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theetherealbloom · 2 months

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NOTRE DAME - CH. 7

Chapter 7: Heaven Help Me, I Need To Make It Right

Summary: In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with the power of illusion manipulation silently watches over Matt Murdock, the blind vigilante known as Daredevil. As danger engulfs Hell's Kitchen, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a bond of trust and longing, intertwining their fates in a battle against darkness that tests their resolve. Will their connection illuminate a path to salvation in a city of darkness or lead them deeper into the abyss?

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt to Comfort, ANGST, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, Religion, Fluff, Anxiety, PSTD, Nightmares, Catholic Guilt, Amnesia, Violence, Blood, Dark Undertones, Eventual SMUT, Shy Reader, Mentions of Abuse, Criminal Activities, Mobsters/Mafia, Character Death, Slowish Burn, Disassociation,

Word Count: 11.8k

A/N: Hrmmmm… there are days where I feel like no one is reading this fic so sometimes I lack the motivation to finish it. Then I have to remind myself that I also write for myself because I’m that delusional, lmao. But to the anon that asks for updates for Notre Dame, thank you; it tells me at least one person is reading this– so this chapter is for you. Lastly, thank you to @bellaxgiornata for constantly listening to me ramble in her ask box about Matt. You are the best, love you loads and you mean a lot to me friend. <3

Song: No Light, No Light by Florence + the Machine

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KAREN’S APARTMENT – EARLY MORNING

After stopping by Josie's bar and inquiring with Josie herself about Karen's whereabouts, she mentioned having a conversation with Foggy. However, she seemed visibly distressed just before leaving. Calling for a cab, you reached your current location as the sun was beginning to rise. The lack of sleep weighed on you, but knocking at Karen's door, you couldn't contain your restless anticipation.

"Karen? Karen, are you there?" No response. Gritting your teeth, you unleash a surge of energy through your palms, using your enhanced senses to unlock the door with the doorknob.

"Karen?" Your voice echoes through the quiet apartment as you enter, scanning for any signs of distress. Your eyes land on the bedside table, where an empty alcohol bottle rests, sending a pang of concern through you.

Suddenly, Karen gasps awake, her breaths ragged as she jerks upright. Her eyes widen in panic as she sees you standing there, tears glistening. "Hey, hey, it's just me," you reassure her, stepping closer. "Karen, what's wrong?”

"How did you get in my apartment?" Karen asks, her voice shaky, still catching her breath.

"I might have, um, picked the lock... only because you weren't answering your phone," you somewhat omit the truth, your tone gentle. "I got worried and came to check on you. What... happened?"

You settle on the foot of her bed, the darkness of her room enveloping you both as your eyes adjust. It's then that you notice the puffiness and redness of her eyes, evidence of tears shed throughout the night.

"I..." Karen begins, her voice trembling, her words choked with emotion. She struggles to speak, her mouth opening and closing as she fights back tears.

You watch her struggle, sensing her pain, and without a word, you open your arms and pull her into a tight embrace. She collapses into you, her sobs shaking her body as she clings to you for support.

At that moment, a heavy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You can't shake the sense that the damage has already been done, and you fear that you may have arrived a little too late.

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MOMENTS LATER…

Karen decides to head to the office, and as she gathers her things, she turns to you with a hopeful look. "Could you walk with me?" she asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

You nod without hesitation, understanding her need for companionship during this difficult time. As you walk together, the weight of the previous night's events hangs heavy in the air.

"What happened last night?" you inquire gently, breaking the silence.

Karen takes a deep breath, her expression troubled. "I found Foggy at Josie's bar," she begins, her voice strained. "He was drunk, and things got heated between us. It's all just a mess..."

Suddenly, a noise from around the corner startles both of you, and you instinctively turn towards the source. Finding nothing, you try to lighten the mood. "Must've been a rat. Did you know rats have gangs in different parts of New York?"

To your relief, Karen laughs, the tension momentarily easing. "Rat gangs? Just what we need on top of Fisk," she quips, a hint of humor in her voice.

You meet her gaze, a sense of determination in your eyes. "We'll get him, Karen. He'll pay for his crimes," you assure her, offering a reassuring smile.

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NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW, OFFICE – EARLY MORNING

Karen opens the office door and steps inside, her movements slow and subdued. You follow behind her, gently shutting the door behind you. As Karen moves to put away her bag and belongings, you head to the small pantry area to start the coffee maker, the familiar hum providing comforting background noise.

From the corner of your eye, you see Karen stand up from her seat and take a few steps, her silhouette outlined against the window. You can sense her distress, bits of emotions you can pick up because of your powers, the previous night's stress persists deeply on her shoulders. You resist the urge to pry, knowing that she may not be ready to share the full extent of what happened.

As the floor creaks underfoot, both you and Karen startle, turning to find Foggy standing there in the middle of the room. Karen gasps in shock, her hand instinctively clutching at her chest.

"Jesus," she exclaims, her voice laced with surprise.

Foggy speaks up in a soft voice, attempting to reassure Karen, "It's okay, it's just me… the dick."

Karen's heartbeat gradually slows as she tries to compose herself. "What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice still tinged with uncertainty.

Foggy shrugs casually, his demeanor relaxed. "Last I checked, it was my office."

"Yeah, yours and Matt's. Is that why you're creeping around so late, to avoid him?" Karen probes, her curiosity evident.

Foggy shoots a quick glance in your direction before responding to Karen, "Okay, first, there was no creep. You were just too… whatever you were, looking out the window to realize I stepped out of my office."

There's a brief pause as Foggy regards Karen skeptically. "And have you been hitting the juice? Because you kind of smell like a distillery."

Karen moves over to you by the pantry, and you offer her a cup of coffee. She accepts it gratefully before retorting, "You're one to talk. I found you practically curled up under the bar at Josie's."

"Fair enough," Foggy says with a sigh, his tone tinged with resignation. He then presses on, curiosity evident in his voice. "But that was the end of my night. What happened to you after that?"

Karen avoids meeting Foggy's gaze as she takes a sip of her coffee. You observe her closely, sensing her discomfort as she responds with a lie, "Nothing."

Foggy narrows his eyes slightly, not fully convinced. "That 'nothing' include drinking and dancing? Or just the drinking?" he questions, his tone gentle but probing.

Karen lets out a weak laugh, a hint of bitterness in her voice. "Funny, you actually sound like you care."

You take a long drag of your own coffee, the warmth spreading through you as you listen to Foggy's attempt at explanation. "Karen, what's going on with me and Matt… it sucks that it's bleeding over to you. It's the last thing I'd ever want to happen," he says, his tone sincere.

Karen nods in understanding, her eyes reflecting the weariness of the night before. "I know. Sorry, just, I, uh… Just had a... a rough night," she admits, her voice soft.

She moves to sit down on the chair by her desk, and Foggy attempts to lighten the mood. "You and I should not drink," he quips, a hint of humor in his voice.

Karen lets out a weak scoff, the weight of the situation still heavy on her shoulders. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm thinking about giving it up, moving on to the hard stuff," she replies, her tone tinged with sarcasm.

You snort softly as you join Foggy by the pantry. "Narcotics? Deal me in," he jests, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You raise your eyebrows skeptically. "You don't seem like the type," you remark, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Foggy shrugs nonchalantly. "Yeah, I smoked a doobie once. Made me drool," he confesses, a lighthearted grin on his face.

Karen frowns in confusion, prompting Foggy to clarify. "A doobie. Weed, pot, the Mary Jane. Whatever the kids are calling it these days."

“I'm not sure that's, uh, considered hard anymore. At least, not according to Denver, anyway,” Karen remarks, a small smile playing at her lips.

You nod in agreement as you shift your weight, sensing the underlying tension in the air. Foggy shrugs again, a wistful expression crossing his face. “The times they are a-changin',” he muses, unaware of the impact of his words.

You watch Karen’s expression falter slightly, her gaze distant, and your heart aches at the weight of the unspoken implications hanging in the air.

“Yeah,” Karen says softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Yeah,” Foggy echoes, his tone equally subdued.

“So, you coming back to the office?” Karen asks, attempting to break the tension that had settled between them.

Foggy’s demeanor shifts, his shoulders tensing slightly. “I just needed to pick up a few things,” he replies, his voice strained.

He moves to his office, hastily stuffing a pile of papers into his suitcase, while Karen follows closely behind, her concern evident in her expression.

“Wait, Foggy,” Karen says, reaching out to touch his arm gently.

“Let's not do this right now. It's not a good time,” Foggy responds, avoiding eye contact with both you and Karen.

“Is it ever gonna be?” Karen presses, her voice tinged with frustration.

Foggy sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he admits, his tone weary.

“That's not really an answer,” Karen points out, her brows furrowing in concern.

“It's the best one I've got,” Foggy replies with a resigned shake of his head.

“Whatever's going on between you and Matt, it would be really nice not to be alone here, you know?” Karen says softly, her voice filled with longing for solidarity.

“I know. What you said last night, you were right,” Foggy concedes, his expression serious. “No matter what's going on between me and Matt… that doesn't change anything with Fisk. I'm gonna keep digging. You can't just run around killing people and call yourself a human being. He's gonna pay for what he's done, just like you said.”

Foggy swallows audibly, a visible tension in his demeanor as he asks, “Do we still have a copy of all that stuff Ben gave us, from the… the man in the mask?”

Karen nods, her expression curious. “Yeah, uh, I think so. What are you gonna do with it?” She retrieves the file from a cabinet drawer and hands it over to Foggy, who accepts it with a thoughtful frown.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Foggy admits, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“So, you, uh... you don't think the Mask is a terrorist anymore?” Karen inquires, her gaze shifting between Foggy and you.

Foggy hesitates, searching for the right words. “I don't understand what he is. But no, I don't think he's a terrorist.”

“It's a start, I guess,” you interject, noticing your nervous habit of scratching your arm resurfacing. It's a telltale sign of your anxiety, especially in moments of stress.

"Look, I know things are... weird," Foggy begins, his voice laced with sincerity. "But I'm still around. You need me, just call."

You nod along with Karen, acknowledging Foggy's reassurances. "You gonna pick up this time?" Karen asks, her tone laced with concern.

Foggy nods confidently. "Yeah, I'll pick up. Might not seem like it, but everything's gonna be all right."

Karen gives him a skeptical look. "How can you be sure?"

"Because I have to be," Foggy responds with determination. You offer him a supportive smile as he heads towards the exit. "Ease off the booze, stay away from the Mary Jane," he advises Karen with a hint of humor.

Karen nods in agreement. "Will do."

As Foggy opens the door, he comes face to face with Matt standing outside. Tension fills the air, palpable and thick. You hold your breath, observing the silent exchange between the two. Foggy walks past Matt without saying anything, indicating that the dispute has not yet been fully resolved.

As Matt steps into the office, Karen remarks, "Well, that wasn't awkward."

"What are you both doing here so late?" Matt inquires, setting his cane against the wall. "Or early or whatever it is?"

"Um..." Karen hesitates, seeking assistance from you. You reply, "Couldn’t sleep."

"Lot of that going around," Matt sighs. Karen adds with a hint of sadness, "Seems like it's the only thing we still all have in common."

Matt moves towards his office entrance, expressing, "I'm sorry, Karen."

"For which part?" Karen questions. Matt pauses near the doorway, contemplating. "All of it, pretty much."

"You want coffee? I just made some," you offer. Matt nods gratefully, "Yeah, please."

As you prepare the coffee, Karen follows you inside, discussing, "You know, he thinks he got her killed… Elena."

Your heart sinks at the mention of Elena. Matt refutes, "He didn't."

"You wanna try telling him that?" Karen retorts sarcastically, then adds, "Oh, right, that... that would be if you two were still speaking to each other."

Matt shrugs, "It's his choice."

"Only if you let it be," you interject.

Karen turns to leave, stating, "You know, I'm starting to feel like I made a mistake... coming to work here."

"Do you want to leave?" Matt questions, his tone firm.

"No," Karen responds promptly, continuing, "This is my home. You and Foggy, you're the only good things in my life right now."

"Karen, did something happen?" Matt presses.

"Yes," Karen replies, and you and Matt wait for her to elaborate. "The world fell apart. Didn't you notice?"

Karen walks away, retreating to her desk to bury herself in her work. You stand there, observing Matt as he processes her words, his jaw clenched in frustration. Sensing the tension, you clear your throat and take a step back, intending to leave. "I should probably..."

"Wait,” Matt's sudden request freezes you in place. You watch as he licks his bottom lip nervously, his hands resting on his hips.

“You okay?” Matt's voice carries a hint of concern, and you know he's attuned to every nuance of your response.

You stand there, wide-eyed, before blinking a few times and clearing your throat. “I’m fine. Just tired… I’ll see you around, Matt.”

Matt nods in acknowledgment, but as you turn to leave, you're overcome by a surge of concern. You stop in your tracks and turn back to face him.

“Hey, Matt,” you say softly, catching his attention. He looks up, meeting the sound of your voice with a curious expression.

"Just… be careful. Please," you plead, your voice barely above a whisper. Matt swallows visibly, his expression serious as he nods in response.

You turn away, the sound of your fading heartbeat mingling with the distant noise of the city streets.

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177A BLEECKER STREET, GREENWICH VILLAGE

NEW YORK SANCTUM – AFTERNOON

After a quick shower back at Clinton Church, and managing to grab a bite to eat, you rushed out the doors and back onto the bustling streets of New York City. With a wave, you hailed a passing cab and gave the driver the address: 177A Bleecker Street in Greenwich Village. You needed to visit the sanctum.

Arriving at your destination, you stepped out of the cab and onto the sidewalk, feeling a pang of reluctance as you gazed up at the building before you. With a deep breath, you climbed the steps and rapped your knuckles against the wooden door, waiting patiently for it to swing open.

After a moment, the door creaked open, revealing Wong on the other side. He regarded you with a cautious expression but stepped aside to allow you entry into the Sanctum.

You stuff your hands into the pockets of your coat, taking in the familiar sights of the Sanctum. Wong joins you, standing by your side. "Just the same as when you left," he remarks.

You offer a small hum of agreement. "Smells the same too. Looks like you guys haven’t dusted in a while," you quip.

Wong places his hands on your shoulders, his gaze steady. "We missed you," he says sincerely.

You exhale, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders, and give his wrist a grateful squeeze. "Thanks, Wong."

The Ancient One's voice echoes through the room from the top of the grand staircase. "Certainly didn’t expect you to be here so soon. Would you like some tea?" Wong steps aside as you shake your head. "I think you might already know why I’m here. And it’s not for tea."

The Ancient One smiles warmly as she turns, her cloak flowing behind her, and opens a golden-rimmed portal with her sling ring. Without hesitation, she steps through, and you follow closely behind, your heart pounding with anticipation.

As you emerge on the other side, the portal seals shut behind you. The Ancient One exchanges a few words with the librarian before he departs, leaving the two of you alone in the vast expanse of the Kamar-Taj Library.

“So, tell me what’s happened,” the Ancient One prompts, her voice echoing softly in the quiet space. You begin to pace around the room, the weight of your worries heavy on your shoulders.

“I’ve been using my powers for longer periods lately,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “And during those times, my friend got injured. Badly injured. I managed to heal him with my magic. But…”

“That’s why you’ve come here,” the Ancient One finishes for you, her eyes penetrating as she turns to face you directly. You meet her gaze, nodding in confirmation. “You’re here to learn a more advanced healing spell.”

You swallow hard, feeling a mix of determination and uncertainty. “Just in case I need to save him again,” you murmur.

The Ancient One's wise eyes scan your face, a hint of concern creasing her brow. "But who will save you?" she asks, her voice tinged with worry.

You offer a nonchalant shrug, trying to downplay any concerns. "I'm fine," you insist, though the unease lingers in your mind.

Her frown deepens as she studies you further. "I feel your life force fading," she declares, her tone solemn.

You shake your head, dismissing her observation. "It's not about me, it never was," you assert, determined to keep the focus on Matt.

The Ancient One's expression softens, understanding dawning in her eyes. With a sigh, she relents, her gaze turning inward as she contemplates the situation. "I suppose I could teach you," she finally concedes, her voice laced with a mixture of resolve and compassion.

A sense of relief washes over you, accompanied by a grateful smile. "Thank you," you whisper, a glimmer of hope sparking within you.

The Ancient One clasps her hands together, a sense of purpose emanating from her. "Let's begin," she declares, leading the way with unwavering determination.

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A DAY LATER…

KAMAR-TAJ, NEPAL — AFTERNOON

You let out a weary sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling in your bones. The day had been long and arduous, filled with training sessions and lessons from the Ancient One and Wong. Despite their guidance, you still felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of the tasks before you.

You felt a buzz in your pocket, and with a quick glance at your phone, you saw Matt's name flashing on the screen. Without hesitation, you answered the call. "Hey, everything okay? Karen texted me wondering if I heard from you and if you were coming into the office today."

“I had a rough morning. I'm gonna need the day," Matt's voice came through, slightly strained. Sensing there was more, you waited for him to continue. "Listen… I'm working on something. I think it might help. But until I know for sure, I need you to stay out of it. If you talk to Karen and Foggy, you tell them the same?”

Your frown deepened, but you nodded, even though he couldn't see you. "Uh, yeah, I'll pass it along…"

There was a pause, and then Matt spoke your name softly. "Yeah?"

“Everything's gonna work out... I promise,” he assured you, and you let out a hesitant noise. "Mhm. I trust you."

“See you tomorrow,” Matt said before ending the call. As you looked up from your phone, your eyes caught the serene landscape of Kamar-Taj, with students training diligently amidst the tranquil surroundings.

Approaching the Ancient One, you found her standing by the edge of the mountain, her presence calming yet authoritative. “I assume you are needed,” she remarked.

You nodded, a sigh escaping your lips. "I just got off the phone with Matt. He’s most likely going to do something incredibly reckless again.”

The Ancient One turned to you, her expression grave. “You must be careful. I fear there are more dangers up ahead the path you are on.”

You nodded solemnly and turned back to face the temple, using the sling ring to call out a portal. You give the Ancient One one more look before passing through, a quiet tribute to her knowledge and direction. Subsequently, you entered the glimmering golden portal bearing a heavy heart, prepared to take on whatever obstacles that lied ahead.

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MADAME GAO’S WAREHOUSE

HELL’S KITCHEN, NEW YORK – EVENING

Your senses heightened as you tracked Matt's movements, casting a discreet spell to locate him. Following the mystical trail of orbs, you found yourself outside a desolate warehouse. With a surge of energy, you cloaked yourself in invisibility and pulled the hood of your cape over your face as you perched atop a nearby rooftop.

Below, the scene unfolded like a choreographed dance of shadows. Matt, clad in his signature black suit, swiftly incapacitated two guards stationed by the door. As a third guard approached, unsuspecting, Matt swiftly subdued him as well, his movements a blur of precision and skill.

Silent as the night, you slipped through the door Matt had just entered. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of illicit substances. From the shadows, you observed as Matt swiftly incapacitated two guards, their bodies slumping to the ground unnoticed by the workers blind and busy with their illicit trade.

As you move into the light, still cloaked with your powers you take in your surroundings, observing every detail, noticing that the workers have scars around their eyes. Matt has made his way to stand behind you as he also uses his heightened senses to understand what was happening.

And in the moment of your disbelief, you hear someone shouting Mandarin from above, an old woman, and before you knew it they began swarming Matt. As they all clamored and Matt saying, “No, wait, wait, wait! I'm trying to help you! Wait, no, please!”

Caught in the midst of the bustling factory floor, you managed to reach Matt's side and quickly enveloped him in an invisible cloak with your powers, guiding him away from the workers' watchful eyes. Together, you sought refuge behind a towering stack of wooden crates, the air thick with tension and adrenaline.

As you both regained your breath, Matt's voice cut through the silence. "It's you."

Your response was swift, shrouded in the illusion of a disguised voice. "We need to stay focused."

With a swift nod of understanding, Matt sprung into action, leaping onto a nearby crate with a readiness that mirrored his relentless determination. As an elderly woman, flanked by armed guards, approached, Matt swiftly subdued one while you deftly handled the other. With a touch of your hand, you unleashed illusions of his deepest fears, triggering chaos as he recklessly fired his gun at a tub of ethyl alcohol, igniting it into a blazing inferno, before rendering him unconscious with a swift strike.

As the flames danced around you, you and Matt materialized before the elderly woman, confronting her about her nefarious deeds. Matt's voice was stern as he questioned her about the innocent lives affected by her actions.

“All those people... You took their eyes,” he accuses.

“They blinded themselves,” she counters confidently, her tone unwavering.

Matt presses further, “Why would they do that?”

“Because they have faith,” she replies, her conviction unshakeable.

"In you and your drugs?" you interject, seeking clarification.

The woman fixes you with a piercing gaze, asserting, "In something beyond the distractions of your world. You two have taken that from them. Now, they will have nothing."

As Matt advances towards her, demanding information about Fisk, she delivers a powerful blow, sending him crashing into you, both of you tumbling to the ground with a heavy impact.

With a groan, you push yourselves off the floor, only to find the woman vanished, leaving behind a scene of chaos and confusion among the workers.

Matt takes charge, swiftly firing the guard's rifle and aiming it at the water pipes above the warehouse. As the water trickles down, he lets out a determined grunt, he orders the man, "Get these people out of here."

The workers scramble to evacuate the warehouse, their frantic movements illuminated by the raging flames that engulf the building. Amidst the chaos, you and Matt slip away unnoticed, making your way to a nearby rooftop.

As the wails of approaching sirens pierced the night, signaling the arrival of first responders, you exchanged a glance with Matt. Without a word, you both leaped down from the rooftop, only to be confronted by the commanding voice of Brett Mahoney.

"Police! Don't you move! Hands, let me see your hands! Hands!" Mahoney shouted, his voice filled with authority.

With cautious movements, you and Matt raised your hands in surrender as Mahoney cautiously approached.

"Slowly, slowly," he commanded, closing in on the two of you.

Under the cover of your hood, you watched as recognition flickered across Mahoney's face as he focused on Matt.

"You're the guy. The one that killed Blake and shot those cops!" Mahoney accused.

In a swift move, Matt disarmed Mahoney, his actions precise and controlled. You stood to the side, allowing Matt to handle the situation.

"I did not kill Detective Blake, or shoot those cops. Blake and Hoffman were dirty. Working for Wilson Fisk. Along with a lot of others in your precinct. I'm not the bad guy. We are not the bad guys," Matt explained, his voice firm and resolute.

"Then what are you?" Mahoney questioned, but before either of you could respond, the distant sound of sirens reached your ears. In a blink, Matt vanished into the shadows, leaving Mahoney bewildered.

Taking advantage of the distraction, you cloaked yourself in illusion once more, blending seamlessly into the darkness as you darted into the streets, away from the encroaching sirens.

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CLINTON CHURCH – DAYLIGHT

"You haven’t been sleeping much," Father Lantom observed, causing you to pause your movements and turn from the pew you were wiping down. With a sigh, you replied, "Yeah."

"Nightmares again?" Father Lantom inquired, concern evident in his voice.

"Something like that," you explained, your tone resigned.

"Dear, you might want to go see someone for it," Father Lantom suggested gently.

"I'll be fine," you insisted, shaking your head. But before Father Lantom could argue further, the sound of a tapping cane echoed through the church, drawing both your attention.

Surprised, you and Father Lantom turned to see Matt walking down the aisle. He softly uttered your name, prompting Father Lantom to pat your shoulder as he grabbed the rag in your hands and left to give you two some privacy.

"Matt, hey," you said, walking down to meet him in the middle of the aisle. You noticed the visible tremble in his lip and knew he was on the verge of breaking down. Quickly, you guided him to the garden out back, to the small secluded area beneath a towering sycamore tree.

Leading him to a bench, you urged him to sit as you settled beside him. Matt removed his red-tinted glasses, tucking them into his pocket, before turning to you with an unsteady gaze and tears rimming his eyes.

"I know this guy... We were close once," Matt stutters, his voice strained with emotion. "He told me if I, uh... I'd have to push the people that I care about away... if I wanted to be effective at what I do."

Your heart aches at his words, and tears begin to well up in your eyes. "Seems like you listened," you choke out.

"Yeah. I thought I didn't," Matt mumbles, his own voice thick with tears. He hears you nod, and continues, "This guy, he has a way of, uh... getting in your head, you know? And here's the thing... I had a really shitty night."

Your tears flow freely now, mirroring his own. "The kind where you think you've seen the bottom of humanity, and the pit just keeps getting deeper, you know?" he says, his breathing shaky.

"I... I can't... I can't do this alone. I can't... I can't take another step," Matt admits, his voice breaking into sobs.

Without hesitation, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as his body shakes with the force of his tears. He leans into your embrace, seeking solace and comfort. You hold him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as you whisper, "You're not alone, Matt. You never were.”

There were two reasons Matt was scared to let people in; the damage they could do and the damage they could find. Sometimes he doesn’t recognize the knots in his neck, the tension in his shoulders, the ache in his feet, until you hold him, and he melts into you. You feel the weight of his pain and exhaustion as he buries his face against your chest, seeking refuge from the storm raging inside him. He lets out a noise, a mixture of relief and vulnerability, muffled against the fabric of your blouse and your skin. Gently, you run your fingers through his hair, soothing away the turmoil and offering him a moment of peace.

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A DAY LATER…

CLINTON CHURCH, SAINT AGNES – MORNING

After the morning mass, you were playing with the children by the garden, ensuring everyone was having fun and treating each other fairly. After a game of tag and sitting on the nearby steps, you felt your phone buzz in the back pocket of your jeans. Pulling it out, you saw Doris's name on the caller ID.

Frowning, unsure of what to expect, you answered on the third ring. “Hello, Doris. How are you?”

“My dear… oh, I’m sorry, I just–” Doris's voice cracked with distress, her sobs audible even through the phone. A heavy weight settled in your chest. “Doris? What’s wrong? What’s happened?” you asked, concern rising.

Through her tears, Doris managed to say, “Ben is… Ben is dead. They found him in his apartment. Strangled him to death.”

You sucked in a sharp breath through your nostrils, the news hitting you like a physical blow. Closing your eyes briefly, you felt the world spin around you. “Oh, God,” you uttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a trembling hand, you covered your quivering mouth as you struggled to compose yourself. “Doris, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion.

Doris's voice on the other end was strained as she spoke, “Would you mind helping with the funeral arrangements? If it’s no trouble, of course.”

Tears silently streamed down your cheeks as you nodded, even though she couldn't see it. “Mhm, yes. Yes, of course, I will. I’ll check with the morgue and then send the details later, okay?”

“Thank you, dear. You’re an angel,” Doris replied, her voice filled with gratitude and grief. You assured her that she could call you anytime if she needed anything.

As you place your phone in your pocket, the sounds of children playing and the warmth of the sun on your skin surround you. But the colors seemed muted, and the world felt a little colder as grief washed over you, turning everything into shades of grey and blue. With heavy sobs, you leaned forward, your hands covering your face as the weight of the loss settled in.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

CALVARY CEMETARY, GREENPOINT AVE. – DAY

Telling Matt, Foggy, and especially Karen was the hardest part. You couldn't bear to break the news to Karen over the phone.

You went to her place instead, finding comfort in each other's presence. You two sobbed together, exchanging memories of Ben and sowing your sorrows in wine while the weight of loss hung thick in the air. You wanted, just for that one day, that God would ignore everything and spare you from the pain so you might at least feel somewhat at ease.

After finishing the funeral arrangements, informing Doris, and confiding in Father Lantom about Ben's passing, you felt like you were moving through life in a daze. Everything seemed to blur together, and you struggled to stay present in your own body. It was as if you were floating, disconnected from your surroundings and emotions. Each task felt like an insurmountable hurdle, and you found it difficult to focus on anything other than the overwhelming sense of loss and grief.

The winter wind cut through the air as the mourners gathered at the cemetery, a somber gray sky looming overhead. You stood alongside Matt and Karen, surrounded by Ben's friends and family. Pink roses adorned the hands of those paying their final respects as they watched the pallbearers carry Ben's coffin to its final resting place.

Doris, seated in her wheelchair, wept openly, her grief palpable in the chilled air. Karen, standing beside you, was visibly shaken, her tears mingling with the cold breeze. To your right, Matt stood stoically, his jaw clenched in silent anguish. His knuckles turned white as he tightly gripped his cane, a silent testament to the pain he felt.

As Ben's coffin was lowered atop the ground where he would be buried, a sense of finality settled over the gathering. The air hung heavy with sorrow as mourners filed out of the cemetery, leaving behind the memory of a beloved friend and colleague. Each person placed a pink rose atop Ben's coffin, a final farewell to a man who had touched so many lives.

Karen, her eyes red from tears, turned to Doris with a tremulous smile before glancing at you and Matt. "Give me a minute, okay?" she said, her voice choked with emotion.

You and Matt exchanged a silent nod, understanding the need for a private moment between Karen and Doris. As Karen approached Doris, you couldn't help but feel the weight of the unspoken guilt hanging in the air. Karen's shoulders sagged with the burden of sorrow and regret, a heavy reminder of the pain that lingered long after the loss.

Lost in your thoughts, you felt as if you were adrift in a sea of white noise, the cacophony of the world muted to a dull hum. You felt the stifling burden of guilt weighing heavily on your shoulders and strangling you. Each breath felt like a struggle as you grappled with the overwhelming emptiness that consumed you.

In your turmoil, the wind whispered its mournful lament, a haunting melody that echoed the depths of your despair. You stood there and closed your eyes, seeking solace in the darkness behind your eyelids, but found only the relentless pull of remorse dragging you deeper into the abyss.

There was no escape from the gnawing ache in your chest, no respite from the relentless onslaught of guilt. It seeped into every crevice of your being, staining your soul with its toxic touch. And as the water slowly turned red, a grim reminder of the blood on your hands, you knew that there was no redemption to be found in the depths of your sorrow.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

Matt stepped away from your side, his footsteps echoing softly against the ground as he made his way to Father Lantom. Then you retreated back into yourself as you stood there in a distant gaze at the casket. From where you stood, you could see them in conversation, their voices hushed but carrying in the quiet of the cemetery.

“How you holding up?” Father Lantom's voice reached your ears, concern evident in his tone.

Matt's response was barely audible, a low murmur tinged with bitterness. “Like a good Catholic boy.”

Father Lantom's expression softened, sympathy etched in the lines of his face. “That bad, huh?”

Matt's reply was terse, his words heavy with regret. “He was a good man. And he's gone… because I haven't stopped what's happening to this city.”

The priest shook his head, his gaze steady. “Can't put that on yourself, Matthew. You've done everything you can. A lot you probably shouldn't have.”

A bitter laugh escaped Matt's lips, the sound tinged with self-deprecation. “And here we are.”

Father Lantom's concerned voice pierced through the haze enveloping your mind, pulling you back to the present. You blinked, slowly registering his words, but remained immobile, lost in your thoughts. Karen's gentle touch on your arm brought a slight sensation, but it wasn't enough to ground you.

Then, Matt approached, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of your disorientation. His hand squeezed your arm, a silent gesture urging you to return to reality. With a start, you snapped back, blinking rapidly as you struggled to regain your bearings.

“What? What happened?” you asked, your voice tinged with confusion.

“You okay? It’s like you were somewhere else for a second there,” Karen voiced her concern, her hand still rubbing soothing circles on your arm.

For a fleeting moment, you considered telling them the truth, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you opted for a vague response, hoping to brush off their worries. “Uh, sorry, just got lost in my head there for a second.”

Karen's gaze bore into you, her expression conveying a mix of concern and suspicion. Meanwhile, Matt's silent scrutiny felt like a weight on your shoulders, his heightened senses likely detecting your unease.

Despite your attempt to deflect, neither Karen nor Matt seemed convinced by your feeble excuse. Sensing their skepticism, you shifted uncomfortably, your heart hammering in your chest.

Swallowing hard, you attempted to mask your unease with a forced smile. "You guys can go ahead… I should help Father Lantom with the—"

But before you could finish, Father Lantom intervened, shaking his head gently. "You three catch up. I shall take it from here, dear," he said, his voice filled with understanding and reassurance.

As you walked away from the cemetery, a somber atmosphere hung heavy around the three of you. The sky, still overcast, cast a gloomy pallor over the surroundings, matching the mood of the occasion. Despite the weight of the moment, there was a sense of camaraderie between you, Matt, and Karen, a silent understanding of shared grief and support.

Matt, ever the gentleman, offered you his arm, a gesture of comfort and solidarity. It took you a moment to gather yourself, but eventually, you reached out and gently tucked your arm through his, grateful for the physical connection amidst the emotional turmoil.

With Karen walking beside you, the three of you formed a united front, drawing strength from each other as you navigate through the aftermath of Ben's funeral. Though words were scarce, the silent companionship spoke volumes, offering solace in the face of sorrow. Together, you forged ahead, leaning on each other for support as you walked away from the cemetery, prepared to take on any obstacles that may arise.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW OFFICE — AFTERNOON

Karen stormed into the office, her frustration palpable in every movement. With a forceful twist, she inserted the key into the lock, the metallic click echoing through the room as she pushed the door open. Matt, ever courteous, held the door for you as you followed her inside.

Inside the office, the atmosphere crackled with tension. Matt shut the door behind him, the sound reverberating through the space as Karen tossed her keys onto the table with a sharp clatter. Her hands found their way to her desk, fingers gripping the edges as she vented her frustrations, “He just stood there, like he was his friend. Like he had nothing to do with what happened.”

Matt's brow furrowed in concern as he listened to Karen's tirade. "I thought Ben said he didn't have any evidence Ellison was taking money from Fisk," he remarked, his voice tinged with confusion.

Karen let out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumping with the weight of her emotions. "No, but it makes sense. I mean, it explains..." Her words trailed off, the unfinished thought hanging in the air.

With a heavy heart, Karen revealed another layer of her distress. "Do you know what makes this worse? Foggy. Didn't even show up." The disappointment in her voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the unwavering support she had always received from her friend.

“You said he left a message,” Matt said as he deftly removed his coat and scarf, hanging them on the coat rack with practiced ease. As he reached for yours, his touch ignited a warmth that spread through your body, a familiar sensation that never failed to catch you off guard.

“Yeah, he left a message… saying he had something more important to do than come to Ben's funeral,” Karen's voice dripped with bitterness as she recounted Foggy's absence as she heavily sat on her seat with a huff.

Matt shook his head, a hint of disbelief in his expression. “Come on, he wouldn't say that,” he countered, his tone tinged with a touch of defensiveness, unwilling to accept the possibility of his friend's callousness despite their recent fight.

Matt's sigh echoed through the room, laden with a heavy weight of guilt that hung in the air like a thick fog. His shoulders slumped, burdened by the weight of his perceived responsibility, “It's my fault, Karen… all of this with Foggy.”

Karen shook her head, her hand finding its way to her forehead in a gesture of frustration. "No, everyone shares the blame in a relationship. That's... just the way that it works," she reasoned, her voice tinged with a mixture of understanding and exasperation.

But Matt's response was tinged with sadness, a somber tone creeping into his words. "No, not always," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret as you frowned with your arms crossed and your back leaning against the wall.

A somber mood settled over the room, casting shadows that danced along the walls in the dim light. Matt's voice, calm and reassuring, pierced through the heavy atmosphere.

“Why don't you go home, get some rest, huh?” he suggested, his words carrying a gentle concern.

Karen's breath caught in her throat as she struggled to contain the turmoil churning within her. “I can't,” she confessed, her voice trembling with unease. “Every time I close my eyes, I see…” Her words trailed off, the memories of recent events threatening to overwhelm her. “What if he finds out that I… That I was with Ben… at Saint Benezet. What if he finds out that I spoke to his mother too?”

Matt listened attentively, his brow furrowing with empathy as he absorbed her fears. “If that happens, we will deal with it,” he promised, his tone resolute and unwavering.

But Karen's anxiety persisted, her doubts looming large in her mind. “How?” she questioned, her voice laced with desperation. “I mean, the news barely mentioned what happened to Ben because Fisk pays off the media. And the police haven't arrested anyone for it because Fisk pays them off, too.”

She fidgeted nervously, her fingers tangling in strands of golden hair as she grappled with the weight of the situation. “Foggy was right. How do you stop someone like that, someone who has so much?” she wondered aloud, her voice tinged with frustration and helplessness.

The weight of Karen's fear hung heavy in the air, each word she spoke laced with a palpable sense of dread. Matt's voice, calm and measured, cut through the tension as he sought to offer reassurance.

“It just means he has more to lose,” Matt reasoned, his words carrying a hint of conviction.

But Karen's mind was already spinning, her thoughts spiraling down a dark and foreboding path. “He's gonna find out what I did,” she declared, her voice trembling with apprehension.

Instantly, both you and Matt spoke in unison, your voices a chorus of denial. “No,” you insisted, your tone firm and resolute. But Karen remained unconvinced, her fears looming large in her mind.

“He's going to find out, and he's gonna come after me just like he came after Ben,” she asserted, her voice quivering with the weight of her conviction.

In the dimly lit room, the weight of Karen's fear hung heavy, each word she spoke echoing with the looming threat of danger. Your confession only added to the somber atmosphere, your voice heavy with guilt as you accepted responsibility for the chain of events that had led to Ben's demise.

Karen shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears, but before she could respond, Matt stepped in with a reassuring promise. “I told you I would keep you safe, Karen,” he affirmed, his voice firm and resolute despite the turmoil swirling within. “When he came after you over Union Allied. That hasn't changed.”

His words carried a sense of determination, a steadfast resolve to protect those he cared about. With a nod in your direction, he included you in his pledge of protection, “That includes you too.”

But there was something else in Matt's demeanor, a simmering anger that lurked beneath the surface. “Everyone that's taken money from him, everyone that's helped him tear this city apart… they're all gonna get what's coming to them, along with Wilson Fisk,” he declared, his voice tinged with a dangerous edge. With those words hanging in the air, he turned and strode purposefully towards his office, his steps echoing with a sense of determination and righteous fury.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

CLINTON CHURCH – EVENING

In the quiet solitude of your room above the church, you immersed yourself in the intricate dance of magic, each movement a delicate thread woven into the fabric of reality. With unwavering focus, you channeled your energy, summoning forth the ancient powers that coursed through your veins.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, you closed your eyes and allowed the magic to flow through you, its vibrant essence pulsating with raw potential. At first, your efforts were met with frustration as the spells fizzled and faltered, but you persisted, determined to relearn the arcane.

With each attempt, you felt yourself growing stronger, more attuned to the subtle nuances of the mystical forces that surrounded you. Shapes and symbols began to materialize in the air, glowing with an ethereal light as you molded the energy to your will. As the glow of your magic illuminated the room, you knew that you were one step closer to reclaiming the formidable powers that had once defined you.

The sudden shrill of your phone sliced through the quiet of your room above the church. With a flick of your wrist, your magical creations dissolved into the air as you rose to answer the call, the glow of your powers fading from your fingertips. Frowning, you glanced at the caller ID—Foggy. Despite your lingering frustration at his absence from the funeral earlier, you sighed and accepted the call.

"What?" you bit out, the tension evident in your voice.

"I swear I have an explanation for why I wasn’t at the service," Foggy's voice crackled over the line, laced with urgency. "But I’m in the office right now with Karen and Matt. We're going over the files to track down Hoffman since Fisk is hunting him down. He’ll need all the help he can get. Please."

Your frustration softened slightly at the gravity of his words. "Okay, fine. Where is he headed?"

"Fifty-third and Tenth. Hell's Kitchen," Foggy replied, his voice tight with determination.

"Alright, I’m on it," you affirmed, already mentally preparing for the task ahead.

"Come back safe, please. And take care of Matt for me," Foggy pleaded, concern evident in his tone.

"Always," you assured him before ending the call, the weight of the impending danger settling heavily on your shoulders.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

53RD AND 10TH, HELL’S KITCHEN — EVENING

As you raced through the dimly lit streets of Hell's Kitchen, your heart pounded against your ribcage, adrenaline surging through your veins. With a swift flick of your wrist, you summoned the power to cloak yourself in invisibility, blending seamlessly into the shadows that danced across the brick walls of the buildings.

From your concealed vantage point, you watched as the chaos unfolded before you. The corrupt NYPD officers, led by the menacing figure of Corbin, descended upon the scene with ruthless efficiency. Bullets tore through the air, the sharp cracks echoing through the alleyways, while the acrid scent of gunpowder hung thick in the air. Blood painted the ground in crimson splatters, a stark reminder of the violence that permeated the streets of Hell's Kitchen.

Corbin's smug demeanor melted away as he advanced menacingly toward Hoffman, the gleam of malice dancing in his eyes. "Hey, Carl. Been wondering where you got to," he taunted, his voice dripping with malice as he trained his gun on the terrified detective.

With a silent determination, you sprang into action, your movements swift and precise as you materialized from the shadows. Alongside you, Matt launched himself into the fray, his movements a blur of calculated strikes and evasions.

The air crackled with tension as you channeled your energy, the light dancing in your palm like a beacon of power. With a focused intensity, you unleashed your abilities, sending waves of energy crashing into the corrupt officers, rendering them incapacitated one by one.

As the chaos subsided and the last of the officers lay defeated, Matt turned to you with a nod of acknowledgment. "Took you long enough, sweetheart," he quipped, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

You couldn't help but chuckle, the sound muffled by the distortion of your powers. "We're doing pet names now? Cute," you retorted, your tone playful yet tinged with the underlying gravity of the situation.

Hoffman, his eyes wide with fear, looked on in disbelief at the sight before him, the two vigilantes of Hell’s Kitchen staring him down. You and Matt advanced toward him, a silent force to be reckoned with, as Hoffman remained seated, his trembling hands hovering over the scattered cards of his solitaire game.

With a determined stride, Matt dragged a nearby chair across the floor and positioned it in front of Hoffman, a silent invitation for him to take a seat. You stood by silently, your gaze steady and unwavering as you observed the tense exchange unfolding before you.

“You have an opportunity here, Detective,” Matt's voice was low and gravelly, carrying a weight of authority that commanded attention. “By turning evidence on Fisk, you can set things right. If that's what you want.”

Hoffman whimpered in fear, his resolve crumbling under the intensity of Matt's gaze.

“If not,” Matt continued, his tone sharp and pointed, “you can sit here playing with yourself until Fisk sends more men to kill you.”

Hoffman's whole body shook with fear, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he struggled to form a coherent response.

“Decide,” Matt demanded, his voice tinged with a hint of menace.

Hoffman stuttered, his words barely audible above the sound of his own trembling. “It won't make a difference. He owns the cops. I'll be dead before I can testify—”

“Not all of them,” Matt interjected firmly, his voice brooking no argument. “Turn yourself in to Brett Mahoney. You can trust him. And he knows a couple of lawyers that can't be bought. They can help you.”

Hoffman nodded, his expression a mix of relief and apprehension. “Yeah. Thanks for the tip.”

But before Hoffman could rise from his seat, Matt's anger boiled over. With a swift motion, he flipped the table, sending the cards scattering across the floor, and delivered a punishing blow to Hoffman's face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

As Hoffman crumpled under the force of the blow, Matt loomed over him, his expression dark and menacing. “I'll be following you to make sure you get to the precinct alive,” he warned, his voice dripping with barely contained fury. “Try to run, try to do anything other than what I just told you, you'll wish I never saved you from that bullet.”

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW OFFICE — EVENING

With Nelson and Murdock representing Hoffman, he spills his guts to the FBI, revealing everything he knows. The room is charged with tension as Hoffman recounts his dealings with Fisk and his corrupt network of associates. Each word he utters feels like a hammer blow against Fisk's empire, setting off a chain reaction that would reverberate throughout Hell's Kitchen.

As Hoffman's confession unfolds, the FBI agents scramble to take notes, their pens scratching furiously against their notepads. Nelson and Murdock stand tall and resolute, their expressions steely and determined as they listen intently to Hoffman's testimony.

And then, like a well-orchestrated symphony reaching its crescendo, the FBI moves into action. Doors are kicked in, warrants are served, and Fisk's cronies are dragged out of their hideouts in handcuffs. Randolph Cherryh, Parish Landman, Turk Barrett, Corbin, and M. Caldwell—all of them are brought down in one fell swoop.

The four of you watch the wheels of justice grind Fisk's empire to dust, there's a sense of satisfaction that washes over you all—a feeling that, for once, the good guys have won.

“The man once hailed as the savior of Hell's Kitchen is now believed to have been involved…” The newscaster says as it fades into the background as you sat around the table with Foggy, Karen and Matt. Foggy pouring out drinks in each of your cups as he says, “Now everybody knows what kind of asshole Fisk really is.”

You, Karen and Matt laugh in agreement. Karen adds, “And we are the ones that made it happen, the four of us.”

“And Marci.” Matt points out and Foggy happily swoons, “And Marci, God bless her designer pumps.”

Karen hums as she holds her drink looking at Foggy, “Maybe she's not that bad after all.”

Foggy smiles, “Woman does have a way of growing on you.”

Matt’s smiling face is illuminated by the glow of the laptop screen, his smile so blinding and his dimples showing as he says, “See, this right here… in this office. This is what's important. Knowing that the people I care about are safe, and having some sense of closure for the ones we've lost.”

Nudging Matt with a small smile, you quipped, "And I don’t even work here."

Amidst the laughter that ensued, Foggy pulled you into a quick side hug, declaring, "You’re part of the team. Can’t escape it now. You are legally bound to us. We’re like your best friends forever."

Your mock disgust elicited more laughter, but Matt couldn't resist teasing, "The moment Father Lantom told me you were asking about me was the moment you verbally came into an agreement that you are my and everyone’s friend for life."

Blushing at the embarrassing memory, you raised your glass, proposing a toast, "To those we lost."

"For Elena," Foggy chimed in.

"For Ben," Karen added solemnly.

"And everyone else that son of a bitch has hurt," Matt concluded, his voice tinged with determination. "Cheers."

As the warm liquor slid down your throat, a heavy feeling settled in your stomach, prompting a furrow of your brow. Foggy's jest about the liquor prompted a shake of your head, "No, that’s not it."

Karen leaned forward, concern etched on her face, while Matt's inquisitive tone encouraged you to speak up, “Tell us, sweetheart.”

"It’s just… okay. Arresting Fisk was too easy. Just… If I was a wealthy bad guy, who had multiple connections from different government sectors, I would have fail-safes upon fail-safes to make sure I would at least be able to escape prison."

You paused, assessing their reactions before continuing, "What if… What if he also has connections to the Bureau… someone loyal. That would mean—"

The news report blares through the office, drawing everyone's attention. The tension in the room spikes as the reporter describes the unfolding chaos involving the FBI transport carrying Wilson Fisk, “What appears now to be some sort of firefight involving the FBI transport carrying Wilson Fisk. Uh, Janet, can you confirm what we're seeing here?”

Karen reacts swiftly, slamming her laptop shut with a frustrated grunt. Foggy and Matt follow suit, hastily gathering their belongings. Outside, the wail of sirens pierces the air, signaling the urgency of the situation.

Karen's voice carries a mix of exasperation and self-reproach as she dons her coat, "Jesus, we were idiots, weren't we? Sitting here, celebrating, thinking that it would be that easy with a man like him."

"We need to get out of here before they close down the streets or something," Foggy urges, his tone laced with concern.

With Karen safely in a cab, Matt turns to his best friend, issuing instructions. "Get them home," he says firmly, his voice carrying an air of determination.

Foggy nods in acknowledgment, a sense of responsibility evident in his movements. "Okay," he responds, his focus shifting to ensuring Karen's safety.

But Karen refuses to leave Matt behind, her concern evident in her protests. "No, no, where are you going? We're not leaving you," she insists, her voice tinged with worry.

Matt offers reassurance, his resolve unwavering. "Back to my place, make some calls, see what I can find out," he explains, his tone calm yet resolute.

Despite Karen's persistence, Matt remains steadfast in his decision. "You live on the other side of town. I'll be all right," he assures her, his confidence unwavering.

Foggy takes charge, determined to ensure Matt's safety. "Hang on, I'll get him a cab," he says, swiftly moving to assist.

As Karen and Foggy make arrangements for transportation, you take initiative, declaring your own plan. "I'll head back to the church and make sure everyone is okay. I'll text when I get home," you announce, your voice filled with determination.

Before Matt and Foggy can voice any objections, you're already on the move, rushing out of the building and down the street. Making your way to the church, you quickly toss your belongings onto a nearby bench, offering a hurried apology to Father Lantom as you dart back out onto the streets.

As you walked through the bustling city streets, the weight of your purpose pressed heavily upon your shoulders. You found yourself in a dimly lit alleyway, the shadows providing a cloak of secrecy as you prepared for what lay ahead. With a deft movement of your wrist, you cast a glamour, obscuring your presence from prying eyes, and pulled your hood over your face.

With a resigned exhale, you muttered, "Okay, here goes nothing." Igniting the palms of your hands, a brilliant glow enveloped them, the iridescence shimmering in the darkness. You shut your eyes tightly, focusing on the spell, seeking out the unique essence of Matt's aura amidst the myriad of colors swirling through the city. Eventually, you detected his familiar maroon burgundy hue, and with a twist of your wrist, you vanished into the sky, hurtling towards him.

The sensation of falling at a rapid pace filled you with exhilaration and dread in equal measure. You spotted a figure clad in red traversing the rooftops and aimed for their vicinity, teleporting once more to land upon the rooftop.

A low groan escaped you as you stumbled upon landing, and you glanced up to see the Devil of Hell's Kitchen towering above you.

He offered a smirk, his voice tinged with amusement, "Didn't think I'd have you on your knees this quickly, sweetheart."

You distorted your voice and shook your head, brushing off his remark, "Not the time. Where's Fisk?"

He tilted his head, listening intently, before striding towards the rooftop's edge. You followed suit, observing as he hurled his billy club with precision, causing a nearby truck to tilt dangerously.

You couldn't help but quip, "Oooh, the Devil's got new toys. Nice suit, by the way. I like the horns."

A smirk played across Matt's lips before a loud thud diverted your attention. Wilson Fisk staggered out of the truck, prompting Matt to leap atop it, while you gracefully descended next to him, utilizing your magic to shield yourselves from the ensuing gunfire.

Matt's voice carried a grave warning, "You were right… what you told me over the radio that night. Not everyone deserves a happy ending."

Fisk sneered in response, "You?"

Before the tension could escalate further, gunfire erupted from the truck, forcing you and Matt to take a step back. With resolve, you instructed him, "Go get Fisk, I'll deal with him."

With a nod of agreement, Matt retrieved his billy club, and you focused your powers, summoning a surge of energy to confront the threat before you. You watch as the man falls to the ground and you quickly dispose of the rifle before running off to find Matt.

Eventually, you hear yelling and grunting by an alleyway, and from a distance you see Fisk punching his face and grabbing him like a barbell before slamming him to the ground. He grabs Matt’s billy club and begins screaming like a child throwing a tantrum, “This city doesn't deserve a better tomorrow. It deserves to drown… in its filth! It deserves people like my father! People like you!”

With a surge of magic coursing through your veins, the iridescent glow on your palm intensified as you unleashed a powerful wave of energy towards Fisk, sending him hurtling against the alley wall. The impact echoed through the narrow space, mingling with Fisk's pained groans.

Ignoring Fisk's struggles, you rushed to help Matt up, but your efforts were abruptly halted as Fisk seized a handful of your hood and your hair, wrenching your head back and slamming it repeatedly against the unforgiving brick wall. Sharp yelps of pain escaped your lips with each brutal impact, leaving you disoriented and vulnerable.

Before you could react, Fisk snatched Matt's billy club, raining down vicious blows upon your defenseless form. Each strike sent searing pain radiating through your side, the force knocking you to the ground, the gritty concrete scraping against your skin.

Through a haze of agony, you heard Matt's defiant declaration, his voice heavy with determination. "This is my city... my family."

Summoning every ounce of strength, Matt unleashed a relentless assault on Fisk, each blow driven by a fierce resolve. Despite his injuries, Matt refused to yield, delivering a final, decisive blow that sent Fisk crumbling to his knees, defeated.

As police sirens wailed in the distance, Brett Mahoney, his weapon raised, approached cautiously. "Police! Show me your hands! Do it! Show me your hands!"

"I told you before, Sergeant… We’re not the bad guys," Matt asserted, his voice raw with exhaustion. Mahoney's recognition was palpable as he lowered his gun, his disbelief evident. "Holy shit, it's you."

With Fisk restrained, Matt helped you to your feet, concern etched into his features. Despite the pain coursing through your body, you managed a nod, determined to press on.

As Mahoney secured Fisk in handcuffs, Matt whispered softly, his concern evident. "You alright?" You winced but nodded, assuring him of your resilience.

Mahoney's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, seeking clarification. "Hey, so what am I supposed to call you when I file my report?" But you and Matt were already in motion, swiftly making your way to the rooftop.

With a final surge of energy, you cloaked yourself in invisibility, teleporting to the New York Sanctum, a sanctuary, your strength waning but your resolve unyielding.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

OUTSIDE NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEYS AT LAW OFFICE — DAY

"Daredevil and the Divine." Karen's voice resonated through the crisp morning air, her words dancing off the surrounding buildings like a fleeting melody. "That's what they're calling him now. The man in the mask and that woman who shows up to help him and the people of Hell’s Kitchen."

Foggy, his fingers dancing nervously on the signboard, echoed his skepticism. "Daredevil? Sounds like he's gonna jump Snake River Canyon on his rocket cycle."

A grin tugged at the corner of Matt's lips, a rare moment of levity amidst the grim reality of their recent struggles. "It kinda does, doesn't it?"

"And The Divine? What’s with these names?" Foggy's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, mirroring your own silent query.

Karen, however, found a glimmer of amusement in the midst of it all. "Okay, okay. I thought it was a bit goofy at first, but it kinda grows on you. And it's better than the Devil of Hell's Kitchen anyway. Oh, come on, the Divine for a woman vigilante superhero is pretty cool."

"Not wrong there," Matt agreed, a hint of approval in his tone, while you offered a nod of agreement.

"I cannot believe this is the same guy that stopped that Union Allied nut from stabbing me in my apartment. That is a serious upgrade," Karen remarked, her gaze lingering on the newspaper clipping.

"I don't know, I think the horns are a bit much," Foggy chimed in, prompting a burst of laughter from you.

As Foggy finalized the sign, Karen's expression softened into a smile. "There! Done! What do you think?"

"I think I'm glad I fished it out of the trash," Karen quipped, earning a pleased grin from Foggy.

Matt approached the sign, his fingertips tracing over the engraved letters, before turning to face his companions with a warm smile. "Nelson and Murdock. Avocados at law."

Your raised eyebrow prompted Karen's laughter. "'Avocados'?"

Foggy glanced at his watch, a hint of urgency in his demeanor. "It's a long story. Which I do not have time to tell you. Promised Marci I'd help her find a new job since most of the partners at Landman and Zack are under indictment."

"Oh? You two getting back together?" You inquired, drawing a shrug from Foggy. "No. I don't know. Maybe."

Amidst the laughter and banter, you interjected, "Tell her thank you, for everything she’s done for us. For everything she did helping bring Fisk down."

Foggy's reminder of the impending trial cast a shadow over the jovial atmosphere. "Fisk still needs to go to trial. Just getting a court date on a case this big could take a year."

"That long?" Karen's concern was present, but Matt's reassurance rang clear. "He's where he belongs, that's all that matters."

Matt gestured to their small group with his pointer finger as he smiled, "And we put him there."

Foggy's grin was infectious. "Yeah, we did. Hell of a sign."

Matt's lopsided smile hinted at his quiet pride. "Now all we need are clients."

"One day at a time, partner. One day at a time," Foggy echoed, offering Matt a reassuring pat on the arm before heading across the street to meet up with Marci while Karen went upstairs to the office to finish some work.

Your sudden wince of pain drew Matt's attention, his heightened senses detecting the faintest traces of discomfort emanating from you. He steadied you with a gentle touch, concern etched into his features. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Your quick explanation belied the true source of your discomfort, “M’just a little sore from all the walking and running,” but Matt's perceptive nature left no room for evasion. "Running?"

"Oh, just when I’m running late on errands and stuff…" Your feeble attempt at deflection couldn't mask the truth from his discernment. “Anyways, not that big of a deal, I’ll be alright.” You said as you scrunched your nose a little.

Matt's voice, a soothing whisper amidst the chaos of emotions, enveloped you like a comforting embrace. "Y’know you can tell me anything, right?" His hand found yours, the warmth of his touch a reassuring anchor in the tempest of your thoughts.

You met his gaze, the crimson lenses of his mask reflecting the faint glow of the city lights. His smile, a beacon of solace in the darkness, stirred a flurry of emotions within you, each heartbeat echoing like the frantic flutter of hummingbird wings. Yet, beneath the surface, a weight pressed upon your chest, a silent reminder of the burdens you carried.

"I know," you murmured, your words heavy with unspoken grief. "There are things though I wish I could change. Elena… Ben. But I can’t."

Matt's grip tightened, his touch a silent reassurance amidst the turmoil of your emotions. Drawing you closer, he offered words of solace, a lifeline in the tumultuous sea of sorrow. "It's like I told Foggy, all we can do is move forward… together. Come on."

With a solemn nod, you surrendered to the comforting embrace of his guidance, a silent pact forming within the recesses of your soul. Yet, amid the solace he offered, a shadow of apprehension lingered, a silent reminder of the fleeting nature of the peace you now have.

For in the heart of this momentary respite, you recognized the cost exacted by the fragile sanctuary you dared to grasp—a price paid in the currency of uncertainty, where the promise of heaven was tempered by the inevitability of its fleeting embrace.

❖ ── ✦ ──『✙』── ✦ ── ❖

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