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theetherealbloom · 2 years ago

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NOTRE DAME - CH. 5

Chapter 5: Holy Water Cannot Help You Now

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: 11.7k

A/N: Time to grab some popcorn folks! This one is full of action and a little bit of angst tehe <3

Song: Way Down We Go by KALEO

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dividers @/saradika-graphics

THE NEXT DAY…

CLINTON CHURCH – MORNING

The worst part about anything that's self-destructive is that it's so intimate. It wraps its tendrils around you, becoming an inseparable part of your being. You grow close to your addictions and illnesses, entwined with them in a twisted dance of survival. Letting go feels like killing a part of yourself that taught you how to endure.

In your journey, you discover countless ways to embrace silence. There's the way you stand amidst the tranquil garden of the chapel, finding solace in its stillness. Then there's the way you position yourself in the vast field across the street, seeking solitude in the distance from others. You learn the art of not answering the phone, withdrawing into your own private realm. Sometimes, you even find comfort lying down on the cool kitchen floor, pretending to disappear when people come knocking. There's the silence of the daytime, when you simply gaze into the void, and the silence of the nighttime when you engage in activities that keep the noise at bay. There's the hushed serenity of the shower, the contemplative silence of the bath, the vast expanse of New York's bustling quiet, and the profound stillness of Kamar-Taj. Even within the confines of a car, you cultivate your cocoon of silence.

But amidst this vast array of silences, there's one that always returns—an all-consuming void that surpasses everything. It infiltrates your very bones, unleashing a deafening wail that reverberates within you. It's a silence that grows larger than life, overpowering your ability to remain quiet. That's how this intricate machinery of existence operates.

You sighed, feeling the tension in the air as you cricked your neck to release some of the stiffness from your restless sleep. Wearily, you entered the pantry area of the church, seeking the familiar comfort of coffee to kickstart your day. As you reached for a mug, Father Lantom's unexpected voice caused you to startle, almost dropping the cup in your hand. Your tired eyes widened as you spun around to face the priest.

"How nice of you to join us," Father Lantom greeted, a touch of amusement in his tone.

Your heart raced, and you tried to regain your composure. "Uh... Good morning?" you stammered, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Matt, seated patiently on one of the folding chairs with his cane resting on the table next to him, offered you a small smile. "Good morning," he said, his voice calm and gentle. "Uh, how was your sleep?"

You shifted your weight uncomfortably, holding onto your empty mug as if it were a lifeline. "Difficult," you admitted, still feeling the lingering fatigue of the previous nights. "How about you?"

"The same," Matt replied, his words hanging in the air.

The awkwardness between you and Matt became palpable, leaving you at a loss for words. The overwhelming desire to please everyone intensified, making it even more challenging to form coherent thoughts or speak in a composed manner around someone you had genuine feelings for. The silence stretched on, filled only by Father Lantom's subtle amusement.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage. "Well, um... I can come back later," you offered, gesturing with your thumb towards the exit, ready to make a hasty retreat. But before you could make your escape, Father Lantom intervened, calling you back.

"My dear, you know this machine better than I do," Father Lantom said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Do you mind helping me out by making our guest a latte?"

The request hung in the air, the tension between you and Matt now intertwined with a touch of awkwardness. You glanced between Father Lantom and Matt, uncertain of how to proceed, but ultimately nodded in response. With a mixture of apprehension and determination, you stepped forward and began prepping the machine as you grabbed the remaining ingredients.

Father Lantom and Matt sat side by side, their voices lowered as they engaged in a hushed conversation. Meanwhile, you focused on the task at hand, keeping yourself occupied with the intricacies of the latte machine. The hissing sound of steam and the clinking of cups filled the air as you worked to create their beverages.

After a couple of minutes, you successfully prepared two cups of steaming lattes. Carrying them carefully, you approached the table where Father Lantom and Matt sat, their conversation momentarily pausing as they turned their attention to you. Wanting to ensure Matt's comfort, you announced yourself, breaking the silence.

"Uh, here you go," you said, holding out one of the cups. "Do you want some sugar?"

Matt declined politely, his voice steady. "No, thank you."

You nodded in acknowledgment and turned your attention to Father Lantom, offering him the second cup with a slight smile. "Alright, uh, here you go, Father Lantom."

The priest's eyes crinkled with appreciation as he accepted the cup from you. "Thank you, my dear."

Feeling a surge of awkwardness, you cleared your throat, eager to make a swift exit. "I'll quickly pour myself a cup and go."

With your cup of coffee in hand, you gathered your belongings hastily, trying to conceal the fluttering of nerves that threatened to betray you. The sound of Father Lantom's chuckle reached your ears, “She’s an angel, that one,” his warm praise lingering in the air. You rolled your eyes playfully at the priest's comment, accustomed to his kind words.

But what caught you off guard was Matt's response, uttered with a sincerity that resonated deeply within you. “She sure is,” his words hung in the air, a gentle affirmation that sent a jolt of surprise and curiosity coursing through your veins. The unexpectedness of his sentiment caused your heart to skip a beat, leaving you momentarily speechless as you continued your retreat from the room.

As you made your way out, the weight of Matt's words settled in your mind, leaving you with a mixture of confusion, anticipation, and a little bit of hope.

When Karen's urgent text summoned you to the office for a meeting with Ben Urich, your stomach twisted with a sense of foreboding. As you prepared to make your way towards the exit, Matt's voice broke through the quietude of the church, calling out your name. You turned to find him approaching, his figure outlined against the backdrop of the towering church doors.

"Hey, Matt. What's wrong?" you asked, concerned etching your features.

Matt chuckled lightly, a warm and inviting sound. "Nothing, really. I was just curious about where you're headed today."

Rubbing your arm nervously, you replied, "Actually, I'm heading to your office. Karen texted me for an emergency meeting with Ben Urich. I was going to go ahead, thinking you were still talking with Father Lantom, but..."

A charming smile graced Matt's face as he interjected, "Mind if we walk together to the office?"

Blinking at him in surprise, you let out a sound of agreement. "Uh, yes, sure. It does make sense since we're going in the same direction..." Your voice trailed off, and you winced at your own awkwardness. "I should probably stop talking now."

Matt chuckled, his voice warm and teasing. "But how will I know if you're still there?"

Realization washed over you, and you quickly apologized, "Wait, oh, shit. I'm so sorry."

A mischievous smirk made its way across Matt's lips. "We're still inside the House of God," he pointed out cheekily, and you couldn't help but smile as laughter bubbled forth. "You are so lucky I can't shove you out the door for being such a tease!"

"I don't think God, Father Lantom, or any of the sisters would approve of you pushing a helpless and defenseless blind man," Matt teased, a playful grin adorning his face. You looked up at him, exasperated yet filled with a sense of warmth. "Come on, Murdock. We've got to get to your office before anyone gets worried."

Gently, you guided Matt's hand and placed it in the crook of your arm. As you fell into step together on the bustling streets of Hell's Kitchen, a fleeting glimpse of Matt's smile captured your heart, and lighthearted energy infused the air around you.

NELSON & MURDOCK ATTORNEY’S AT LAW OFFICE – MORNING

As the familiar voices of Foggy and Ben Urich echoed through the room, you stepped forward, holding the door open for Matt as the two of you entered. Matt's heightened senses allowed him to navigate the space with ease, his cane tapping lightly against the floor.

"That's just a matter of asking the right people the right questions in the right tone of voice," Foggy's voice resonated, filled with confidence. Ben let out a weary sigh. "Yeah, that's how you get yourself hurt."

As you and Matt approached the group, Karen's frustration permeated the air. She introduced the two men, her voice tinged with exasperation. "Ben Urich, Matt Murdock. Attorney at Why the Hell Bother."

Ben extended his hand, expecting a handshake, but quickly adjusted as he met Matt's outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake. "Mr. Murdock." Matt nodded, a polite acknowledgment. "Matt."

Foggy chimed in, offering his perspective. "My partner thinks we should be pursuing this through the legal system." Ben nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "A lot safer that way."

Karen couldn't contain her frustration, throwing her hands up in the air. "Well, why don't we all just crawl under the covers, then?"

Matt's voice held a note of caution as he addressed Karen. "No, Karen..."

Karen's frustration persisted as she voiced her convictions. "Well, I'm sorry, but if Fisk is really behind everything that has happened, then we need to do something."

The tension in the room mounted, each person grappling with their perspectives and the weight of the truth they sought. Ben nods, “If we were the only ones after him, I'd tend to agree. Friend of yours came to see me the other night… the man in the mask.”

As the conversation unfolded, your attention shifted between the speakers, observing their gestures and expressions. Matt's uneasiness was palpable as he walked over to his office, placing his cane by the door. You could sense his apprehension surrounding the topic at hand.

Foggy's voice dripped with contempt as he uttered the words, "Terrorist cop-killer." Your eyes shifted towards Matt, noticing his subtle movements, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features.

Ben continued speaking, undeterred by the tension in the air. "Says he was framed."

Foggy interjected with a touch of sarcasm, gesturing to the side of his golden hair. "I could say I'm Captain America, but it doesn't put wings on my head."

Karen's voice quivered with curiosity as she asked, "What did he want?"

Ben handed over a stack of papers and a folder, causing Karen to gasp in astonishment. "Oh, my god!"

"He told me Fisk was behind the bombings and shooting those cops," Ben explained as Karen avidly read through the printed text. "Said he owns half the police... that they helped him take down the Russians."

Karen's confusion seeped through her words. "But I don't understand. If you have all of this, then..."

Matt cut her off, his legal knowledge guiding his response. "Hearsay. Can't print any of it without corroboration, can you?"

Foggy's skepticism lingered as he pointed out, "He could just be throwing smoke. I mean, he just killed Detective Blake."

Ben acknowledged Foggy's concerns, his voice tinged with acknowledgment. "Said Blake's partner Hoffman did it, probably on Fisk's orders. But yeah, it occurred to me."

You nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Your gaze shifted towards Matt, who wore a pensive expression, a small pout forming on his lips.

With a thoughtful tone, Matt suggested, "You could talk to Hoffman."

Ben shook his head, conveying the difficulty of that task. "Tried. He's in the wind. Or bottom of the river. Either way..." He shrugged, to which Foggy announces to Matt. Realizing his unintended gesture and offering an apology to Matt.

Karen brought up another angle, her voice filled with determination. "Wait, what about the Union Allied money? Is there a way that we can tie it directly to Fisk?"

Ben contemplated the question, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe. According to the Mask, a man named Leland Owlsley runs the books. But since getting roughed up by him, Owlsley's been surrounded by Fisk's security. Can't get anywhere near him. Same goes with James Wesley, the guy you said hired you to defend Healy."

Karen's frustration seeped into her voice. "Look, the Mask came to Ben for help. And I don't care how rich Fisk is, nobody can totally erase their past. I mean, somewhere out there, there has to be a piece of paper, a witness... the truth."

Foggy interjected, posing another possibility. "What about Confederated Global? The suit that hired us to defend Healy was standing right next to Fisk when he gave his big speech."

Ben nodded, confirming the information. "I looked into that. According to FCC filings, Confed Global is where Fisk gets most of his reported income."

Matt wasted no time in continuing the train of thought. "All right, let's play this out. If Fisk is connected to Confed Global, that means he's involved in Westmeyer-Holt Contracting, which..."

You eagerly chimed in, providing a vital piece of information, "Westmeyer-Holt is strong-arming tenants out of their rent-controlled apartments. They were hired by a guy named Armand Tully."

Ben sought clarification. "The slumlord?"

Foggy added a touch of humor to the conversation. "Landman and Zack say he's on vacation on an island that no one can pronounce, where they use coconuts as phones."

Ben hummed, acknowledging the elusive nature of their leads. "Another connection in the wind."

Matt's voice carried determination as he proposed a course of action. "Westmeyer-Holt to Confed to Fisk. We pull that thread, see what it unravels."

Foggy's doubts resurfaced as he questioned the vigilante's intentions. "Still not sure about this mask guy."

You couldn't help but defend the vigilante once again, a shift of tone in your voice. "He didn't hurt Ben, and he didn't hurt Karen. I'll take the Devil of Hell's Kitchen over Fisk any day. Plus, he kicks ass."

Foggy challenged your statement, seeking clarity. "Well, if he's such a badass, why did he come to Ben? Why not just take Fisk down himself?"

Your eyes covertly glanced at Matt, witnessing his expression darken as Ben responded with a somber truth. "Maybe he knows there's some roads you can't come back from."

While Karen and Foggy were outside running errands, you remained in Matt's office, seated across from him. Your fingers danced across the keyboard as you typed on your laptop, contemplating the risks of reaching out to your connections for information on the case.

"But I could..." you started, your voice trailing off as Matt interjected with a firm tone.

"No," he replied, his voice carrying a sense of finality. Frustration welled up within you, and you let out an exasperated huff.

"I can ask around without drawing suspicion," you argued, hoping to find a compromise.

His head shook slightly, and his response was resolute. "I can't let you do that."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why not?" you challenged, wanting to understand his reasoning.

Matt's expression softened, and he uttered your name with a tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine. "Because the moment Fisk’s men find out you've been asking around about them, they won't react as nicely as I did."

The memory of your first encounter with Matt flashed in your mind, causing a rush of warmth to spread across your cheeks. Father Lantom's introduction, the flutter in your chest and stomach—it was as if a bird desperately yearned to escape its cage. The sweetness and charm radiating from Matt had the power to make you feel like you could vomit flowers in his presence.

You couldn't help but pursed your lips, the playful banter filling the room with a mix of tension and anticipation. Quirking your lip to the side, you folded your arms across your chest, leaning back into your chair as you mustered the courage to respond. "That's... that was different."

Matt's head tilted slightly, his smirk growing more mischievous. "Different how?" he teased, his tone dripping with playful curiosity.

You narrowed your eyes at him, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Are you implying something?" you shot back, your words laced with a mix of feigned innocence and subtle challenge.

Raising an eyebrow, Matt leaned in slightly, his shaky gaze locked onto yours. "Is there something you wanna tell me?" he countered, his voice carrying a hint of seductive playfulness.

The tension between you two continued to build, the air crackling with a mix of electricity and a sweet awkwardness. Your heart fluttered as you fought to maintain your composure, a blush creeping up your cheeks. With a soft chuckle, you averted your gaze, unable to fully meet his intense stare behind his lenses.

"Oh, you know... just... that I... uh..." Your voice trailed off, stumbling over your words as your thoughts scattered in the presence of his magnetic charm.

Matt leaned back, his grin widening as he enjoyed your adorable flustered state. "It's okay," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. "You don't have to say anything. I think I get the message."

The room was filled with a mixture of playful tension and gentle affection, the unspoken connection between you and Matt dancing in the air. As the conversation continued, you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and excitement, knowing that despite the slight shyness you possess, there was something undeniably special blossoming between you.

The door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the room as Foggy and Karen made their way to her desk. Their voices conveyed tension as they engaged in a heated discussion. You swiftly stood up from your chair, a sense of anticipation coursing through you, while Matt, ever observant, positioned himself next to you near the door.

Foggy let out a sigh, his frustration evident in his voice. "No, that's not what I'm saying," he clarified to Karen, hoping to make his point clear.

Karen arched an eyebrow, her gaze fixed on Foggy. "Well, it sure sounds like it," she retorted, challenging his statement. The atmosphere in the room grew more charged with each passing second.

As the conversation unfolded, you couldn't help but feel the need to be closer to Matt. You subtly leaned towards him, seeking comfort and support in his presence, while he reciprocated by drawing nearer to you. There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you, a shared connection that transcended words.

Matt directed his attention to Foggy, his curiosity piqued. "You find something out?" he inquired, his tone laced with genuine interest.

Foggy hesitated for a moment before confessing, "I, um, did a little back-channeling with Marci." He glanced at Karen, sheepishness creeping into his expression.

Karen, ever determined, pressed for more information. "Okay, ew, just... What did you get?"

You turned to Matt, whispering inquisitively, "Who's Marci?"

Matt leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper, as he shared the knowledge with you. "Foggy's ex-girlfriend from college."

You nodded, absorbing the information, before returning your attention to the conversation unfolding before you.

Foggy continued to explain the dead end they had encountered, sharing the details of Tully's island and the money he had acquired through Confed Global. Karen's hope flickered, suggesting a plan to go after Tully and convince him to turn on Fisk.

However, Foggy's somber shake of the head shattered their optimism. "Yeah, that island he's on? No extradition agreement," he revealed, dashing their hopes of a breakthrough.

Matt's voice resonated with a touch of sorrow as he acknowledged the reality. "It's another dead end," he admitted, the depth of the situation settling upon his shoulders.

Just as the group seemed to hit a roadblock, a knock on the door disrupted the solemn atmosphere. Without hesitation, you instinctively moved to answer it, revealing Ms. Cardenas on the other side. Her warm smile greeted you, and you welcomed her inside the office with a friendly gesture.

Foggy's attempt at speaking Spanish to Ms. Cardenas elicited a snort of laughter from you, unable to contain your amusement. Matt, always quick-witted, interjected, "You just asked her where the library is." His playful remark lightened the mood, momentarily lifting the tension that had filled the room.

Ms. Cardenas's rapid stream of Spanish filled the room, and you quickly translated her words for the others. "They doubled the offer to get the tenants to move out," you relayed, your voice tinged with concern.

Karen's frustration boiled over, and she let out a curse in response to Ms. Cardenas's revelations. "Oh, damn it," she muttered, clearly dismayed by the situation.

Curiosity piqued, Foggy inquired, "What?"

Your shoulders slumped as you delivered the news. "Her neighbors are thinking about taking it," you said, your tone heavy with disappointment.

Matt's nonchalant shrug surprised you. "Maybe they should," he suggested, his voice lacking the urgency and determination that Foggy possessed.

Foggy, however, vehemently disagreed. "No! Tell her to stand firm. We told her we're gonna help her, and that's what we're gonna do," he declared, his resolve unwavering.

Translating Foggy's words to Ms. Cardenas, you assured her that we weren't giving up, conveying the message of unwavering support.

A warm smile spread across Elena's face as she addressed Foggy, her admiration evident. "Such a good boy," she praised, and you couldn't help but smile at the exchange.

Elena then began to explain her plan to you, and you returned her hopeful smile. "She thinks... she can change their minds. Enough of them, maybe, to make a difference," you relayed, capturing the glimmer of hope that Elena held.

"I no take! This my home. We fight, yes?" Ms. Cardenas passionately declared, her determination evident. Foggy, caught up in the moment, enthusiastically responded, "Yes! ¡Sí!"

Ms. Cardenas chuckled with genuine amusement. "He is good man. All of you... good."

As Elena bid her farewell and closed the door behind her, a sense of gravity settled in the room. Matt shook his head disapprovingly at Foggy and voiced his concern, "You shouldn't have done that."

Foggy, undeterred, fired back, "What? Fight for the rights of the little guy, right?"

Matt's gaze held a mixture of worry and frustration as he pointed out, "Fisk wants the tenements. He's not gonna stop until he gets them."

Karen, incredulous, interjected, "Well, so what? We're just supposed to roll over?"

Matt, trying to emphasize the severity of the situation, interjected, "Fisk is public on this. If we tie him up with an injunction, maybe we find something in the deposition that we..."

Cutting Matt off, Foggy's voice brimmed with frustration, "Oh, come on, Foggy. You think we're gonna trip this guy up with a deposition? After everything that's happened, you don't get who we're dealing with?"

Frustration mounting, Karen burst out, "No, we get it! Matt, he's a rich dickhead who thinks he can pay people off to kiss his ass." She forcefully grabbed a nearby newspaper, thrusting it in front of Matt. "Look, he is standing on City Hall with his cronies like he's already won."

Foggy shook his head, recognizing Matt's limitations. He turned to Karen, explaining, "You know he can't see that."

Karen tossed the newspaper back onto the desk, determination blazing in her eyes as she faced Matt. "All right, we can't let him get away with this."

In a soft, resolute voice, Matt acknowledged, "I know."

Foggy, eager for a plan, pressed, "So, what are we gonna do?"

Matt let out a sigh, his gaze focused and determined. He turned back toward his office, retrieving his blazer. "Basic tenet of both law and war, know your enemy."

With a hint of sarcasm, Foggy quipped, "Thank you, Sun Tzu. What does that actually mean?"

Matt walked through the open door of his office, pausing momentarily. "It means we keep digging. Like Karen said, somewhere out there, there's a piece of paper or a witness, or something that'll lead to the truth."

Karen's relief was palpable as she voiced her agreement, "Okay, good."

Matt, now standing by the front door of his office, motioned toward the main entrance. "But, do it quietly. Stay under the radar."

Confusion laced Foggy's voice as he questioned Matt's departure, "Where are you going?"

With a thoughtful expression, Matt shared his plan, "Three people stood with Fisk when he addressed the city. His man from Confed Global, Owlsley, and a woman. The press said he seemed close with her."

You nearly began hopping up in down as you excitedly knew what he was talking about, “Oh, yeah, uh, Vanessa Marianna. She works at Scene Contempo Gallery.” His head shifted in your direction as he gives a charming smile before leaving the office and said, "Maybe it's time I invested in some art.”

CLINTON CHURCH – TWILIGHT

After Matt had left the office to go to the Art Gallery, you bid farewell to Foggy and Karen, feeling a sense of duty pulling you back to the church. As you stepped inside, the solemn atmosphere embraced you, accompanied by the faint echo of your footsteps on the worn stone floor.

Engrossed in your tasks, you found yourself vigorously wiping down a section of the pews, the fabric yielding under the pressure of your diligent efforts. The stillness of the church enveloped you, and the absence of visitors allowed you to immerse yourself in the quiet solitude of your work. Dust and dirt surrendered to the touch of your cloth as you moved down the aisle, leaving behind a renewed sense of cleanliness and order.

Father Lantom, seated a few rows closer to the altar, had been silently contemplating the crucifixion scene before him, his gaze fixed on the figure of Jesus suspended above. The flickering candlelight cast gentle shadows upon his face, adding a touch of serenity to his countenance.

After a few minutes of your dedicated cleaning, Father Lantom's voice, soft and inviting, called out your name, drawing your attention. Pausing in your task, you turned to face him, meeting his gaze with curiosity and respect. His polite request for you to join him in a moment of shared contemplation piqued your interest, and you nodded in acquiescence, placing the rag beside you as you settled in the pew beside him.

Father Lantom remained focused on the crucifix, his unwavering gaze fixated on the divine sacrifice it represented. He spoke, his voice carrying a hint of intrigue, as he posed a question that hung in the air, “When is the Devil, not a Devil?”

Caught off guard by the unexpected inquiry, you felt a flutter of uncertainty ripple through your being. Your fingers intertwined, fidgeting with each other as you searched for the right words to articulate your thoughts. Finally, you responded, your voice gentle yet filled with conviction, “When you love them.”

Father Lantom's curiosity sparked further as he delved deeper, seeking to understand the foundation of your statement. His eyes remained fixed on the crucifix, while you found solace in the presence of Jesus, His gaze seemingly meeting yours in silent understanding. With a thoughtful pause, you continued, your gaze shifting upward, “People can be surprising. I’ve learned that there is a lot more to someone than I originally thought, and sometimes there is less, a lot less.”

In the hallowed sanctuary, a gentle warmth accompanied the lingering resonance of your words, blending harmoniously with the sacred stillness that embraced the space. The flickering candlelight cast intricate shadows upon the timeworn walls, painting a tapestry of ephemeral beauty. You leaned in a little closer, your eyes steadfastly fixed upon the crucifix, its figure of suffering and redemption commanding your attention. In a voice hushed with reverence, you posed a question that had long lingered in the depths of your contemplation, "Do you think he's actually listening to everyone's prayers?"

Father Lantom shrugged, his eyes crinkling with a trace of mirth as he softly chuckled, "I think he does. It is my job, after all, to believe He does."

A tender sigh escaped your lips, carrying with it a gentle longing for understanding. "Sometimes, there seems to be a halfway point between where you've been and everywhere else. Before, I used to think it didn't make sense to trust a thing that could destroy you so quickly, to reach out your hand and stroke the deep separateness of a beast, that long gap of silence between you. There is a truth in that smooth indifference, a clean honesty about our otherness that feels not like the moral but the story."

Curiosity twinkled in Father Lantom's eyes as he leaned closer, his presence a comforting anchor in the vastness of your ponderings. "How about now?" he inquired, his voice a gentle invitation to delve deeper into the intricacies of your evolving faith.

With a soft shrug, you offered a glimpse into the complex tapestry of your beliefs. "Part of me still believes in that version, but I guess that's what faith is all about. To fully give yourself to the belief of someone out there who loves you despite the differences and otherness. It's an act of surrendering to the divine, embracing the mysterious dance of trust and vulnerability."

The ethereal light streaming through stained glass windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors upon the aged stone walls, infusing the atmosphere with a touch of divine grace. The crucifix, a poignant symbol of sacrifice, forgiveness, and the boundless capacity for redemption stood as a steadfast reminder of the profound depths of faith.

As Father Lantom turned to face you, a playful twinkle danced in his eyes, accentuating the kindness etched upon his weathered face. With a lighthearted jest, he remarked, "Maybe you missed your calling as a nun. You sure you don’t want to enter the convent?”

Laughter bubbled up within you, a spontaneous eruption of joy that echoed through the sacred space. Your eyes crinkled in mirth as you shook your head, a genuine affection evident in your response, “Oh God, no. Even He knows that.”

The banter shared between you and Father Lantom dissolved the weight of introspection, allowing a moment of levity to permeate the solemnity of the church. In that shared laughter, there existed a profound understanding—a recognition that the paths you traverse are as unique as the souls that tread upon them.

The peaceful silence takes over the small church only then to be soon replaced with the echoing of light tapping on the floor, a sound you recognized to be Matt’s cane as he glides along the edge of the pews before stopping right behind your row. He kneels and signs the sign of the cross while you and Father Lantom glance at him before bringing your gaze back to the cross.

Father Lantom says as Matt sits down behind the two of you and lets his cane rest on the side of the pew, “I like to have a moment... end of the day… sometimes just me and Him. Other times with her by my side as I talk to Him.”

Matt says softly, “Maybe you both could put in a word.”

You defeatedly exhaled, having the sense that his visit to the art gallery didn’t go as planned if he ended up back at the church. You turned and reached for the cloth rag on your side, beginning to stand up and move to the aisle while saying, “Um, I should probably go help Sister Maggie prepare dinner for the kids while you two have a heart-to-heart chat… I’ll see you around Matt.”

CLINTON CHURCH – EVENING

You stood upon the rafters like a solitary sentinel, you embraced the seclusion, the feeling of being an island amidst the bustling sea of New York City. The cool breeze danced upon your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake as you leaned against the outside banister, your gaze fixated upon the sprawling skyline. It was a vista that held both the weight of a lifetime's struggles and the promise of an unwritten future—a blank page upon which you had chosen to inscribe the story of your existence, a story set into motion by a divine hand.

Lost in your reverie, the sudden voice calling your name jolted you from your thoughts, causing you to yelp in surprise. Turning swiftly, your eyes met Matt, who stood by the staircase leading up to the rafters. With a mixture of relief and admonishment, you exclaimed, "Matt! God, you scared me. How did you get up here without making a noise?"

A lopsided smile graced Matt's lips as he replied, "I don't think God appreciates you using his name in vain."

Playfully smacking his arm, you chuckled and retorted, "Well, I hope he appreciates a good scare then." Your gesture seemed to amuse Matt, and you invited him closer, saying, "Come over here and feel the breeze."

Guiding him to the edge of the terrace, you released your hold on his arm, creating a small but perceptible distance between you. Leaning against the railing, you allowed the gentle caress of the breeze to cool your flushed skin, finding solace in the tranquil stillness that enveloped you both.

Amidst the comfortable silence, an unspoken understanding seemed to settle between you. But then, unable to contain your curiosity, you blurted out, "How did you know I was up here?"

Matt nonchalantly shrugged, his senses attuned to the nuances of the world around him. "I had a hunch you would be," he admitted.

Sensing your pointed stare, he relented, "Father Lantom told me."

With a sigh, you returned your gaze to the sprawling cityscape, its shimmering lights and bustling traffic a tapestry of human existence. "I always hid up here when I was younger and didn't want to play with the other kids," you confessed, a hint of nostalgia tinting your words.

Matt, ever the astute observer, connected the dots. "Is that why I never saw you around Saint Agnes when I was a kid?" he inquired, his curiosity piqued.

Offering a half-hearted shrug, you replied, "Yeah. Then I was... I got sent away for school." There was a pause, a flicker of hesitance before you continued, "The school was near the mountains... somewhere in Asia. It was... a difficult part of my life, but I had to go through it for my sake and... anyways. Yeah, education was decent, and the classes were definitely… something else, but overall, I turned out okay."

Matt sensed the unspoken secrets lingering in your words, an untold tale that lay hidden beneath the surface. Respectful of your boundaries, he chose not to pry further, allowing the enigma of your past to deepen his intrigue about the person you had become.

You cleared your throat, the sound echoing softly in the nighttime air as you shifted your focus to the conversation at hand. "So... how did the art gallery visit go?" you inquired, your voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

As Matt's muscles tensed, his jaw clenching, you sensed the weight of his response even before the words left his lips. "It went fine. I, uh... I also met Fisk. He was there," he revealed, his words laden with a mix of apprehension and restrained emotion.

The gravity of his revelation hit you like a sudden jolt, causing your eyes to widen as you whipped your head in his direction. The city lights cast an ethereal glow upon his features, amplifying the intensity of the moment. With a hushed urgency, you whispered, "Holy shit!" However, the realization of using profanity in such a sacred setting washed over you, prompting a quick prayer of repentance and a flicker of guilt. You glanced at Matt, noticing the amused smile that danced upon his lips at your reaction.

Intrigued and concerned, you pressed further, your words filled with both genuine care and a hint of curiosity. "How did that go? Did you punch him?"

Matt's chuckle resonated in the space between you, his amusement evident. "How would I punch him if I can't see him?" he quipped, his voice laced with good-natured humor.

Your arms and hands gestured in an animated fashion as you tried to come up with a solution. "I don't know! Just swing your cane around," you suggested, the genuine concern for his safety apparent in your voice.

Matt, ever the pragmatist, shifted the conversation to a more practical aspect. "You know there were some pretty valuable art pieces in that gallery, sweetheart," he reminded you, his head tilting in your direction. The subtle increase in your heart rate and the way your body responded to the affectionate nickname did not go unnoticed.

Attempting to mask your concern with nonchalance, you replied, "You know what I mean! Just... what happened? Did he say anything suspicious? Was Vanessa at least... I don't know, nice? I need the details, or else I'm gonna keep pestering you for the entire week."

His chuckle, like a melodic reassurance, filled the air. Matt began recounting his encounter with Vanessa and Wilson Fisk, his words painting a mental picture as you leaned in attentively, soaking in every detail. When he concluded, you couldn't help but release a frustrated sigh. "Manipulative bastard," you muttered under your breath, the distaste evident in your tone. Offering a quick, apologetic glance to the heavens, you rested your elbows on the railing, your gaze once again drawn to the sprawling city skyline, contemplating the tangled web of intrigue that surrounded you.

“Do you think God would forgive someone if they did something cruel? Something unforgivable?” Matt's question lingered in the air, heavy with the weight of moral complexity. You took a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs as you pondered his words. Your gaze remained fixed on the sprawling cityscape, its lights twinkling like distant stars in the darkened expanse.

"There are a lot of different reasons why people did what they did. Hurt who they hurt," you began, your voice carrying a mixture of contemplation and empathy. "Sometimes, the lines between right and wrong blur, and cruelty manifest from a place of deep pain and brokenness. It's not an excuse, but it offers a glimpse into the intricate tapestry of the Anthropocene."

The city lights shimmered in the distance as you continued, your words measured and thoughtful. "There is a truth in that smooth indifference, a clean honesty about our otherness that feels not like the moral but the story. It still exists, it just escapes differently and evades vision. It colors the rain differently, makes the news boring, and distances my own rage."

You turned to face Matt, your eyes searching his through his lenses for understanding. "God's forgiveness is boundless, encompassing even the darkest corners of our humanity. But forgiveness isn't about erasing consequences or condoning cruelty. It's about acknowledging the potential for growth, redemption, and the capacity to change."

A gentle breeze swept past, rustling your hair and carrying with it a sense of solace. "We can only hope that those who have done unforgivable things find the courage to confront their past, seek repentance, and strive to make amends. God's mercy is vast, but it's up to each individual to embrace it and embark on the path of redemption."

The distant hum of the city served as a backdrop to your contemplative conversation, a reminder of the vastness of human experience and the interconnectedness of all lives.

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

After a quick stop at a local bakery, the aroma of freshly baked pastries lingering in the air, you approached the front door of Nelson and Murdock's office. With a gentle knock, you announced your presence before stepping inside, the warmth of the office embracing you.

The three of them, Foggy, Karen, and Matt, were engrossed in a conversation, their heads huddled together in a semi-circle. As you walked closer, Matt tilted his head, honing in on the sound of your voice. His keen senses detect your arrival. Holding something square and framed in his hands, Matt's eyes met yours, and you raised an intrigued eyebrow, your curiosity piqued.

"Yes! We finally got the sign!" Foggy exclaimed, a beaming smile illuminating his face. He eagerly approached you, accepting the paper bag filled with delectable treats. "And thank you, m'lady, for the generous gift of baked goods."

You returned Foggy's infectious enthusiasm with a smile of your own. "You're welcome, kind sir. Just make sure to save some for later."

Turning your attention to Matt, you noticed the "Nelson and Murdock" placard he held in his hands. Your fingertips lightly traced the letters, a gesture of appreciation for the significance of the moment. The emblem of their law firm held a profound meaning, representing the culmination of their shared dreams and aspirations.

"It's a little small, isn't it?" Matt remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of humor.

Foggy chuckled, offering an explanation, "Building regulations, my friend. We work with what we have."

Karen chimed in, her eyes sparkling with determination, “Anyway, so are we. We

are small but awesome.”

“And we're gonna make a difference. I know it doesn't feel like it sometimes… a lot of the time, but we are, with the power of the law.” Foggy said with hope and charisma.

Matt nodded in agreement, his charming smile gracing his lips. "Okay."

Foggy, overcome with gratitude, placed a hand on Matt's shoulder. “You dragged me into this rinky-dink firm, Murdock, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for it.”

Matt's smile widened, and he responded with sincerity, “You're not gonna kiss me.”

Foggy shrugged playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I'm feeling a little somethin'.”

Their brotherly bond evident, Matt sighed in amusement, his voice filled with affection. “Okay, come here.” The two friends embraced, sharing a heartfelt moment before parting with gentle pats on each other's backs.

You watched the exchange with a wide smile, appreciating the camaraderie and unwavering support between them. However, the joyous atmosphere was abruptly shattered by the shrill ring of your phone. Your face contorted in a slight frown as you moved away from the group to answer the call, a sense of unease gripping your heart.

“Hello?” you spoke into the phone, your voice tinged with concern.

On the other end of the line, a voice sought confirmation of your identity, and you responded, “Yes, this is her.”

The news that followed struck you like a bolt of lightning. Your hand instinctively flew to cover your mouth as a choked sob escaped, tears welling up in your eyes. The devastating revelation pierced through your being, overwhelming you with grief.

“Something happened,” you managed to utter, your voice trembling with sorrow. “We need to go to the precinct.” The weight of the tragedy hung heavy in the air, casting a somber shadow over the once celebratory atmosphere of the office.

15TH PRECINCT POLICE STATION, THE MORGUE – AFTERNOON

As the medical examiner carefully lifted the cloth, revealing the lifeless body of Ms. Cardenas, a collective gasp escaped from Karen's lips. Overwhelmed with sorrow, she instinctively turned away, her hand covering her trembling mouth. Your gaze shifted to Foggy, his eyes red and brimming with unshed tears, mirroring the anguish that weighed heavily on your own heart.

With a heavy ache in your voice, you turned to Matt, needing confirmation of the devastating truth. "It's her," you whispered, the words weighted with grief.

Matt's face remained inscrutable, but the thin line that formed on his lips betrayed the simmering anger and righteous rage that coursed through his veins. In a dangerously calm tone, he directed his question to Detective Sergeant Mahoney, his voice barely concealing the seething fury within. "How did it happen?"

Mahoney's voice held a hint of sorrow as he recounted the tragic details. "A neighbor witnessed a familiar junkie fleeing the scene with her purse. It appears she was attacked while searching for her keys."

Karen's sobs echoed through the room, her grief overwhelming her. Matt, concern etched on his face, suggested gently, "Karen, maybe you should wait outside."

But Karen waved off his suggestion, her determination shining through her tears. "No. No, I'm..." Her voice faltered, but she mustered the strength to address Officer Mahoney directly. Her voice trembled as she asked the painful question that lingered in the air. "How did she die?"

Mahoney's expression bore the weight of the tragic truth. Taking a deep breath, he delivered the heartbreaking news. "Multiple stab wounds. The ambulance arrived quickly, but... My mom says all the family she knew about has passed on."

Your eyes shifted between Karen and Foggy, witnessing their faces contort with raw grief as tears streamed down their cheeks. A quick glance at Matt revealed the silent storm of anger that raged within him, his jaw clicking and clenching in the face of such injustice.

Mahoney's gaze shifted to you, recognizing your connection to Ms. Cardenas. His voice carried a mix of sympathy and a request for assistance. "I knew you were helping her out and looking into her tenancy case. I thought you might be able to point us toward the next of kin."

You shook your head slowly, a subtle gesture filled with a profound sense of loss. "No, she didn't have anyone. Just us." The weight of the responsibility settled heavily on your shoulders as you stood united with your friends, the only family Ms. Cardenas had known in her final days.

“We'll see to the arrangements,” Foggy assured Brett, his voice filled with a mix of determination and compassion. The detective nodded in acknowledgment. "It's good of you to take that on. I'll let the ME know."

As Detective Sergeant Mahoney made his exit, Karen sought comfort in Foggy's embrace, their bodies clinging to each other in shared grief. Your gaze shifted to Matt, who stood with his knuckles turned white, his grip tight on his cane. The anger and rage within him seemed palpable, an untamed force straining to break free. It was as if something primal within him bared its teeth and fought against his restraint.

Uncertain of whether you could provide the comfort Matt needed, you took a leap of faith. Moving closer to his side, you extended a hand and gently placed it on top of his, carefully loosening his grip on the cane. As your hands intertwined, you squeezed his hand, conveying a silent message of solidarity and support. With a tender gesture, you rested your head atop his shoulder, seeking solace together in the midst of overwhelming loss.

At first, Matt stiffened, his body tense with emotions he struggled to contain. But then, slowly, he leaned his own head against yours, finding solace in your presence. It was a moment of vulnerability, a shared understanding that words alone could not express. In that simple act of connection, you offered him a lifeline amidst the weight of tragedy and its aftermath.

In the complex tapestry of human existence, it was the casualties who bore the heaviest burden, carrying the weight of grief and pain. And at that moment, as you and Matt found solace in each other's embrace, you became pillars of support, connected in the face of adversity.

JOSIE’S – NIGHT

Despite your initial intention to go back to the church and assist with the arrangements, Foggy and Karen were insistent on you staying and joining them for drinks at Josie's. You attempted to persuade them to spend some time together without you, but Matt's gentle touch on your hand and his whispered plea melted your resistance. How could you refuse when he asked so earnestly for you to be there?

The blaring sirens of a passing cop car pierced through the night, serving as a somber reminder of the harsh realities surrounding you. As you all sat in silence at Josie's, the weight of grief hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the once lively bar.

Josie approached your table, bringing another bottle and sensing the somber mood. Foggy looked up at her with eyes filled with sorrow and gratitude, offering a heartfelt, "Thanks."

Josie patted his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'll keep 'em comin', love," she assured him before returning to the bar counter to mix more drinks. You took a sip from your glass, but the bitterness of both the alcohol and the grief seeped into your soul, causing your face to crumple.

Foggy began to recount their initial visit to Landman and Zack when they took on Elena's case, his voice laced with regret. Karen gripped her glass tightly as she chimed in, repeating Marci's mention of a "criminal element" in Elena's building, which drove the workmen away out of fear.

"I thought it was bullshit," Foggy admitted, a tinge of remorse evident in his tone. Matt interjected softly, "Maybe it was."

Foggy's words hung in the air, their weight sinking deep into your collective consciousness. The realization hit Karen, and her mind started to race. She turned to Matt, seeking answers. "Wait, what are you saying?"

Matt sighed, his nerves betraying him as he licked his lips. "Well, I don't know. It just doesn't feel right, does it?"

In the midst of your shared sorrow and the lingering questions surrounding Elena's death, doubt crept in, casting shadows on the truth that seemed too elusive to grasp.

"I'll drink to that," Foggy declared, pouring himself another glass of liquor. Matt's voice dropped low as he contemplated, "You think it was a coincidence? Elena decides to stay and fight, to rally what's left of her neighbors, and this happens."

Karen's question hung in the air, heavy with suspicion. "Do you think Fisk had something to do with this?" she asked, searching for answers. Matt shrugged, his expression a cute mix of uncertainty and doubt. Foggy's gaze shifted upward and across the room to the TV hanging on the wall, his finger pointing with intent. "Speak of the devil," he remarked.

Matt tilted his head in confusion, but before he could inquire further, you leaned closer and whispered, "Fisk is on the TV again."

Matt caught on and raised his voice. "Hey, Josie, could you turn that up?"

Josie obliged, pressing a button on the remote, and the sound of Fisk's voice resonated throughout the bar. Reporters swarmed around Fisk as he responded to their questions. You glanced at Matt, noticing the tension in his jaw as he took a swig of his drink, listening intently to Fisk's words.

A reporter posed a question, "How do you respond to reports that you knew the tenement was unsafe?"

Fisk replied, his voice calculated and measured, "That is accurate. That's why we offered a substantial sum to Ms. Cardenas and her neighbors to help them relocate." He paused briefly before adding, "We should never let good people get swallowed up by this city. I mourn this woman's death. Didn't have to happen. It should've..."

The TV screen turned into a target of your glare as Fisk continued his speech. The taste of bitterness filled your mouth, witnessing the manipulative lies he spewed. "Her passing is a symptom of a larger disease... infecting all of us," Fisk proclaimed, attempting to cast himself as a savior.

Foggy's phone interrupted the scene, and he answered with a somber tone, engaging in a conversation with the funeral home for arrangements. Meanwhile, Fisk carried on with his performance, lamenting the "disease of fear" that plagued the city, emphasizing his desire for unity against external threats.

"We shouldn't let people like that take our city from us. We need to stand together. Let them know that they will fail... because we believe we can make a difference. 'Cause they are cowards! Afraid of stepping out of the shadows. Afraid of standing up for people like Mrs. Cardenas," Fisk concluded before stepping away, his insincere apology hanging in the air.

Reporters persisted, trying to ask more questions, but Fisk's associate, Wesley, shut them down. Your gaze shifted to Matt, and although he tried to conceal it, the waves of his anger and rage were palpable, radiating from him like a furious storm. You knew he needed assistance, even if he didn't realize it himself—the silent support you were prepared to offer.

The muffled voice of a friend transformed into an electrical signal, delivering a message that a great war was approaching. Little did Matt know, you were there, standing by his side, ready to face whatever challenges awaited, providing the help he may not even know he needed.

"Jesus, he almost sounds like he means it," Karen remarked with a heavy dose of sarcasm, catching you off guard. To your surprise, Matt's voice carried a different tone as he responded, "I think he does."

Karen scoffed at the notion, "And he's calling the man in the mask a psycho? I hope they trace what happened to Elena right to his doorstep."

"He'd never expose himself like that. Plus, half the force is probably in his pocket," Matt reasoned. Karen gripped her drink tightly, her frustration evident. "Well, then, let's pray the Mask gets his hands on him. Knocks his goddamn head off." She downed her drink in a single gulp.

Curiosity sparked within Matt, and he turned to Karen. "You religious, Karen?"

Karen shook her head, explaining, "My parents were. That's probably why I'm not. You?"

"Catholic," Matt replied, and you chimed in softly, "Same."

Karen directed her question to both of you, seeking insight. "Does it help? With things like this?" Matt responded honestly, "Not today. I think I've had enough. Tell Foggy I'll see him in the morning."

As Matt prepared to leave, you quickly moved one of the stools obstructing his path, ensuring he wouldn't trip. The corners of Matt's mouth curled upward, appreciating the small gesture that meant more to him than you realized.

Unfolding his cane, Matt turned to depart, but Karen called out to him, stopping him in his tracks. "Hey, Matt." He turned his attention to her, awaiting her words. "Yeah?"

"If there is a God... and if he cares at all about... about any of us... Fisk will get what he deserves. You have to believe that," Karen declared, her words carrying a glimmer of hope. In that moment, you witnessed a shift in Matt's expression, as if he was deciphering her words as a divine sign, a call to action.

Matt paused, then affirmed, "I do," before turning away from you and Karen. The red neon lights of Josie's bar cast an ethereal glow upon his features as he walked away. There would be no grand chorus, no harmonious melody accompanying his departure. But in your fist, your feet, the hollows of your eyelids, you felt the tremors. Vibrating through your skull, your spine, and down into your ribs.

The time for action had come, and the weight of the city's injustices pressed upon your shoulders. With a kind of purpose, you were ready to face the darkness head-on, determined to bring justice to those who believed they were untouchable.

A few hours had passed, and Foggy's consumption of alcohol had taken its toll. He clumsily played with the empty liquor bottle, rolling it around in his hands. Eventually, he mumbled an apology, his speech slurred. Concerned, you exchanged a worried glance with Karen. You gently placed your hand on the bottle, attempting to discourage Foggy's request for another.

Foggy, oblivious to your gesture, called out to Josie, his words slurred, "Hey, can I get another bottle over here?"

Shaking your head vigorously, you interjected, "No, no, never mind, Josie. Hey, hey, Foggy. Foggy, she and I have had enough, and you have had... way, way past that."

"It's a wake, Karen. People drink at wakes. You know why? 'Cause it sucks," Foggy grumbled, frustration lacing his words. You offered him a sympathetic look, understanding the pain he was trying to drown. Karen responded softly, "I know."

Foggy's gaze shifted towards you, his eyes glassy and filled with sorrow. He spoke, his voice trembling, "You two speak Spanish. What's a good toast for the people that should... that should still..."

Your head tilted to the side, your shoulders sinking as you pulled Foggy into a comforting hug. "Hey. Hey, hey, hey," you whispered soothingly.

Foggy's emotions overflowed, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed, "I should have told her to take the money like Matt said."

You and Karen reassured him, your hands rubbing his arms gently. "No, no, no, no, Foggy... it's not your fault, okay?" you comforted him, your voice filled with sincerity.

Foggy brushed back his blonde locks, attempting to gather himself as he sniffled. "The Hell's Kitchen I grew up in was a real shithole. But it had a heart, you know?" You and Karen nodded in agreement, acknowledging his sentiment.

"Me and Matt... we learned the law, how to play by the rules. We were gonna help the people that we grew up with. Give 'em the same shot as the big boys like Fisk. It's all bullshit. It's all just... lies that we tell ourselves to make it through one more day," Foggy lamented, his tone heavy with disillusionment. Karen disagreed passionately, her voice vulnerable, "No, I don't... I don't believe that. I can't."

Foggy looked at both of you, his eyes glossy and filled with sadness. "What are we supposed to do... against somebody that owns everything? Everyone? What can we do to somebody like that?"

You offered him a comforting squeeze, your voice tender as you softly responded, "So this is your life, and you are going to be both moved and confused by it. You are going to experience things that will inspire you and things that you will never quite come to terms with." A sniffle escaped you as you continued, "You are going to laugh until you cry; you're going to ache in ways you never thought possible; you are going to be exhausted by the chaos of it all and ignited by the beauty. You are going to be hurt, and you are going to hurt."

Shaking your head and fighting back tears, you spoke to your two newfound friends with a mix of vulnerability and strength, “I wish I could explain what healing feels like. I wish I could describe how it feels to you—that it's like returning home, that it's like everything soft and delicate you've ever touched in your hands. But because healing is the messiest thing you will ever experience, it will never be artistic or elegant. Healing will never be linear, it will never make sense.”

With a gentle smile shared between the three of you, you concluded, “There isn't going to be a formula. Simply do the process over once more as the sun rises. You'll set out on everyday journeys. You'll move forward by taking steps. You'll retrace your steps. But you will always be moving, and that is what you need to celebrate.”

PIER 81 WAREHOUSE — MIDNIGHT

After settling the bill and leaving a generous tip for Josie, you bid Karen and Foggy goodnight, watching as they climbed into a taxi. While they chose the convenience of a ride, you opted for a walk home. Despite knowing the dangers of Hell's Kitchen at this hour, you held confidence in your ability to protect yourself.

The fractured moonlight danced upon the rippling waters, casting ethereal reflections that seemed unchanged to your eyes. There was a certain tranquility in strolling along the pier at midnight as if the world's burdens momentarily eased. The weight you had carried for so long, the burdens that had shaped your path, brought you to this very moment. Standing at the water's edge, you faced it head-on, alone yet unyielding. From the edge of the water, you sensed an impending shift, a force approaching. There were no barriers to shield you, no respite of sleep, or anything to separate you from the water's embrace.

The gift within you, the power you possessed, came with its own cost. In this moment of introspection, you pondered the dichotomy of the lamb and the knife, questioning the roles they played in your life.

Suddenly, the night air became filled with echoing shouts and grunts emanating from an abandoned warehouse up ahead. Your senses sharpened, suspicion fueling your narrowed gaze and causing your brows to furrow in deep thought. The power within your fingertips surged, the mystical glamour enveloping you in a shimmering cloak of invisibility. With each step, your form glowed with ethereal light, rendering you unseen as you hastened towards the commotion, your heart pounding in anticipation.

As you approached the scene, you gasped silently at the sight that unfolded before you. A man, engulfed in flames, writhed and convulsed on the ground while Wesley, alongside another guard, stood by Fisk's side. Fisk himself, a commanding presence, seized Matt and hurled him forcefully into a nearby table, effortlessly shattering it in half. A mix of anger and concern coursed through you as you swiftly moved closer to Matt, invisible yet ready to defend him at any cost.

Fisk, unfazed by his display of power, withdrew a handkerchief from his suit's breast pocket and cast a disdainful gaze upon the masked man. "It's disappointing," he uttered with a cold tone.

Determined to intervene, you materialized in front of them, your previously invisible form now resplendent with an otherworldly glow. Your outstretched palms formed a shield of shimmering golden and silver magic, deflecting the bullets fired by Wesley's raised gun. Each round ricocheted harmlessly off the protective sphere, filling the air with a symphony of metal clinks.

Fisk's command halted the gunfire, and as the whisps of magic gradually faded, you lowered your hands, tilting your head to the left and maintaining a steady, composed stance.

Fisk's narrowed eyes locked onto you, a mix of curiosity and animosity in his gaze. He spat out his retort, "A guardian angel coming to save the devil of Hell's Kitchen? How poetic."

You fought to maintain your composure, lifting your chin defiantly as your voice, disguised and altered, resonated with authority. "I will give you one warning, one act of mercy. Leave."

Fisk's expression hardened, his voice dripping with disdain as he responded, "I take no pleasure in this… violence. It is a necessity to cleanse this city of vermin like him."

Undeterred, you scoffed, allowing your defiance to shine through. "I'm not impressed by your violence."

Fisk, his face contorted with anger and indignation, unleashed a torrent of words in response, his voice booming with a mix of fury and arrogance.

"You dare to stand before me and question my methods?" he bellowed, his tone laced with venomous conviction. "You, a mere interloper, believe you hold the moral high ground? How naïve!"

His eyes bore into yours, the intensity of his gaze attempting to pierce through your unwavering resolve. With each word he spoke, his voice resonated with an unwavering belief in his cause.

"I am the harbinger of order in this chaotic city," Fisk declared, his voice carrying an air of self-righteousness. "Every action I take is justified in the pursuit of a better Hell's Kitchen. And you, you claim not to be impressed? You are nothing but a fool blinded by your own misguided notions."

His words dripped with contempt, his anger boiling beneath the surface. Fisk, the embodiment of power and control, refused to be undermined by anyone who dared to challenge his authority.

You give a dismissive wave of your hand, maintaining a casual demeanor as you deliver your response. "You are neither a god nor a king, Fisk. You're just twisting the narrative to suit your own needs. Fear and deception? That's your go-to move, isn't it?" Your voice carries a tinge of sarcasm, highlighting your disdain for his tactics.

"But here's the thing," you say with a nonchalant shrug, "your reign of false incompetence? Yeah, that's not gonna last. Truth has a funny way of catching up with people like you. It always prevails in the end."

You punctuate your statement with a confident nod, emphasizing your belief in the ultimate triumph of justice. Despite the casual tone, your words carry a weight of conviction, leaving no room for doubt.

Fisk's sudden charge at you unleashes a childlike rage, evident in the way he reacts to your words. Reacting swiftly, you raise your hand, conjuring a radiant ball of glamour energy that shoots toward his chest. The impact pushes him backward, but you realize his suit is composed of some sort of formidable armored material, explaining why he is merely thrown to the side.

As Wesley and the other man resume their onslaught, you raise your other hand, creating an illusion that allows you to deftly evade the incoming bullets. Amidst the chaos, someone wraps an arm around your waist, causing you to yelp in surprise. But soon, you realize it's Matt, coming to your aid.

Harnessing his strength, Matt forcefully breaks the glass and plunges into the Hudson River. The tremors in his legs, the racing of his heart, the fall, the impact—it all happens in a whirlwind. Holding your breath, you wait in suspense but eventually resurface, your legs and feet treading the freezing water as you search frantically for Matt.

With a deep gulp of air, you dive once more, the murky water making visibility challenging. By some stroke of luck, you spot Matt, completely unresponsive. Swiftly, you wrap your arm around his heavily-muscled body and swim him to the shore.

Cursing under your breath, you mutter, "Fuck... shit, shit, shit. God, Matt, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're a masochist."

Laying his body flat on the ground, you check for his pulse and breathing, relief washing over you as you confirm he's still alive. Retrieving the chain of your necklace, you swiftly grab the sling ring attached to it, sliding it onto your shaking hands. With determined focus, you conjure a portal leading to Matt's apartment, gripping him under his arms and wearily dragging him to the floor of his living room.

The portal closes behind you, and exhaustion sets in, leaving you disoriented. A loud clatter disrupts your senses, but you're too drained to comprehend what you pushed aside. However, amidst the confusion, you hear Foggy's voice bellowing from the other side of the apartment door, urgently calling out Matt's name before storming off to find another entrance.

Gazing up at the heavens with a tinge of annoyance, you force yourself to focus on the task at hand—stripping the wet clothes off Matt's body. Suddenly, the rooftop access door swings open, and Foggy's voice resonates through the apartment, his words laced with concern and humor. "Matt. It's me. I heard a crash. Not the fun, sexy-time kind, but... more of the...I've-fallen-and-I-can't-get-up variety."

Stepping on a broken floorboard at the staircase landing, Foggy's panic sets in. He swiftly grabs Matt's cane, wielding it as a makeshift weapon. Nervously, he asserts, "If anyone who's in here is not supposed to be, I will mess you up. I'm not kidding."

As Foggy turns, his gaze falls upon your disguised form on the floor, mistaking you for the Masked Man. He shouts, demanding answers, "Where's Matt? What'd you do to him?"

In response to Foggy's inquiry, you pivot to face him, allowing your disguise to shimmer away, revealing your true identity. Foggy whispers your name in shock and disbelief, his eyes taking in your battered form—cuts from glass shards, bruises from the water's impact, and blood, an unsettling amount of blood.

With your hands outstretched over Matt's chest, a brilliant golden and silver glow emanates from them as you employ one of the healing spells you've learned through your studies.

You release a shaky breath, attempting to maintain composure, but Foggy notices the tears welling in your eyes. He kneels down beside you, barely comprehending the revelation that the Man in the Mask was Matt all along. Brokenly, you address Foggy, "Foggy... It's too much... I need you to grab Matt's phone and call Claire. She's a nurse, she can help. I'll do what I can until she arrives, but I don't..."

You swallow back a gasp of pain, the adrenaline fading, leaving behind the realization that one of your deeper cuts likely still harbors fragments of glass. "Please, Foggy. I don't know how long I can keep this up before I..."

The dwindling magic within you intensifies the agony, prompting a yelp to escape your lips. "Foggy, please."

In that moment, you feel abandoned by the saints, as if the ropes that once bound you have been severed. A drumming noise reverberates inside your head, overwhelming you and causing you to collapse. The thunderous sound feels all-encompassing, louder than sirens, louder than bells—a symphony both divine and infernal, more intoxicating than heaven and hotter than hell.

END NOTES:

OOOHHHHHH??? OHHHHHHH?!?!?!

The next chapter is gonna be so fun to write JKSDHFAJKHAHA you’re all gonna absolutely hate me and throw bricks at me fr

11k words, I know. I KNOW. I’M SORRY.

I love awkward moments and I also love the sweet ones too. I think we’re reaching a point where things are slowly falling into place heheh

Okay, time to rewatch probably one of the most heartbreaking episodes of Daredevil T^T

TAGLIST: @scoliobean @thychuvaluswife @pantrashtic @ofmusesandsecrets

#matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matthew murdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x reader masterlist #matt murdock x you #notre dame matt murdock #notre dame series #notre dame ethereal

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