sometimes b-sides are the best songs

Elektra had always leaned far more toward the reckless side of life than the cautious one, and the abilities granted to her by the Hand’s resurrection, whether she wanted them or not, just further enabled that. She was faster, stronger, and could shake off things that would have taken her down before. It left her little to fear from anyone, if she’d ever feared it in the first place. So, while she did grant Matt a tiny sliver of time to catch up to her, she was quick to engage the guards.

She moved in a flurry of flashing metal as her sai caught the low light. It was the only thing that was really visible as she slipped in and out of shadow with little effort to take down the first two of her guards. The wounds she left them were technically non-lethal, assuming they weren’t simply left there to bleed out from them. She’d play along with Matthew’s rules that she’d already agreed to. 

“I’m getting-” her foot connected in a hard kick that landed against the throat of the third guard, “bored.” 

Matt easily took out one guard just a few feet in front of him with a chokehold before dragging him off to the side. The second guard took a little more finesse, Matt listening to his patrol route for a moment before he stepped out in front of him and punched him once, twice, three times in the face before he went down. Then, he punched the other man a few more times—just for good measure—before adjusting his gloves and moving towards the entrance. 

“You always say that,” Matt replied, standing right beside the entrance to the warehouse and cocking his head to listen to the movement on the other side of the door. “On three—” he said, knowing full well that Elektra would most likely go in whenever she wanted with little regard for Matt’s need for control. 

After her bout with the well dressed mystery man, the presence of the Hand in Star City was indisputable. Once they knew they were there, then it was just a matter of sniffing them out. Elektra had done that all over the world, and Matthew was plenty familiar with their scent after New York. It happened quickly, and it felt as easy to her to fall in beside him as it had then. 

She cocked her head to the side and flicked the end of her hair over one shoulder. “Oh Matthew. You know I’m always ready.” With that, and a little grin, Elektra pulled up her mask to hide the lower part of her face. It didn’t truly matter anymore. The Hand knew her. “And it’s rude to keep people waiting.” It was the only warning she gave before leaving the rooftop at a run to jump and drop down onto one of the storage containers several feet below. 

Matt couldn’t help the light scoff that left his lips as Elektra jumped down in front of him, feeling some of the same sense of joy he used to have as Daredevil in the early days. It used to be fun, actually, to go around and play savior in his neighborhood. Of course, as things got more complicated, the joy slowly left his vocation, but being around Elektra again had electrified Matt—he had an energy that night that combated all the exhaustion that had settled into his bones. 

Before any of the drama with the clown happened, barely an hour before the city went off like a powder keg, Matt stood on the ledge of a rooftop close to a drug distribution warehouse. Beside him, as if nothing had changed, as if they were back in New York chasing down the Hand again, was Elektra. Matt didn’t think he would ever get used to that again. He dropped to a crouch as he cocked his head to the side and listened to the goings on at the busy building below them. 

Alph raised a brow, “I’d be worried if it didn’t. Ribs tend to hurt a great deal when broken to tell us not to let it happen again. They protect all our most vital organs after all.” It wasn’t like they existed for decoration. “Also, feel free to swear, believe I’ve heard some very colourful expressions in my time. I had to set a marine’s leg once after it had healed wrong.” he smirked, “I learned many new phrases that day.” He waited for an answer and was already writing his evening off when the other seemed to back peddle on his answer, “Are you sure? Cause if you wonder off alone you could die of a bleed on the brain. And that would be a dumb way to die.”

Curious, despite himself he couldn’t help but ask, “Okay. Can you tell me if there’s anyone loitering in the ally near where I picked you up right now? Because if so I’m getting the big scalpel.”

When Matt asked his next question it was Alph’s turn to go quiet, he turned away while the other sniffed the pills he’d put in his head and reckoned with himself. Did he have a name that he could give? Yes. But if he gave it he’d not only be putting that person in danger but probably this guy as well, given he’d just been thrown off a rood into a dumpster Alph didn’t have a lot of confidence in the whole thing ending well. But then, Djinn was dangerous, and the cops weren’t getting anywhere. “I know one dealer.” he eventually said, “Goes my Woody. He came in here for STI treatments a week back and answered his phone while I was in the other room. Talked about picking up a fresh batch.” he turned back to Matt, dropping the lightless he’d carried so far in their talk, “Please don’t hurt him. And please be careful. Whatever, whoever is behind this is ruthless.”  

///

He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t really swear,” he replied simply. Even under his Daredevil costume, he wore a small silver cross around his neck, a gift from the nuns who had raised him after his father had died. It was a reminder of who he was underneath, of the reason why he did the work he did and the reason why he cared so deeply about other people. It was about protecting others. It was about finding evil where its roots ran deep and pulling it out of the earth. “No, there’s someone I can call,” he said, rummaging around for his phone. “Text Foggy,” he said. “Send location.” That would be enough to get Foggy out there. Matt didn’t do it unless it was necessary—in fact, it had probably been years since he had called Foggy for this kind of help. 

Matt cocked his head to the side and focused his hearing past the ringing in his ear towards the alley. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke next. “Two of them,” he said, blinking a few times as he dialed in to really focus. “They’re about to move on.” 

.

“Of course I’m right.” She rolled her eyes, though it was a playful gesture. “Am I not always right?” Eventually. Matt could argue the point if he wanted to, and oh did he love to do it, but she was more observant and intuitive than he wanted to give her credit before. Besides, her fight with the Hand had ran longer and deeper than his. She knew their trail when she found it. The only difference was that she’d decided not to follow it on her own unless he gave her no choice.

The sigh felt like a physical move, like he’d laid his hand against her and forced her back. She did take a step. “When have we not been able to do both?” Elektra did not need to compartmentalize that way, to focus on one thing she needed to do at the expense of something she wanted. Matthew was at his best when he was in action, when he was letting himself be the person that he was meant to be, the person she knew him to be. She wanted to be beside him for it. All of it. But, well, leave it to him to have her face the consequences of her own actions so quickly. 

Elektra spread her hands and then made a dismissive gesture with one of them that she knew he’d catch. “Have it your way. The Hand, then. If you’re not surprised to hear they may have joined us already, what do you know? Share with the class, Matthew.”

///

Matt couldn’t help the smirk that lifted at the corner of his lips at the roll of her eyes, certain that she was well aware of all the arguments he could make against her but was choosing not to. In that moment, he was just glad to have her back, glad to have her in his life when he thought that he would never get to be near her again. Petty arguments didn’t matter, not then, not when it was clear that they were both going to be facing their worst rivals yet again in a new city. 

He swallowed once and didn’t say anything. There was too much history there, too much baggage for him to hold and unfold as he tried his best to let it all fall by the wayside. It was enough to make him feel his throat constrict slightly, the beginnings of an argument rising to the front of his mouth but dying before they left his lips. He didn’t want to fight with her. He wanted, desperately, to take her in his arms and sweep her off her feet, but that didn’t feel right, either. Matt was good at this part—the comfortable distances, the arm’s length from the people he cared about. He would keep doing that until he was ready to let Elektra back in completely. 

“I tried to shut down a drug production facility but they were armed to the teeth and trained fighters. Trained in the way that the Hand trains their fighters.” He didn’t want to admit that he had been bested, but even with the two of them fighting together, they hadn’t always won against the Hand. Elektra knew that better than anyone. “We should start in the Narrows. That’s where I last made contact with them.” 

“Well its keeping you talking, so that’s a start.” he chuckled. As Doctors went, Alph liked to consider himself a little less stuffy than most. He was happy to have the occasional mad night out, though he hadn’t had much time for that sort of thing lately, and bend the rules if he knew it was for a good cause; like helping strange vigilante’s who fell into dumpsters outside his clinic. “And keeping you talking coherently is a great way of making sure your noggin’ isn’t too badly damaged. Though it still looks like a mild concussion. Do you have anyone who can stay up with you tonight?” If not, he was staying here.

“You can.. hear them?” Alph asked, eyes flicking up inquisitively to Matt’s face, long enough to clock his eyes weren’t really seeing him. “So that’s your schtick? You’re a blind guy who can hear broken bones?” he asked, stepping back and going to grab an ice pack, “You’ll wanna hold this over those broken boys while I get your some pain relief.”

“Uh huh. Tell that to the dumpster.” he deadpanned, grabbing a few Paracetamol and pouring a cup of water. “Not too long. I’ve been here a few months and it arrived on the scene not long before that. Here’s an ice pack, hold it against your ribs. And I have some pills here, they’re Paracetamol for the pain and nothing else.” he handed those over too, “I’ve left a cup of water but your ten o’clock.” Turning away he sighed, “It’s bad stuff though, I had a kid in here, bout twenty with his best friend, he’d stabbed him in the shoulder after taking some Djinn. Plus it’s very addictive, gives people a rush through fear or happiness and then they crave it again and again.”    

“Yeah, and it hurts like a mother,” he said, shaking his head and cutting himself off before he swore. He’d say damn and hell, but saying Jesus or fuck was just a step too far for the good Catholic boy. He sighed, hearing the sound of his ribs grinding together and pressing his lips into a tight line. He always hated that sound, the sound of something wrong with his body. When everything was going smoothly, it sounded like a well-oiled machine. When it wasn’t, it sounded like broken gears, all grinding together in all the wrong ways. “No. I—” He paused. He could call Foggy. He forgot about that. “Actually...yes.” 

Matt huffed out a slight laugh and then winced, his brow knitting together for just a moment. “More or less,” he replied. Of course, that was simplifying it, but at least it gave Alphonse a gist of what he could do. If he could hear broken bones, then it only followed that there was a whole lot more that Matt could hear. 

-

Foggy grinned, “Most likely Matty, most likely. So suck it up, it’s gonna be a good night and you know how much I love a good sing-song.” He was always one of the first to hit up karaoke if it was ever on the go; he may have done his best to drag Matt and Karen to karaoke bars in New York once or twice. “Look at it this way buddy, there’s not gonna be any crazy drug lords or ninja’s attacking you, surely this is less scary than that.” If it wasn’t his friend really needed to evaluate his priorities.

“Cheeeeeeeeeeers!” He sung the word before taking a huge gulp, a few jolly people nearby sung back to him and he laughed afterwards, “Look at that, already got my greek chorus ready.”    

“I am all too aware of how much you love to sing along to everything you hear in a bar when you’re drunk,” he said, wrinkling his nose and shaking his head fondly. It was a happy reminiscence, something that Matt hadn’t appreciated enough when they were in college. It was carefree fun, and that was hard to come by these days. Maybe he wouldn’t hate it if they ended up doing the dance that night. 

-

The drug dealers were notable because of the numerous connections they had with a string of recent armed robberies. Most of them were outside of Star City, but they didn’t waste any time in targeting local convenience stores the second NOVA patrols were gone. The lack of government oversight was making criminals more bold. As a result, Bruce was patrolling more often than usual.

“Yes.” The answer was immediate. When he was wearing the cowl, he wasn’t Bruce Wayne. Their interests might intersect, he wasn’t that detached from his public identity, but his priorities had to shift. Associating Bruce Wayne too closely to Batman would shatter the work he’d painfully built over the years. As it happened, even the media had difficultly with the knowledge that Bruce Wayne was Batman. They still reported on his activities as if they were two separate people. “How many of them?”

///

It was bizarre, to say the least, knowing who was behind the cowl, but it was reassuring to know that Bruce Wayne and Batman still had some sort of division between them. It would have been too confusing to think about them in an interwoven kind of way, too much for Matt to try and sort through. Batman was Batman—a trusted ally, and sometimes even a friend. Bruce Wayne was a billionaire Gothamite who Matt didn’t have anything in common with except the cowl. 

Matt cocked his head to the side, listening carefully for the number of distinct heartbeats down below them. “Nine—no, ten,” he said. “And someone else I...” His brow furrowed slightly. “Something else I can’t quite make out.” He could hear breaths but no heartbeat. It was alarming, to say the least, but Matt had experience with those who could mask their heartbeats before. He was sure that whatever it was, the two of them could handle it.

Typical Foggy would leave Peter alone with whoever the hell he knew. It was always his friends, people he knew for a long time, that Peter would be meeting for the first time. Awkward as it may be, at least he was gifted with having no qualms in talking about himself, much to the chagrin of certain others. Peter had his phone out on the bar top in case Foggy messaged - either of them, really, but just in case he texted him. Hopefully he wouldn’t run into any trouble on the way there.

Peter smirked at the question, and chuckled softly as he recalled the meeting. “Uh, well. I was dropped off here for a job and didn’t really have any plans on stayin’. But the day I was dropped off, I was just… Lost as all hell,” Peter shook his head with a small laugh. He then shrugged, “I ran into Foggy on the street, got to talkin’, and he took it on himself to pretty mother hen me.” He stole a swig from his beer bottle. “He fed me, let me use his spare bedroom… And it all just went from there. Two years later, here we are.”

///

Matt nodded thoughtfully, listening to Peter carefully and feeling out his heartbeat with the vibrations that ran from his fingertips through the top of the bar, by the sound of his heart rattling his ribs. Matt didn’t expect Peter to lie to him—Foggy generally had a good nose for good people—but he was always wary of anyone entering his or his friends’ lives. The last thing he wanted was for Foggy to end up getting his heart broken (or worse) because Matt hadn’t seen something terrible coming. 

“What kind of job?” he asked, already turning their conversation into a bit of an interrogation on Matt’s part. He was too used to depositions and not conversations; he didn’t know how to be around people anymore, how to deal with them and how to learn about others without it sounding like Lawyer Matt coming through with a stern tilt to his lips and a white-knuckled grip on his cane. He needed to learn how to relax—but relaxing, in Matt’s life, usually meant that people got hurt. 

.

“I’ve been a cop for about as long as you’ve been alive, by my count. Most of that was in Gotham. If this place starts to edge out the things that I saw there, God help all of us.” And yet, at the same time, Jim wouldn’t have been surprised if it ended up being true. The only thing that tended to mask it in Star City was the sunshine. The atmosphere of the city wasn’t the same gray fog that constantly seemed present in Gotham City, and some days that went a long way toward alleviating how dour the events of the place could get. 

“I plan on doing just that, Mr. Murdock. The longer they’re left alone, the more time they have for a bigger cover up than I figure they’re already in the middle of. I can’t leave Foggy Nelson to rest on his laurels all the time.” To the little expression of optimism, Jim only gave a shrug that he supposed Matt couldn’t see. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m old enough not to let myself think like that anymore. I’d rather be surprised by something good than by things getting worse.” Yet he would entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, it might happen. 

///

“I never envied you Gothamites,” he replied, shaking his head. “I thought that New York was bad, but at least it’s not raining all the time,” he said with a crooked smirk on his features. Matt had to admit, if he had become a hero in Gotham City, he might have been an entirely different kind of person. Sure, he was already fairly serious and quite set in his ways, but he felt that Gotham would have made him even harder, even sterner. Jim Gordon was certainly made of tough stuff, and that was certainly because Gotham City forced people to grow up tough. 

Peter just couldn’t catch a break. First, his identity was shown off for the whole world to see, MJ was put in danger, Johnny went missing for longer than was comfortable, not to mention the bruises he eventually showed up with, and finally the piece de resistance - being brainwashed. The brainwashing was probably the worst, especially since he still didn’t remember anything during except brief flashes that always came to him during his sleep. It was a real mood killer.

It was no fault of Matt’s and Peter certainly didn’t blame him for not being around; he didn’t really owe him that. There was only so much anyone on the outside could do anyway, so while it was nice to have his friends and teammates there to give him some company, some reassurance, they didn’t have to go through it. They didn’t know. They could only pass on support, which could only do so much. Peter dropped down beside Matt and removed his mask, tuft of brown hair tempestuous with its messy brown waves. He sniffed. “You didn’t know,” he shrugged a shoulder and looked down at a loose fiber on his knee. “You were busy with your stuff back home, it’s cool. Really. I didn’t expect you to be here, y’know. Across the whole country.”

Matt felt terrible for not being around when Peter needed help. He felt an affinity for the younger man, a responsibility that he felt for most everyone from his city, and especially heroes who were younger than him. Matt thought that because he had more experience, he was supposed to be the one taking care of everyone else, even though it wasn’t nearly the case. Matt put this weight on his own shoulders, even when he didn’t have to. He just wanted to protect the people he cared about, and Peter certainly was among that small and ever-dwindling group. His guilt had been eating him alive ever since he saw Peter unmasked. 

-

Foggy sighed, “You always managed to sucker me into the boring paperwork Matty.” He wished he could say he minded but… there was something a little nostalgic to it. The pair of them working their asses off on boring paperwork, so tired that one stupid joke would end up having the pair of them bent over from laughing too hard; everything had been so much easier back then. But they’d grown, they’d changed. Still, they were together, and that was what really mattered to him.

Foggy chuckled, a faint flush on his cheeks that Matt could probably feel. “Thanks, man.” For a long time he’d struggled with Matt, barely scraping by and being paid in food more often than money. Now he had savings in the bank, security and a bright future. It was everything he’d wanted. “Matt…” he paused and then spoke again, “Are you happy?” he asked. “I mean, I know it’s hard for you but, I don’t know if I could be completely happy knowing you’re… not.” It was a friend’s job to try and help, if he couldn’t even help Matt be happy, what kind of friend was he?  

///

“Well, you know me,” he replied. “I’m just a poor blind man. How am I supposed to deal with paperwork when I can’t even see?” he asked, a slight mock pout on his features. It was reminiscent of the days when they used to work together, when things were easier and Matt didn’t have such a heavy weight on his shoulders. He had been funny, once upon a time, and still was every now and again, but he wasn’t the same as he used to be. It was clear that something was pulling him down. 

Matt let out a sigh and shook his head. “It’s not your job to worry about me, Fog,” he replied simply, carefully dodging the question in a way that all lawyers knew how to do. If there was one thing that law school had taught him, it was how to be a better liar—how to pull the wool over his friends’ eyes. Still, he didn’t like to tell outright lies (that went against his beliefs, both as a Catholic and generally as a person) and so he didn’t say anything else to Foggy, which might have been an answer in and of itself.