FRESH HELL

It had started with whispers. 

You heard what they said about you. They claimed that the distance growing between you and your husband was your fault. That in your grief and pain, you had pushed him and your children away to the point that he could no longer be around you. It could not be that Neteyam was laying dead in the reef far from his home. Or perhaps the war, or the impossible choices in front of you now because of it. It could not even be the weight of all you had lost slowly crushing you until you felt as if you could not breathe. 

No, according to them, this was all on you. 

The reality of it was that you did not like to think you and Jake were growing apart, and in most ways, you were not. In the middle of the night, when the children were asleep and the creatures sang to one another, he still held you like something precious and you still gripped onto him like he was your lifeline. He still always served you first at mealtimes and still checked over your weapons every morning without asking. He still smiled at you when Tuk laughed because he loved how you shared the same one. 

 It was more so that he needed space to figure out how to heal, and you respected his needs, even when they unknowingly hurt you. Jake threw himself into preparing for the next battle: gathering, training, sharpening. He was gone long days, sometimes he did not come back to your mauri until the stars had already been twinkling for hours. 

He would come back with cuts on his hands and damp hair, sometimes too exhausted to eat his meal. You would silently bandage his wounds, and he would kiss your cheek before heading to bed, but it would sting that he did not even spare you a thank you. He used to sing your praises every moment of the day. You used to find it endearing, if not slightly overbearing, but it was Jake and so you learned to love it, expect it even. Now he just gave you numb gratitude.

He was grieving, you told yourself. It would be expected for him to withdraw some, but you never feared that he would do it from you. You and he always drew closer in times of hardship. And as much as you tried to respect his ways, you reminded yourself that you were grieving too.

You had heard the others talking, it was hard not to. They noticed the way he disappeared during the day to scavenge the demon ship for metal. You watched him sail out each morning, stomach twisting at the unfounded fear of him not coming back. 

The women in the weaving circles whispered that he did not love you anymore, that the sight of you reminded him of Neteyam. They said with hushed breath, that you were not a good wife or a good mother, too consumed in grief to do what was needed for your family. You let them speak their words, maybe they held truth, but they were not worth the fight. 

Not until her. 

Kariam, a young woman whose parents now laid at the bottom of the reef with your son, all lost to the same battle. She was not known for her gentleness or kindness. In fact, others appreciated her straightforward nature and cunning way of thinking, as well as her beauty. Many sought her, but few earned her attention. She was a diver, going out into the sea to gather for the clan, a mighty role. 

She had started coming around Jake when she noticed the initial discord. She offered her condolences to him- not to you or the children- and offered to help his family in any way she could. 

You had watched Jake’s face when he first spoke to her; polite, but stiff. When his eyes stayed squarely on the net in his hands, other than a quick glance to see who was approaching, you felt secure that he did not look at her more than he had to.

When Ronal had approached you late one afternoon as you repaired your riding leathers with a hand on her stomach and a grim expression on her face, you knew something was wrong. 

You paused your hands. “Tsahik,” you nodded in greeting, waiting expectantly for her to speak. 

“I know there are many things that we do not agree on, but I come tonight as a friend,” she started. 

Stomach bile rose in your throat as you set your face into stone. “I appreciate that,” you replied. 

She pursed her lips before surveying the items around you as if biding time. Finally, she said, “The women talk of your husband. Many say he is handsome, but that is no offense, they say the same of mine,” she smiled knowingly, perhaps trying to break the tension. You did not offer a smile in return, too concerned with what she would say next. Jake’s looks were a point of pride that you would not let distract you.

She grimaced, “But they also say he is lonely, that he has found comfort in the diver, Kariam, and has begun courting her,” she said carefully. 

Her low tone of speaking did not soften the blow. Your hands loosened around the leather as you stood, dropping them to the woven floor. You had heard snippets of the rumors, but you had convinced yourself that you were making up fairytales, surely no one could be so cruel. Now you knew your instincts were right. They claimed that Toruk Makto had begun seeking a new woman, a prettier and younger one.

“Where is he?” you asked, calmly. Lo’ak came walking up the walkway with Tsireya, but you hardly saw him, eyes clouded with red. You had lost too much already, you would not lose your husband too.

Ronal sighed, “He is still out, he has not come back to shore.” 

“Then where is she?” you asked, your patience growing thin. Lo’ak’s steps quickened as he heard your tone of voice, he was familiar with the sound of rage in you. 

“Mom,” Lo’ak said, “What is happening?”

You held out a hand to silence him. “Where is she?” you asked again, ignoring your son. Your aim was too singular to answer him. 

Ronal shook her head as if she could not believe she was doing this. “On the beach,” she admitted. 

You nodded, checking that your knife was securely in place before you stepped over the discarded leathers and out of the hut. 

“Mom,” Lo’ak pleaded again, “What’s going on?”

You swiveled your gaze to the teens, Tsireya was clutching Lo’ak’s hand tightly as they both looked on in confusion and concern. “Everything is fine. Stay here, Lo’ak. Wait for your Kiri and Tuk to return from the marsh,” you instructed. 

With that, you stalked out of the mauri. A healing cut on your leg from the battle two weeks prior stung as you walked, as if your blood was heating up and causing it to burn. The sand was rough against your feet, grating in a way the plush grass of the forest never would. 

When you saw her, her head was tipped back in laughter, amused by what one of the two friends around her said. 

“Kariam!” you called across the beach, still advancing towards her. Her head swung to see who was coming and she grimaced when she saw it was you. “You wanted to earn my husband's attention by your foul words, but you have earned my disdain instead,” you said, coming to a stop a few feet from her seated form. 

Her friends sobered at the sight of you, but Kariam did not stand. She smugly stared up at you as you took a wide-legged stance in the sand.

“I do not know of what you speak, Omatikaya,” she sneered, the twist of her lips giving you the idea that she knew precisely what you were talking about. 

You stepped over the log she was perched on, walking to the fire they had burning and standing in front of her. “I think you do,” you smiled, although it had no humor in it. “Stay away from my mate,” you growled.

“If Jake has grown bored of you, that is none of my business," she smiled.

Your brow rose at her cocky accusation. “I think you are jealous of me,” you decided. 

“Of you?” she huffed out a laugh, but you did not let it hurt your feelings. 

You leaned towards her, your hair falling forward. The light from the fire made your gold eyes look red as you said, “Because after everything you have going for you, it is still me he comes home to hold at night. It is me that he loves. He does not even know your name, girl.”

She hissed, eyes wide in anger. Those were finally the words to break her confident exterior. “He has sought me out, he confides in me,” she claimed, although you did not believe her. Jake simply did not have the time or emotional stamina for it currently.

You ground your teeth, setting your anger to the side. “I know you have experienced loss from this war, Kariam, and that is why you are still able to walk, but do not provoke a grieving mother. I do not care if you are the last of your name, I will protect what is left of my family,” you warned, starting to leave, but she rose to her feet as well. 

You cocked your head, surprised that she would dare to stand against you. 

“Kariam,” one of her friends warned, watching the two of you warily. 

She ignored her friend. “You neglect him, he no longer feels love for you. The bond has been broken, do you not see what is plain to everyone else?” 

“Do you not see that I have the ability to rip your eyes from your head and that I will care little for your suffering?” you asked, mocking the inflection of her tone and making her jaw clench.

“Do you threaten me?” she asked, stepping forward and around the fire. A brief few feet of sand was all that separated you now. 

You smiled, white teeth glinting in the dying light. “I threaten you. Do not speak of my husband again, Metkayina.”

She hissed, “And if I do not heed your warnings?” she asked. 

“Then I would rather handle this here and now,” you replied, 

“Then I challenge you to a fight of combat, Wife of Toruk Makto. The winner will have claim over Jake Sully,” Kariam proposed.

You barked out a laugh, “You cannot bargain what is not yours. Jake would not allow you to claim him if you were the last woman on Pandora. No, this is over honor, and the offenses you have committed against me,” you corrected. “Jake is mine regardless.”

The glare on her face was intense enough to crack stone. “You do not agree to my terms because you are afraid of who he would go to if given the choice. I see the way he looks at me,” she smirked. She was poisonous. 

“Kariam,” you stated her name plainly, squaring your shoulders in a way that meant you were serious. “He has put three children in me. We have raised four together. A look does not mean he wants you. He looks at his enemies before he slaughters them, does that equate to love or attraction?”

Her nostrils flared. “Very well,” she gritted out. “Over honor then.”

You nodded, assessing her form and the way she moved. “Do you have a knife?” you asked, not finding one on her from your glance over.

“I do not need one to take you down,” she smirked. “Forest folk do not have the skills we are trained in since birth. You cannot fight as we do.”

“No, we do not,” you agreed, unsheathing your knife. You enjoyed the way she wearily watched your hand, but you just flicked it into the sand several feet away. You would fight unarmed, just like she was. “We fight better.”

And with those words, you leapt into action. 

You pushed at her with enough force to have her stumbling back in the sand. She looked up, blue eyes glowing against the night sky. She came at you, aiming to push back you, but you were ready.

You grabbed her shoulders, using her own momentum to move her forward into your knee which you brought up and directed right at her gut. She grunted at the impact and you balled your fist, drawing it back as Jake had taught you, and hit her on the cheek so hard that her head reeled back and she stumbled. 

You surged forward again, not letting her recover before you pushed her to the ground, getting on top of her as you placed your hands around her throat, squeezing enough to make her panic, but not enough to suffocate her.

You screamed from the back of your throat, half from the adrenaline and half from frustration. You wished you had the strength to pick this woman up and throw her across the ocean where she could no longer slander your family or even so much as look at your husband again.

You know how you looked to her friends. A murderous killer who was targeting their friend, but the two cowards hung back, clutching each other in fear as they watched wide eyed. They should be afraid. The rage you felt in you was a broken, aching and jagged thing. It was grief and it was pain and it had found a target. 

“Shit,” a familiar, masculine voice hissed. A voice you would recognize anywhere, but one who would not deter you from your mission. 

“Get out of here, go,” Jake ordered, waving the two friends of Kariam’s back to the village. They linked hands and fled back to the mauris. They were abandoning their friend to undoubtedly tell every soul with a listening ear what they had seen.

“Baby, get off ‘er,” Jake directed, but you did not pay him any mind. You hissed as Kariam’s nails dug into your wrist where you held her down by her throat. 

Thick hands grasped your hips, pulling you away from your victim with strength that only your mate possessed. You hissed in frustration, unable to stop him. Jake heaved you back into him, pinning your arms to your chest and holding them there with one hand as his other arm wrapped around the front of your shoulders. 

You wriggled in his grasp, but at the feel of his breath on your ear, you faltered, breathing in deeply and looking down at where Kariam was still laying in the sand. Her hand was gingerly around her neck as she looked up, shocked at your husband’s appearance. 

“Let me go, Jake. She must pay,” you hissed. 

“Sorry, baby, can’t do that,” Jake said from over your shoulder, “What’d she do?”

You pursed your lips, hating to tell him, but seeing no way around it. “She is telling the clan lies about us. She aims to tear us apart so she can have you for herself.”

Kariam’s face turned a shade of teal as she blushed at her antics being outed to Jake. Speaking of him to others was one thing, but having him in front of her and hearing her lies in person was another thing entirely. The fire illuminated an already blooming red mark across her cheekbone and you felt a flicker of pride at the mark you had made.

“Like what? What did she say, Baby?” he asked, his hair tickling your neck. Kariam stumbled to her feet, brushing off the sand on her as she watched Jake hold you. Thinly veiled jealousy was evident on her face when Jake asked your side and not hers.

“That you do not love me anymore and that it is my fault. She says your attention is on her now,” you explained. 

“What? No, only you, sweetheart,” Jake assured you sweetly, “You didn't believe it, did you?” 

You shook your head, before pressing the back of it into Jake’s shoulder. The stars winked down at you from above as if this was all some trick they played on you. “No,” you promised. 

Jake sucked in air through his nose, his chest rising against your back. He turned to her, making you look back down to watch the interrogation. “What’s your name again?” he asked Kariam. The look of shock on her face was enough to lift your spirits. 

“Kariam,” she answered. “We have met before.”

"We have?” Jake asked, cocking his head. “I don't remember.”

“After the passing of your son, we spoke several times,” she insisted, but Jake just shook his head. 

“Maybe, but I still don't understand. Why’d you say those things about someone you don't even know? What am I to you?”

Kariam opened her mouth as if to respond, but no words came out. Her eyes flitted to you and for the first time since this all began, you felt the smallest amount of pity for her.

“You are Toruk Makto,” you answered for her. “And she is no one, except a sad, lonely girl who delights in making others’ miserable.”

Kariam’s eyes flashed with pain and rage, finally emerging form under the layers of forced bravado. “Kali'weya (bitch),” she spat, stepping closer to you. 

You hissed in response as Jake twisted, depositing you halfway behind him to act as a shield between the two of you. 

“Remember, that’s my mate you’re talking to,” Jake warned, his face hardening into something terrifying to be on the receiving end of. “I think it’s time you left.”

“This is my village, you cannot tell me what to-”

“Go!” Jake barked, evidently growing impatient with her. “Tonowari will deal with you in the morning, I’ll make sure of it,” he promised. 

Her lips pursed as her eyes narrowed, a scowl plain as day on her face. She cursed under her breath before slowly moving back towards the warm fires of the village. 

“You hurt?” Jake asked, placing one hand on your hip and the other on your face. You were now chest to chest and the gentle proximity was heaven after everything that happened tonight.

“No,” you promised, “she barely even landed a hit.”

He nodded, satisfied that you were alright. “Why are you fighting her? Don’t you know I'd never even look at another woman? Lay it out for me,” he requested, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck, his thumb gently pressing into the soft skin behind your ear.

“Ronal came to me. She told me that Kariam had been telling the village that you were interested in her, and when Ronal told me that you were still out at the demon ship, I figured I would handle this myself. I went to talk to Kariam and she challenged me. What was I supposed to do?” you asked.

“You could have waited for me to come home. We could have handled it together. You didn't need to shoulder this alone,” he urged. 

“I am tired of waiting for you to come home,” you groaned, closing your eyes and squeezing them tight. “You are always away. That is half the reason so many whisper about us now,” you grumbled, not bothering to hide the pout on your face. 

Jake frowned, “Because I’m gathering weapons for the war we’re in the middle of.” 

“We just lost our son, our baby boy. He’s gone and the children need you here,” you pleaded. “The girls need a steady force around, someone to turn to. Lo’ak needs his father to tell him everything will be alright, I need to hear it too. I cannot sit in that marui silently preparing meals and mending things by myself another evening. I cannot be alone any longer, Jake. It just reminds me of everything we lost.”

Against your will, hot, angry tears escaped your eyes as the evening caught up with you. Finally being honest with your mate made the floodgates open.

Jake winced at the sight of you crying, his expressive eyebrows twisting in sorrow as he wiped your tears with his thumb before he pulled you to his chest. You wrapped your arms around his torso and let him guide your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him. 

“I didn't know you were feeling that way. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Jake said. You could feel the vibration of his words against your cheek, and the feeling brought you comfort. “I was so worried about the next attack and deep in my own pain that I missed what was right in front of me. I’ll do better,” he desperately promised.

“I know that you need your solitude, that you like to work towards something while you grieve. I know you need something to do or else everything will catch up with you. This is hard, but do not leave us. I need you. We will help each other through this,” you begged, holding him even tighter. 

“I know,” Jake muttered soothingly as he ran a hand up and down your back. “I’m here now, I’ll do better,” he repeated. “I love you, none of what she said was true. I love you so much,” he assured you.

“I love you too. I am sorry I did not tell you what was happening,” you said, pulling away from him to look into his golden eyes. You wiped away the tears from your own as you said, “but I am not sorry that I got in that fight. She is a txanfwìngtu (loser),” smiling despite the heaviness in your heart. 

Jake lifted his eyebrows and chuckled, the deep rumble lifting your spirits. “I don’t doubt it.”

A snap of a limb made you both alert, picking your heads up to look toward the bushes from the inland where the sound had originated. When you began to take a step forward, Jake held out a hand, signaling for you to stay behind him. He drew his knife, and slowly moved in a low walk to the foliage. As you both drew closer, a blue hand shot out as if surrendering. It was the darker blue of your people on their skin, not the lighter Metkayina hue. 

“Lo’ak,” you realized, making Jake lower his knife as your son popped out of the brush. 

You and Jake wore matching glares as you watched your youngest son step away from the waist high foliage. “Hey, Mom,” he winced, “Hey, Dad.”

“What the hell are you doin’ in there, boy?” Jake asked with shocked intensity. His eyebrows were so high, they were halfway to his hairline.

“Uh, you know, just looking for shells,” Lo’ak explained nonchalantly, shrugging as if this was a normal evening activity for him.

“Looking for shells? In a bush?” you asked, disappointed in your son more for the poor attempt at a lie than whatever sneaking about he was actually doing. It was clear to you what he was really doing in there. “How much did you see?” you sighed.

He winced, “most of it,” he answered truthfully.

Your eyes widened as Jake’s narrowed into slits. “What were you thinkin’?” your husband barked.

You jumped in to chastise your son as well. “Lo'ak te Suli Tsyeyk'itan, I cannot begin to describe how much trouble you are in,” you fumed. Jake scoffed in agreement, shaking his head and looking up to the sky as if asking Eywa for strength.

Lo’ak held up his hands as if asking you both to calm down. “I wanted to make sure mom was alright. She came by herself and she was pretty angry,” Lo’ak rushed to say and you realized you were maybe a tad bit too quick to jump to conclusions.

You shook your head. “You do not have to worry about me. I am fine,” you assured him. 

“Oh, I know that now. You were pretty badass actually,” Lo’ak commented as he nodded. You looked at Jake who just leveled a gaze back that clearly said, ‘can’t argue with that’.

“Thank you, Lo’ak,” you said shortly, although you had a smug grin on your face from the compliment. “But unless you want to see me use my badass skills up close and personal, then I suggest you go back to the marui,” you warned, although it was all in jest and Lo’ak knew it. 

He smiled and nodded. “Sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

“We’ll meet you in a second,” Jake instructed, pointing up the beach and Lo’ak nodded, subdued, but not disheartened. 

You and Jake watched him walk back up the beach and as soon as he was out of earshot, a giggle escaped you. Jake looked over, mildly concerned about what you could be laughing about. But when you shook your head and let another laugh out, he started smiling too.

“Eywa! Jake, did you see his face when we caught him?” you asked through your laughter.

“He looked damn terrified,” Jake agreed. The light of Polyphemus caught on the ridges of his face, making him look otherworldly, and you supposed he was.

“Maybe that will teach him his lesson,” you fruitlessly hoped.

You and Jake exchanged another look before bursting into more giggles that carried all the way across the sand. Lo’ak turned around from his trek home to watch his parents dissolve into laughter and he wondered what they could possibly find so funny.

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You met Murdock in the staircase leading to the apartment complex, the back of your head hitting the concrete slab as you waited.

New York nights were not meant to be marred with ridiculous tasks, so you gazed at the night sky, wondering of her beauty without the littering of air pollution from this greedy city you loved. You made a deal with the Devil months ago, your friend’s life spared in exchange for a voluntary retainer for the Devil to exhaust at his whim.

At first, you hesitated, contemplating the dear consequences of such an agreement; then, as if your body wasn’t your own, and your choices weren’t, either, you shook his hand, and he let go of your friend. Weeks later, you stepped into your apartment, with which you shared with your boyfriend, to find that your boyfriend was to be shared with her, too - without your knowledge.

“In here.” The alley over your shoulder spoke out to you, and you glanced over at it, recognizing the reflective halo of the Devil’s horns. He carried something heavy with him, his breath carrying it, too, the way he heaved, but you didn’t question him, only following him to the hideaway he introduced you to weeks after your first encounter with him.

Through the tunnel, you could finally make out the Devil’s face - quiet rage splattered across the only skin that his cowl revealed, yet when you tried to make out the thing beside him - a bag of potatoes, a corpse, maybe - you just simply couldn’t.

You only followed until you walked past the double doors, waiting patiently while Matthew exchanged words with Karen, settling the unknown figure into a medical bed for you to assist him. She cursed the Devil’s weakness for grace in abrupt, hoarse whispers, and pursed her lips when she watched the same Devil replace his cowl, and leave through the doors.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Still, she managed to reserve compassion for you.

“It’s not your fault.” You studied the animal’s body lying motionless on the medical bed. If not for the occasional winces and grunts of distress, you would have believed it truly was dead.

Karen repulsed each time it moved, removing the pistol from underneath her waistband as she weighed whether or not it was worth the worry to shorten its life. “I don’t know why he brought it here.”

You began to assess the heartrate, first with your fingers against its bloodied wrist, then with the stethoscope you removed from your luxury purse. It was tailored for this purpose, the special compartment opening underneath the bottom of the original stitch, so nobody could easily detect what reason you have to converse with the Devil at this hour.

“I’m guessing a second chance.” You continued to talk Karen back into the hollow end of the pool, your attention half on the animal’s gunshot wound in his abdomen, and half on Karen’s finger toying with the trigger of her personal pistol.

“Why does it need one?” She, too, saw it as an animal, but for another reason entirely: the same bullet that was lodged in its side was the same that stopped Foggy Nelson from seeking justice against the underprivileged; it was the same bullet that stopped her from hearing his jokes, laugh, poking attempts to stop Murdock from completely diving into the Devil’s work.

It cost him his heartbeat, and Karen her life. After this, the Devil spilled blood, dropping the hooves of the animal from its mountaintop and back into the ruthless ring of hell in which he resided. Matthew renounced the role, promising he would never truly step back into such a trance, but after your meeting tonight, old habits die hard.

You sterilized surgical tools stolen from the hospital before removing the bullet that penetrated its skin. No organs were hit, yet its bleeding didn’t cease, and it was soon before you realized you utilized all of your gauze on the single wound. 

“I can’t let you do that while I’m here.” You commented when Karen’s fingers were finally relaxing in their grip of the pistol. You couldn’t see it, but you felt the presence behind you transform into something too sinister for your liking, “I don’t know what beef you have, but I don’t gotta be part of it.”

“Believe me. Eventually, you will be.” Karen rose to her feet at this point, pacing to the other end of the makeshift loft to fix another wig on her head, and glasses shielding her identity from the public’s eye. She made an excuse under her breath only out of respect to you, and left through the set of doors, leaving you with the unforgivable beast that still lay unconscious.

When the sun stretched her rays through each line of skyscrapers and into the slivers of open windows in the hideaway, she kissed the animal’s skin as it slept. The warm hues against cold flesh allowed it to be depicted as somewhat of a doe that was lost in the wild in search of her home.

Yet when he grunted, blond lashes blinking dust away from his eyes, it was clear to you that he was a human man, and that alone shook you enough to take three steps back and hold your breath for whatever horror the human man may destroy in his path.

He rattled the handcuffs that restricted him - thank goodness for Karen and the Devil’s doing, or else you may fear for your safety - and winced in pain once he attempted to utilize the muscle that was injured. He was lost in his own plan for escape to notice you, who was studying him like a subject in a zoo.

“Don’t move, it’ll only make you bleed more.” You nearly startled him (or perhaps you did - his reaction did not give him away entirely). “You already lost more than you can afford.”

“Who cares.”

The voice that came from him was saturated, an aged wine pulled from a cold cellar. As he poured his words out into a glass, the rosewood liquid stained the thin paper cloth that covered the medical bed. He was staring at you while you processed the two words he spoke, and how they contrasted from the way he appeared under the morning glow just moments prior.

“We need you breathing.” You parroted the Devil’s orders he huffed while carrying the blond man back into a cage.

“We.” The two letters almost came out mockingly, like he was teasing you for having someone to follow orders. “He tried to kill me, then is saving me, for this?” He sat upright, bare abdomen tensing. You don’t remember when you removed his top, or if it was even you who did it; the hours were blending together, and apparently, so were the actions between you, Karen, and the Devil himself.

“What did you do?” You asked after minutes of silent reflection, and of him watching you like another shadow haunting him.

He shrugged, and the small movement alone caused the cuffs to rattle against the metal rod of the medical bed. “Killed some people. Killed some more. Then,” he inhaled as much as he could, his breath shaky as he realized his lungs were too weak to accommodate what he was demanding of them. “I got myself back. Leveled it all out.”

The sentence came out of him like a delusion, his face, dirtied with dirt, rocks, and blood, illuminating. He smiled so sinisterly, it would have scared you off, had you not been so fearful of the Devil. And if the Devil was carrying this man barely alive, then surely he could not pose more of a threat.

When the sun was especially gracious, extending her arm beyond the window once more, it shone a bright light at the man’s face, revealing himself to you; Dex. The infamous, knife-wielding Dex. The same one that previously worked for the federal government, for Wilson Fisk personally, lost over a liter of blood over your street shoes as you hemmed his punctured skin into a disarrayed line.

Why weren’t you scared? “Leveled it all? What did you do?”

“Fisk.” He hissed in a serpent smile. “He took everything from me. Now I have from him.”

The brunette’s face appeared behind his, her ghastly features a sharp contrast from his dirtied skin. Vanessa, you thought to yourself. Relief washed over you, before being overtaken by an overwhelmed sense of dread. If Fisk’s heart stopped beating, what will become of New York when the undead beast searches each crevice of the city for the man smirking at you?

You weren’t against death, yet it was thoughtless to eradicate one sour apple, not two; it is ironic how a man with such accuracy could execute a plan so impetuous.

Pulling a chair closer to the medical bed, you examined Dex’s wounds. It was only hours - if that - since you finished the final stitch, yet the bleeding ceased almost completely. The way his chest sounded when he breathed, creaking like a dilapidated house without caretaker nor miracle, you figured it would be best to measure any cracked ribs he could potentially have.

“Can you sit up for me?” You placed the stethoscope earpieces in your ears, and instead of sitting on the chair close to Dex, you waited for Dex to follow your orders, which he did, and stood behind him while you pressed the cold metal of the diaphragm against his shoulders. Dex huffed at the contact, but quickly returned his breath to normal as he realized what you were doing.

“Does it hurt when I press?” You dug the fleshy part of your thumb against the rippled trapezius muscles, searching for swelling or sore points.

Dex leaned back into your touch, shutting his eyes as he embraced the contact. “Not at all, Doc.”

“Not a doctor. Yet.” You replied cursorily, attention fixed on searching for the source of the pained breaths Dex took. Despite moonlighting as a nurse for vigilantes, you took the volunteer position seriously, and for the most part, the Devil was thankful for it.

You moved to Dex’s front, leaning over as you pressed the diaphragm to Dex’s pecs. He continued breathing to the best of his ability, following a command you hadn’t even set, yet his obedience juxtaposed his criminal stare at you.

“What were you going to do after you killed Fisk, anyway?” After gauging his health with the stethoscope, you picked up the conversation where you left it, in the middle of the hideaway between you and the man whose eyes are glued to you.

He shrugged. “Kill myself. Make sure nothing else happens.”

Professionally, suicidal ideations and thoughts ought to be reported; you and your patient were far from a professional setting, though, so when you sat in the chair near the medical bed, you sat back and chose to probe the vigilante’s brain.

“What purpose will it bring to you if you do that?”

“What, are you a shrink?” He cocked his brow at you, his tone mocking.

You rolled your eyes. “You know there are things for all of us. Sounds like bullshit, but there is.”

“Like what?”

Dex almost laughed when he begged the question, and he relished in the time it took for you to conjure an answer. “Friends. Girlfriend. Something.”

Something. In that moment, you acknowledged that the light behind Dex’s eyes dimmed because, as it turned out, he had no friends. Nor did he have a girlfriend. All of it was admitted to you in the silence that screamed between you two.

“I mean, have you ever had friends?” You thought at one point, maybe Dex even befriended the Devil based on the way he was carried in like a continental soldier; truthfully, even the most sorry attempts at friendship were for ulterior motives, selfish actions based on a directive provided by his former psychologist. A north star, he heard echoed in the empty halls of the haunted home within his chest.

None. The four letter word left him before he could censor himself - for what reason does Dex need to share secrets with a stranger, when he does not know of her intentions, or of how sharp of a dagger she carries behind her back?

“I’m sorry.” It was pity that hit him, and Dex shut his eyes and inhaled sharply - before a dull pain caused his breath to hitch.

“To be honest, I didn’t have much of a life.” He looked at the set of doors longingly, waiting for his parents to return and validate him the way he ached. “Just another pathetic sob story.” Dex’s grins rarely hit his eyes, but this one was the least convincing, his facial muscles tired of yanking his lips into a forced smile. “I’m still a virgin.”

The detail was too invasive for you to learn about a stranger, even if it was a notorious one you quietly admired from afar. His voice was perplexed, unsure of whether or not to feel resentment or indifference. “You never had any opportunities?”

“I think some people wanted me to.” Again, Dex seemed dumbfounded at his own judgement, like he should feel negatively, but couldn’t convince himself to. “But I didn’t want to. Didn’t feel human.”

“Human?”

Dex nodded. “Bodies unclothed, pressed together, mixing bodily fluids. It is unsanitary.”

“It’s human nature for most, Dex.” It was the first time you spoke his name aloud. He liked how sterile it sounded when it left you. “But there are some who don’t like the idea of it for reasons similar to yours.” You crossed your legs, Dex’s eyes flipping to watch as you did so, before returning to your face. “I understand why you could say that.”

It was a gentle avowal that didn’t require additional inquiry; Dex’s eyes softened into something while you scooped handfuls of your ego and collected it into a jar sitting beneath your ribcage. You were the subject under the supervision of the handcuffed vigilante, studying your reaction to the impervious sores that came to mind. Dex understood the point of pain behind such sores, but hesitated to respond with an offering of good will and pure intention.

Sincerity, however, was not far from reach for Dex, and he grasped it with his question: “Why would you understand someone like me?”

Would, not could. The difference in wording was not significant to you, your mind stirring in potential avenues of answering his question; yet Dex acknowledged the pivotal distinct meaning of would, because he knew already that most humans were capable of sympathy, but choose - often for self-serving purposes - to suppress such a wretched feeling.

“Just because I don’t break the laws like you doesn’t mean we aren’t too different underneath the surface.” You searched in your purse for a mint, removing it from its wrapper and popping it into your mouth. “Eventually, we all become the same.”

“We bleed the same.” Little pause was given before Dex replied in agreement. “And how does it feel that you agree with a virgin assassin, Doc?”

“You know,” you chuckled in response, massaging your forehead with your knuckles. You bit the mint, the crunch louder than you hoped. “You really are layin’ it on thick with the virgin stuff. Is this like an obsession with you?”

Dex cracked his knuckles. “No, but I saw how you reacted to it. Anything you wanna say to us? We’re all listening.” He smiled wickedly, despite the abrasions on his cheeks.

“I don’t know.” You looked away from the pair of eyes prodding at you. A familiar light shined on your blood-stained shoe, and you looked back at the window, half-surprised at the time that passed, and half-wanting to distract yourself from the discomforting question. “I didn’t have good experiences in the past.”

“Hm.” The noise left Dex’s closed lips. You were unsure as to why you admitted what you did to Dex, and the potential ideas it could give him, if they hadn’t already passed his mind. “So you don’t feel like I’m a charity case or somethin’.”

You shook your head and scoffed. “Charity case, no.” You chewed on the mint as you continued. “Maybe batshit crazy, sure.”

“You know, it would be kind of a shame, I was hopin’ you would consider me a charity case so we could work somethin’ out.”

You squinted suspiciously at Dex. What the fuck is he on about? Your morbid curiosity is often muzzled by the consequential, yet this time, it slipped through the cracks of your larynx. “Go on.”

“You seem interesting.” The compliment seemed lethal when Dex pointed it at you. “And I’m aware of how you see me.”

Sympathy be damned, he was still cocky, even having nearly bled out. You can’t fault him for it, necessarily, and found it almost adorable, if not for the way he recognized you catching glimpses of him when you thought he wasn’t looking. Or the way that your hand lingered on his back when you were checking for his health.

Regardless, you read the writing on the wall, and a thick clump of saliva formed in your throat for you to choke on when you feigned thoughtlessness. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at here.”

“Come on, it’s only human nature.” Dex tilted his torso forward, his arms behind him as they were still constrained. He was mocking you, knowing you could clip the stitches you had sewn on his toned figure, and watch the wound drain blood until he was nothing but a marble statue to be ogled at by his enemies. Dex didn’t care, the man with a soul made of wind as he carried himself without fear. “Come on, I know you’re thinkin’ about it.”

He was egging you on, and like a hungry fish in a lonesome sea, you took the bait dangled before you, rising from your chair and moving to straddle his lap on the medical bed. It creaked under the weight, and if not for the sheer ire that ignited you, you would have worried about the flimsy frame buckling. Dex watched you with glee as you did this, painfully amused as you adjusted yourself on his lap; he stifled the groan that left him when you brushed against his wound.

Your mouth was inches away from his. You felt his hot breath sprinkle your cheek with an unwarranted warmth, one you didn’t know you craved. It wouldn’t have been your first time with a man, but based on the suggestion, it would have been the first time with a man who wasn’t evil.

But he was, wasn’t he? He murdered Foggy, slaughtered innocent lives before repackaging his bloodlust as a pursuit for justice and the righteous; Poindexter was a lunatic, a case study so lost that most had given up on him. What would Karen think of you after this, if she found out? Any minute, someone could walk in, intrude on the moment and cut the tension short with an axe.

You liked it this way, it appeared, from the way your hands pressed against Dex’s chest, fingers curling around the base of his neck as you adjusted yourself to become more comfortable. He liked the contact, too, exhaling a harmonic hum when he felt your clothed plump ass brush against his growing need.

It was a line between unprofessional and scandalous, yet deviant and indulging. There was barbed wire between you two, yet when you crossed the line, it felt like thorns from a rose bush as you plucked his rosy gaze from its trance.

“Don’t tell anybody.” You whispered, nearing Dex as you closed your eyes in anticipation.

“Secret’s safe with me.” He whispered back, eyes open as your lips finally brushed against his. He only closed his eyes when you deepened the kiss, the sensation of your teeth grazing against his upper lip sending him reeling.

He was too overwhelmed by the feelings of pain in his side, and pleasure succulent on his lips; Dex was hypnotized by you, entranced and willing to submit, if he ever lived to do anything else.

Against your medical recommendation, he leaned into your touch when your hands slid down his bare chest, along his abdomen, and to the small of his core, hiding everything that has yet to be explored. As if reading his mind, his every silent plea to you only communicated with a soft pout in his eyes, you palmed his clothed need.

His mouth fell agape, only a ghost of a whimper slithering out of him.

His lips came to your chin, the tremor in his touch haunting you. Even with such light attention to the knot in his core, he was painfully submissive, willing to shatter the Earth’s core and pour its scorching magma down his throat in exchange for your physical attention.

It is such a pity to see a man in such a desolate state. Had he never even been kissed?

If he hadn’t, why was it so intuitive for him to take your bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing lightly at it; why was it so natural for Dex’s palms to paw at your back in search of a stable brace to hold on to; why, if Dex hadn’t kissed before, did he know to stifle your moan against his, the reverberation of his pleasure triggering a wave of bumps layered on your skin as you returned the kiss?

“Yes,” he provided an answer to a question you begged with your hands as they ghosted over his hard cock, constrained by his tactile pants. You stood and removed them, the waistline sitting at his knees.

“Please, yes.” He wept when you wrapped your fingers around him, choking on himself as you stroked agonizingly slow.

Another day, you would watch him like this, teasing him for hours as you coaxed an orgasm out of him; yet you made a promise to him, and you were bound to keep it, as you could no longer deny how wet your panties became under your pants.

The heat possessed you, and you shimmied out of your pants and underwear in an almost rhythmic motion, Dex watching you underneath the thick strands of hair that poorly hid his lust. His lips remained parted, eyes fixated on your exposed lower body before shifting to your torso and chest after you removed your top.

Dex was motionless on the bed, his arms obediently draped on either side of his torso, and only his eyes moving each time you revealed more of your own skin; never had he willingly placed so much trust on a stranger he hadn’t pursued and researched, but this was a period of many firsts, based on the way his stomach was already tightening into a knot when you lowered your unclothed pussy onto him, your walls squeezing him as he entered you.

“God.” he choked out. His neck was nearly beet red, and you were almost concerned for his blood pressure, when you simply pressed your finger to read his pulse at his throat, and he groaned and bucked his hips.”I’m not gonna last.”

“You don’t need to.” You rocked your hips with a gentle sway, a dance unfamiliar to Dex, who always remained in the sidelines, if he chose to attend at all. “Just breathe. You need to breathe.”

Your voice was volcanic magma oozing into his ear, the extreme temperature leaving burns near his inner ear. He wanted so desperately to be freed from his chains, to caress and hold you with his hands; he couldn’t, helplessly bound as you continued grinding your hips against his.

Dex gave in. He gazed up at you, swallowing your every movement and expression with his eyes, not knowing when the next time he could ever make someone feel this good. Your mouth shaped into an oval, and your brows furrowed; the room was cluttered with noises of skin on skin, your breathy moans, and Dex’s grunts.

“Can’t hold back.” His eyes rolled back, head tilting backward as he better exposed his neck to you. Keen on remaining an opportunist, you dug your teeth into the flesh of his neck, drawing a broken moan from the blond man slowly unraveling underneath you.

Against your wishes, Dex bucked his hips, fucking up into you. He didn’t care how much pain it caused him, nor did he allow you to complain, his lengthy cock stretching into your g-spot each time he thrusted into you. He fisted the handcuffs to brace himself, letting out filthy noises each time he thrusted.

“Uh-huh, you like that?”

“Gotta be a mouthy tease, don’t you?”

“God, you’re amazing.” The compliment was stripped from him, a secret he didn’t want to tell. He admitted it nonetheless, eyes fluttering shut as he selfishly fucked you. You braced yourself with one hand on Dex’s shoulder, and another moving to circle your clit, chasing your own taste of liberation from the woeful temptation of man.

“Gonna cum.” You gasped, feeling a snap in your belly the moment you finished your warning. Dex’s eyes popped open, and he watched you while fucking up into you with relentless precision as he ushered you into your orgasm.

“Good. Cum, cum on me.” He cooed into your ear, throat sore from mouthing off at you. “Make a mess all over my cock.”

Without a moment to spare, you obliged; you threw your head back and let out a string of babbled words, your walls squeezing the last control Dex seemed to have over his urges; he, too, descended into madness, a temporary euphoric state as his mouth fell open, eyes screwed shut, and throat pushed out a series of elongated, low moans from his vessel as he pumped hot cum into you.

Your forehead dropped to his shoulder. Dex groaned as he felt your weight on him, too much for his liking, and once the adrenaline wore, he felt the soreness of his wounds again.

On the other hand, it took you longer to collect yourself. Whether it was the temptation of eyeing the wild beast for hours, or simply that you hadn’t experienced a moment this blissful, and you didn’t know how to calm yourself.

Either way, you cleaned Dex up with tissues from the hidden pocket in your purse. He cocked his head to the side as he stared at you - not predatorily, or even in distaste, but simple curiosity - because you didn’t owe him anything. After care wasn’t part of the deal, yet you offered it so willingly.