They have made a mistake approaching her at the hospital. This is all Jessica can think as she is escorted from the building, flanked by a literal man in black on either side. If they had come to the house or approached her in the park, they might have had a little more footing in the future. But, as it is, they have come to her when she is masked as Jules, working with Jules, doing the duties she'd promised Jules she'd do. Jules will not remember this, but every other nurse and doctor and patient will. Jessica will document every flutter of these men's eyelashes for her later so she knows, so she understands. The fact that they've come to the hospital cements their place on the list of people Jules will never trust, and Jessica is glad for that small miracle. Enticing promises will be made, assurances given, but Jessica knows a good group and a good group doesn't lock up Carol Danvers for days on end to convince her to join their cause. And if they aren't good enough for Carol Danvers...

The room is lit with the harsh, flourescent glare of a generic white-washed government building. It is at the end of a labyrinthine path through nondescript office blocks with a distinct lack of natural light designed, perhaps, to put someone on edge. Jessica has seen this room from both angles in hundreds of iterations over her 32 years. She knows that, hiding on the other side of the door, are a whole host of tricks to keep her uncomfortable. So when a patch of goosebumps erupts over her forearms as an agent enters the room, she knows they've fiddled with the air conditioning. She also knows that the stack of papers in his hand will include photographs of the people she loves. That Jules loves. She knows that there will be several photographs of Jeremiah, of Gerry. She also knows that they will anticipate her having spoken to Carol, so they will be a little rougher. They will try to shock her, to scare her. But these people are not Hydra. At least not overtly so. They are clinging to righteousness, grasping out for collaboration in the name of safety. She knows where short leaps lead, however, and she is more than reluctant to cooperate.

The agent, stone-faced and silent, places a line of photographs in front of her. Jules at work, Jeremiah at pre-school, the pair of them in the park, Cooper's front door, Cara and Wyatt at dinner, Jules getting a beer with an old pseudo-boyfriend, Jules in front of a gas pump with bandaged arms and a far-off look. Jessica stares at the photographs and takes a long breath before she glances at the man, face blank. This is her life. Jules Draper. Each piece connecting deeper than anyone else could realize, all of it making sense to Jessica because she's witnessed most it from behind Jules's eyes, and everything else she's taught herself. When she doesn't react to these images, the man places a few more in front of her. A blood drenched shard of glass, dirty footprints on the ceiling, blue bruises around a familiar neck, a broken lamp, a half-empty apartment.

"That's a lot of blood."

The agent's voice is comically deeper than Jessica anticipated and it takes quite a lot of willpower not to laugh. She decides instantly that he's putting this voice on just for her.

"Have you found the criminal who tried to kill me, then? Is that why I'm here? The handcuffs seem misplaced if that's the case."

"Miss Drew--"

"Draper."

The agent pauses and Jessica pulls her smirk into an innocent and expectant look.

"Jessica Drew--"

"Julianne Draper."

The agent's top teeth scrape over his bottom lip for a moment, betraying his annoyance.

"If I'm being questioned, I am going to reserve the right to legal counsel."

"Miss Drew, we just want to keep you safe. Things like this..." He indicates the grisly line of photographs, his concern plainly fabricated. "Things like this are the tip of the iceberg. We can protect you and your son. You and Carol Danvers."

Jessica lets out a little laugh at that, unable to stop herself. Coming in second to Carol Danvers isn't anything new, but it would have been nice of them to pretend.

"If my right to legal counsel is not being honored, I can only assume I'm being treated as a political prisoner. In which case: Julianne May Draper, Civilian Nurse, 260-55-4321."

"Miss Drew, you are not a prisoner--"

"Julianne May Draper, Civilian Nurse, 260-55-4321."

Jessica can see the sweat appear at the man's hairline despite the artificially cold room. She leans back in her chair and picks up a photograph of Jeremiah and smiles down at it the way a mother may look at a photograph of her child, but her eyes are focused on something else. The reflection of this agent in the window at the preschool. This agent has been following her child.

"Adorable." The word is acid on her tongue. She doesn't know who this man is, but she will.

"Miss Drew, can you explain this?"

The agent presents a photograph of Jessica in the shadow of Ebony Maw. She is completely covered from head to toe in the red suit that leaves little to the imagination but still somehow obscures her identity behind a mask. She looks from the photograph to the agent in confusion and fear and she sees the tiniest look of triumph cross his features.

"Is this a sex thing, Agent?"

Jessica Drew is, apparently, not worth the trouble of locking up. Within two hours, she is stepping into the bright light outside of the Presidio, ride-less and hungry. In those two hours, she has learned quite a lot about her agent. Enough to dislike him deeply. Enough to make him wish he'd never taken the job of following a child around San Francisco. Her head pulses deeply with the sounds of anxiety coming from the consciousness she knows to be Jules. They speak so seldom outside of the hospital that, when emotions run high like this, it splits her skull strong enough to make her wince. The sooner she gets away from this place, the better. With a few swipes of her finger, a Lyft is on its way and she's thinking about a cheeseburger.