She didn't have to die for that. She needed to live through it to find a better option. She'd hurt Jessica if she died, but there were other ways. Other ways. She needed to stay alive to find them.

Her body resonated with that need to live. She vibrated rapidly, making a soft hum that sounded very similar to purring, and maybe the reasoning was similar. After all, many cats purr when they're in pain because the low frequency of purrs causes a series of related vibrations within their body that can heal bones and wounds, build muscle and repair tendons, ease breathing, and lessen pain and swelling. For Daisy, it worked similarly, though her reaction wasn't intentional. Her body just seemed to know what to do with the order to live.

COULSON: His hands jumped off of Daisy as if she'd burned him, Coulson pushing back so he was a good distance from Daisy even as he ached to hold her and console her. To reassure her she'd be good as new.

Coulson directed all of his anger and rage at Kilgrave. It was one thing to ignore how Daisy felt about him - to ignore Daisy's real desires, to think that the person who had taken control of her was anything like Daisy Louise Johnson, a hero. Kilgrave could live in his little fantasy world and believe that his little fantasy Daisy loved him, or whatever approximation of love he could ever feel.

But this wasn't purely Kilgrave grasping at what he thought was love and who he thought he loved. This was Kilgrave ignoring everything Daisy felt, and not giving her the choice to feel her pain. Not allowing her to accept that she hurt. He felt that his own pain, that whatever empathy he felt for Daisy, was far worse than whatever Daisy was going through right now as she bled inside out and her skin was patterned with the colors of the sky? Any ounce of Kilgrave's miserable life couldn't be half as worse as what Daisy was going through, or even what any member of his team -- his family -- had gone through. If Phil wasn't so disgusted, he'd be filled with pity. But Kilgrave wasn't even worthy of that.

Phil stood abruptly, going to the fridge in the lab and finding the ice packs, bringing several back with him as he watched Kilgrave forcing Daisy to heal. Forcing her to use her powers (and to only exhaust herself further) to heal herself. "Is this the first time you've ever felt empathy for another person? You must hate it." He sneered at Kilgrave as he put the ice packs down. "I have to touch her to put these on, since clearly you have no idea how to care for a person other than yourself."

KILGRAVE: Daisy’s body started to hum like a machine, and Kilgrave smiled to himself. “Well, that’s new,” he said to her. He stroked her cheek gently. “You really are full of surprises.” He thought he’d explored the extent of her powers when they were first together, but she’d revealed so much more to him when she had come back. And now, whatever she was doing to herself, was clearly another layer of her abilities. When she was awake, he would have to ask her about it.

He watched her rest, equally fascinated and loving, and tilted his head to the side. She really was more pretty than Jessica. Jessica had always been too bloody pale, even with makeup. She looked sick all the time. Even underneath the blood and bruises, Daisy was more attractive than her. Jessica had looked like utter shit after Coulson had beaten her up. But even the sight of Jessica like that hadn’t made his chest hurt the way Daisy’s pain did. Even now she was quiet, and lying still, he still felt it. He’d hoped it would go away when she wasn’t suffering, but it hadn’t. He still felt sick.

He didn’t realise Coulson had come back until the other man spoke, and he looked up sharply, his attention pulled from Daisy. There was something unfamiliar in Coulson’s tone – he sounded like Jessica. Like he was taking the piss. Kilgrave glared at him. “I don’t know how you bloody stand it,” he said. “It feels shit.” Coulson was obviously testing boundaries, seeing how much he could get away with. But his opinion didn’t matter. He was there to help Daisy. “Just get on with it,” he said, the order vague and careless. And he turned his attention back to her again. “Rest, Daisy. You’ll be alright now. You’ll be like you were.”

Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion hit him. It was so sudden and overwhelming that he almost staggered, but he stayed standing. He let go of Daisy and turned away from her, because he needed to sit down. Ever since he’d woken up to find her gone, he’d been moving, restless, terrified for her, desperate to save her. And now he’d rescued her from that place, she was finally with him again, it was catching up to him. He walked over to the wall and sat down, leaning his back against it and sighing. He didn’t tell Coulson to join him. He just closed his eyes and put his head against the wall. And he remembered the sight of her being beaten, being held against the wall and hit, and, when they had let her go, she’d collapsed in a heap. His Daisy.

“You wanted to leave her in that sodding place,” he murmured, not opening his eyes to address Coulson. “You wanted to leave her there, and they almost killed her. Your own daughter.” He opened his eyes then, and looked at the other man hatefully. “You must really fucking hate yourself, Coulson. I can’t even imagine. You and Jessica go on about being heroes, but if I hadn’t saved her, they would have beaten her to death.”

DAISY: Her breathing was starting to ease as the vibrations worked through her body. It took energy, but she had to stay alive, both for her own reasons and for Kilgrave's order. She didn't care about being full of surprises, even if what she was doing was a surprise even to herself. There were other things he still didn't know about her, like the fact that she could create a sound barrier, but she wasn't going to tell him that. It was still her advantage. She still had that at least.

Her eyes were still closed, but she was listening now. Everything about his tone was soft and caring. Just like it had been for the past week with her. It was so different compared to how he spoke to everyone, and it reminded her of Ward. She hadn't forgiven Ward, but even with him, she'd seen a potential for good. Kilgrave thought he was helping her at least. Daisy knew that, and she could almost bring herself to respect it if she didn't feel so trapped. She wanted to live, but she didn't want to need him for that.

Then, she heard his voice again, the other person who was with them, the other person who was actually caring about her, and it clicked. It was the person she actually needed, the one person who there was nothing without. She didn't know why he was here. Kilgrave certainly wasn't aware of just how important he was to her right now, and she could tell that he was jealous of him just trying to care for her as Kilgrave had ordered him to do. She hated that Kilgrave pulled him into this. He was using him again even though Daisy snapped at him before for ordering him. She wanted to snap at him again. She wanted him to be as far away from Kilgrave as possible, but she was still too weak to do anything about it.

Instead, she weakly moved her hand in the direction of his voice, trying to reach for him, but he wasn't near enough to her. Kilgrave had ordered him away from her. A tear slipped out as she croaked out one word to him, one word before Kilgrave spoke his next command, one word before she felt the heaviness of sleep, one word before she lost herself to who she really was.

"Dad?"

She wouldn't be herself when she awoke.

COULSON: Coulson grit his teeth, endeavoring to ignore Kilgrave's words both to Daisy and to him as he gently placed ice packs on her head, ribs, and a spot on her thigh, hoping they'd help. At best, they'd speed up her healing and alleviate some pain. If not, at least they could calm down the swelling from the bruises and other injuries.

He sat back on his heels, watching Daisy and glancing again at Kilgrave who spoke. "You think I knew this was happening to her?" He asked, gesturing at Daisy. Each injury made him furious, and he did understand Kilgrave for a moment, who had surely killed each and every guard doing this. Only, Kilgrave's actions would only effect a few guards. He'd make a difference with only a few people - if Coulson had known and handled it, they'd have been punished for their crimes and people would know that they couldn't abuse prisoners like this. Instead, those spaces would be free to be taken by another person willing to abuse them.

He swallowed at the sudden dryness in his throat. Yes. He hated himself. Coulson couldn't tell if that was a command or himself, but suddenly a deep feeling of worthlessness, of self hate and pity, filled him from head to toe. He wanted to throw himself off this very plane and if Daisy didn't need him he might have tried. This felt so different to any order - it felt like Phil wanted to tear himself inside out and he couldn't and he just wanted it to stop. Loathing filled him for himself - and for Kilgrave, for making him feel that way.

His attention was directed from his hatred and from his attention on Kilgrave to focus on Daisy as her hand moved. He clutched it immediately, trying to help her, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

Dad.

Phil's entire world lurched when Daisy called him that, thinking of what she'd said before, of that he wasn't her father. Everything become lighter and although the order to hate himself still weighed on his shoulders, he couldn't hate himself that much if Daisy didn't hate him. When she fell asleep, he stroked her palm with his thumb, sighing. "I might hate you. But I have to thank you for bringing her back alive." He said through gritted teeth. "But she'll never forgive you for it."

KILGRAVE: It was only now the immediate threat had passed, and Daisy was safe, that Kilgrave could let himself rest. He put his head back on the wall, and let the tension roll off his shoulders. He'd been so furious for her, so worried, so desperate to get her back. But she was here. He'd rescued her. Bloody hell, had he ever felt like that before? That righteously angry, that overwhelmingly furious? And it was all for Daisy. Because he loved her. He loved her. He looked at the table where she was lying, and felt it again -- that sharp pain. And he had no outlet for it except Coulson, the man who'd had a hand in putting her in that sodding place.

Even from where he was sitting, Kilgrave could see Coulson holding her hand, stroking her skin. And he hated it. He hated seeing Coulson touching her. She was his, for God's sake. He'd rescued her. He'd carried her there and saved her goddamn life, and Coulson thought he had any fucking right at all to touch her? He recalled, vaguely, the rants Daisy had given about S.H.I.E.L.D. and how they'd used her, and how much she hated them. What the hell was Phil Coulson if not the bloody embodiment of S.H.I.E.L.D.?

"I thought I told you," he snapped, "To let go of her!" But then Coulson spoke, even before the order was obeyed. I have to thank you. And he remembered the look in that woman's eyes, that woman he'd saved, with Jessica. She'd thanked him, and looked at it him with an expression he'd only seen on TV. Gratitude. Genuine awe and gratitude. The only other time something that had happened had been with Daisy herself, when he'd saved that receptionist, and Daisy had been sobbing and covered in blood, and she'd hugged him of her own volition. Kilgrave didn't know what to say. It was rare he was speechless -- he relied so heavily on his voice -- but, for a moment, he was just silent. Coulson had thanked him. For rescuing Daisy.

"Of course I brought her back alive," he said, trying to deflect from the odd gratitude. "I had to save her." It came out rougher than he'd thought, and he surprised himself. His voice caught in his throat, and he looked away from Coulson and readjusted his position, resting his elbows on his knees and trying to distract himself from the memory of seeing his Daisy being beaten to within an inch of her life, blood and bruises and the crack of every hit, and the way she'd fallen as soon as he'd told them to kill themselves.

Coulson said she would never forgive him, and Kilgrave's gaze turned sharply back to him. "Oh, shut up," he snapped. "Of course she will. She doesn't want to die. She was just in pain." His Daisy wouldn't be so bloody weak, so fucking suicidal. That was Jessica's territory. Apparently. He was quiet for a moment, and then, because he couldn't bear to have nothing to do except stew in that odd, empathetic, pain, he said, "Tell me, why did you let them take her? You knew where she was. But you let them imprison her like a fucking criminal." He looked at Coulson. "How the hell could you do that to your own daughter?"

COULSON: "You actually ordered me to help her and do what I must. According to me, I must comfort her since you're so horrible at it." He growled, holding onto Daisy as long as Kilgrave didn't order him to stop. He watched Kilgrave's face - had the man even done enough good in his life to be thanked? - and raised his eyebrows.

Had to save her. Oh, that was rich. When had what was normal and what was supposed to be done stopped Kilgrave from doing anything? There was a dead agent now and many dead guards because Kilgrave didn't give a damn about the lives of and loves of other people. He clenched his fist, glancing down at Daisy. He thought of how when she'd been in training to be an agent, she'd stressed about taking someone out. How it had been difficult for her, though she'd done it. The complete opposite of Kilgrave, who was so trigger happy and so completely oblivious to death that he killed without thought.

Coulson bowed his head. He was no stranger to suicidal tendencies, no stranger to Daisy begging for death. Being an agent meant that you didn't try to throw yourself off of a building or slit your wrists. That wasn't the way SHIELD did things - agents who threw themselves into a battle with little to no regard for themselves, those were the suicide risks. He knew because he had been scared Melinda would do the same thing, and relieved when she went into Administration and didn't do anything that would cause him to lose her for good. He knew because every day after Daisy disappeared he would comb through newspapers terrified he'd find a story about Quake, the legendary hero, having allowed herself to get killed through some misguided attempt to make up for the loss of Lincoln.

It had never been a fear for Coulson. Oh, he'd begged for death. But he feared everyone else choosing to leave him before he feared leaving himself.

"She wants to die. And you don't have to let her - but you have to accept that she feels that way. Loving someone means accepting them, flaws and all." He snapped. "She was in a lot of pain, physically. But she was in more emotional pain than you could ever grasp. The Daisy you thought you knew killed people and hurt the people she loved. She made people suffer. That is a different person to this one, and now she's back to herself and she hates herself. A narcissistic son of a bitch like you will never even hope to comprehend how she's feeling." Coulson said.

His hand clenched and unclenched, trying to find the right words to explain to Kilgrave how he'd felt. "I wanted to get her out of there. But you can't truly believe I knew what they were doing to her." He said, gesturing at Daisy's injuries. "But that kid you killed, the one you don't even know the name of? He was right. Daisy did try to turn herself in - only, she asked them to kill her. Luckily they didn't listen or she wouldn't be here with us now. Lucky for us, at least - not for her, since she's still forced to be your captive." Coulson shook his head, glancing down at Daisy's bruised and beaten face again and pulling in a deep breath. What was going to happen next? Where would Kilgrave take her?

And what would he do to her there?

#d #coulsonsshield #daisycjohnson #blood tw #suicide mentions tw #mind control tw #murder mentions tw #violence tw

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