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Of course there's some kind of alien robot bullshit happening in the dead center of Hell's Kitchen during the workday. Of course. Matt turns to his partner, his head cocked towards their open window. Foggy sighs and kicks a locked, wooden box out from underneath his desk.
"Go get 'em, tiger," he mutters. Matt loosens his tie, unbuttons the top of his dress shirt, and then pulls a black cord from around his neck. There are three pieces of metal hanging from it, all a comfort in their own way: a golden ring made of hammered metal, a key perfectly matching the padlock on the wooden box, and a crucifix, worn smooth with touches over decades. He pulls the key out and sticks it in the lock immediately.
Inside is a spare, older model of the Daredevil helmet, a black sweatshirt, and a pair of billy clubs. He tugs off his tie and stuffs it in the box before pulling the hoodie on. He hands Foggy his glasses and jams the helmet on over his eyes.
"Be careful, Matty," Foggy says softly and pulls him in for a kiss before shoving the window open.
“Good luck!” Karen calls from the window of her office as Matt flings himself outside, “Stay safe!”
Matt shoots her a thumbs up and backflips off their fire escape, landing solidly in the street. Something metal and unfamiliar, the distant scent of space.
“Daredevil,” a voice calls, and Matt recognizes it at once.
With a heavy sigh, Matt flips into combat, focusing on attacking the robots with his billy clubs over his fists to avoid injury. “Doctor Strange,” he growls. He hates fighting with sorcerers. Magic is a tinny ringing in his ears that doesn’t leave for hours.
It sucks to fight alongside too, as without the visual aspect of magic, all Matt can go off of is guesses to what Strange is doing and where the magic is going to go. It’s hard to focus on the fight while also keeping an ear on the magic, but it’s doable. Just annoying.
It’s going fine, Matt staying out of the way of portals and saw blades and whatever else Strange is conjuring up, right up until another voice joins the fray. Matt doesn’t focus on the new person except to confirm that they’re fighting on his side, spinning and leaping and smashing robot heads together.
“Here to help,” a chipper, British voice says. Matt purses his lips— he doesn’t need help. Not Strange’s help, not this new guy. Jessica or Luke might be nice, but he knows them. Trusts them. He doesn’t know these two from Adam.
Though, he can admit that their help doesn’t hurt. Strange can send thirty robots straight to hell all at the same time through some mystical portal bullshit (Matt thinks briefly that Strange and Danny might get along much better than himself with either one) and this other guy can… Fly? Maybe? And hits just as hard as Matt.
“They’re a hive mind,” another voice calls out, this time American— Matt picks out a hint of Chicago. “We have to find the source.” The new figure lands dramatically next to Matt, a cape swooshing around both of their ankles. Great. Another guy with a cape.
Matt can hear the faint buzzing of a signal and traces it, leaping up and jamming his billy club end first into the side of a bizarre orb floating a few feet above the ground. All the robots go still at once, and Matt lands solidly back in the street.
Strange flutters to a stop beside him.
“Where’d the British guy go?” Matt grumbles, “I don’t want any of you loose in my Kitchen.”
“Right here,” the man chirps, and Matt cocks his head to the side. It sounds like he’s right where Chicago was standing, but the cape isn’t rustling in the breeze anymore. Instead, the sounds and movements build an image in his mind of a three piece suit, which isn’t proper crime fighting regalia.
“I…”
“Steven Grant, at your service,” he says. His accent is exaggerated, almost inaccurate.
“Stephen Strange,” Strange says and takes a step closer to this new Steven character. “Where do you come from?”
“Er,” Steven says, “London, I suppose. That’s funny, I’m Steven with a ‘V’.”
“‘PH’, for me.”
“More like PhD, am I right?” Steven chuckles.
“I’m out of here,” Matt mutters and turns to go.
“Actually, I could use your help with something,” comes that other voice, the American with the cape. Matt cocks his head to the side.
“Haven’t I helped enough?” he says and gestures to what he hopes is a bunch of fallen robots, “I should be asking the Doctor to call for a clean up crew. You brought this to my neighborhood. I don’t know you.”
“Legal help.”
Matt freezes and turns to face the man again. "Excuse me?"
"We heard from a chap called Danny that, if we need legal help, we should find Daredevil. Is that not correct?" British Steven says, and Matt snarls. He grabs the guy's shirt-- suit? Tie?-- and yanks him into an alley.
"I'll leave you to it, then. I'll handle clean-up," Strange says and flies off. Matt makes a mental note to go bully him at the Sanctum Sanctorum next time he has a chance, but for now he has more pressing issues.
"Who are you, and how do you know Danny," he growls. Danny wouldn't ever direct someone to Matt for legal help as Daredevil unless the person knew him as the Iron Fist, or were powered themselves. Hopefully. Danny doesn't have the best sense of judgement.
The guy whips his hands up in a gesture of innocence, and then something bizarre happens.
Even as Matt is holding onto the man's clothes, they began to shift and transform under his gloved fingers, turning from the thick cotton suit it was just a second before to some sort of armor, mixed fabrics laid across the man's chest in strips, with something metal and round in the center.
"Listen, buddy," the man begins to say then, and that's not Steven Grant.
"What the hell are you," Matt hisses.
"I'm on your side," the man says.
"Which one of you? You're... Shapeshifting," he guesses, the closest thing he has to a superpower that might fit, but the man hesitates to respond for long enough that Matt thinks he might've missed the mark.
The guy slowly shakes his head. "I'm not," he says quietly. "Do you have somewhere more private we can do this?"
"Up," Matt says, and, without warning, drops the guy and starts climbing up the fire escape. Convenient that the alien robots decided that right outside his place of work was the best place to have some sort of mind-control battle.
He hears the guy climbing behind him, the cape staying present and swishing around against metal and skin, and he slides himself in through the still-open window of Nelson, Murdock, & Page.
"Hey-"
Matt's gloved hand slides over Foggy's mouth before the sentence can finish. "No names. I have a guest," he murmurs into his husband's ear before releasing him and turning to the window where the man is climbing through.
"Who's the mummy?" Foggy says after a beat.
Matt frowns. "I... Steven Grant?" he says, unsure.
"Marc Spector," the man says.
"Then who is Steven Grant?"
Marc groans. "I- Can you see me?" he asks, and Matt clenches his jaw.
"Yes, why do you ask?" he says immediately, but Foggy's hand circles around his wrist. It's calming, the feeling of having backup. Especially when it's Foggy and Karen.
"Because we don't believe you," Steven says, and Foggy's fingers grip tighter.
"They're the same guy," Foggy breathes. "Same face. Same body."
"How about we sit," Karen suggests. They're in the meeting room, two chairs on either side of a long, only slightly dinged-up conference table they got off the side of the street.
Matt's fingers clench and he slides his hand down to rest in Foggy's. He squeezes once before letting go. Foggy and Karen sit at the conference table, but Matt stands in the corner with his arms crossed to listen, smell. He feels like he's at a distinct disadvantage, which isn't something he feels often, despite his lack of sight.
The other figure, this Marc-Steven character, sits across from Matt's colleagues. There's a sound like rustling fabric.
"The suit is gone," Foggy murmurs, hopefully quiet enough that only Matt can hear, "Like magic." Of fucking course. More magic.
"You said you needed legal help," Matt grumbles, his voice low in the cadence he uses for Daredevil. It's not much of a disguise, but it throws people off just enough. "Mr. Nelson is the best lawyer I know." Foggy flushes a little bit at the praise.
"I don't actually," Marc admits. "I just needed Strange to get out of there."
Matt snorts. "What for?"
"He's not one to care much about the little guys," Marc says, "The everyday problems in places like Hell's Kitchen. He can deal with the robot corpses, we can figure out why they're here. In your neck of the woods."
"I don't tend to work well with others," Matt replies.
"Rand said as much, but I think I have information you'll like."
"Not until you tell me who you are."
Marc purses his lips. "I'm Marc Spector."
Matt lets out an exasperated sigh. "That's clearly not the whole story."
"At least I'll show you my face, not that it makes a difference to you," Marc sneers.
Karen puts her face in her hands. "Men," she mutters under her breath, and Foggy snorts.
"You two, cool off," he says. "Matt, mask off."
Matt feels a surge of annoyance. Not at Foggy, he could never, but the idea that his 'secret identity' is holding on by two loose threads makes him mad. It puts his friends in danger, it puts their firm in danger. Two separate cops know, half his church knows by now... It's anxiety inducing. It removes control, and not in the way Matt likes.
Despite this, he tugs his mask off and sets it on the desk.
"Matt Murdock," he says quietly.
"I'm Foggy Nelson, this is Karen Page," Foggy says and holds out a hand to Marc, which the other man shakes. "Matt is my husband."
"Oh that's lovely," Steven says then, cheerful and smiling, and Matt can't help the frown that comes over his face. "Truly life partners. Proper romantic, innit?"
"That's not even how British people talk," Matt snarls, his fingers itching for his glasses. He hates when he feels bare, exposed. The list of people he didn't care about wearing his glasses around was small, and this Janus situation with Marc-And-Steven sure wasn't on it.
Steven shrugs and leans back in his chair a bit, rocking until the front legs of the seat lift off the ground. "It's how I talk," he says. "Anyways. We serve the Egyptian god Khonshu as his Moon Knight."
Not gods. Please, not gods. Matt rubs his eyes and holds out his hand to Foggy, who sets his glasses in his outstretched palm without question. He slides them on and runs his fingers through his ruffled hair, flat and a little sweaty from the helmet.
"We?" Karen says before Matt can figure out what it is he wants to say, how he can reckon with this guy's deal after how long it took him to rationalize Thor's existence. It still feels a little embarrassing; Foggy thinks Thor is the best thing since sliced bread, with his hair and muscles and whatever. All Matt can think is no, you're not God. You're not even A God. It feels closed-minded in a way that makes Matt itch.
"Do you know anything about dissociative disorders?" Steven asks, and Karen makes a soft noise in the back of her throat that lets Matt know that she's about four steps ahead of him.
"DID, that makes sense," Karen says softly.
"Karen?" Matt says quietly. He tries to remember back to his one psychology class in undergrad, but it was at eight AM and he was hungover more often than not when he went, so. Nothing there.
"Multiple personalities," Karen clarifies. "Not called that anymore, but. Same concept."
"Steven Grant," Steven says and gestures, Matt presumes to himself. "Marc Spector. Jake Lockley."
"What, no mysticism? No magical reason, just... Psychology?" Matt says, his brow furrowed.
"Says you," Foggy snorts. "Mister 'unresolved trauma' himself. I'm sure if you went to a psychiatrist they'd have plenty of diagnoses for you, buddy."
Matt sighs and paces across the length of the conference room. He shoves his hands into the hoodie's pocket.
"I mean, you're blind," Steven says then.
Matt laughs, dry and tired. "You said Danny sent you to me?" he asks. If he has to have the whole 'blind' conversation one more time-
"Yeah, he did," Marc says then, "Sorry, Steven... He's better at explaining... Us. He's a little more blunt." Matt hears the scrape of stubble on the smooth skin of a palm, and for once, he understands. Daredevil, while still Matt Murdock, is so different-- It's easier to be open behind the mask, when he knows he's in control. "The robots in the street are being manufactured in a warehouse in Hell's Kitchen. I got word of them through my- My wife, and she thinks they might be related to a cult we stamped out last year."
Matt squints. Marc seems hesitant to speak about his wife, which... Well, Matt can't imagine a world in which he isn't the proudest man in the world to call Foggy his husband.
"Cult?" Foggy says then, sliding a memo pad across the table to jot down some notes.
"Tried to raise a dead god. I stopped them, but..."
"Hard to shut down anything like that permanently," Matt nods. "I've dealt with some groups like that here."
"Strange doesn't care to help with this sort of thing. His work is more galactic, world-ending shit," Marc says. Matt can't help the small laugh that bubbles out of him. "I went to Danny, he sent me to you. I guess because it's in the Kitchen?"
"I can call Jess, maybe get Luke to come too. I'd rather Danny didn't," Matt says honestly. Danny is a good fighter, but he's also a pain in the ass. Luke and Jess are much easier to coordinate with.
"I..." Marc says then, and Matt senses hesitation. It's the first time since this Moon Knight sat down that he hasn't seemed sure of himself, so Matt listens. "I'd prefer if you introduce me as Marc Spector. Steven... It. It's complicated."
Matt nods. "Done. They know who I am, but I'd rather no names in the field."
"Just Daredevil?"
"Mmm," Matt agrees. "We fight, and then you leave Hell's Kitchen."
"Fine. I'm just here for this, anyways," Marc nods. "Then I'm back to London."
Matt nods. "Tonight?"
"Sure. Meet here?"
"Yeah, on the roof."
Foggy rolls his eyes so aggressively that Matt can hear the audible movement of his eyes. "Or in the office."
"On the roof," Matt insists. "It's safer. I'll tell Jess and Luke, see if they can come."
"Are we done here?" Marc asks, and Matt nods. "Good. I'll be there. I'll use the door this time, if that's alright."
Foggy snorts. "Please," he says, "We get enough super-nonsense coming in and out of our windows." Marc nods and heads out, not saying anything else to any of the three of them. As soon as the door closes behind him, Karen turns to Matt and makes a confused sound.
"So. What?" she says, and Foggy nods aggressively, wafting the comforting scent of his shampoo in Matt's direction.
"No idea. He fights well," Matt shrugs, "The British one, Steven, he uses clubs like mine. We worked well together."
"He's genuine?"
"No lies," Matt says, "But that's all. See if you can find anything on Marc Spector and his wife, he hesitated when he mentioned her. Could be personal, could be something more. I'll keep an eye on him tonight."
"Steven seems lovely," Foggy adds, "Lil gentleman. Handsome, too."
Matt can't help the sound in the back of his throat. "I wouldn't know," he says flatly, and Foggy huffs a laugh through his nose.
"You know I only have eyes for you, Matty," Foggy says and Matt rolls his eyes. He tugs off his hoodie and moves over to open the wooden chest, sequestering the helmet, hoodie, and clubs away for the next time some, as Foggy said, 'super-nonsense' happens while they're at work.
"Got some info on Marc Spector, seems he's a real guy. Married to Layla El-Faouly, who is an Egyptian archeologist. Steven Grant just turns up some 90s movie about archeology, seems he's an Indiana Jones-type character," Karen says.
"Get what you can, but I doubt there's much publicly," Matt says and drapes his tie around his neck, stepping to Foggy so he can knot it for him. Foggy stands to do so, gently touching the line of Matt's jaw with his thumb before taking the length of fabric in his hands.
"You'll get a read on him tonight," Foggy says. "And you'll stop the robots, or whatever. Thank you for getting help, and not going at it alone."
Matt shrugs. "I've learned my lesson," he admits, and Foggy kisses him as he tightens his tie.
"Good. Now let's get back to work and let the big boys clean up the robot mess," Foggy says.