A Free Radical [SI in Marvel/MCU]

~~~ Levi Wilder ~~~

The street was alive, bathed in a clean, crisp light that cut sharp outlines around the hustle of midday Hell's Kitchen. Shopfronts bustled with activity, and the steady hum of conversation and footsteps rose and fell with the rhythm of the city.

Levi navigated the city like he belonged, his stride relaxed but deliberate. It didn't feel as ominous and overwhelming as the day he appeared in the very alley they had just passed. Now, he knew the people, knew where he was going, and the desperation of those days was a thing of the past.

Nita stayed close, her steps quieter, more hesitant. Her canvas bag tugged at her side, heavy enough to drag her frame slightly off balance. Levi didn't ask to carry it—she'd refuse, and she'd hate having to refuse. But he noticed the way she gripped the strap, her knuckles pale and tight.

"You holding up okay, Tía Nita?" he asked, glancing back at her as they wove through the crowd. His voice was calm but warm, like he had all the time in the world for her.

She adjusted the strap of her bag, her gaze flicking to the office door ahead. "I'm trying not to hope too much," she said softly, her words heavy. "Hope can break your heart."

Levi stopped just short of the door and turned toward her, tilting his head to catch her eye. "Remember, you're not alone anymore, Tía Nita. We'll walk this road together, one step at a time."

Her lips twitched, the faintest crack of a smile sneaking through. "You're too good to me, mijo," she said, shaking her head. "I'll light a candle for you tonight."

Levi snorted, "Don't spread that around too much. Just save your energy for keeping up with little Mateo. We're getting you back where you belong."

She laughed, low and soft, and the sound seemed to settle her nerves as she stood a little straighter and drew her shoulders back. Levi stepped aside to hold the door open for her. "Let's show these suits what happens when you mess with a Puerto Rican grandmother."

Nita hesitated for half a breath, then stepped through, her chin lifting just slightly as the door clicked shut behind them.

The office was cozy, almost to a fault. Nita's gaze flitted over the mismatched chairs, stacks of files teetering on the edge of order, and a coffee maker in the corner that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years.

Her hand lingered on the strap of her bag, her fingers tightening as she scanned the walls—certificates, a few faded photos, and a crooked frame holding what looked like a diploma.

Levi caught the faint crease in her brow and the way her lips pressed together, just short of saying something. He leaned in slightly, his voice low and easy. "I know what you're thinking, Tía Nita."

Her eyes darted to him, startled. "I wasn't thinking anything—"

"Sure you weren't," he interrupted with a faint grin, his tone softening. "It's not the fanciest place you've ever seen, but don't let that fool you. These guys are some of the best. They could've gone corporate—corner offices on Wall Street, 8-figure salaries, the whole nine yards. But they chose to serve the community instead. They do more pro bono work than any other practice in the city."

Nita's grip on the bag slackened slightly, but she hesitated, her brow knitting together. "Pro bono?" she asked quietly, the concern slipping through despite her effort to keep it at bay. "I don't want to waste their time…"

Levi straightened, his tone turning firm but reassuring. "You're not wasting anyone's time, Tía. I've got that covered. I've started a little fund to make sure cases like yours get the attention they deserve."

"Correction," Foggy said, stepping forward with a grin and a hand raised like he was in court. "Levi's fund can let us help a lot of people, and you, Mrs. Rivera, are officially our first case. So, no pressure, but you're kind of our audition. We need to bring our A-game."

Nita blinked at him, her lips parting slightly as her eyes flicked between Foggy and Levi. "I don't know about all that…"

"You don't have to," Levi cut in softly. "Just know we're going to make this right."

Matt, who had been listening silently, offered a small nod. "Foggy's right. We're treating this like it's our biggest case, because it is. What you've been through matters."

For the first time, Nita set the bag down without hesitation, her hands lingering over it briefly before letting go. "Okay," she said softly. "Thank you—for all of this."

Levi shot Foggy a grin. "See, Nelson? That's your cue to stop talking and start working."

"Hey, I'm already working," Foggy shot back, grabbing a legal pad and waving it in mock offense. "You think I put on the charm for free?"

The lightness of his tone pulled a small, genuine laugh from Nita, and the tension in her shoulders seemed to melt. Levi pulled out a chair for her, gesturing for her to sit. "Let's see what New York's finest 'avocados at law' can do."

She nodded, the faintest trace of a smile creeping through as she slowly settled into the chair. Levi followed, leaning back and letting Matt and Foggy take the reins.

~~~ Jessica Jones ~~~

The café was the same as their first meeting—quaint, slightly rundown, and plastered in just enough veneer to pretend it was something more. Jessica liked it more than she wanted to admit. Or maybe it was just the familiarity. She pushed her way through the door, the faint chime of the bell above making her wince at its obnoxious cheer. Levi had beaten her for once, leaning back in the booth like he'd been there for hours.

She slid into the seat across from him, her leather jacket creaking as she leaned back, arms crossed. "So, you're on time for once," she said flatly. "Guess you were pretty eager for this handoff." she said flatly. "No cloak-and-dagger nonsense today? I'm impressed."

Levi grinned, holding a newspaper up to his face, two parallel holes cut out with the precision of a kindergartener. He looked at her through them, unbothered and unblinking. "Be cool, this is a handoff," he whispered in an affected, deep and raspy voice.

Handsome idiot...

Jessica's lips twitched, but she caught herself, keeping her expression neutral. "Put that down or I'm leaving. I won't be caught in public with an imbecile like you," she groused, pulling a small envelope from her jacket pocket and tossing it onto the table. "Here. Your classified intel. Try not to spill coffee on it."

Levi dropped the paper like a used prop and picked up the envelope with mock reverence, giving it an over the top inspection before he slipped it into his coat. "So you're saying you'd spend your time with an imbecile like me in private?" he said, a huge, shit eating grin covering his stupid face. "You came all this way just to hand off a letter. Chuckles, were you secretly missing me?"

Why do I put up with this moron again?

"The job required personal delivery. I'f you're going to be this unbearable, I'm charging extra," she deadpanned, leaning back in her seat.

Levi's grin widened. "Wish you'd worn a proper uniform, but I admit the leather is very 'you'. My usual UPS driver doesn't have your charm."

"Yes, I have 'charm'," she repeated, her tone as flat as the table. But she didn't look away, waiting to see if he'd take the bait.

"Yeah, your whole 'I hate everything, but I'm actually happy to see you' vibe? Very Tsundere, very demure," Levi quipped, leaning forward with an exaggerated wink.

Jessica's eyelid began to twitch, but despite herself, her lips curved the faintest bit before she caught herself, forming her lips back into a straight line. "You're insufferable."

I think I might actually hate this fucking bastard...

"That's why you keep showing up," Levi countered.

Jessica didn't bother answering, instead tapping the table with her fingers as she shifted the conversation. "So, the good doctor. What'd Connors say about your mystery vials?"

Levi hesitated for a beat before pulling the envelope back out. He glanced down at it, then up at her a few times, his expression unreadable, but somehow still troublesome. "You didn't peek?" He said, acting like a suspicious child.

Jessica snorted. "What do you take me for? If you wanted me to know, you'd have told me."

"Fair enough," Levi said, his grin softening for a moment. "That's why I trust you, Jones." He opened the envelope carefully, unfolding the report inside. As he scanned the contents, his expression shifted slightly—not alarmed, but focused.

Jessica watched him, her posture casual but her gaze sharp. She took a sip of her coffee. "Anything I need to know, or is this one of those 'close to the chest' deals?"

Levi glanced up, meeting her eyes. "For now? Close to the chest. But thanks for not snooping."

"Please," Jessica said, her tone dry. "The last thing I need is to get roped into whatever you've got cooking. My calendar's full."

It wasn't, and we both knew it, but I sure as hell wasn't about to admit I'd cleared my afternoon for this.

Levi just smirked. "Good to know you're keeping busy. Wouldn't want to monopolize your time."

"Trust me, Wilder," she said, taking another sip of coffee. "You're not that special."

Levi's grin returned, wider and more shit eating than before. "Oh, tell me, Jessica, how special am I?"

Am I sick in the head? Why do I enjoy this annoying man-child's company? No. Tolerate. Why do I tolerate this annoying man-child?

Jessica didn't respond, letting the banter fade into the background. Her mind drifted back to their last meeting—the way he'd mentioned a 'complicated' job. It had sounded like a challenge, like he'd dangled it there just to see if she'd bite.

Damn it. Complicated sounded interesting.

"So," she said finally, tilting her head. "About that job you dangled in front of me at our last meetup. 'Complicated', you called it. Any updates on it?"

Levi looked up from his coffee, his grin flickering back into place like muscle memory. "Oh, what's this? I thought your calendar was full. Could it be business is slow?"

"I'm just doing my part to help the less gifted," she shot back, her tone dry. "So spill."

For a second, his usual mischievous grin remained in place.

Until it wasn't.

Something shifted in his expression. A flicker of... something crossed his face, almost imperceptible, but enough for Jessica to catch. He set his mug down, his fingers clasping together.

"What job?" he asked, the lightness in his voice undercut by a stilted quality, like it was being delivered by a uniquely untalented drama student.

Jessica blinked, caught off guard by the genuine confusion in his tone. She leaned forward slightly, narrowing her eyes.

"The one you mentioned at the park," she said. "Woman. Baby. Ringing any bells?"

Levi's frown deepened. He opened his mouth, then closed it again before anything managed to escape it. His hands came up to his temples, pressing lightly, as though he could physically coax the answer out of his mind.

Levi's frown deepened. His lips moved soundlessly, as if the words were lodged in his throat. His hands came up to his temples, pressing lightly, then harder, his fingers curling into his hair. "I…" he started, his voice thin and ragged, "I—I don't…what are you talking about?"

Jessica's stomach twisted. Levi didn't forget things. He didn't hesitate. This was almost like he was…lost. "Levi," she said carefully, her voice lowering. "You said it just a few days ago. Ghost and Goblins. You don't remember?"

His hands dropped to the table, but he didn't meet her eyes. The furrow in his brow deepened, and for a moment, he was completely still, the stillness of a wire pulled taut. Then it snapped. He lurched forward, his breath hitching sharply, the pale sheen of sweat blooming across his forehead.

Levi's gaze locked with hers, wide and unblinking, pupils swallowing the blue of his irises. He licked his lips and parted them, as though to speak, but no sound came out. His hands shot to the edge of the table, clutching it with white-knuckled force—the wood audibly groaning under the strength of his grip. Then, with a violent jerk, he shoved himself back, the motion so sudden, his knees banged against the table's underside. The booth quaked as he stumbled out, nearly collapsing under the weight of his own panic.

"I—It's nothing," he said stuttered, falling over his words. His usually clever tongue tripped over itself, clumsy and awkward. "Forget it. Forget I even brought it up."

Jessica's gaze sharpened. The way his face tensed in a false grin. The way his hands fidgeted, pupils dilated. She'd seen this kind of reaction before—in people teetering on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. Rarely did it end well.

What the hell is this? Why won't he just tell me?

The words hovered at the back of her throat, but she bit them back. This wasn't like Levi. That moron would grin and joke through a mugging.

"This doesn't look like 'nothing,'" she said flatly, keeping her voice steady even as her stomach knotted tighter. "What's going on, Levi? Something's spooked you."

Levi's looked at her, his pupils dilated and breathing rapid. "Who, me? Spooked? Surely ye jest, fair maiden, for I am known throughout the land as the intrepid and courageous slayer of dragons and wooer of maidens." The line was all Levi, but was delivered with a borderline hysterical energy that was anything but.

"Great. So what's got you looking like an extra in Scream?" she pressed, her voice calm but unyielding.

"Nothing," he repeated, doing a 180, and falling into a clipped and uncharacteristically serious tone. "It's nothing. Seriously. Just drop it, okay?"

Jessica didn't move, didn't look away. She didn't need to say anything; the weight of her silence did all the work.

Levi rubbed the back of his neck, his movements jerky and restless. "Look, Jess. I… I'll call you, okay?" His voice cracked on the last word. "Just…just leave this one alone. Please."

Jessica opened her mouth to protest, but he was already on his feet, fumbling with his coat. His hands shook as he pulled it on, the fabric catching awkwardly on his arm.

"Let's do this again soon, okay?" he said, his voice wobbling, a faint crack in his forced grin. "You're still my favorite PI, even without proper spy craft." He turned away quickly, avoiding her eyes as he strode for the door.

Jessica sat back, the bell above the door jangling in his wake. Her coffee was cold, forgotten, as her mind replayed every flicker of his expression.

He's hiding something. Something big. And if he thinks I'm just going to let it go…

~~~ Hammerhead ~~~

The table had seen better days. It was a relic of another time, its scuffed wood covered in faint cigarette burns and scratches where knives had idly traced years of tension. The capos sat around it in tailored suits and silk ties, their collars sharp, but their postures loose. Gold glinted from rings and chains. The shine of their shoes was as polished as their accents, heavy with the cadence of Brooklyn and Bensonhurst. At the head of the table sat the Don, a man whose presence filled the room without saying a word.

Hammerhead stood at the foot of the long table, all eyes focused squarely on him. He'd been before the council many times over the years, reporting on the various problems he'd fixed. He'd solved countless problems for these men over the years. The manila folder in hand held the results from his weeks of investigation. It was thin. His jaw clenched, even as he squared his shoulders and faced them, standing tall.

Sal, the capo who'd been made a fool of that night, leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his polished loafer bouncing in time with his smirk. "Alright, Hammerhead," he said, his voice loud enough to fill the silence. "You got something for us, or is this gonna be another speech about how you couldn't get the job done?"

Hammerhead didn't so much as glance at him. He stepped forward, placed the folder on the table, and flipped it open. "The blood came back clean," he said, his soft and raspy voice even. "No priors. No matches. Whoever this guy is, he's not in the system."

"Not in the system," Sal repeated, his smirk widening. "Which means what? He's a ghost? Invisible? Or maybe you're just not looking hard enough."

The older capo to Sal's right, a man with slicked-back gray hair and a gold chain peeking out from his open collar, gave him a sharp look. "Sally, why don't you shut your mouth for two seconds and let him finish?"

Sal scoffed but fell silent, slumping slightly in his chair and crossing his arms. The older capo leaned back, gesturing with his hand for Hammerhead to continue.

"The fences haven't seen the goods," Hammerhead said. "Nothing's moved. Either they're sitting on it, or they've got someone running it outside our usual channels."

The Don finally leaned forward, his hands steepled under his chin. His suit was immaculate, an understated tailoring that spoke of quiet power. A heavy gold signet ring with a simple 'M' gleamed on his finger, catching the dim light. "And the woman?" he asked, his tone measured.

"She's a pro," Hammerhead replied. "Clean, efficient. It seems she was only after some art. She matches the profile of a high-end burglar we've crossed before. The chaos of that night is not in her MO. Either way, she's gone quiet since the job. She knows we're watching."

The Don's sharp eyes studied Hammerhead, his expression unreadable. "And the guy?" he asked. "What's your read on him?"

Hammerhead paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "He doesn't move like a pro," he said finally. "But he's not some punk off the street either. He's green, but clever and bold. The setup at the alley, the timing at the warehouse—he's unpredictable."

Sal let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "So, nothing. No leads, no names, no goods. Just you, standing here telling us this schmuck's a genius because he got lucky."

Hammerhead's eyes flicked to Sal, his expression tightening, but still neutral. "Luck runs out," he said simply.

"Yeah? Let me know when it does." Sal waved him off with a sneer. "In the meantime, the families are asking questions, and we're looking soft. That's not on me."

The Don turned his head slowly toward Sal, his gaze sharp enough to cut. "It is on you, Sal," he said, his voice soft but carrying weight. "You pulled the men off the warehouse. You set up the ambush at your mistress' house. This whole mess is yours. Don't disrespect the man cleaning up after you."

Sal stiffened, his smirk slipping. He looked down, muttering something under his breath. The Don didn't acknowledge it, turning back to Hammerhead.

"You said there's a trail," the Don said. "What's your next move?"

Hammerhead straightened. "We bring in a tracker," he said. "Someone who can follow what they left behind—blood, fabric, whatever we've got."

The gray-haired capo leaned forward, frowning. "A tracker," he echoed. "You're serious?"

Hammerhead nodded. "I know someone who doesn't care how cold the trail is. This guy's in the city. That means he's already lost."

The room fell quiet. Sal glanced around, his fidgeting betraying his nerves. "So, what, we're hiring some kind of bloodhound now?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The Don's hand came down on the table, not hard, but the movement made Sal flinch. "If Hammerhead says we need this tracker, we need this tracker," he said. His tone left no room for argument. "You don't like it? Then find the guy yourself."

Sal fidgeted and muttered something under his breath, but stayed silent otherwise. He slouched back into his seat, avoiding eye contact with the other capos.

Sal fidgeted, his fingers twisting his pinky ring as he muttered something under his breath. He slouched back in his seat, suddenly looking small, and avoided eye contact.

The Don leaned back, his eyes on Hammerhead. "Do it," he said. "Just don't get us tangled up with their kind too deeply. You bring him in, he does the job, and then he's gone."

"Yes, Don," Hammerhead replied, his voice firm. "I'll make sure of it."

The Don nodded, signaling the end of the meeting. Hammerhead left the folder, departing without another word as he walked out into the cold night air. He lit a cigar, the ember casting a faint glow over his face. His grip tightened as he thought about the mess he'd been handed, the whispers of weakness that would follow if he didn't fix it. Sal wouldn't take the fall for this—not fully. That would land squarely on him if this tracker didn't deliver.

He exhaled a stream of smoke, murmuring, "Run, little rabbit, run. Because I'm coming for you."