Chapter Text
Dog barking across the street. Puddle a couple feet away, better not step there. Car behind him honking distantly. Paper man by the subway on the right.
Matt taps his cane on the ground, taking his usual morning route to the firm. It had been three weeks since he saw to Fisk behind bars, three weeks since he donned the red outfit, three weeks since the media (or Brett, probably Brett) had given him the name Daredevil. There was still crime on the streets, Hell’s Kitchen was still generally a shitty place to be, but it felt like his. Every night he goes out beating the fear of God into criminals. Sure, he gets a little roughed up every now and then, but it’s not terrible enough for him to bother Claire, and he sleeps like a baby at night.
He steps over the puddle with a small smile playing on his lips. He wonders what the world will throw at Nelson and Murdock today. Nothing they can’t handle.
Things had gotten better with Foggy as well. He still looks at Matt with worry when he comes to work with a bruise on his face, but it’s much better than the look of disdain he used to get when he mentioned his night activities. They were best friends again, and that’s what mattered the most.
The morning crowd on the streets blur into a symphony of heartbeats, merely pinpointing where they are so Matt won’t bump into them. The firm was only a block away now. He focuses his hearing on the building, seeking out Foggy and Karen. They’re laughing about the haywire copy machine. Just another day.
And then he hears it. The impossible. Not a voice, no, the man isn’t speaking. It’s his heartbeat. A heartbeat Matt barely recognizes, because this one sounds like it isn’t trying to cope with a bullet and bleeding out. This one sounds healthy.
Vladimir. He shouldn’t have a heartbeat at all, because he’s dead.
Matt stops in the middle of the sidewalk, several people pushing past him and stumbling on an insult when they see that he’s blind. He turns to face the diner Vladimir entered. That can’t be him. He could be mistaking him for someone else, surely.
Matt swears under his breath and starts toward the diner. Vladimir is by the counter. Matt hastily takes an empty booth behind him. Vladimir hasn’t said a single word yet. Until he hears his voice Matt can’t be sure that it’s him. All he needs is a different voice, and he’ll be on his way knowing that he hasn’t left any loose ends.
“Can I get you something?” The waitress’ smiling voice startles him slightly, he’s too far into his own thoughts.
“Uh, coffee. Black. Thanks,” Matt says softly, mentally chastising himself. Stay alert.
Vladimir’s heartbeat spikes slightly. He hears him shift in his seat. Vladimir doesn’t move for a few seconds and Matt realizes that he’s probably looking right at him. Matt quickly ducks his head.
He hears him move again, he’s closer now. The next thing Matt knows is that the seat across him in the booth is occupied by a man he thought was dead. Vladimir is dead. There’s no way he could have survived.
“Very subtle,” a familiar Russian accent says, “Sitting in the booth behind the man you are following.”
The sarcasm is the confirmation Matt was hoping he wouldn’t find. It really is that Russian asshole he left for dead.
Matt shifts in his seat awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re — “
“Bullshit, your voice is not one to forget, Man in Mask.”
“I don’t —“
“Same with your mouth,” Matt hears Vladimir tap his head, “cannot forget.”
“Be quiet,” Matt snaps in a hushed tone. If Vladimir keeps running his mouth, the whole diner might as well know him as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
“So it is you,” Vladimir says, quieter now, smugness dripping off every word. “Don’t worry, I will not go running to the newspapers with your secret.”
Matt leans in, dropping his voice even lower so that no one beyond the booth can hear him. “How are you still alive?”
“Doctors,” shrugs Vladimir. Clearly, he wasn’t up for sharing at the moment.
“I should turn you in to the police,” Matt starts.
“I’m not doing anything bad anymore.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that you worked for Fisk.”
“Your real problem, Daredevil,” Vladimir says through gritted teeth, “is already behind bars. Too bad he’s alive. You should have killed him. My own business is nothing to you now. I have done nothing since the night of the explosion.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?”
“This is only the third time I have been out of my safehouse. Healing is… slow.” Vladimir murmurs. “Even if I wanted to work again…”
The light footsteps of his waitress approach, along with the smell of coffee. “Here’s your drink.”
“Thanks,” Matt smiles briefly in the waitress’ direction. He turns to Vladimir and slides the coffee over to him.
He can feel Vladimir’s stare on him. Confusion, probably. Matt starts to shuffle out of the booth. “Enjoy your coffee. And if I see you out at night, doing what you used to, our next meeting won’t be as civil as this.”
As he walks out of the diner his phone begins to buzz, “FOGGY. FOGGY. FOGGY. FOGGY.” He’s late for work and he knows it. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he hears say something to himself in Russian and then calls the waitress for the bill.
Matt hopes he won’t meet Vladimir again.