i need no such light.

It wasn’t an accusation. Or a judgement. It wasn’t a plea or an order. It was just… something he knew. Something he knew about her, something she let him know, and was glad he knew. “You can’t change the past though,” she replied softly. “Blessing and a curse, I guess.” She shook her head, her hand squeezing his. “Maybe… unpredictable can be a good thing. Sometimes,” she added quickly. Because there were some things you just wanted to be solid. The ground beneath your feet. The glass in your hand. 

The person walking beside you. 

She let out a laugh at that, small and scoffing. “Yeah well, we knew that much,” she said, squeezing his hand again. She took a breath at his words, nodding her head before she remembered to speak. “I know,” she said. “I’ve got an occupied uterus that’s a product of that very thing.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. “She’s helped me out. A lot, actually. And that’s after I told her to go screw herself the first time we met, so… I guess I owe it to her.” 

Another whole walking beside him. “I can understand that,” she whispered. 

Stirling had used her for her abilities. Kilgrave had dressed her up and traipsed her around like a doll. What she had with Luke had been built on lies, and with Oscar there had been something missing between them. Gelden had used her as a shield and gotten her stabbed in the spleen. Every one of them had taken from her, or asked her to be something she couldn’t, treated her like a missing puzzle piece they could slot into their life. Even with Tony, she had been a square peg trying to fit in a round hole, the wrong shape and size for what he really needed. 

But when she walked next to Matt, she walked as another whole. Exactly as she was. All her sins and mistakes on display, her heartbeat pounding in his ears, the shape of her scars under his fingertips. “Cheesy,” she whispered, but she was smiling as his lips brushed against her cheeks. And maybe it was stupid, but she couldn’t blame this feeling on alcohol and she doubted it was just hormones. This… This was solid. She felt him under her, when she put her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. Kissing him properly. 

///

Matt never tried to change the past. God’s will was God’s will – if he’d picked up anything in Sunday school, it was that everything happened for a reason. His blindness gave him the ability to hear the city in ways no one else ever could. His father’s death led him to Stick, which allowed him to become Daredevil. The wounds that he’d sustained on the street meant that he could protect people. Elektra’s death …

For a long time, he didn’t know what Elektra’s death allowed. All he knew was that he looked at the world without her being part of it as lesser than. He felt only outlines of people. No one burst forth, no one made him feel something anymore. Music didn’t move him the same. The streets weren’t as loud, the traffic didn’t bustle. There was nothing to look forward to, nothing to care about, and then–

Jessica.

She appeared and he laughed. She burst into his life and he brought her into his home, took off the mask, talked about his father in ways he hadn’t for years. She refused to let him go without being pushed, she went to his grave every damn day and left him mementos that she had to have been convinced were picked up and thrown out by the caretakers but she did it anyway, because Jessica Jones never knew how to quit. “I don’t mind predictable either,” he said, because that’s what she had become. Predictable. He could walk into her place, could sink into her couch, could lean against her side, listen to her heart beat, and he knew that his own would smooth out beside it.

His feelings for her hadn’t been a secret. He never intended them to be. Matt always revealed his heart on his sleeve, letting it get him into trouble, because it was a special kind of self harm to love someone and know they’d never love you back. But this wasn’t love. This wasn’t the moment he flung himself in front of a sai, or held her bleeding out on a rooftop.

As he spoke, Harley repeated the words in her head, moving her lips to form the phrase to remember it better for later. Father, son, ghost. Got it. If she ever came here again, this guy would probably expect her to do it right next time. Then, she stumbled over her own thoughts. “How long?” She hadn’t expected to be asked questions. She’d thought this was more of a silent listener thing, and now she felt painfully cornered. Could she say that she’d never done this before? On the other hand, could she lie to a priest? That would send her straight to hell, right? “Mister, I think ya won’t like ma answer. I usually only confess ta my stuffed animals.” Taxidermied included.

She thought for a long moment. Chronologically was good, because the tough ones would come later, so she decided to forget what he said about the hardest one to say. “Well, if ya wanna start from the top, I did bite someone in the ear when I was, like, 9. But I think I already redeemed myself ‘cause I had ta do a lotta chores after that. And then… wait what counts as a sin, Mister Priest? It’s um, kinda hard fer me ta… sort through it.” There were a lot of things she only now began to see as problematic at all. She began to understand that her way of living had been somewhat egoistical. It was hard to get behind that what had felt good to her at the time was considered bad. But how could it be so bad when she’d been so happy? And now that she’d stopped she felt so … empty?

Harley was just taking a short break to breathe, when the man on the other side spoke again. Baffled, Harley scooted towards the little window once again and peeked through it. “Come again?” She looked at him as closely as she could. He absolutely looked like a priest if she’d ever seen one (… okay, it hadn’t been that many, and it was hard to see him like this, but still), and he talked like one as well. “You’re not the priest? What are ya –” A more important question popped into her head, there’s a raffle going on and I’m in here missing all the fun, but she pushed it as far back into her mind as she could and focused on the situation at hand. “What were ya doin’ in here all alone then, huh?”

At this point, Harley was desperate to tell her inner workings to anyone who would listen. She knew now that that might not be the best idea since she wasn’t met with much understanding, but maybe a good listener was all she needed in place of spiritual guidance, trying to apologize for stuff she wasn’t sorry for, but instead learn and understand why she needed to leave her past behind. She wouldn’t change a thing. She’d tasted defeat, and the only thing that scared her about her mind was that she wanted to see the one she’d sacrificed herself for all that time suffer at her own hands. Maybe that was the real sin. She sighed, slung her arms around her knees and leaned against the thin wall seperating her from the stranger with Nathan putting his little snout against her leg. “If you’re offerin’ that… ya need ta know you’re in for a ride.”

///

It wasn’t the first time Matt sat in a church, particularly in a confession booth, and realised that he was utterly out of place in the building. He was considered one of the most pious students in Sunday school growing up, but when you were competing against boys more interested in football and your foster sister who wanted to hack the Pentagon on a dare, it wasn’t exactly hard to be held in God’s good graces. It was everything outside of church lessons that had Matt drifting further and further away from religion. He responded to problems not with compassion as the Gospel told him to, but with fists. If someone hurt another person, if they talked about his dad, if they belittled him in any way, he couldn’t stop himself from reacting with exactly what Stick had taught him – and he was very good at what he did. Minimum effort, maximum damage.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the cool wood of the booth. “They’re really fond of questions,” he muttered. “It keeps us accountable, makes us realise how long it’s been since we touched into our spirituality and atoned for our transgressions. As far as I’m concerned, it’s not so much a time thing as how much you pack into that span.” After all, Matt was pretty sure he had more sins in a week than most people would have in their lifetime. He huffed a laugh, feeling the solidarity settle between them. “I used to confess a lot more frequently,” he admitted, “but then Father Lantom passed, and I just … fell from the church.” My mom’s a nun. I confess to her – or she pulls it from me. “Sins don’t count when you’re a child,” Matt said, because that had got him out of a lot of redemption. “Not everyone sees the same things as sinful. Sometimes circumstances make us do things that we always imagined would be impossible. It’s not so much the act as the intention, as far as I’m concerned.”

She was looking at him. He could hear her shuffling, could almost feel her gaze on him. Even though he hadn’t met someone’s gaze since he was ten years old, Matt knew what it felt like. He could trace it around a room, could pick it up instantly. The rest of the world communicated so much through their eyes. He never felt like he was missing out, though, compared to what he could see. “Just another repentant sinner,” he said, “waiting for the raffle to end. It’s rigged so the Girl Scouts win. They need to feel good about themselves after they lost to Harlem’s bake sale.”

For all the parts of Matt that Sharon couldn’t wrap her head around, for all the things that drove her up the wall and away from him — there were parts like this that reminded her what she had loved about him in the first place. He had a calling that he had felt in his gut, a duty to help others — a desire to do that, to change the face of the world in his own way. Sharon had always been about service, her calling had been to their country, and his? It had been to the people. Sharon always had thought globally, protecting people in her own way, but Matt had always been in the roots of it, working in real time with people affected by the work Sharon did. 

And though he needed the money to keep the lights on (even though, as he had said, it wasn’t like he could tell the lights were off), to feed himself and keep a roof over his head — he did this work because he was good at it and he could help people who really needed it. (And quietly, Sharon figured, that combating with government over mutant rights was a step close to home — a good cause that deserved to be fought for but no one would take it up. So, of course Matt did.) “Someone has to make sure that you have something in your bank account to keep you fed.” He had always been the type to offer what he didn’t have — or to give the last of what he did away to make sure others had enough. 

Looking at Tali forcing her way through the crowd of people, dodging other paths and finding her way to the table that had been theirs originally, Sharon smiled gently when Matt spoke again. It had been along time since they complimented each other and it wasn’t some backhanded bullshit — or it wasn’t them trying to get each other out of clothes. “I’ve got some good people helping out too.” It took a village, or so the saying went, and Sharon was fortunate to have a whole group of people — an extending family that jumped at the idea of even babysitting for a few hours. But Matt was making an effort, and Sharon didn’t want to turn that way — how many times had they had the same argument? And this was the first time she had felt a shift between them since she left him. “Thank you.” 

It was wrapping up and Sharon was trying to recall the last time that they had a conversation that went like this — one that was ending on a note that didn’t sound like they were about to find a way to murder the other in the middle of the night? One where they looked at each other with some shade of respect? It had been years. And when Matt turned around and started talking again, she had thought it was the start of another fight, but… but it wasn’t. It was a quiet confession that knocked the air out of Sharon’s lungs. “Dead?” She repeated the word thoughtlessly, escaping her with the last bit of air in her lungs. Her mind flickering to Trip. She had only known about Elektra through what little Matt had been willing to share — a ghost in his life that Sharon had been jealous of at a time because Elektra had carved her name in every part of Matt’s body, nothing of him had been left untouched, and it had left little room for her to exist.

And he was admitting that. Her gaze shifted from confusion to sympathy. “I”m sorry that she’s gone, I’m… I’m sorry you know what that feels like.” The word too hung silently in the air. “Can I ask… how long ago?” Not that time would make a difference, Sharon knew from experience that grief was more complicated than putting a timer on it and saying it would get better once the clock ran out. When you loved someone, that feeling didn’t disappear. And when they died? That didn’t cut off the feeling either. It just tore open the wound and the pain would come in waves and at the worst times. Grief wasn’t simple. 

“It’s… it’s okay. I tried to force you open with a crowbar and I don’t…” Sharon sighed. “I don’t think either of us were going to be happy in that relationship. It was good for a while but…” They couldn’t sustain it. Sharon hadn’t been honest with him and Matt had everything locked away behind a door that she didn’t know how to navigate. 

Was it an olive branch or just a confession? “It took me a long time to get to the point where I could put it down. Where I could… give as much as I got. And there aren’t a lot of people who can handle as many secrets as I have to keep.” A small truth that felt like a mountain. “After you, I lost someone too. He was the first person after you that felt like… Like he was it. And he died and I didn’t find out until months after and—” Clearing her throat she shook her head. “I get it, Matt. I didn’t back then but I do now.” 

She saw the tear but she didn’t say anything. Not wanting to push this fragile, whatever it was, too harshly. “You can call me next time you feel like that. I can’t be the thing you hold onto, but I can be there while you figure out what you need.” 

///

In the years that passed after that dorm room door slammed closed, Matt liked to pretend that he’d pictured a future together, that it had been stripped away the second Sharon was the one brave enough to take that final step. He liked to think of Sharon in a house, of coming home to press a kiss to her temple, liked to imagine that when he held her hand she only let go to sleep and then reached for him first thing in the morning. He pretended that, in his heart of hearts, he wanted them to grow old together, even if he knew even at the time that wasn’t feasible. When he started talking to her, his heart was still aching. When he planned for the next week, the next month, the next year, he was thinking about Elektra leaning over him as he lay on the island counter, talking about Matty Jr. and little Ellie and how they’d spend summers in Madrid and winters in Greece.

The places he and Sharon talked about going were always tinged with Elektra’s accent, with the warm curl her words took. The way he reached for her hand, or held onto her waist, was always imagining that it curved just a little differently, that he could pretend by touch at least that it was another person. It wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t right, and he atoned for it, apologised for it, every time he went to confession during – but it wasn’t enough to make him stop. He would crucify himself to the bitter end, but he wouldn’t leave. “You’ve always had good people,” he said. He never met them, never got close enough to know her family first hand, but he’d heard of them. He’d felt the security, the strength, behind Sharon’s actions. “You’re welcome.”

And then they were talking about Elektra, for the first time in forever. (If he’d just done this back in college, if he’d opened his heart and shown how she held it back then, would they have understood each other better? Or would he simply have cut the beauty that they did have off prematurely, strip himself of a brief stretch of happiness?) “It was August last year,” he said, “so ten months, roughly.” He could count it out to the day, and she would know that. She would know it because she knew him, in spite of everything, and because of the catch in his voice. “They keep saying it’ll fade. They said that about Dad too, but … everywhere I turn, she’s there. I dance with someone else, she’s over my shoulder. I can’t get out.”

(He wasn’t sure he wanted to, because that meant she was really gone. It meant it was over. Elektra hadn’t been perfect. She hadn’t even been good. But she’d been his. She’d loved him, more than life, and proven that. For a kid who grew up with nothing but a sister who dipped in and out of his life through no fault of her own, that kind of promise meant something. It meant everything. He would’ve died just to see Elektra once every decade.)

“I needed someone to try,” he said. “I think we both … needed to find out what we didn’t want, right? Then we could find out what we did.” Barnes and Tali. Matt was still figuring out his side … but it felt a lot more like the woman in a leather jacket on the other side of the room. He was comfortable there. Maybe that was as close to happy as he could ask for, right now. It was certainly better than anything else in his life. “I’m sorry you lost someone. Really, Sharon.”

“Very carefully,” Steve replied, smirking lightly. He let out a soft laugh. “I jumped in the back of a convoy and knocked out the two guards back there. Snuck my way through a Hydra base with a wooden flag painted bright red, white, and blue,” he said, shrugging a shoulder. “Now you can tell him. The first words can be our little secret.” He walked over and sat down, gripping the stone ledge of the rooftop. Even through his gloves he could feel the cold, the dull edge worn down by hundreds of people doing this exact same thing. “Cope with some company,” he echoed as he settled in beside Daredevil. “Guess that’s all a couple of fugitive vigilantes could ask for,” he joked. 

There was a quiet for a moment, but not an uncomfortable one. At least, Steve didn’t think so until Daredevil spoke once more. Steve turned his head to look at the red, shining eyes of the mask. “So have I,” Steve said, holding out his hand. “I thought maybe it was because I wasn’t born this way, but… you might be onto something there.” He clenched his hand into a fist and looked back up at Daredevil. “How are they coping? The people you know, I mean. How are they doing with all of this?”

///

It was always a risk meeting people in the mask and outside of it. As far as Matt could control, he liked to keep the two parts of his life separate. It was only when Foggy found him in the suit that things started coming down crashing around him, and he managed a perfect night with Karen before he pulled that mask out of the paper bag and watched the world go to flames. The only people who knew both sides of him and didn’t end up wanting him dead were the Defenders, but that story ended with a building dropping on his head, so Matt was inclined to think it was as close to divine intervention as he was going to get. “A pretty big jump to test your abilities. Most people would, you know, go for a jog.” His small smile wavered slightly, and he shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t think you can keep a secret from the dead. If he’s haunting me, he’s heard it. Your reputation is ruined.”

Fugitive vigilantes. The fact that it applied to Captain America and a lawyer by day was almost laughable, but Matt took pride in the fact that he was fighting back against the system. That was what Daredevil was about, after all – fighting the battles justice never could. “A … someone I’m close to wasn’t born with strength, either,” he said. “She’s still getting picked up when she puts her fist through a door. Guess it’s enough to hit off the power sensors.” Matt tilted his head, listening to the city. “People are afraid,” he replied. “There are outbreaks of panic, but for the most part, they’re going inwards. Hiding in their homes, keeping to their own. People are too scared to help their neighbors.”

He’d been at this long enough to develop a working relationship with most of the heroes in the city. He’d also been at this long enough to turn a lot of those working relationships personal, especially now that the mask was off. Daredevil, though, had never been anything but professional. Nameless, faceless; he frightened Peter a little, but it was fear from a place of respect. Intimidation, maybe. A good team-up, a good guy, clearly not in this for the glory. Peter, with his inescapable trail of chaos and ruined reputation, couldn’t help but feel self-conscious when Daredevil settled beside him dozens of feet above the city.

He was ashamed to admit how little of this he’d seen coming–the siege, the protests, the Sentinels, Magneto demanding political power. He’d been too ignorant to see what had been brewing, too caught up in his own personal drama to care. He wanted to help somehow, but he didn’t know how. There wasn’t anyone to stop, not really. The most he could do was make sure that no one was hurt and the bystanders were safe. A friendly neighborhood Spider-Man who had not asked to be caught up in another civil war. 

At least Daredevil respected the alias. Peter hadn’t realized how much it would mean to hear someone call him Spider-Man, to let him wear the name he’d chosen, to try to build back some boundaries where there were none. Peter Parker had evacuated Stark Tower; Spider-Man had taken to the streets. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll give the feedback to my folks.” If they weren’t, you know, dead. “Spider-Man works. Or Spidey. I also answer to Webhead, Amazing, Spectacular, or Sensational. Whatever, really. Just not Bug Boy, please. It’s demeaning and not scientifically accurate.”

///

Matt supposed he should’ve developed some degree of foresight when Magneto appeared in his apartment with pre-cognitive powers, suggesting he had mutant genes and promising that their people would have a greater future. Matt wasn’t entirely convinced that what happened to him when he was younger wasn’t just some kind of freak accident as a result of experimentation, nor would he indulge the idea of getting a test for the X-gene. As far as he was concerned, nothing good came from people knowing about his abilities, or what he did when the sun went down and his law practice closed its doors. Even the heroes that he frequently worked beside, the people he trusted (relatively speaking) to watch his back, knew the bare minimum of what they could pick up on about his powers. Stick said to trust no one but himself, and old habits died hard.

How did you tell a person that what they gave you wasn’t enough? When that was all they had to give but it simply… wasn’t enough? How did you tell that to a person without breaking them — without hurting them in ways that you had promised you never would? Even in their worst fights, Sharon had withheld. (With Matt… she couldn’t point to a time where she hadn’t.) But he was shouting that he had been there, and he had tried, and… and he had tried. Sharon could give him that allowance. But she couldn’t say that it was enough. That she had been fulfilled with what he had offered her.

“I needed more, Matt!” She was yelling in turn now — that was the Matt Murdock effect. He could hit a sore spot a mile away and so could she and shadow boxing game? It was never ending. It was them in the dark, with their hands up and swinging at each other and blaming each other for a relationship they had both failed at. (Internally, Sharon could accept that. But when he was around? She wanted to spit at his feet and walk away. Leave him to shoulder what was broken.) 

Breaking down what they had into logical sectors was impossible. Nothing about emotions about relationships — about them had ever been logical. Walking away… maybe that was logical. Maybe that was a clinical answer to an emotional problem, the only thing that Sharon had been capable of at the time. But just because her reaction was clinical… it didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to walk away. Shutting the door on their relationship didn’t come as easy as Matt made it sound. Maybe walking away was the easier option than lying in bed like he had when she slammed the door behind her. She imagined hearing her walking away, knowing it was over — having it hit you like that — that hurt. That was hard. But that didn’t make what Sharon had done any less difficult. 

Despite all their issues, there had been a comfortable spot in Matt’s bed that had been warm and safe — one that was good for a time. 

That was the curse. It was really good. Until it wasn’t. 

“Tell me again, Matthew — tell me again it was easy for me. Tell me you know what was going on in my head — in my heart. You don’t know shit. So stop talking.”

There was a pause in the conversation and Sharon took a step back, hand on the back of the door ready to slam it on him — it was his turn to walk away. Because it was so easy. But then he spoke and Sharon paused, her grip on the door knob tight while her mind was telling her to close it on him and her heart begging her to listen for just a minute. “You were a blind kid raised in an orphanage, Matt. What was I supposed to think — I thought —” Sharon cleared her throat. It was obvious what she thought. What anyone would have assumed… he had been abused by the people who had promised to protect him. “How did you get them, then?” 

///

I needed more. The words rang out, bouncing against the walls in the hallway, ringing around the silhouette she created in the flames he’d described to Claire. The worst part was that this was expected. Every relationship Matt had ever been in burned as bright, hot and fast as this one had. They’d been each other’s homes, their safety, their passions, and then it petered out as quickly as it had begun, and he was left wondering what to do with this hole in his heart that had been filled before he even knew she existed. He saw her best when she was yelling, when the impressionistic painting his radar sense provided clarified around the sound, when he could pick up on the curl of her hair or the curve of her nose on the basis of her heart pounding so loud he could tell it was in her ears.

She needed more. He needed to give her more, and he needed more in return. They weren’t enough for each other, and that was okay, because they were young and they were still figuring themselves out, and Elektra had filled him up so fully that anyone in the immediate aftermath was going to pale by comparison – and that’s not what Sharon deserved. She deserved someone who loved her completely, unreservedly, someone who would change the world and break it apart for her. He tried to be that, but it didn’t click, and that was okay.

So why, despite repeating it a hundred times, could he not allow himself to walk away? What was he looking for, standing on her doorstep, arguing about what they might or might not have been to each other?

“You’re right,” he said. “I used to know when you were lying. I used to hear it in your voice, that hesitation before you said you loved me. I used to know that. But I can’t hear it anymore. You’ve changed.” They both had. On his behalf, it was far from the better – especially since her words immediately put him on the defensive. “You thought I was the poor, sad, disabled kid who needed someone to tend his wounds and kiss the scars better, is that it? I thought you were different than that. I thought–”

“Definitely,” Jessica replied without hesitation. He had a habit of going against the grain, rebelling in all the ways that would make his good Catholic upbringing weep in shame. But that wasn’t what this was, was it? The way he smiled when she spoke. His hands always resting right in between them, as if he wanted to reach out a little further but didn’t quite trust himself to. How he always showed up, just when she needed him, bailing her out of interrogation rooms or walking in with a plate of snacks. “It feels very weird,” she breathed, not talking about the wedding anymore. They would both know it. 

“Of course you do,” she said, rolling her eyes at that and at the playful jab. Her lack of manners wasn’t something that was going to change anytime soon, and she doubted he’d want it to. If she was the kind of person who would thank him, she wouldn’t be the kind of person who would make him laugh like that. Who’d share food off the plate with him. “My hero. Didn’t even need your horns,” she said over-dramatically. But there was more truth to that then she wanted to admit. 

Jessica glared at Magneto across the room. “What an asshole,” she breathed, though he was hardly the first person to want to kill Matt. She had wanted to kill him on more than one occasion, but she remembered what it was like to see an empty headstone too. She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure his head’s so far up his ass that he shits when he speaks,” she muttered. But she forced herself to look away, to look back at Matt. “And here I thought you were just really into parkour,” she quipped. “Think it might be true?” 

And then they were on the dance floor. His hand was on her back, the swell of her stomach between them. Her hand must’ve felt like ice inside his, her other hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. Fingers playing at the collar of the suit that was too cheap to make her panic. “I haven’t danced… in a really long time,” she whispered, breath catching in her throat. “And never by choice. So trust me,” she breathed. “It won’t be the worst thing.”

///

Matt shot her a smile, which as the days and weeks and months went on he found appeared far more easily when he was around her than anyone else, just as it had been from the very first day. “Good thing I like living in the minority.” As far as Matt was concerned, the world was seen better from a vantage point that few could join him on. His abilities separated him from the people who were meant to take care of him growing up, and meant that the number of friends he had at any one time could be counted on one hand or more accurately one finger, but they let him have experiences that he would die for, now. She was one of them. Hearing her heart beat, picking up on the familiar scent of leather when she walked into the room, tracing out the sounds of her footsteps. “Sometimes weird is a good thing, isn’t it?”

It didn’t matter that this was the second wedding they’d been to. The events were completely separate, or should be, in Matt’s mind. One was a mission, Daredevil and Jones the P.I. going in to get intel and coming out with even less information than they had at the beginning. This one … well, they were here on the behalf of friends. They both had ties to Jean and Scott respectively. Jessica wasn’t here because she wanted to be, though it had been a choice. The idea of bringing her out for food and slipping his hand into hers like he was right now made his chest tighten just the same as her teasing words. My hero. “Hardly Super-Man,” he said, “despite the red eyes in uniform.”

Jessica’s voice immediately took on the edge Foggy’s had when Matt first told him about the Russians, or Fisk, or any of the other numerous individuals who took pleasure in throwing him around a room or a hallway for their own amusement – but this wasn’t exactly the same thing. “Not entirely,” he said. “He’s a father looking out for his kids, a leader looking out for his people. His methods leave a lot to be desired, but … there’s something to be said about his motivations.” He shrugged a shoulder, thinking over it for a long moment. “Does it matter if I am?” he asked. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m not exactly X-Men material.”

She wasn’t sure how she managed to dial Matt’s number, when her hands were still shaking. When her entire body was trembling, not just with what happened — that was only a fraction of it. This feeling in her chest, this balloon swelling up and making it hard to breathe, that was the kind of feeling you only got when you knew. When you accepted one of those truths that made your heart race and changed everything. 

What had she even said to get him here? What had he heard in between her gasping explanations. Whatever it was, he was here. Standing in her office, looking tired and beat up, but still very much breathing. Jessica didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop to think over each and every way this could go wrong. She stepped forward, and threw her arms around him, pressing her lips to his. Like she was trying to draw air from his lungs, at least enough to do what she had to do now. Finally, she pulled back, but kept her arms around his neck. “I need,” she breathed. “To tell you something.”

///

Matt was always a worst case scenario type of man. The phone went off, Jessica’s voice was breathless on the other end of the line, and he never thought it could be anything good. He supposed that he was excused by the current state of the city, a city that had his shoulder pulling and a bruise blooming on his side. The wear and tear protested as he moved through the rooftops quickly, billyclub extending and wrapping around fire escapes, the normal thrill superseded by the panic that sped his heart in his chest. Finally he arrived, and he did a quick survey of her. Both lungs were working. Her heart was beating, loud and proud and so reliable. She was breathing, and then she was taking the breath from him, mouths pressed together and Matt immediately melting into it, hands going to wrap tightly around her waist, lifting her slightly as she moved against him.

Timing had never really been something Danny was good with. He’d never known when the appropriate time to do anything was. It was why he barged into a boardroom in the middle of a meeting and made a racket moving chairs around so he could sit next to the only person at the table he was pretty sure didn’t want him dead, why he took a moment out of a press conference to wave to Jeri in the crowd, why he ordered food from the Royal Dragon while hiding out from the Hand, why he called Colleen to let her know where he was while people were trying to find him and kill him. Timing just… wasn’t something he was good at.

Maybe Matt was figuring that out, too.

“It’s not a terrible idea,” he argued, even though it definitely was. He was adjusting his tie carefully, faltering when Matt mentioned Tony. He was trying very hard not to think about that now… which was probably part of why he’d suggested they do this today. Danny was bad at timing, but he was okay at distractions. “Of course they’ll welcome me! My name is literally on the door, Matt! They love me.” It was about half-true. The lower level employees adored him. The security guards would be thrilled to see him, the secretaries would all smile and ask about his weekend. But the people in the higher level offices? The people they’d probably actually need to fool? They were a lot less fond of Danny. “If they don’t like it, I can fire them! Or, you know, send them home early. I’m their boss. What are they gonna do, toss me out a window?” He finished straightening his tie and smoothed it out carefully. “Look, you worry too much. All we have to do is get in, get what we need, and leave. And… probably make sure nobody tells Ward.” Ward didn’t want Danny dead anymore, but he’d definitely have questions if word of this got back to him. “It’ll be fine, Matt. Really.”

///

If Matt had his way, he would be out on the streets fighting to restore peace to the city even if he knew it was a fool’s errand. He was Daredevil whether he wanted to be or not, and God – or the Devil, depending – gave him the gift and the curse to be able to hear every horrible thing that happened in New York, and even the surrounding boroughs if he didn’t spend enough time blocking it out. People were hurting, people were afraid, and the last thing Matt ever wanted to do was investigate his own past, go digging into his own demons, but especially when there was something else that could distract out there. Still, his fight with Deadpool, and the multitude of fights since then, caused an ache in his spine that hadn’t fully eased even with Stick’s meditation and Elektra’s recipes for home remedies. His body was damaged in Midland Circle, and he still wasn’t at his top form.

A challenge? Wade liked challenges - something to work toward, something he can celebrate after he accomplishes it? Hell yeah. “Okay, yeah. I can do traumatic injuries.” Gloved hands reached for the gun on his hip, silencer snapping into place in his palm. “We need more gun control in this country - too easy to get one of these pretty babies.” Mimicking a stereotypical action pose, Wade swung the gun around toward Daredevil, then back toward the edge of building, little ‘pew pews’ leaving his mouth. 

Daredevil often reminded Wade of his Petey-pie. Strong moral values, the desire to protect people in whatever way they had to. Wade wanted to be like them. Wanted to stand for something. Be a symbol for the people of the world (and hey, aliens too - he’s not xenophobic) that they can look up to and trust. “Let’s do this.”

Turning abruptly, Wade took a flying leap from the edge of the building, humming his version of James Bond’s theme as he fell from the height. If he hit a few awnings on the way down, it was totes purposeful.

With a solid thump, Wade landed in a heap on the concrete below, multiple screams in what seemed like Cuban Spanish greeting him. A few of them yelled Spider-Man and Wade couldn’t help but smile. If only he was Webs. “Hands up, dirtbags.” Cocking his handgun, he started shooting for knees, knowing that Daredevil would be right behind him.

///

Early on in his vigilante career (at least comparatively, considering how long it felt as if he’d been doing this now), Matt would’ve been of the opinion that Deadpool was the perfect person to bring on board if he was picking a fight just a little too big for his boots. Deadpool was efficient, deadly so. He was quick, he wove in between gang members seamlessly, he managed to keep the fight to a one block minimum which easily reduced civilian casualties. Despite his abrasive demeanour, he genuinely cared about protecting kids in particular. That was back when Matt was arrogant enough to believe he could aim the other man like a gun, that he was capable of tempering his worst inclinations. Now, he knew that Deadpool was a bomb that was ready to go off regardless of what Matt said – but beggars also couldn’t be choosers.

And he couldn’t manage to shake the guy if he wanted to, either.

Matt gave a deep sigh before throwing himself off the roof after Wade, swinging off a few of the fire escapes on his way down. His knees only protested mildly when he landed in the alleyway, and his first punch connected with a man’s fist just as Deadpool shot. Silencer. “Considerate,” he called over, dodging a hit and using the wall as leverage to swing around, wrapping his legs around the torso of one of the men and bringing him down swiftly (he’d learned a few things from Natasha, even if he would rather die than talk about it).

          Yellow. It was hard to tell if it was the sun on the dust clouds or just the literal visceral Fear that covered his sight, but there was enough of it that Kyle felt like his lungs were filled. Everywhere he looked that damned color was mixing with the air, the debris, the frantic bodies, and cacophony of screams. It felt like so much all at once, and what little of the Corps of Fear that had attached itself to him was cackling in clicking tones, telling him to give in and just give up, that the might of Will could never shine brighter than Sinestro’s Might. It was hard to tell if Parallax had really left them, or if he was just sitting back, watching and waiting as the world fell to his influence… If he could tell space-powers to shut the fuck up, he’d be more than willing to scream it at them. 

          He was just about having enough of his mental screech match with the absorbed rings in his system when he noticed a significantly… less yellow spot on the ground. There was plenty streaming out of cracks and crevices, but this one person… Nothing. Finally. A bright, almost relieved smile on display, the Green Lantern landed a little too softly, fully aware of the hush that fell over the watching crowd as soon as he did. Yeesh, embarrassing. He was glad the mask hid half of his face, he was almost blushing. “Hi. Green Lantern, Sector 2814.” As if that mattered right now. “I uh… Figured you could use some help. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

///

Green Lantern. Matt shifted on his feet, subconsciously straightening his back, hands curling around the split billy clubs clasped in both hands. New York had something of a predisposition towards civilians wanting to do something to make the city a better place, and while Jameson would tout it as a hero problem, Matt saw it as evidence of the place’s fighting spirit. Matt went out every night and bloodied his fists desperately trying to make Hell’s Kitchen just a little safer, but the man standing in front of him right now protected entire galaxies. He was capable of interstellar flight, was part of a revered group of individuals who were patrons of hope. Matt wasn’t one to get starstruck, but he had to admit there was a part of him that found it difficult to form words for longer than he would normally remain silent (he convinced himself it was part of maintaining his own mysterious image. Matt was good at many things, and lying was top of the list).

“Not Jessica,” Trish echoed, as both of them had clearly been expecting her sister and not the other. She stared for a moment on the man sitting on what little floor space was available in the apartment. “Please don’t tell me you’re the new secretary,” Trish joked, but it fell flat. She knew who he was – unseeing eyes, cane and glasses sitting on the floor – and she had suspicions for another name that he wore on the streets. Trish wondered why he wasn’t outside in the chaos like the rest of New York’s heroes right now… where she should have been. But one word to Carol about family had gotten a long-lost kind of look in the woman’s eyes and a nod for Trish to check on Jess quickly.

The one we lost. Trish remembered the months following Midland Circle, trying to convince the people of New York that they’d been saved by a group of heroes from a buried conspiracy, and trying to convince Jess more than anyone that she had saved people that day. A true hero. “Are you sure meditating works if you’re supposed to be dead?” she asked as she sat on the floor opposite him and crossed her legs in a similar position as him. If Jessica trusted him enough for him to be in her apartment unaccompanied, then she deduced that he was well aware of who she was.

///

There was only so much one man could do. It was a sentiment Foggy had repeated, at increasingly high volumes, over the years since college, and one that Matt never particularly subscribed to. He couldn’t deny, though, that he was human. He felt the aches of the night before more than he should, had pushed harder than his body was entirely capable of as it continued to heal from Midland Circle. If he didn’t take a minute to breathe, to allow the meditation techniques Stick taught him to take hold, he would inevitably crash, and there were people in this city who relied on him, even still. “I don’t think I’d be much good at typing,” he deadpanned, a beat passing before he shot her a halfhearted smile. “We’ve been working a few cases together. Lawyers and PIs can be useful to each other, it turns out.”

“Whiskey-stink is more my style,” she shot back. With anyone else, it would be a challenge, a way of asserting herself. But she didn’t need to, not with him. He was squeezing her hand so gently, but it didn’t make her feel fragile. He knew her, knew she could take care of herself, knew she wouldn’t change for anyone or anything. But he was still here. Still showing up at her doorstep. Still reaching for her hand, and if it was tentative… it wasn’t her fault. He wasn’t scared of her and he didn’t need her to be something she wasn’t. He let her exist, and he was gentle the way you’d be stepping into a pond because you didn’t want to cause too many ripples.

But he was already a tidal wave in her mind. And they had braved hurricanes and tsunamis together, come out on the other side of the rainstorm. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I… there’s somethings even I don’t want to know.” She would look into eventually. On the nights when her mind wouldn’t stop, when the buzzing in her skin drove her to do something, anything. (Especially now that anyone was off the table.) They were at the graveyard now, and he was leading the way, no matter how it looked to anyone on the outside. Jessica looked over at him, face softening. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Whatever she was… whatever she did, she was important to you. I wish we could’ve saved her.” She tilted her head back to stare up at the grey sky above them. “It’s nice though. That you remember her. And Lantom, and your dad. That matters.” They may have made it out of the rainstorm, but there was plenty that got washed away. Plenty of graves in their lives, filled with people who didn’t deserve to be there. “I never bought that ‘it keeps a part of them alive in you,’ Lion King bullshit,” she said, clicking her tongue. “But it still matters.” 

///

“Maybe,” Matt said, “but we all give up parts of ourselves when it counts.” He’d tried that, back when he was convinced he was in love with Karen (a part of him, he knew, had been). He’d tried to become what she needed, tried to fall into line with what Foggy needed from a best friend. Perhaps that was why he naturally found himself alone. He prided himself on being strong, but never enough to give up the thrill of jumping across rooftops, and the insatiable drive inside him to stop the screams in the night that were always far too overwhelming to tackle himself. That was why he’d been eager for a team, at the end, just before Midland Circle turned to rubble. It was why he felt like he could breathe for the first time in that Chinese restaurant, right until Elektra appeared and knocked the air from his lungs for what wasn’t the first time.

As strained as their friendship (if that was what this was) had been in the past… somehow he managed to hit the right things when he wanted to. A smirk on her face as he spoke. “I guess I did steal your thunder on that one,” Colleen offered with a strained laugh, but the smile was there. And that was real. (Rare for her — even rarer to share with him.) “I’d say I’d try to do it more often but…” She didn’t know his mind like she knew Danny’s. And tearing his thoughts from him didn’t exactly put them on good communicating terms. 

Her gaze shifted when he asked if she was hurt, she nodded her head — only to stop and find herself swallowing the emotion that was building in her chest to speak… because Matt needed her to vocalize. She had never been good at speaking, not good at opening up verbally about what was on her mind or what had happened to her. “Yeah,” she said after an extended silence. “I was hurt. Physically and — you were right.” Three words came out breathlessly, forced because she knew that he was and as much as she hated to say it, she needed to. “They tricked me and I royally fucked up.” The ache of her bones where Danny had healed them hadn’t stopped completely, Colleen was sure that her mind was forcing the pain to come back, to keep the punishment there because of her own regret — her own shame. But physically the wounds were gone. All that were left were the invisible scars.

///

“I’ll let you have it this time. You look like you need it.” His voice was lower than normal, but no softer. Matt learned at an early age that kindness, true kindness, didn’t come from pity. It didn’t come from sympathy, from looking at someone or hearing them speak and letting your heart go out to their pain. True kindness, the kind that he had always appreciated, the only kind that got through to him even slightly in St. Agnes, was empathy. It was surprisingly easy to tap into with Colleen, probably because of shared life experience that only seemed to divide them more than bring them together – until right now.

[ ✉ →  MURDOCK ] Sure, let’s go with chaotic.

[ ✉ →  MURDOCK ] One of the few perks of being 90 years old.

[ ✉ →  MURDOCK ] I’m of the personal opinion that international politics should be of interest to everyone, though that opinion doesn’t seem to be widely shared these days. 

[ ✉ →  MURDOCK ] Of course we’re negotiating for peace.  I have no desire to drag this out any longer than strictly necessary.  I take no pleasure in seeing this city descend into chaos and don’t have any intention of making this whole affair take longer than it has to.

[ ✉ →  MURDOCK ] You have a chance to have a hand in ensuring this ends civilly and fairly–on both sides.  I hope you’ll take it.  

(✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): you told me what you do for extracurricular activities, matt.i know i get under your skin. and you’re /petty/ to prove a point which is fun. or at least it was (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): how did you picture it then? 

[ lifetimes? really matt? ] (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): physical closeness doesn’t equate to emotional closeness, and you know that (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): i don’t know if we can do that matt. i don’t /know/ if we are capable of closure or any of the bullshit people talk about in therapy. you think we’d get /worse/ if we tried?  (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): [unsent] we’re pretty talented at this part (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): you decided to text your ex that you LOVED HER out of the blue, knowing full well that she has a child and a boyfriend and has moved on in her life (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): what were you expecting? me to send you some cute uwu emoji and a bunch of hearts and say that i love you too? what the fuck did you actually want here?  (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): you did cross a line. you don’t get it because you’re not a woman. but you crossed a line. and i am /rightfully/ pissed at you, so suck it up (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): say it to my face (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): [unsent] i can’t tell if you’re lying over text (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): i’m flattered you paid such close attention! i hope you put my tricks to good use

[…] (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): [unsent] fuck off you piece of s (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): right. you’d prefer “washed up” and “out of touch” (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): close! so close. phone sex, actually. don’t need to see with that (✉️ ➡️ don’t fucking do it ): i figured the general sense of shame would get you off