If you don't want to sue me, ignore this next paragraph….

DISCLAIMER: I claim no ownership or other rights in the characters, plots, or other intellectual property of Netflix, ABC, or Marvel. Instead I claim right under the Fair Use Doctrine to write stories involving certain characters to provide a different characterization that may actually shed light on different aspects or to provide a deeper understanding of those characters, and thus to provide a different viewpoint or richer understanding of—and thus renewed or greater interest in-the original source material. I do nothing with the intent to be financially compensated.

Anyway, on to the show….

Chapter One

Everything was a jumble. Fuzzy, indistinct. For the first time in a long time his in-tact senses were dulled; only the barest of details were registering in his mind. He was lying down, on something narrow. He could smell smoke, but only faintly. Like from a candle or fireplace. He heard various noises…mostly of people—women—talking. Every now and then he felt a hand touch his forehead or knew the wrappings around different parts of his body were removed and fresh ones took their place. But he was just too damn weak to try and sit up and focus his senses, to try and figure out exactly where he was.

He was also fed regularly. Cream of wheat with pancake syrup. Funny. He loved to have that for breakfast when he was young. It brought back indistinct, random memories each time the hot cereal was spooned into his mouth. It was one source of comfort to him in his unknown place, even though he did not feel a general sense of danger from where he was.

His memory of who, what, where, and when from before this time would come to him in bursts, and would then just as quickly disappear beneath the surface. He was just so damn tired. Maybe he was dead. Maybe this was the Rest in Peace after one's death and funeral. The chance to take a breath after all the ups and downs of living.

He saw the angels around him. The beings who would come and tend to him. They were soft, indistinct forms at first, but after a while they became…nuns. They had to be. Softly saying encouraging things to him, loving and caring. Maybe this is what happens to nuns after their died? Matt mused.

Matt slept most of the time. His more distinct memories would often flare up in his dreams, but then be gone by morning. Remnants were starting to stick to his consciousness: pain, the smell of smoke, the muddy water beneath his boots. The woman with the accented voice.

That woman would cause something inside him to jolt. Hearing her voice would often cause him to wake from a dream or cry out in his bed. There was intense…feeling that would course through his body when he thought of her.

He awoke one morning and startled at the outline of seemingly one of the nuns, outlined in the fiery screen though which he had his only sense of the appearance of the world around him. The figure was white oval surrounded by black, leaning over his bed. He presumed he would start to hear the Lord's Prayer, or a question about his comfort or if he wanted something to eat, like he had heard countless times by then.

Instead, the voice was a strangely familiar one. "How you doing, Devil Boy?"

Matt sat up in his bed. What muddled vision he had could just make out her figure: the jacket, the tight jeans, boots….

"Moreover, how the hell did you end up in a place like this?"

"Is that?" Matt canted his head to the right. "Ms….Jones?"

"In the flesh." She managed to find enough space on the left edge of his bed to sit down on.

"Are you…dead?"

Jessica made a face at that, despite knowing he couldn't see it. "I wish."

"Why…how…are you here?"

Jessica looked away. "It took a while but I tracked you down. …Your friend Pollyana Pocket hired me."

This time it was Matt's turn to look (increasingly) confused.

"Yeah, sorry, that was a bit obscure. Ms. Karen Page hired me to find you."

"Oh." A flood of emotions poured across his face. Karen noticed his Adam's apple move up and down as he swallowed. "Karen."

Jessica's eyes narrowed. "You remember her, right?"

After a few more beats, Matt shook his head. "Is she….Is she okay?"

"Yeah. She's fine."

After there was no further explanation forthcoming from Jessica, a flood of questions came from Matt.

"I don't really have any idea how you got here. I mean, the whole we had good reason to believe you had kicked the bucket thing. Otherwise, from what it sounds like from these tight-lipped penguins, is one them found you sprawled out on 1st Avenue *near* but not quite at death's door. They took you in and have been nursing you ever since. Again, how the fuck you got above ground and all the way across Manhattan, much less still breathing, is beyond me."

Matt frowned at the penguin comment. He could remember calling nuns that when we was…five, maybe. But if they were the reason he had been saved and was currently being taken care of, he had nothing but gratitude and praise for the unknown sisters.

"Where am I exactly?" he asked of Jessica.

She sighed as she stood up. "The Convent of the Sisters of Our Lady of Sorrow. So ironically the perfect place for you to end up."

"How long has it been since…Middleland?"

Jessica's brow furrowed. "Uh, the showdown at Midland Circle? About three and a half months."

Matt was dumbfounded. "Three and a half…. And everyone…this whole time….has thought I, I was dead?"

"Well, some of us had our suspicions."

Matt said no more, but only sagged back into his narrow bed, his eyes appearing even more devoid of…something, than they usually did.

"Murdock?" But there was no response.

Jessica shifted her jaw as she considered her options. She cursed under her breath as she drew away from Matt's bed. She traded glances with a nun who had been eyeing her suspiciously the whole time she had been there.

Sometimes the best way to get information was to just confront things head on. Jessica tried and failed to put on her best innocent face as she approached the woman. "Sister…?"

"Maggie, my child." Her tone didn't match the endearing term.

Jessica motioned back to Matt. "Has he said anything indicating where he was before you all found him?"

"Not particularly. I found him myself, and have been keeping a close watch on him while he has been here. He hasn't said much at all. Has cried at times. Prays occasionally, but he mostly sleeps. His memory doesn't seem to have improved much in the last month he's been here."

"Wait, he's only been here a month?"

"Yes. You are the first person he has concretely responded to."

Before Jessica could ask more, the sister somewhat diplomatically said that visiting hours were over, and that Matt was tired and needed his rest. She thought this very weird, but didn't object to leaving then. She would be back.