Archive of Our Own ^beta

A thud sounded out from the alley right next to your apartment building. You stood on the sidewalk, close by the bodega’s light, looking down the alley. You reached into your purse, fumbling until your hand closed around your pepper spray and a small flashlight.

Taking a slow breath, you crept forward cautiously.

"Hello?" Your voice came out quieter than you wanted. Clearing your throat, you tried again. "Is someone there?"

Another muffled noise echoed, a groan of pain, sharp and strained. Your stomach twisted, instinct pulled you forward even as caution tugged back.

"Are you okay?" you called, stepping into the shadows, flashlight beam wavering across brick walls and trash cans.

Movement caught your eye, a slumped figure hunched against the alley wall. Dark fabric, black mask covering half his face, ropes coiled tightly around bruised and bloodied knuckles. Familiarity sparked deep in your chest, dread rising fast behind it.

"No," you whispered, throat tight, heart hammering violently against your ribs. "No, that's—"

He lifted his head slowly. The mask covered his eyes, but you'd know the stubborn set of his jaw anywhere.

Your flashlight shook, bouncing slightly. "Matt?"

He stiffened, frozen mid-movement. After a long, tense silence, his voice was rough, almost broken. "Y/N?"

Shock surged through your chest, stealing your breath. You moved closer, feet carrying you forward automatically. "You—you're alive?"

Matt turned his face away sharply, shoulders tense beneath torn fabric. "Go home."

You scoffed weakly, disbelief turning sharp and raw. "Excuse me? I thought you were dead."

"Yeah," he muttered dryly, pressing a hand to his side, wincing visibly. "That's kind of the point."

"You look terrible."

His lips twitched briefly. "Thanks."

You shook your head sharply, shoving the pepper spray back in your purse. Your movements were decisive now, gentle but firm as you reached out, hand pausing just inches from him. "Come on."

He flinched slightly, pulling back. "I'm fine."

"You're bleeding."

"I said I'm fine."

Frustration flared, sharp and instant. "Look, I get it. You wanna do your tough-guy thing, pretend you're okay—but you literally died. And now you're bleeding in my alley, so forgive me if I don't really care about your pride right now."

He didn't answer immediately, chest rising and falling heavily. Finally, his voice softened, grudging surrender coloring his tone. "Fine."

You exhaled, nodding. "Good. Can you walk?"

Matt pushed off the wall carefully, body swaying before steadying himself. You moved close, gently placing your hand beneath his elbow. He hesitated briefly, then allowed you to guide him forward.

"I didn't want anyone to know," he murmured quietly as you reached your apartment door. "I'm sorry."

"Later," you said firmly, unlocking your door. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, let me patch you up."

He nodded stiffly, still tense. "Okay."

You closed the door behind you both, heart still racing, disbelief lingering stubbornly beneath your relief. Matt was alive—hurt, tired, haunted—but alive.

You led Matt carefully through your small apartment, guiding him toward the worn sofa. He sank onto it slowly, suppressing another hiss as he settled.

"Stay there," you instructed quietly, grabbing your first aid kit from the hall closet. Returning, you flipped on a lamp, soft yellow light filling the small living room. Matt turned his head away slightly. "Take off the mask," you said gently, kneeling beside him.

He hesitated, jaw clenching. After a moment, he reached up slowly, tugging it off and dropping it to the cushion next to him.

You swallowed hard at the sight of him, battered and exhausted. "Jesus, Matt."

"It's not as bad as it looks," he mumbled dryly.

You exhaled in disbelief. "Actually, it looks pretty awful."

You gently pressed a cotton pad soaked with antiseptic to the deep gash above his eyebrow. Matt's jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away.

"You're lucky Claire taught me how to patch you up," you murmured softly, breaking the quiet tension. "It's become pretty useful."

Matt's mouth twisted into something almost like a smile, though it faded quickly. "I'm sorry. You didn't sign up for this."

"No, I didn't." You dabbed lightly, your voice softening. "But that doesn't mean I'd leave you bleeding."

Matt stayed quiet, the air thickening with everything left unsaid. You moved slowly, gently tending the cuts along his cheekbone and jaw, smoothing butterfly bandages into place.

"I know you probably don't want to talk right now," you finally said quietly, your thumb brushing gently over his bruised cheek, "but Matt—you're gonna have to explain eventually."

"There's nothing to explain," he said roughly. "It's better this way. Better if everyone thinks I'm dead."

You felt your chest tighten. "Even me?"

He turned his face toward you, brows knitted tightly together, voice raw. "Especially you."

"Why?"

He swallowed hard, expression unreadable beneath the exhaustion. "Because it's safer."

"For who?"

Matt didn't respond, pulling back slightly, shoulders stiff.

You sat back on your heels, watching him quietly for a long moment. "Fine. Keep your secrets for tonight. But I'm not leaving you alone like this. You're staying here."

He shook his head slightly. "That's not necessary."

"That wasn't a suggestion."

His lips twitched again, brief but genuine. "Yes, ma'am."

"Don't 'ma'am' me," you sighed, standing up. "I'll get you some clothes to change into."

He shifted uncomfortably. "You don't have to—"

"Matt, stop," you interrupted softly. "Just let me help you. Please."

He paused for a long, tense moment before finally nodding slowly. "Okay."

You turned toward your bedroom, taking a shaky breath. Matt was alive, sitting bruised and battered on your couch, quiet pain clear beneath his stubborn composure.

It wasn't nearly enough, but it was a start.

Once in your room, you grabbed some sweats and an oversized shirt you hoped would fit him, before glancing at your purse thrown on your bed.

You took a glance at Matt, still sitting on the couch with his head thrown back, before reaching in and grabbing your phone.

Your thumb hovered over Foggy’s name, hesitating only a brief second before tapping it. Your pulse raced, eyes darting nervously toward the door. Foggy’s voice came through clearly after the first ring.

“Hey, Y/N—everything okay?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could make a sound, Matt was suddenly there. One hand covered your mouth firmly, muffling your startled gasp, the other snatching the phone swiftly from your grasp. Your back pressed against his chest, his breathing heavy against your ear.

“Y/N?” Foggy’s voice echoed faintly from the speaker. “You still there?”

Matt’s grip on you tightened slightly, mouth brushing against your ear. “Hang up,” he whispered sharply. “Please.”

You hesitated, heart hammering, before slowly nodding against his palm. Matt released your mouth cautiously, holding the phone out toward you.

“Yeah—sorry, Fog,” you said quickly, voice strained, trying to steady your breathing. “I dialed by accident.”

Foggy sounded unconvinced. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied smoothly, your gaze fixed firmly on Matt’s tense expression. “Just tired. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright,” Foggy finally said, concern lingering in his voice. “Night, Y/N.”

“Night,” you replied softly.

You ended the call, turning swiftly to face Matt, anger bubbling quickly beneath your fear. “What the hell?” you hissed, grabbing your phone back from him. “Matt, you scared me half to death!”

“I told you,” he murmured urgently, “no one can know.”

“You said that about Karen and Foggy,” you countered sharply. “But you seriously expect me to lie about this to everyone?”

“Yes,” he replied firmly. “I do.”

You shook your head sharply, exhaling through gritted teeth. “Matt—Foggy and Karen are your family. You can’t do this alone.”

He stepped closer, voice lowering. “I need you to trust me. They’re safer if they don’t know.”

“And what about me?” you asked quietly, hurt slipping past your anger. “Why tell me?”

“I didn’t exactly plan on it.” Matt exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening. “But you found me.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered bitterly.

Matt’s face softened just barely, the tension leaving his shoulders for a brief second. “You shouldn’t get dragged into this.”

“You dragged me into it the second you showed up bleeding in the alley,” you shot back. “This is on you.”

He exhaled again, frustration evident. “I know.”

Silence stretched thickly between you both, neither of you moving. Finally, Matt rubbed a hand roughly over his face, wincing slightly when his fingers brushed bruised skin.

“You’re exhausted,” you murmured quietly, irritation ebbing away. “Take a shower. I’ll grab you fresh towels.”

Matt hesitated, expression torn, before nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re nowhere close to done talking about this.”

Matt’s mouth quirked slightly, the barest hint of a smile. “Yeah, I didn’t think we were.”

You stepped around him quietly, grabbing towels from the hall closet and placing them in his hands. Your voice was soft but firm. “Matt, please just… don’t disappear on me again.”

He stood silently, gripping the towels, head tilted slightly as he considered his words. Finally, he nodded, voice barely above a whisper.

“I won’t.”

You hoped desperately that was true, but you said nothing else, stepping back as he moved past you slowly toward the bathroom.

As the shower started, you sank down on your bed, phone still clutched in your shaking hand. Matt was alive—tired, stubborn, impossible—but alive.

For tonight, that would have to be enough.

---

You tried to wait. Tried so damn hard.

But the night had drained every last bit of strength from your body, and at some point between your anxious pacing and the muffled sound of running water from your bathroom, exhaustion overtook you.

Your eyes drifted shut before you could fight it, and you slept deeply, dreamlessly, your body curled into your sheets like a small, wounded animal seeking comfort.

When your eyes opened again, dawn was quietly slipping through your curtains, pale and gentle. You blinked slowly, taking a moment before memory crashed sharply through your mind.

Matt.

Your heart immediately kicked into high gear, anxiety twisting your stomach into knots. Scrambling out of bed, you hurried to the living room.

The couch was empty.

The folded towels you’d given him were now crumpled loosely against one armrest, along with the clothes you'd loaned him the night before. The black fabric suit and ropes he’d worn—gone.

You stood motionless, your heart sinking into your stomach as a bitter ache settled in your chest.

Slowly, your eyes caught on the small traces he’d left behind: a discarded bandage wrapper forgotten on your floor, a glass of water half-empty on the coffee table, a faint smear of dried blood near the edge of your couch cushion.

Signs he’d really been there. Signs he'd needed you.

You pressed your lips together tightly, swallowing back the hurt that rose sharply in your throat.

Moving quietly to your kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of water, sipping mechanically as you tried to soothe your bruised emotions. You glanced back toward the empty couch, your stomach twisting uncomfortably again.

Returning slowly to your room, something caught your attention—a slip of paper on your bedside table, half-tucked beneath your discarded phone. You reached out quickly, fingers trembling slightly as you picked it up.

His handwriting was rough, hurried, and barely legible:

I’m sorry.

You stared at those simple words, tracing the faint ink with your fingertip, feeling the hollow sting of loss and disappointment that came with them.

Quietly, you folded the paper again, gently placing it back onto your table.

You knew he wasn't coming back today. Maybe not tomorrow, either.

But he was alive. Stubborn, wounded, endlessly frustrating—but alive.

For now, you'd hold onto that.

Sinking onto your mattress, you sat quietly in the growing sunlight, eyes still fixed on the scrap of paper—hope and hurt tangled silently together in your chest.

---

Days passed. Quiet, tense, frustrating days.

You went through the motions, arriving at Metro-General and performing your job automatically—checking patients in, making calls, scheduling appointments. All while your thoughts stayed fixed firmly on Matt. You hadn’t seen or heard anything since he'd slipped out, leaving only a hurried apology scrawled on a torn scrap of paper.

Sleep came unevenly, in fits and starts. Every noise outside your window had your heart racing and your eyes snapping open. Each time, you’d sit up, listening breathlessly for something—anything—to tell you he’d come back. But each time, silence mocked your restless hope.

The fourth night after Matt disappeared, you finished your shift late and walked home in a tired haze. You climbed the stairs mechanically, keys rattling softly as you unlocked your door.

You paused abruptly, breath catching sharply in your chest. Your living room window was ajar, curtains shifting softly with the cool evening breeze.

Pulse thumping hard, you crept slowly into the apartment, fumbling for the small lamp nearby. The soft glow filled the room, and your heartbeat stuttered in relief.

Matt sat on the edge of your couch, black mask in hand, ropes around his knuckles stained faintly red. His head turned slightly in your direction, acknowledging your presence without speaking.

"You could use the front door," you finally said, voice carefully steady despite your racing pulse. "You know, like a normal person."

A faint twitch lifted the corner of his mouth. "Less conspicuous this way."

You dropped your keys onto the table, exhaling heavily as relief and lingering frustration twisted together. Crossing the room, you silently retrieved your first aid kit from the hall closet before sitting beside him.

"How bad?" you asked softly.

"Not terrible." Matt hesitated. "Just a few cuts. Maybe some bruised ribs."

Your mouth tightened slightly, but you didn’t comment. Instead, you opened the kit quietly, starting to carefully unwrap the ropes from his fists.

Matt stayed silent, face turned slightly away, jaw clenched tightly.

"Where have you been?" you finally asked, keeping your tone gentle, non-accusatory.

"Tracking down leads," he answered quietly, almost reluctantly.

"About Fisk?"

He gave a short nod, but said nothing else.

You sighed softly, gently wiping antiseptic across his knuckles. Matt barely reacted to the sting, just sat still, shoulders tense, expression guarded.

"You can't keep disappearing like this," you murmured finally, placing careful bandages over the torn skin.

Matt hesitated, jaw tightening. "I'm sorry."

You glanced up sharply, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. His voice had softened, almost raw.

"I mean it," he added quietly. "I never meant to drag you into this."

You set aside the bandages, exhaling softly. "Too late for that."

He turned his head slightly, as if looking toward you, though his eyes remained unfocused. "I know."

You swallowed tightly, not pressing further, unwilling to fracture the fragile quiet that had settled between you.

Matt stood slowly, rolling his shoulders with a suppressed wince. "Thanks," he murmured softly.

"Stay," you said before you could second-guess yourself. "Just for tonight. You can take the couch again."

He hesitated visibly, torn, before finally nodding slowly. "Okay."

You moved quietly, gathering blankets from your closet and placing them on the couch. Matt stood silently near the window, head tilted slightly, listening carefully to the sounds outside.

"Goodnight, Matt," you said softly, finally stepping back toward your bedroom.

He didn't look at you, but his voice was quiet, careful. "Goodnight."

You closed your bedroom door quietly, sinking onto your bed with a deep breath, heart still racing gently in your chest. Matt was back, at least for tonight.

You refused to think about tomorrow.

---

Matt’s visits slowly fell into a strange rhythm—quiet, infrequent, and always unannounced. He'd slip silently into your apartment late at night, each time a little more battered, each time a little more exhausted. You stopped expecting explanations, stopped asking questions. Instead, you'd quietly clean his wounds, set broken bones, and carefully patch him up without complaint.

In return, Matt never stayed long, never lingered past the moment when his injuries were stable enough for him to move again. He'd softly thank you, head bowed, voice quiet and strained. Then he'd slip back out into the night, leaving you alone with your tangled feelings and unanswered questions.

It wasn’t much of a partnership, but it was something.

During your shifts at Metro-General, it became harder to ignore the whispers about Fisk’s name resurfacing. Small pieces of information found their way to you naturally—overheard conversations at reception, quiet discussions in break rooms, murmurs from the nurses’ station.

You never mentioned what you heard to Matt. You knew he'd shut you down immediately. You convinced yourself it wasn’t intentional—it just never felt like the right moment. He was always exhausted, always hurt, always on edge. And you—well, you weren't ready for him to disappear again, to cut off your tenuous connection.

So you kept quiet. You kept careful mental notes of names, places, and details, silently piecing together fragments, hoping it might eventually help.

Maybe someday you'd tell him. Maybe someday he'd ask.

Until then, you stored it away, quietly hoping you'd never have to use it.

---

It was past midnight when Matt stumbled in through your window, barely catching himself against the wall as his knees buckled beneath him. You were on your feet instantly, heart racing, guiding him to the couch as gently as possible.

"Matt," you breathed, fear sharp in your chest. "What happened?"

He sank down heavily, breath shuddering unevenly through cracked lips. Blood trickled slowly down the side of his face from a cut along his temple. His fingers shook visibly, still clenched tightly into fists.

"Fisk's men," he muttered, voice hoarse. "It… it didn't go well."

You pressed your lips tightly together, hands moving quickly and carefully to open your first aid kit. Matt stayed quiet as you began cleaning the deep cut on his forehead, gaze unfocused beneath closed eyelids, chest rising and falling unevenly.

For several minutes neither of you spoke. The silence felt fragile and heavy, both of you afraid to break it.

Finally, he let out a shaky breath, voice almost too soft to hear.

"I haven't talked to them."

You paused, looking up carefully. "Foggy and Karen?"

He nodded slightly, wincing. "I don't know what I'd even say."

You softened, gently placing a clean bandage over his wound, fingertips brushing lightly across his forehead. "You don't have to figure that out right now."

Matt remained quiet, jaw clenched tightly.

You hesitated only briefly before carefully resting your hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. "They're still your friends. They're not going anywhere."

He didn't reply immediately, swallowing hard as if forcing himself to hold back emotion. After a long moment, he spoke quietly, voice raw and uneven. "They shouldn't forgive me."

"Matt—"

"I left them," he interrupted softly, anguished. "I left everyone. Including you."

You exhaled slowly, your hand still gently pressed against his shoulder. "You're here now. That's something."

He turned his head slightly toward you, as if listening intently. You let your thumb gently trace comforting circles against the tense muscle beneath your palm, your breath catching slightly as you realized just how close you'd gotten.

Matt stilled beneath your touch, a subtle tension spreading through him. Neither of you moved for several heartbeats, caught in fragile silence.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you withdrew your hand.

"Sorry," you whispered quietly, cheeks warming in embarrassment.

Matt shook his head slightly. "Don't be." He shifted carefully, leaning back into the couch cushions with a tired sigh. "I don't deserve your kindness."

"That's not for you to decide," you murmured softly, gathering your supplies quietly.

Matt stayed silent, eyes closed, chest rising and falling more evenly now. His hand reached out slowly, hesitantly, fingertips brushing your wrist.

"Thank you," he whispered roughly. "For everything."

You swallowed past the tightness in your throat, softly squeezing his hand once before pulling back.

"Get some rest," you said gently, rising from the couch. "You need it."

He didn't answer, already drifting into an exhausted sleep. You quietly spread a blanket over him, pausing briefly to look down at his peaceful face, expression unguarded for once.

Turning quietly toward your bedroom, you knew something between you had shifted tonight. Something careful, something tentative, had slipped past your defenses.

---

“Man, let me go!”

“Get back in the bed.”

“I gotta get—”

“You have to stay here,” the doctor repeated firmly, exasperated. “You’re injured. Leaving now would be dangerous.”

“You don’t get it,” Jeremiah snapped, desperation straining his voice. “I gotta get out. Now.”

“I’ll check on you later,” the doctor sighed, shaking his head. He gestured briefly to the nurses and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Jeremiah dropped heavily onto the bed, fists clenching tight against his knees. You hesitated a second, glancing around before slipping into the room, quietly shutting the door.

“Hey,” you murmured softly. “Everything okay?”

Jeremiah looked up sharply, wary eyes narrowing. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Y/N,” you said quietly. “I work at the front desk. Couldn’t help overhearing.”

He shook his head impatiently. “Look, no offense, but I don’t got time for small talk.”

“You said you needed to leave,” you pressed gently. “What’s going on?”

He stared at you for a moment, mistrust etched clearly across his face. Finally, desperation softened him. “My little sister—they took her. Said if I talk to anyone, she's done.”

“Who took her?”

He hesitated, voice dropping lower. “Some guys I used to run with. I messed up, got caught up in their business, and now they're holding her until I pay off my debts.”

You nodded slowly. “If you leave now, you won’t make it very far.”

He exhaled sharply. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

“You don’t have to,” you said softly, decisively. “I know someone who can help.”

He eyed you skeptically. “What, like the cops? They’ll kill her.”

“No cops,” you said firmly. “Just… trust me.”

He shook his head, clearly doubtful. “You don’t look like you hang around the kind of people who can fix this.”

You sighed, stepping closer, voice steady. “I told you—I know a guy.”

Jeremiah’s shoulders slumped slightly, exhaustion clear in his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke quietly, defeated. “An old warehouse. Corner of 10th and Gibson. That's where they’ve got her.”

You nodded, already memorizing the location. “What’s her name?”

“Tasha,” he whispered roughly. “She’s only fifteen. Just a kid.”

You reached out gently, briefly squeezing his shoulder. “Stay here, okay? I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

“Please,” Jeremiah whispered, desperation sharp in his voice. “Don’t let her get hurt 'cause of me.”

You gave him a reassuring look. “I won’t.”

Stepping out quietly, you closed the door behind you, heart thumping heavily in your chest.

You glanced toward your phone briefly, thumb hovering over Matt’s number. The memory of his injuries flashed through your mind, and you hesitated, teeth worrying at your lower lip.

This wasn’t Fisk—it was something smaller, something you could handle yourself.

You’d leave Matt out of this one.

Slipping your phone back into your pocket, you hurried toward the exit, silently promising yourself that everything would be okay.

You’d get her back yourself.

---

Your heart hammered hard in your chest as you stepped out into the chilly night air, glancing quickly around the dark street. Jeremiah’s directions were clear—warehouse by the docks. Your stomach twisted anxiously.

Matt would hate this.

But Matt wasn't here.

You exhaled sharply, steeling yourself, and started moving quickly toward the docks, careful to keep your head down.

As far as you knew, Fisk wasn't involved. It was just some small-time gang issue. Nothing you couldn’t handle. Jessica had taught you a few things; maybe this was the time it'd come in handy.

You paused at the corner, looking cautiously around the edge of the old brick building. The warehouse stood dark and quiet, shadows stretching across the cracked pavement.

You took a deep breath, calming your racing heart. "Okay," you whispered to yourself. "You've got this."

Moving carefully, you slipped quietly around the side, toward a back door that hung slightly ajar. Peeking inside, you saw dim lights, heard muffled voices.

"Where is she?" someone snapped roughly, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

"Locked up out back," another voice answered lazily. "Little brat won't shut up."

Your stomach twisted, nerves bubbling up. Carefully, silently, you moved inside, slipping behind stacked crates, barely breathing.

A sudden hand closed roughly around your arm.

"Gotcha," a voice growled against your ear.

You jerked violently, twisting around and jabbing your elbow sharply into his ribs. He grunted, grip loosening, just enough for you to break free. You stumbled forward, heart hammering wildly.

"Who the hell is this?" someone shouted angrily. Footsteps echoed around you, heavy and quick.

You froze, heart in your throat as three more men emerged from the shadows, closing quickly.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to snoop around places you don't belong?" the first man snapped, stepping closer. "Who sent you?"

You held your chin up defiantly, forcing your voice steady. "No one sent me. I came for the girl."

His eyes narrowed sharply. "Is that so?"

A sharp pain exploded at the back of your head, vision blurring immediately. You dropped hard to your knees, ears ringing.

"Search her," someone muttered above you.

Rough hands grabbed your phone from your pocket, pulling your ID out next.

"Metro-General," a low voice drawled. "Interesting."

Your stomach churned, dizziness making it hard to focus. "Let the girl go," you managed weakly.

"Not gonna happen," he chuckled darkly. "You're both staying here until we figure out what to do with you."

Someone yanked you up roughly, dragging you toward the back of the warehouse. They pushed you into a dark room, locking the heavy door behind you.

You slumped to the ground, pain radiating through your skull. Someone moved quietly in the corner.

"Who are you?" a small, frightened voice whispered.

You lifted your head weakly, forcing a reassuring smile. "Tasha?"

She moved slightly closer. "How'd you know?"

"Your brother sent me," you said softly. "I'm gonna get you out, okay?"

She didn't reply, but shuffled closer, huddling silently next to you. You took a slow breath, ignoring the pounding ache behind your eyes, thinking desperately of a plan.

The muffled sound of voices carried from outside the room, words fading in and out, faint but chillingly clear.

"Call him," one voice ordered sharply. "Tell him we caught some girl snooping around. He’ll wanna know."

Your heart sank heavily as the next words drifted through the door, ice-cold dread washing over you.

"Fisk's gonna be real interested in this."

You closed your eyes tightly, exhaling slowly. This was exactly what you'd hoped to avoid.

---

Tasha trembled beside you, clinging to your arm as the footsteps outside the door grew louder—then passed.

You pressed your ear against the cold metal, listening hard. Nothing.

“Stay close,” you whispered. “If we get the chance to run, we take it.”

Before she could answer, the door creaked open. You whipped around, ready to throw yourself in front of her if you had to—but it wasn’t one of them.

Matt stood in the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim light behind him. The black cloth suit clung to him, ropes around his knuckles, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

Tasha’s grip on your arm tightened.

Matt’s head tilted slightly. “You’re okay,” he said, voice low and relieved. “Tasha?”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Yeah.”

He nodded once, brief. “Go. Now.”

Tasha hesitated. “What about her?”

“I’ll get her out,” Matt said, already moving inside. “Go.”

She looked at you for a second. You nodded quickly. “It’s okay. Go.”

Tasha took off without another word, slipping down the hallway and disappearing into the dark.

You turned to Matt. “How did you—”

“Later,” he muttered. “Let’s move.”

You followed close behind, ducking through shadows, your pulse thudding in your ears. The warehouse seemed eerily quiet—too quiet. You were almost to the back exit when you stopped, grabbing Matt’s arm.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you whispered. “Not even what the hell are you doing here?”

He didn’t look at you. “Don’t talk. We need to go.”

“No,” you hissed, planting your feet. “I deserve to know how you even knew I was here.”

Matt turned, jaw clenched tight. “You shouldn’t have been here in the first place.”

“You’re the one who told me not to go to the cops!”

“You were supposed to stay out of this,” he snapped, voice low but sharp.

“I couldn’t!” you shot back. “She’s just a kid, Matt. Her brother was desperate, and I didn’t have any way to reach you—what was I supposed to do?”

“You weren’t supposed to do this alone,” he growled. “You have no idea who these people are—”

“And you’re off the damn grid! I don’t even know where you go when you disappear! I couldn’t ask for help because you made it impossible to—”

He moved fast.

One hand covered your mouth. The other shoved you back, pinning you against the wall. His body pressed against yours, tight and tense, completely still.

You froze.

Heavy boots echoed down the hall, loud and close. Voices followed.

“Check over here—maybe they doubled back.”

You barely breathed.

Matt’s chest pressed firmly against yours, his breath hot and steady against your cheek. His hand stayed over your mouth, fingers trembling slightly where they held your jaw.

The footsteps slowed. Passed. Faded.

Only when the silence stretched long and sure did Matt finally pull back, hand dropping from your mouth slowly, but he didn’t move away. His head tilted, still listening.

You exhaled quietly. “You heard them coming.”

His voice was rough, barely a whisper. “And you were about to walk right into them.”

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

He finally stepped back, just an inch, enough for air. You swallowed hard, your voice quiet but firm.

“I didn’t ask you to come save me.”

Matt’s jaw flexed. “I didn’t come for them.”

You blinked, breath catching.

He didn’t explain.

“Let’s go,” he said instead, already turning down the corridor.

You followed close behind him, your footsteps light, every muscle tight with nerves. Matt moved like a shadow through the darkened hallways, barely making a sound. You did your best to mimic him, sticking close enough that if you stumbled, you could grab onto him.

The way he moved — so sure, so fast, even bleeding and bruised — made your chest ache.

You didn’t speak again. Not yet.

You slipped through an open side door, into the night air. The warehouse loomed behind you, heavy and dark. Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed faintly, growing closer.

Matt paused just inside the alley, listening. His head tilted slightly, and for a second, you thought he might leave you there without another word.

Then he turned toward you.

“Stay low,” he said. “We’re not clear yet.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

The two of you moved quickly through the backstreets, winding through alleys and slipping between dumpsters. You didn’t ask where he was leading you. You just followed.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably minutes, Matt pushed open the rusted door to an abandoned building — half-collapsed, forgotten. He ushered you inside, pulling it shut behind you.

You leaned against the wall, heart pounding. Matt stood across from you, breathing hard, his hands flexing and curling at his sides.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment.

Finally, you broke the silence, voice low and rough. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He didn’t move.

“Why were you there?” you pressed, stepping closer. “How did you even know?”

Matt exhaled slowly, jaw tight. "I heard."

You blinked. "You heard? What, at the hospital?"

He shook his head slightly. "You. At the docks. I was... tracking someone else. I caught your voice. Recognized it."

You stared at him, throat dry. "You followed me."

"I wasn’t looking for you," he said, almost a growl. "You shouldn’t have been there."

Anger flared up again before you could stop it. "You’re unbelievable, you know that?"

Matt didn’t respond.

"You can vanish for days, come crashing through my window half-dead, and expect me to just patch you up and pretend nothing’s wrong—but I take one risk and suddenly I’m reckless?"

"You don’t get it," he muttered.

"Then make me understand," you snapped.

Matt moved before you could blink, crossing the distance between you in two strides. His hands caught your arms, firm but not hurting, pinning you gently but unmistakably against the wall again.

His face was so close you could feel the heat of him, the tremble in the air between you.

"I can survive it," Matt said, voice low and rough. "You can’t."

You sucked in a shaky breath, chest tight. "You don’t know that."

His head shook once, slow, sure. "I do."

You opened your mouth to argue again, but the words died on your tongue when you realized—he was terrified.

Not of the men hunting you. Not even of Fisk. Of you getting hurt.

The realization softened something sharp inside you.

Matt’s grip eased slightly, his thumbs brushing gently over your arms like he hadn’t even realized he was still holding you. His voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper.

"I can’t lose anyone else."

You stayed quiet, letting the words settle in the heavy, quiet space between you.

Slowly, you lifted a hand, resting it lightly against his chest. You felt the steady hammer of his heart beneath your palm.

"I'm not leaving," you said quietly. "Not unless you make me."

Matt’s breath caught faintly. He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t move away, either.

---

A week passed, quiet and uneasy. Matt’s visits became more frequent, but something had changed since the warehouse. He stayed longer, lingered silently even after you finished patching him up. You didn't talk about that night, how close you'd stood, how fragile the silence had felt.

Tonight, you sat beside Matt on your couch, finishing up a careful bandage around his wrist. He barely flinched, though the bruises along his ribs looked painful.

“Anything new at the hospital?” he finally asked, voice quiet and strained.

“Nothing useful,” you lied gently, cutting the excess tape. “Just whispers.”

His jaw tightened. “Whispers about what?”

You hesitated, setting aside your supplies. “That Fisk might be getting moved soon. House arrest.”

Matt shook his head sharply, bitterness seeping into his voice. “He’s manipulating them. Playing their game.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you said carefully. “But you can’t obsess over it, Matt. That’s exactly what he wants.”

“You don’t know him,” Matt replied sharply, tension radiating from every word.

“I don’t need to,” you said gently. “I know you. You’re barely sleeping. You’re distracted. You're reckless.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He turned his head slightly, away from you. The room felt suddenly cold.

“Matt,” you tried again softly. “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You know that’s not true,” you pressed quietly. “Whatever Fisk’s planning, you don’t have to face it alone.”

“I’ve always faced him alone,” he muttered roughly. “This isn’t any different.”

You swallowed hard, hurt flashing briefly. “It could be.”

His jaw clenched again, voice flat and hard. “It won’t.”

Silence stretched thinly. Neither of you moved.

“You can’t keep going like this,” you finally whispered.

Matt rose abruptly, grabbing the mask from beside him. “I need to go.”

“Matt—”

He paused at your window, head slightly bowed. “I’ll be fine.”

You sighed softly, voice gentle but firm. “No, you won’t.”

He hesitated a second longer, head tilted as if listening to something far away, then disappeared silently into the night.

You stayed there, staring at the empty window, knowing you'd lost him again—for now.

---

Another tense week crawled by, stretching thin between Matt’s silence and your growing unease. He’d become even quieter—distant in a way that left your chest heavy every time he slipped through your window, battered and silent.

Tonight, when Matt appeared, the bruises on his jaw and the dried blood around his knuckles weren’t the most troubling things about him—it was the haunted expression etched across his face.

He barely spoke as you cleaned him up, sitting stiffly, head turned slightly away.

“What happened?” you finally asked gently, placing the bandage across his split knuckles.

Matt didn’t answer, jaw tight, eyes focused on something beyond you.

“Matt.” You reached for him, lightly touching his wrist. He flinched, pulling back instinctively. You paused, startled.

“I was right,” he murmured finally, voice rough and hollow. “Fisk has the FBI in his pocket. He's controlling them from his goddamn penthouse.”

“Are you sure?”

“I saw it myself,” he said bitterly, tension vibrating in his voice. “I saw one of them—Agent Dex. He’s working for Fisk.”

Your heart sank. “What are you going to do?”

He shook his head slowly, fists clenching tightly. “Whatever I have to.”

“Matt—”

“Don't,” he snapped sharply, shutting down any further questions before you could ask them.

You bit back your frustration, voice careful but firm. “You can’t keep shutting me out.”

Matt didn’t respond, jaw tightening as he stood abruptly. “I need air.”

You wanted to stop him, wanted to demand answers, but instead, you nodded quietly. “Fine.”

He hesitated just briefly at the window, head bowed slightly, before vanishing into the night without another word.

---

You woke suddenly in the middle of the night, a faint movement in your room tugging you from sleep. Heart thudding sharply, you sat up quickly, breath catching as your eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Matt stood silently near your bedroom door, half-hidden in shadows, head tilted slightly as if listening carefully to the sound of your breathing.

“Matt?” Your voice came out a sleepy whisper, unsure.

He stiffened slightly but didn’t move, his expression unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” you asked gently, sliding out from beneath the covers, stepping cautiously toward him. “Are you hurt?”

Matt shook his head slowly, voice barely audible. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you murmured quietly, stopping just inches away from him, pulse racing. “What’s going on?”

He hesitated, voice breaking softly. “Nothing. Just needed… I just needed to make sure you were okay.”

You swallowed hard, chest aching at the raw vulnerability in his words. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Matt exhaled slowly, jaw tight. “Because I’m getting close. Too close. Fisk—he knows about you. And if something happens, I need to know—”

“Matt,” you interrupted gently, reaching out cautiously, fingertips brushing against his arm. “I’m right here. You don’t need to protect me from everything.”

“I do,” he whispered fiercely. “Especially from this.”

His breathing grew uneven, tension thrumming in every muscle as you stepped closer, heart hammering quietly in the dark. Your fingers trailed slowly up his arm, carefully tracing the sharp angle of his shoulder.

“Matt,” you murmured softly again, a plea for him to hear you, really hear you. “Let me in. Please.”

He stayed frozen, silent, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Carefully, hesitantly, your hand drifted up to touch his jaw, gentle against bruised skin.

He tilted his head slightly toward your touch, lips parting as if he might say something, then stopped himself, conflicted.

Your heart raced faster, your voice barely audible. “I know you think you have to do this alone—but you don’t.”

Matt stayed quiet, breath warm and uneven against your cheek. You leaned in slightly, pulse fluttering in your throat as you closed the last bit of space.

He moved suddenly, gently gripping your shoulders, stopping you just short of touching him. Your eyes fluttered open, confused, hurt flickering quickly across your expression.

“I can’t,” he whispered brokenly, his voice rough with pain. “I’m sorry.”

You stared at him silently, chest aching. He stood there a moment longer, fingertips trembling faintly against your skin, before stepping back, releasing you slowly.

“Go back to sleep,” he said quietly, almost pleading.

He slipped out of your room, leaving you standing alone in the dark, chest tight, heart bruised.

You knew this was far from over—but tonight, it felt like you’d lost something you hadn’t even fully had yet.

---

Four days.

Four endless, brutal days with nothing—no sign, no whispered apologies, no flicker of a shadow at your window.

You’d started preparing for the worst, again, your heart stuck in a twisted loop of hope and dread.

When Matt finally stumbled back through your window, it felt like a ghost stepping back into your life. You shot up instantly from your spot on the couch, heart pounding.

He looked awful—his body battered, face bruised and bloody, posture hunched and unsteady.

“What the hell happened?” you demanded, voice shaking with barely suppressed fear. “Where have you been?”

Matt didn’t answer immediately, swaying slightly as he leaned against the wall, breathing raggedly.

“Matt, answer me.”

“Dex,” he muttered finally, bitterness dripping from the single syllable. “He’s… Fisk’s using him. He has my suit. He’s killing people, pretending to be me.”

“Jesus,” you breathed, stepping closer, reaching instinctively for your first-aid kit. “Come here, let me—”

“No,” he snapped harshly, flinching back. “Don’t.”

You froze, hurt flaring up instantly. “Excuse me?”

“Just—stop. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“But you are,” you shot back sharply. “Because you always come back here when things go wrong, and I’m always here waiting like an idiot.”

His jaw tightened, shoulders tense. “I never asked you to wait.”

“You didn’t have to,” you countered fiercely. “You keep coming back, expecting me to clean you up and never ask questions. Well, I’m done. Tell me what’s going on, Matt.”

He shook his head angrily, voice rising sharply. “You really don’t get it, do you? I keep coming here because I have nowhere else to go—but it’s dangerous. You’re dangerous.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “I’m dangerous? Seriously?”

“Yes,” he hissed, stepping toward you, frustration boiling over. “You make me weak. You make me distracted. Every second I’m here, every second I waste worrying about you, Fisk gets stronger. People are dying because of me, because I can’t stop—”

“No,” you snapped sharply, cutting him off. “Don’t put that on me. People are dying because you refuse to let anyone help you.”

“I don’t need your help!”

“Oh, clearly,” you spat bitterly, anger surging. “Because stumbling into my apartment half-dead is exactly how someone who doesn’t need help behaves.”

“You don’t understand,” Matt growled, voice raw with frustration. “Dex nearly killed me because I hesitated—because for one second, I thought of you. I can’t afford that.”

You shook your head furiously. “So it’s my fault now? You’re blaming me because you refuse to let yourself care about anything?”

“I’m blaming myself!” he yelled, voice cracking sharply, emotion finally breaking through his carefully maintained facade. “I should’ve never dragged you into this. I should’ve walked away the second I saw you in that alley.”

“You’re such an ass,” you shot back, your voice shaking. “I’m not the one being reckless. I’m not the one throwing myself into fights alone. I’m not the one choosing to shut everyone out—”

“I’m trying to keep you alive!”

“I never asked you to!” Your voice echoed sharply through the room, both of you breathing heavily in the charged silence.

Matt turned his face away, chest rising and falling rapidly, fists clenched tight at his sides. “I shouldn’t have come.”

You stared at him, disbelief and hurt etched clearly across your face. “Then maybe you shouldn’t come back.”

He stiffened visibly, jaw tightening, head tilting slightly as if your words physically hurt him. But he said nothing else, just grabbed the mask from your coffee table, gripping it tightly.

Without another word, he moved to your window, hesitating just briefly on the ledge.

Then he disappeared again, leaving you alone, anger and heartache twisting painfully in your chest.

---

It had been days since Matt left—days since your explosive fight had fractured whatever fragile peace you’d built. You’d thrown yourself into work at Metro-General, desperate to keep your mind occupied.

The hospital buzzed with its usual chaos, your attention split between paperwork, phone calls, and calming anxious visitors. It was easy to fall into the rhythm, easier still to pretend that you weren’t constantly looking over your shoulder, hoping—and dreading—to see Matt again.

“Excuse me?”

The voice startled you from your thoughts. You glanced up to find a man standing at your desk, dressed in civilian clothes but clearly tense, guarded. Dark blond hair, sharp eyes—something off about the way he smiled, polite but distant.

“Sorry,” you said, regaining your professional composure quickly. “How can I help you?”

“Benjamin,” he said smoothly, holding your gaze a bit too steadily. “I was told someone would help patch me up, but I’ve been waiting a while.”

You glanced briefly at his scraped knuckles and the faint, dried blood along his hairline. Definitely not severe, but you understood the frustration.

“I’m sorry about that,” you apologized gently, checking the screen briefly. “The ER’s a bit backed up right now. Someone should be with you soon.”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Listen, it's nothing serious. Just a couple scratches. You think you could handle it real quick?”

You hesitated, raising an eyebrow slightly. “I’m just a receptionist, Benjamin. I’m not really supposed to—”

“Come on,” he interrupted lightly, his smile broadening, though the humor never fully reached his eyes. “You seem capable enough. I won’t sue you or anything.”

You laughed softly, relaxing just a bit. “Promise?”

“Scout’s honor,” he said, raising his hand mock-seriously.

You sighed gently, grabbing a small first aid kit from behind the counter. “Fine. But just this once, okay?”

Benjamin followed you over to an empty chair nearby, sinking down casually, his gaze following you with unsettling intensity. You knelt in front of him, carefully opening antiseptic wipes.

“So, what happened?” you asked lightly, making conversation to fill the quiet. “Rough day on the job?”

“You could say that.” He paused, watching you work. “Work’s been a bit… complicated lately.”

“Yeah, I get that,” you murmured, gently dabbing at the cuts. “Things have been complicated for me, too.”

He studied you closely. “Problems at home?”

You hesitated briefly, uncomfortable with how direct he was. “Something like that.”

Benjamin leaned in a bit, voice softer. “It’s tough when people you trust disappoint you, isn’t it?”

You glanced up, startled. He smiled slightly, coldly reassuring.

“I’m a good guesser,” he offered by way of explanation.

“I suppose,” you said quietly, finishing quickly. You reached for a small bandage, avoiding his probing stare.

“You did good,” he said, tone oddly approving as you sat back. “Maybe you’re in the wrong line of work.”

“I think I’ll stick to my desk job,” you replied lightly, forcing a polite smile. “Less blood.”

Benjamin stood slowly, flexing his hand experimentally. “Thanks again, Y/N.”

You frowned slightly, confused. “Did I tell you my name?”

He paused briefly, an almost imperceptible flicker crossing his face. “Nametag.”

You glanced down at the badge clipped to your shirt, suddenly feeling foolish. “Right. Of course.”

He turned to leave, then glanced back once, smile still polite, controlled. “Take care of yourself.”

Something about his tone made a chill crawl up your spine, but you brushed it off quickly as he disappeared down the hall.

You shook your head gently, returning to your desk, trying not to dwell on the encounter. It was probably nothing.

Probably.

---

The attack happened so fast, you barely registered it.

You were walking home from the hospital, your mind tired, distracted, replaying a dozen conversations from the day. The sun was still out, bright and indifferent, which made what came next feel even more surreal.

One second you were stepping off the curb, fumbling for your keys, and the next a rough hand grabbed your arm, yanking you sharply into the narrow alley between buildings.

You gasped, trying to wrench yourself free. "Hey! Let me—"

A gloved hand closed tightly over your mouth, pushing you hard against the brick wall. The rough edges scraped your shoulder painfully through your shirt. You tried to scream, panic swelling fast, but the grip tightened sharply.

"Shut up," a voice hissed coldly into your ear. "Or I'll make this hurt worse."

You went rigid, pulse hammering loudly in your ears. The attacker pressed closer, crowding your space, his voice low and dangerously calm.

"Wilson Fisk sends his regards," he whispered roughly. "Tell your friend in the mask he's been noticed. You have too."

Your stomach lurched. You struggled again, twisting sharply, elbow catching your attacker in the ribs. He cursed harshly, shoving you back against the wall, your head cracking sharply against the bricks.

Darkness flared briefly at the edges of your vision. When you blinked, he was already gone, footsteps fading rapidly down the alley. You slid slowly down the wall, legs trembling violently, breaths shallow and panicked.

"Fuck," you whispered, pressing shaky fingertips to your forehead, pulling them away red.

Dazed, you staggered to your feet, swaying as you made your way to your apartment. Your keys shook as you unlocked your door, stumbling inside and bolting it behind you.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, adrenaline fading enough to make the pain rush forward. Your head throbbed sharply. Blood trickled slowly down your temple, smearing your fingertips.

You swallowed hard, pulling your phone from your pocket with shaking hands. Your thumb hovered uncertainly before quickly dialing Karen’s number.

"Hey, Y/N," she answered cheerfully. "What’s up?"

"Karen," you managed weakly, voice shaking. "I—I need you to come over. Please."

Instantly, her tone changed, sharp and worried. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I was attacked," you whispered shakily, sinking onto your couch. "I—it's bad."

"Shit," Karen breathed sharply. "Stay right there. I'm coming right now."

---

Karen arrived within fifteen minutes, the knock at your door urgent and insistent.

"Y/N?" she called, worry clear in her voice.

You opened the door cautiously, eyes wide and frightened. Karen's gaze darkened when she saw you.

"Jesus," she muttered softly, stepping quickly inside. "Who did this?"

You shook your head, unable to form a coherent sentence at first. Karen gently guided you to the couch, kneeling carefully in front of you as she took in the blood on your forehead, the bruise already forming along your cheek.

"I'll get your kit," she murmured gently. "Stay here."

You nodded numbly, closing your eyes as she moved through your apartment. When Karen returned, she began carefully cleaning the gash above your brow, her touch gentle and familiar.

"Who did this?" she asked softly, voice steady but tense.

You exhaled slowly, wincing as the antiseptic stung sharply. "Fisk. Someone he sent."

Karen’s hand froze briefly, eyes widening. "What?"

You swallowed thickly, voice trembling. "He knows I'm… connected to Daredevil."

Karen's expression darkened further. "Shit."

Your eyes flickered up to her face, conflicted. "Karen, I—Matt—"

She nodded gently, voice steady. "We know he's alive."

You blinked, startled. "What?"

Karen exhaled quietly, continuing her work gently. "He came to us a while ago. Told us everything. Including that you'd been helping patch him up."

Your jaw clenched slightly, hurt flickering briefly across your face. "Not anymore."

She paused, frowning softly. "Did something happen?"

"Yeah," you said quietly, unable to meet her gaze. "I… told him not to come back."

Karen set down the bandage, watching you closely. "Why?"

You exhaled shakily, frustration and heartache mixing uncomfortably. "Because he kept showing up half-dead and wouldn’t talk to me. Because he refuses to let anyone help him. Because—" your voice broke slightly, bitter. "Because apparently I'm the reason he's distracted."

Karen was quiet for a moment, voice gentle. "Matt’s always been like that. Always thinks he has to handle everything alone."

"I know," you whispered, frustrated. "But it’s different when—"

"When you care about him?" Karen finished gently.

You nodded silently, looking away.

Karen sighed quietly, setting the first aid kit aside. "Look, I won't pretend I understand what's going through Matt's head. But I do know one thing: pushing people away is what he's good at."

You laughed weakly. "Yeah, I noticed."

Karen smiled faintly. "I also know that he only pushes harder when he's scared. He's lost a lot. Too much. He's terrified of losing anyone else."

"He told me that," you admitted softly. "Right before he walked away again."

Karen squeezed your hand gently, reassuring. "Give him time. Matt can be a stubborn idiot sometimes, but… he comes back."

You swallowed hard, conflicted, then whispered quietly, "I don't know if he will this time."

She shook her head slightly, gentle but firm. "Matt never stays away for long. Especially from the people he cares about."

You didn't reply, chest aching sharply at the quiet confidence in her voice.

Karen carefully smoothed the last bandage into place, leaning back to inspect her work. "Better?"

"Better," you murmured quietly. "Thank you."

She nodded, voice soft. "Anytime."

You sat together quietly for several minutes, Karen's presence calming the worst of your nerves. Finally, she squeezed your hand again softly, standing slowly.

"I should get going," she murmured gently. "Foggy will be wondering where I am."

You smiled faintly, tired. "Tell him I said hi."

She nodded, pausing at your door. "Stay safe, okay? And call if you need anything—seriously."

You nodded again, voice barely audible. "I will."

Karen hesitated briefly, looking at you softly. "He cares about you, Y/N. Even if he's terrible at showing it."

Your throat tightened, but you managed a shaky nod. "I know."

Karen slipped quietly out the door, leaving you alone again. You sank back against your couch, pain throbbing quietly beneath the bandages, exhaustion pulling heavily at you.

You thought about calling Matt, fingers hovering briefly over his name—but then you remembered the way he'd left, the bitter words, the hurtful silence.

Instead, you placed your phone down quietly, curling carefully against the cushions. Your eyes drifted shut slowly, heart aching as your breathing slowly evened out.

Whatever happened next, you'd deal with it in the morning.

Right now, sleep felt like the only safe place left to hide.

---

It had been days since the attack. Days that blurred into nights as you navigated a strange new normal—always looking over your shoulder, flinching at shadows. You forced yourself through your shifts at Metro-General, smiling politely, taking calls, quietly checking people in, all while silently replaying the words of your attacker:

Wilson Fisk sends his regards.

The hospital felt colder somehow, less welcoming, each shift becoming a careful game of vigilance. Your coworkers noticed your distraction, but you brushed their questions off quickly, claiming exhaustion or stress. No one pressed further, and you were grateful.

Still, you couldn't help the tension twisting tighter in your chest with each passing day, every shift spent counting the hours until you could lock yourself behind your apartment door.

Today was no different. The sun had already dipped below the skyline, leaving shadows stretching long across the sidewalks as you exited Metro-General. A chill hung heavily in the air; you pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders, quickening your pace down the street.

You paused briefly at a crosswalk, glancing warily at a black sedan idling a bit too long at the curb. Your pulse quickened as it slowly pulled away, but no one emerged, and no one looked your way.

“Relax,” you whispered quietly to yourself, rubbing your face tiredly. “You're being paranoid.”

But you weren't. Fisk's message still lingered in your mind, an ominous weight pressing heavily against your chest.

You continued walking, passing by a small café, its warm lights spilling softly onto the sidewalk. You glanced inside, the mundane scene briefly reassuring—people sipping coffee, reading books, chatting easily. A pang of longing hit you; normal felt so painfully out of reach.

“Y/N!”

You jumped slightly, whipping around sharply at your name. Your coworker, Lisa, jogged over quickly, giving you a sheepish smile as she approached.

“Sorry,” she laughed softly, breathless. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a weak smile. “No, it's fine. What's up?”

Lisa gestured vaguely toward the hospital, cheeks flushed from the cold. “You left your ID at the desk. Thought you'd want it.”

Relief rushed through you as you accepted the badge, slipping it quickly back into your pocket. “God, thank you. My brain's all over the place lately.”

She frowned gently, concern flickering briefly across her face. “Everything okay? You seem pretty rattled lately.”

You hesitated, considering your answer carefully. “It's… personal stuff. I'll be fine.”

Lisa didn't look convinced but didn't press further. “Alright. Just take care of yourself, okay?”

You smiled faintly, grateful. “I will.”

She gave a quick nod, turning back toward the hospital. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” you echoed quietly, watching her retreating form disappear down the sidewalk.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself before continuing your walk home, your nerves settling slightly after the brief interaction.

Until you saw it again—a black sedan, idling at the corner ahead, lights off. Your heart stuttered sharply, steps faltering. Panic surged fast and sudden, your instincts screaming sharply in warning.

“Shit,” you whispered shakily, eyes darting rapidly around the empty street. It was late enough now that the streets had thinned, passersby few and far between. Your fingers tightened around your phone, pulse hammering roughly in your throat.

You moved quickly, ducking sharply down a narrow side street, breath ragged and uneven as you hurried through the shadows. You glanced back repeatedly, but the sedan didn't appear again.

Eventually, your apartment building loomed up ahead, a beacon of safety. You hurried inside quickly, locking the heavy door behind you, exhaling heavily in relief.

“Safe,” you whispered shakily, rubbing trembling hands over your face.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, making you flinch. You glanced quickly at the screen—just an unknown number. Your stomach twisted anxiously as you read the short, clipped message:

You're making this harder than it needs to be.

Your blood ran cold, dread twisting sharply in your chest. Fingers trembling, you quickly blocked the number, heart hammering violently as you sank onto your couch.

“This can't keep happening,” you whispered, voice strained with fear and frustration.

Sleep was impossible that night—every noise outside your window jolted you awake, breath caught sharply in your chest, pulse racing. Eventually, exhaustion dragged you into a restless, uneasy sleep, filled with broken, uneasy dreams.

The next morning, you forced yourself through your routine, showering quickly, coffee bitter on your tongue, anxiety buzzing quietly beneath your skin. You hesitated briefly at your apartment door, fingers shaking slightly as you gripped the handle.

“Get it together,” you whispered fiercely to yourself. “You can't hide forever.”

Gathering your courage, you stepped out onto the street, eyes immediately scanning for threats. Nothing stood out—no black sedan, no suspicious figures lurking nearby.

The walk to Metro-General felt agonizingly long, every step tense and cautious. But when you finally reached the bright lobby, tension eased from your shoulders slightly, replaced by a fragile sense of relief.

“Morning, Y/N,” another coworker called warmly from the front desk, smiling cheerfully.

You forced yourself to smile back, taking a calming breath. “Morning.”

Work became a welcome distraction, the busy routine soothing your frayed nerves. Calls, paperwork, quiet conversations with patients—all familiar, all comforting. By the time your shift ended, you almost felt normal again, anxiety dulled slightly beneath exhaustion.

You stepped outside cautiously, evening already darkening the sky, cold wind biting sharply. You started walking home carefully, heart thudding gently.

You were almost halfway home, passing a small storefront, when a sharp, sudden noise startled you—a metal trash can clattering loudly nearby. You jumped sharply, whirling around.

“Jesus,” you muttered shakily, heart racing violently. Just a stray cat, darting quickly across the alleyway, eyes reflecting briefly in the dim streetlights.

You sighed heavily, relief mingling with embarrassment at your own paranoia.

“Okay, calm down,” you whispered quietly, voice uneven. “Almost home.”

You turned slowly back toward the sidewalk—then froze abruptly.

Standing just a few feet away, half-shadowed beneath a streetlamp, was a familiar face.

“Benjamin?” Your voice shook slightly, heart thudding unevenly as you recognized the man from the hospital.

He smiled slowly, coldly, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on yours. “Hey, Y/N. Fancy meeting you here.”

Every instinct screamed danger, your pulse spiking sharply. You took a cautious step back. “What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head slightly, expression casual despite the tension radiating from him. “Just passing through. Saw you—thought I'd say hi.”

Your eyes flickered quickly toward the street, hoping desperately for another pedestrian, a passing car—anything. Empty.

“You've been following me,” you whispered, voice shaking.

Benjamin shrugged slightly, taking a casual step forward. “Just doing my job.”

Your stomach twisted violently. “Your job? Fisk sent you?”

He laughed softly, humorless, the sound chilling. “No. This isn't about Fisk.”

Your confusion must've shown clearly, because his smile widened slowly, eyes glittering darkly in the dim light.

“It's about someone else entirely,” he murmured softly, stepping closer. “Someone who wears red.”

Your breath caught sharply, realization dawning sickeningly fast. You stepped back quickly, pulse hammering.

“Leave me alone,” you said sharply, voice cracking slightly.

He shook his head gently, almost sympathetic. “I wish I could. But unfortunately, you're part of this now. And you’re going to help me get what I want.”

Panic surged violently through your chest, limbs shaking. You turned sharply, ready to run—but Benjamin moved quicker, grabbing your arm roughly, pulling you back sharply against him, cold metal pressing into your side.

“Don’t scream,” he murmured dangerously, lips brushing your ear. “I’m not supposed to kill you yet.”

Your breath froze painfully in your throat, panic paralyzing you momentarily. He tightened his grip painfully, voice calm, almost conversational.

“Let’s go,” Benjamin whispered, cold and sure, steering you toward a nearby car, the door opening smoothly as he pushed you inside.

You had no choice but to obey, heart thudding violently, dread settling bitterly as the car door shut firmly behind you.

---

You lost track of time quickly in the bare, windowless room. Hours blurred into days, punctuated only by the occasional sound of footsteps approaching, doors opening, and quiet, tense exchanges. Dex rarely spoke, barely looking your way, leaving you alone with only your tangled thoughts for company.

Until one day, when the door opened quietly and Dex stepped into the room, leaning against the doorframe, watching you silently.

"Good news?" you asked dryly, voice hoarse from disuse. "Or are you finally just here to end the suspense?"

Dex's mouth twitched briefly—almost a smile, but cold, calculated. "He's stubborn, I'll give him that."

You raised an eyebrow sharply. "Who?"

His gaze sharpened slightly, coldly amused. "Who do you think?"

Realization clicked sharply, stomach twisting painfully. "Matt?"

Dex tilted his head slightly, something dark flickering behind his controlled expression. "So you do know his name. Good to know we're on the same page."

You scoffed bitterly, disbelief creeping into your voice. "You're wasting your time. Matt doesn't care about me."

He pushed away from the doorframe slowly, stepping into the room. "Now, why do I find that hard to believe?"

You laughed weakly, humorless. "Maybe because you kidnapped me thinking he'd come running, and so far, nothing."

Dex paused briefly, jaw flexing almost imperceptibly. He studied you carefully, expression unreadable. "Doesn't matter. Fisk thinks otherwise."

"Well, Fisk is wrong," you shot back bitterly, exhaustion sharpening your voice. "Matt made it pretty clear. He's not coming."

Dex didn't respond immediately, eyes narrowing slightly. Something cold passed briefly across his expression before he shook his head, returning to his careful indifference. "We'll see."

You sighed quietly, tipping your head back against the wall tiredly. "Don't hold your breath."

He stood there silently for another long moment, as if considering something, then turned and left without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him.

---

Dex returned more often after that—not always to talk, usually just to sit quietly, watching you carefully, eyes sharp and calculating. But after a while, even his silence felt strangely preferable to the isolation you'd been enduring.

One evening, he sat silently in the corner, meticulously cleaning the pistol he'd placed neatly on the table beside him. You watched carefully, gathering your nerve.

"So," you said finally, voice cautiously even, "do you have an actual name, or am I supposed to just call you 'you' forever?"

He glanced up sharply, expression guarded. "Why does it matter?"

You shrugged, feigning indifference. "Because 'hey, kidnapper' just feels a bit formal."

Dex hesitated, fingers pausing briefly on the gun. Eventually, he exhaled quietly, eyes flicking up to yours. "Dex."

"Dex," you echoed softly, testing the name carefully. You paused, recognition flickering sharply. "Wait—Dex as in Agent Dex?"

He went rigid, eyes narrowing sharply. "How do you know that?"

Your stomach twisted painfully, realization sinking deeper. "Matt told me about you. Said Fisk was using you."

Dex's jaw tightened visibly, voice cold. "He said that?"

You nodded slowly, pulse quickening. "Yeah."

He stared at you silently, expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke quietly, voice flat and controlled. "Fisk is helping me."

You raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Helping you how?"

Dex hesitated slightly, glancing down briefly at the gun in his hands. "He understands me. Gives me purpose."

Your voice softened carefully. "Sounds like he's just using you."

His eyes flicked up sharply, defensive. "You don't know what you're talking about."

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head gently. "Maybe not. But I know Matt's not your enemy."

Dex scoffed bitterly, resuming his careful cleaning. "He got in my way."

You watched him quietly, curiosity overriding caution. "Your way of what?"

Dex tensed visibly, but didn't answer, eyes fixed firmly on his work. The silence stretched long and fragile before you spoke again, voice quiet.

"Matt doesn't trust easily," you murmured carefully, "but if he thought you could get out from under Fisk, he'd help you."

Dex laughed humorlessly, glancing sharply at you. "You don't really believe that."

"I do," you replied gently. "Matt helps people—even when they don't deserve it."

He stared at you silently, expression carefully blank. Eventually, he set the pistol down firmly, pushing up from his chair abruptly. "You're wrong."

You didn't respond, holding his gaze silently as he walked quickly out of the room, door slamming shut behind him.

---

Slowly, a tentative routine began forming. Dex returned regularly, always silent, tense. He never stayed long, rarely spoke. But you found yourself anticipating those short visits—anything to break the monotony of endless waiting.

Today, Dex leaned silently against the opposite wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, gaze distant and cold.

"You know," you finally said, voice quiet but firm, "I don't think you're as heartless as you pretend."

He glanced sharply at you, eyes narrowing. "Don't pretend you know anything about me."

"I don't," you agreed softly, carefully holding his gaze. "But I know you're tired. And I know what it's like to be used."

Dex's jaw tightened visibly, but he didn't reply, eyes flicking away briefly.

You pressed gently, voice calm. "Matt told me Fisk has a way of getting into your head. Manipulating your trust. He did it to Matt, too."

Dex scoffed bitterly, eyes hardening again. "I'm nothing like him."

You tilted your head slightly, watching him carefully. "You're more alike than you think. He pushed everyone away, too. Thought he could do everything alone—until he couldn't."

Dex stayed quiet, jaw tense, gaze fixed on a distant spot on the floor.

You hesitated briefly before speaking softly. "You know, you don't have to do this. Fisk isn't your friend."

He exhaled sharply, eyes flicking sharply up to yours. "And you are?"

You shrugged gently, voice calm and steady. "Maybe not. But at least I'm honest."

Dex laughed softly, humorless. "Honest. You really think anyone in this city is honest?"

"Matt was," you replied carefully, softly. "Even if he was terrible at everything else."

He stared at you silently, expression unreadable. Finally, he shook his head slightly, pushing away from the wall. "Don't try to figure me out, Y/N. It won't work."

You smiled faintly, exhaustion making your voice softer. "Maybe not. But I'm stuck here anyway—I figure I might as well try."

Dex didn't respond, lingering silently near the door, hesitating briefly before finally slipping quietly out.

---

Days stretched slowly on. Matt didn't come. No rescue, no whisper of his name, no hint that he even knew—or cared—that you'd disappeared. Fisk's assumption had proven wrong.

Dex noticed, though he didn't say anything. Still, you caught him watching you more carefully, as if trying to understand you, understand why Matt hadn't appeared.

Tonight, Dex sat silently nearby, staring thoughtfully at the wall. You watched him quietly, exhaustion weighing heavily on your voice when you finally spoke.

"Guess I was right," you murmured softly. "Matt really isn't coming."

Dex didn't respond immediately, but eventually his voice broke the tense quiet, quieter than usual. "Maybe he's just playing it safe."

You laughed weakly, humorless. "No. Matt isn't like that. If he thought someone he cared about was in danger, nothing could stop him." You paused, throat tight. "I guess that proves where I stand."

Dex's eyes flicked briefly toward you, unreadable. "Maybe he's just scared."

You smiled faintly, bitterly. "Matt's never been scared to risk his life for someone else."

Dex tilted his head slightly, watching you closely. "Not even you?"

You hesitated, swallowing tightly before finally shaking your head softly. "No. Not even me."

Dex didn't respond, but something briefly softened in his guarded expression, almost like sympathy, before vanishing as quickly as it'd appeared.

He stood slowly, moving quietly toward the door. He paused there briefly, speaking without turning back.

"For what it's worth," Dex murmured quietly, carefully, "I think you're wrong."

He didn't wait for your reply, slipping quickly out, the door clicking softly shut behind him, leaving you alone once more in silence.

---

Karen paced the small length of her living room, anxiety crawling up her spine like a slow-moving chill. Her thumb hovered once more over your name on her screen, stomach knotting painfully when it went straight to voicemail again.

“Dammit, Y/N,” she murmured, sinking down heavily onto her worn couch. She closed her eyes briefly, tapping her phone nervously against her thigh.

It had been days since she'd last seen or heard from you—long enough to set off every alarm bell in her head. Karen knew you well enough to understand you weren't the type to vanish without at least a quick text. You'd always been careful like that, mindful of how much they worried.

She'd gone by your apartment twice already—lights off, mail stacked up, a quiet emptiness settled ominously inside. Everything looked untouched, frozen in time. Your shift at Metro-General confirmed her fears; you hadn’t shown up to work in days either. Something was terribly wrong.

"Come on," Karen whispered softly, heart heavy in her chest. "Pick up your phone, Y/N."

Nothing. Just that same automated voicemail greeting she'd now memorized.

She exhaled sharply, heart twisting painfully, and glanced toward her desk, where her laptop sat open. Fisk's release and new media storm had been consuming all her attention lately, but now it all felt terribly connected. She remembered your worried look, your quiet admission that Fisk’s men had threatened you—that they'd left a clear warning.

Fear spiked through Karen's veins. She stood abruptly, grabbing her keys and jacket from the table.

If Matt wouldn’t answer her, maybe Foggy would. He needed to know. Maybe together they could figure out what the hell had happened.

She just prayed they weren't already too late.

---

Foggy watched Karen pace anxiously across his office, the worry etched into her face clear and unsettling.

“How long has it been?” he asked quietly, voice heavy with concern.

“Almost a week,” Karen replied, eyes tight with tension. “No calls, no texts, nothing. She hasn't shown up at work, Foggy. Nobody's seen her.”

Foggy frowned deeply, feeling dread pooling uneasily in his stomach. “You don’t think Fisk would—”

“I don’t know,” Karen said sharply, clearly frustrated. “But you know she was already on his radar. We warned her. We warned Matt, too.”

Foggy rubbed his temples tiredly, sighing heavily. “Have you called him?”

Karen scoffed bitterly. “I’ve tried. He’s gone radio silent again. Like always.”

Foggy’s expression darkened. “Dammit, Matt.”

Karen’s voice softened, shaking her head gently. “I don’t think he knows, Foggy. You saw how he was last time we talked—completely shut down. If he had any idea Y/N was missing…”

“He’d tear the city apart,” Foggy finished quietly, understanding clear in his tone.

Karen nodded tightly, eyes bright with worry. “Exactly. We need to find him. If Fisk took Y/N to get Matt’s attention—”

Foggy swallowed hard, chest tight. “Then he’s playing a dangerous game.”

“Matt needs to know,” Karen said fiercely, voice steady with determination. “He’d never forgive us if we kept this from him.”

Foggy hesitated just briefly before nodding sharply, already grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “Let’s go.”

---

Dex leaned quietly against the wall of the safehouse, eyes locked unblinkingly on the small surveillance screen in front of him. Fisk’s voice hummed through the phone, calm, even soothing—but Dex knew better.

“It’s been nearly a week, Benjamin,” Fisk said gently, a patient reminder. “And still nothing from our friend in red?”

Dex’s jaw tightened slightly. “No, sir.”

Fisk hummed thoughtfully. “Then perhaps he needs a more… persuasive demonstration.”

Dex paused, discomfort flickering briefly across his controlled expression. “What do you mean?”

Fisk’s tone shifted slightly, darker beneath the calm. “Ms. Y/N has clearly not been enough incentive. Perhaps she’s not as important as I thought. Make sure Murdock knows we mean business. However necessary.”

Dex's grip tightened on the phone, voice carefully neutral. “Understood.”

Fisk ended the call without another word, leaving Dex alone with a lingering unease twisting in his chest. He hesitated briefly, glancing toward the closed door where you were still being held.

Slowly, he pushed away from the wall, footsteps silent as he moved toward your room. He hesitated just outside, exhaling slowly, face unreadable as he unlocked the door and stepped quietly inside.

You glanced up quickly, eyes wary but exhausted. You looked tired—face drawn, circles darkening beneath your eyes.

“What now?” you asked quietly, resignation clear in your tone.

Dex watched you silently for a moment, jaw tight. “Still no sign of your friend.”

You scoffed bitterly, shaking your head. “I told you he wouldn't show.”

He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “Fisk wants me to… escalate things.”

You stiffened slightly, anxiety flickering quickly across your face. “Meaning?”

Dex stared at you silently, expression guarded. Finally, he spoke quietly, words careful, controlled. “Meaning it’ll get worse. Fisk thinks you’re not important enough to Murdock.”

You exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping slightly, voice tight. “Well, he’s right about that.”

Dex tilted his head slightly, studying your defeated expression carefully. “You really think that?”

You looked up tiredly, voice softening bitterly. “If Matt knew and cared, he’d already be here.”

Dex stayed quiet for several seconds, something unreadable briefly passing across his expression. Eventually, he exhaled gently, eyes flicking briefly toward the floor before meeting yours again.

“You shouldn't have gotten involved with him,” he said finally, voice quiet.

You laughed weakly, humorless. “That, Dex, we can definitely agree on.”

He watched you carefully, as if considering something, before finally stepping back quietly, voice low and even. “I’m sorry.”

You glanced up, surprised by the quiet sincerity behind his words, but before you could respond, he'd already slipped silently from the room, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

You leaned back slowly, heart heavy, knowing things had just taken a darker turn.

---

Karen knocked again at the familiar door, heart heavy with frustration. The steady, stubborn silence echoed her worry.

"Come on, Matt," she muttered impatiently, voice sharp. "I know you're in there."

She pressed her ear briefly against the worn wood, hearing only silence from inside.

"Matt," she called again firmly, raising her voice. "It's Karen. We need to talk. It's about Y/N."

A sudden, soft shuffle inside—almost imperceptible, but she'd caught it. Karen waited, holding her breath. Seconds ticked by. Finally, the door unlocked quietly, and Matt stood there, face gaunt, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, a grim, tense line to his mouth.

"Karen," he greeted softly, voice strained. "What's going on?"

She stepped past him quickly, into the small, shadowed apartment. "You really don't know, do you?"

Matt's brow furrowed sharply. "Know what?"

Karen exhaled in disbelief, frustration mingling painfully with her worry. "Y/N. She's missing, Matt. She's been gone for a week."

Matt went rigid, his expression blanking as though she'd struck him. He tilted his head slightly, listening carefully to her heartbeat, sensing her nervous urgency.

"When?" he asked roughly, voice dangerously calm.

Karen shook her head impatiently. "She vanished days ago—didn't show up for work, hasn't been home, her phone's dead. Nothing."

Matt's fists clenched tightly at his sides. Guilt and dread twisted violently beneath his ribs. He’d known something was wrong—he'd ignored that nagging fear, rationalizing his silence as protection.

"And you think Fisk took her?" he murmured, voice thick.

Karen hesitated, gaze softening slightly at the pain she saw clearly in Matt’s tightly drawn face. "Fisk, Dex—someone connected to you, Matt. She told me Fisk's men had threatened her. She said they'd warned her that they knew she was connected to you."

Matt turned away sharply, pacing several quick steps toward the window, shoulders tense beneath his worn sweater. "This is my fault."

"Matt—" Karen began softly, stepping toward him.

"I pushed her away," he interrupted sharply, regret thickening his voice. "I thought—I thought distance would keep her safe."

Karen's eyes softened, gentle but firm. "It doesn't work that way. You should know that by now."

He stood silently, head bowed, breathing uneven. "Do we know where they're keeping her?"

Karen shook her head, voice tight. "Foggy and I have tried everything. Every lead hits a dead end."

Matt's jaw tightened sharply, fists clenching painfully. "I'll find her."

"Matt," Karen murmured softly, gently touching his arm. "Please be careful. Fisk wants this. He wants you reckless, distracted. Don't play into it."

Matt didn't respond, gaze fixed hard on the shadows. His voice was low, dangerous, determined.

"He took her because of me," he murmured bitterly. "If he hurts her, I'll—"

Karen exhaled sharply, interrupting gently. "Matt, just find her. That's all that matters right now."

He nodded slowly, swallowing past the tightness in his throat. "I will."

---

Dex sat silently outside the door of the holding room, fingers drumming absently on the edge of his chair, thoughts tangled. Fisk’s orders still hung heavy on his shoulders, a weight that felt increasingly wrong, increasingly suffocating.

Something about you had unsettled him. You weren’t scared—at least, not openly. You weren't begging for mercy. Instead, you’d treated him like a person—an actual human being, rather than Fisk's cold, efficient tool. Dex couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him with anything close to empathy.

He rubbed his jaw tiredly, thinking of your quiet voice, your exhausted resignation.

If Matt knew and cared, he'd already be here.

He frowned slightly, irritation rising sharply. Fisk had been so certain you were important enough to draw Murdock out. So certain that using you would tip the scales in their favor. But the longer Dex sat here—the longer he watched you silently endure, waited for Matt to burst through the door—the more uncertain he became.

A sudden noise broke his thoughts—quiet, but distinct. Dex straightened quickly, alert. Footsteps approaching—careful, deliberate, quiet. Almost silent. Almost.

Dex stood slowly, muscles tensed, alert. He recognized those careful movements instantly—after all, he'd spent countless hours studying surveillance footage, mimicking each subtle motion.

Matt Murdock was finally here.

Dex’s pulse quickened, anticipation sharp in his veins. He drew his weapon smoothly, stepping silently into the shadows, waiting.

---

You sat quietly in your darkened room, head leaned heavily against the wall, eyes drifting closed in exhausted resignation. Silence had become your companion—a bitter comfort in your enforced isolation.

Suddenly, a sharp noise startled you awake—the faint sounds of footsteps, muffled voices outside the door. Your heart jolted violently, anxiety flooding your chest.

"Dex?" you called cautiously, throat tight.

No answer. But the voices outside grew louder, sharper, angrier. You rose shakily to your feet, pulse quickening, senses sharpening with adrenaline.

The door rattled violently, shuddering sharply under the force of impact. You flinched back quickly, breath catching painfully.

Suddenly, the door burst open, slamming loudly against the wall. You stared wide-eyed, heart hammering in your throat.

Dex stumbled backward into the room, quickly regaining his footing. He wore Matt’s Daredevil suit, dark red and starkly familiar, but the way he moved was off—too sharp, too rigid.

Matt followed swiftly, his breathing heavy, dressed in the simple black clothes you’d come to know all too well, ropes wrapped tightly around bruised fists.

Dex swung first, fierce and precise. Matt dodged, ducking low before driving a brutal punch to Dex’s ribs. Dex grunted but recovered quickly, blocking Matt’s next strike with sharp precision.

“Matt!” you yelled instinctively, stepping forward, desperate to help but unsure how.

“Stay back!” Matt growled sharply, his voice rough with tension.

Dex glanced briefly at you, distracted just enough for Matt to slam his elbow sharply into Dex’s jaw. Dex stumbled, cursing, the Daredevil mask slipping slightly to reveal his eyes—cold and furious.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Dex snapped angrily, recovering quickly, throwing another series of punches at Matt. “She’s not worth it.”

Matt blocked efficiently, his jaw clenched tight. He didn’t respond, just moved quickly, quietly, relentless as he pressed Dex backward again.

Your heart thudded violently in your chest as you watched, hands trembling uselessly at your sides. They moved quickly, brutally, exchanging hits hard enough to bruise bone. The room filled with the harsh sounds of fists connecting, heavy breathing, feet shuffling.

Dex finally managed a harsh strike to Matt’s side, sending him staggering back. Matt winced sharply, barely recovering before Dex was on him again, fists flying.

“Matt!” you yelled sharply again, panic rising quickly in your throat.

Dex turned sharply toward your voice, irritation flaring in his eyes.

Matt took advantage instantly, catching Dex off-guard. He threw himself forward, driving Dex brutally against the wall. Dex’s head cracked sharply against the plaster, his body sagging slightly.

Dex groaned softly, dazed. Matt quickly gripped the front of the Daredevil suit, pulling Dex roughly forward before slamming him back again—harder.

Dex collapsed heavily, slumping motionless to the floor, breathing shallow and ragged. Matt stood silently over him, chest heaving, fists clenched tight, face bruised and tense.

You didn’t realize you’d stopped breathing until Matt turned slowly toward you, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he tilted his head slightly, carefully listening to your uneven heartbeat.

“Matt—” you breathed shakily, relief overwhelming you.

He moved quickly, stepping forward and wrapping his arms firmly around you. You froze briefly, startled, before your own arms slipped instinctively around his waist, gripping him tightly.

“You’re okay,” he whispered roughly, voice breaking slightly against your shoulder.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your face against his chest, body shaking gently in his embrace. “You came.”

Matt pulled back slightly, hands still gripping your shoulders tightly. His voice was hoarse, fiercely sincere. “Always.”

You stared at him, pulse hammering, heart aching. “Matt—”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted softly, voice tense and exhausted. “I’m sorry I left. I shouldn’t have—”

You shook your head quickly, cutting him off gently. “Later. We’ll talk about it later.”

Matt nodded once, breathing deeply, fingers still trembling slightly where they held you. “Right. Let’s get you out of here.”

You glanced down quickly at Dex’s unconscious form, anxiety briefly flickering. “What about him?”

Matt exhaled slowly, turning toward Dex, jaw tight. “He’ll survive. He’s tough.”

You hesitated, reaching out to gently grip Matt’s wrist. “He’s… Fisk’s using him, Matt. I think he’s lost.”

Matt paused, considering your quiet words before finally nodding slowly, voice heavy with understanding. “I know.”

You stood silently for a moment, Matt’s steadying presence calming the worst of your nerves.

He finally squeezed your hand gently, pulling you toward the open doorway. “Come on.”

You followed closely, stepping quickly past Dex’s motionless form, heart pounding roughly in your chest. Matt’s hand stayed tight around yours, strong and reassuring.

Together, you slipped quietly out into the darkness.

---

Matt stayed quiet as you moved carefully through the city, taking back streets and alleyways, avoiding the glare of streetlights. Your pulse stayed rapid, adrenaline lingering even though you knew you were safe now—at least for the moment.

Finally, you reached your apartment. Matt paused at your front door, head tilted, carefully listening for any sign of trouble inside.

“It’s clear,” he murmured, shoulders slightly relaxing.

You unlocked the door quickly, stepping inside and flipping on the lights. Matt followed, closing the door carefully behind him, locking it firmly.

He lingered there silently, tension radiating from every muscle. After a long pause, you finally spoke softly, your voice tight with exhaustion.

“You’re hurt. Sit down.”

He hesitated briefly before moving slowly to your couch, sinking down with a soft grunt. You retrieved your first aid kit automatically, fingers trembling slightly from lingering adrenaline.

You knelt quietly beside him, gently cleaning the deep cut above his brow. Matt winced faintly but stayed quiet, head bowed slightly, listening carefully to your breathing.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you murmured quietly, voice tight. You carefully smoothed a bandage into place, fingertips brushing gently over his bruised skin.

Matt exhaled slowly, regret thickening his voice. “I didn’t know you were missing. If I'd known—”

You pulled back slightly, frustration rising despite your relief. “If you hadn’t shut me out, Matt—”

“I was trying to protect you,” he interrupted roughly, voice hoarse with emotion. “Clearly, that didn’t work.”

You sighed softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Matt. You can’t keep doing this alone.”

He stayed quiet, jaw clenched tightly, gaze distant. You leaned closer, voice gentle but firm. “I mean it. Dex was ready to kill you tonight. If something happened, if you got hurt, who would even know?”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward your voice, quiet pain clear on his face. “You would.”

Your chest tightened sharply, emotion flooding your throat. “Matt—”

He reached out slowly, gently touching your wrist, voice rough and quiet. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes flickering over his bruised, exhausted expression. “Then stop doing it.”

Matt stayed silent for several long seconds, conflict clear in every line of his body. Eventually, he exhaled shakily, voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how else to protect you.”

“Maybe you don’t have to,” you whispered softly, fingers carefully brushing against his jaw. “Maybe we protect each other.”

Matt tensed briefly, head tilted as if carefully weighing your words. Finally, he exhaled slowly, voice barely audible. “Okay.”

You stared at him silently, heart thudding rapidly. He hesitated slightly, then gently took your hand, squeezing it carefully. “I can’t lose you again.”

Your chest ached fiercely. You squeezed his fingers back tightly. “Then don’t.”

He nodded slowly, shoulders easing slightly beneath your touch. Quietly, you resumed gently cleaning his wounds, comfortable silence settling softly between you.

When you finished, Matt stayed quiet, reluctant to let go of your hand. You sank slowly onto the couch beside him, exhaustion pulling at your bones.

“You should rest,” he murmured gently, voice low. “You’ve barely slept.”

You glanced over tiredly, smiling faintly. “You’re one to talk.”

Matt’s mouth twitched slightly, almost a smile. “Fair.”

You hesitated briefly, nervousness fluttering suddenly in your chest. Finally, voice careful and soft, you asked, “Will you stay?”

Matt hesitated visibly, conflict clear in his tense expression. But slowly, quietly, he nodded once. “Yeah. I'll stay.”

Your heart eased gently at his words. Matt shifted slightly, carefully wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently toward him. You relaxed slowly against his side, head resting lightly on his chest, comforted by the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear.

Eventually, Matt’s breathing slowed, evened out. He’d finally drifted to sleep, exhaustion overtaking his usual vigilance. You tilted your head slightly, glancing briefly up at his peaceful face.

Sleep tugged gently at your eyes too. You let yourself settle more comfortably against Matt’s warmth, exhaustion pulling you gently under, feeling safer than you had in weeks.

Tonight, at least, you weren’t alone.