Pilot

season 1, episode 1

for those with no idea what medium is, that is a-okay! this is a rewrite of the pilot, aka the episode intended to introduce the show, which means you don't need to know a thing about medium to read this fic.

in other news, everyone say thank you to seekrest for lovingly pressuring me to write this,, and also shoutout to kelly for helping me choose the best spider-kids to fill the roles of the dubois children!!

i hope y'all enjoy 19k of me adoring michelle jones-watson and medium :)

(if there are timeline issues, don't tell me. i choose blissful ignorance)

~*~

MJ shifts in the hard plastic seat, crossing and recrossing her ankles beneath the metal table as she takes notes while the pale-faced man sitting before her gives his statement. "And your wife, she was just... lying there?"

The man nods, licking his dry, cracked lips and swallowing hard. "Yes. I—I got home at 10, like every Thursday. When I pulled into our driveway, I noticed the lights were off inside the house. I thought—I thought that was a little weird, because Jess usually leaves them on."

"I see." The blue ink of MJ's pen blots in the middle of a word, staining her fingertips. She continues writing on the line below, still the same page. "And you didn't think to contact the authorities?"

"I mean, yeah, I thought about it." The man runs a hand through his curls, hair graying in a salt and pepper fashion. It might have been an attractive color if it weren't for the excessive oil his scalp produced, giving each strand an aggressive sheen. "But it's not like Jess has never turned the lights off before."

"Of course." MJ flips to the next page in her folder, the short file provided by the district attorney. The man's story is consistent so far. An easy case for her first official assignment, she supposes. "Tell me what you saw when you went inside."

He sighs, more exhaustion than exasperation. "I called her name. You know, as I walked in. Jess didn't answer me, and I figured she'd gone to the back. But when—when I started heading to our bedroom, I had to walk through the living room, and I—"

He chokes up, and MJ offers him a sympathetic nod. "Take your time, sir. I know this is difficult."

The man wipes his eyes with the back of his deep purple sleeve. MJ regrets not bringing in a box of tissues. Noted for future assignments.

After a pause, the man releases a shaky exhale, nodding weakly. "Sorry. When I—When I walked into the living room, I felt something warm under my socks, and I noticed this... lump by the couch. At first, I remember thinking, 'Why's Jess gone and rolled up the rug?' But after my eyes adjusted"—a broken sob escapes his lips—"I realized it was her body."

Still consistent. The man's either an excellent liar or simply a traumatized husband. MJ adds a note about his comparison to a rolled-up rug, though she suspects it's inconsequential.

"After I turned the light on, I saw that the warmth under my socks was actually—it was her blood." He stifles another sob. "I don't know how I managed to call the cops afterward without throwing up first."

MJ grimaces at his admission, not that she can blame him. "Thank you, sir." She circles the estimated time of his 911 call. People far wiser than her can determine if his scenario times out appropriately. "I'm sorry I had to make you relive this again."

"You're... You're kind for saying that."

Out of her peripheral vision, MJ can see him wipe his eyes a second time, hand quivering as he lowers his arm.