Title: Hell's Kitchen: A History

Author: tinyrose65

Summary: In between the alien attacks and life-and-death fights, life for the denizens of Hell's Kitchen moves on. Here's what that life looks like.

AN: Set directly after Masked Men chapter 4.

"A dragon?" Matt asked Harry, incredulous and unable to believe what he was hearing. In the bed next to him, Harry hummed her agreement, seemingly gleeful at the confusion no doubt showing on his face. "You broke into a bank and rode out on a dragon?"

When Harry said she had to tell him some things, Matt hadn't been sure what to expect: he knew a bit about her life in the wzarding world, knew that she had a somewhat dark past, but not much else. The things she had said over dinner that night (of evil wizards and corrupt governments and epic battles) were unexpected, to say the least. Later, after she had fallen asleep and Matt had left to patrol, he took the time to consider what she had told him, and how it all fit together in his view of her.

Learning that she had been the professed savior of her world and had been made to fight in a war she had no interest in waging was surprising, yes, but it explained a lot about her morality, her energy, her slight anarchy. No wonder she worried so much about him: she had gone through similar things when she was younger (so much younger— just a kid— at the age where he was getting ready to leave the orphanage and go to college, she was giving her life to save a group of people who actively hated her).

It had been strange returning from patrol to somebody waiting in bed for him, even though his mind was in a slightly better place and was more comfortable with what she had told him. He found her still asleep, curled up into a tiny ball and making small, snuffling noises. For all that she had done, for both wizards and for him, she still retained a semblance of innocence in her dreams.

He joined her that night, and slept better than he had in a long time.

It was impossible to say who woke up first. Matt had first came to and realized that Harry was also stirring. Neither had said anything, not wanting to get up, but it soon became clear that neither of them was going back to bed, despite the fact that there was still plenty of time before Matt had to be up for work. Before he could get up to get them each a cup of coffee, Harry was reaching over to his bedside table and picking up her wand— a quick wave of it, and Matt heard the coffee machine start.

That's when Matt knew that he loved magic, and it's how they found themselves in bed, coffee in hand, just talking about things, neither wanting to get up and face the day.

"Hermione still gets nightmares from being that high up," Harry confided, and Matt laughed. "She never did like Quidditch."

"That's the sport, right?" Matt clarified. "With broomsticks?"

Harry nodded. "I'll have to show you my Firebolt sometime— it's an older model, but I still think it's beautiful."

"I have a lot to learn about this world of yours, don't I?" Matt mused.

"I might be able to find some books for you," Harry offered. "On wizarding culture and the like— they make them for Muggleborns and their parents, to get them acquainted with things. There's bound to be some in Braille."

"That would be nice," Matt conceded, taking a sip of his coffee. They finished their drinks, engaged in one final make-out session (since when had he become a horny teenager? Matt wondered to himself), and then both were off to work.

Matt's good mood must've been evident on his face, because Foggy said something as soon as Matt entered the firm.

"You got laid," Foggy announced to all who were listening (so, Karen and Matt, basically). Matt sputtered and didn't dignify this with an answer, instead retreating into his office and placing his briefcase down on his desk. When he emerged a moment later, Foggy picked up where he had left off.

"Seriously, Murdock. You've got that lookon your face—"

"What look? This is just my face."

"And you're whistling! I didn't even know you knew how to whistle—"

"Don't bring my whistling skills into this!"

"You do look pretty cheery, Matt," Karen (the traitor) offered from her position at her desk. She was sipping coffee from a mug and looked like she was perfectly ready to settle in and enjoy the show.

"I can't just be in a good mood?" Matt asked, trying to change the subject. He headed over to the coffee maker, pulling out the pot and sniffing the coffee that was already in it— for show. He had known from the moment he walked into the office that it was already stale. Foggy must've gotten in early to prepare for their meeting with a new client later (Matt would've felt bad, but considered he had a pretty decent excuse, what with taking down muggers and all).

"No," Foggy denied, waving his hand (containing a half-eaten bagel) around to make his point. "You're Matt Murdock. You've constantly got a thundercloud over your head and have that ridiculous 'I'm-a-brooding-hero' thing going."

Matt couldn't help but feel insulted. "I don't brood."

"Yes you do," both Karen and Foggy parroted. Matt could practically feel the smugness radiating off of them.

"Fine," Matt admitted as he added coffee grounds and water to the machine before turning it on. "I 'got laid,' as you so eloquently put it. Happy?"

Foggy let out a satisfied hum and took a bite of his bagel. "Who was it? That girl from the precinct?"

"The blonde?" Karen asked, for clarification.

"That's the one," Foggy confirmed, snapping his fingers.

"Oh, she's cute," Karen beamed.

Matt rolled his eyes. "It wasn't her."

"The guy we met at the bar the other night?" Karen suggested. "You two hit it off."

Matt just shook his head and got out a mug, coffee done. He poured some out, feeling Foggy and Karen watching him closely.

"Is it somebody I even know?" Foggy demanded.

"Drop it, Foggy," Matt sighed, but there was no real malice in his voice. Back in college, whenever one of them had brought somebody back to their room, the other had always given them a hard time. This habit had continued well past college and was now an important part of their friendship. This was expected.

"I do know them!" Foggy chirped, sending crumbs of half-chewed bagel flying. "Otherwise you would've said so!"

Matt just leant against the counter and took a sip of his coffee, ignoring the burn on his tongue. He knew from experience that Foggy (and Karen, hopefully) would run out of steam soon enough.

"There hasn't been anybody else you've really talked to, though," Foggy continued, speaking more to himself at this point. "Except—" He could hear Foggy's eyes widen. "Hottie McBurner Phone!"

"Who?" Karen asked with a laugh.

Matt scowled, feeling slightly offended on Harry's behalf at the nickname. "You know her name is Harry, Fogs."

"So it is her! I knew you had a thing for her!"

"Who's Harry?" Karen asked, clearly growing impatient.

"Just this hot, British, doctor Matt knows," Foggy teased.

Karen raised an eyebrow. "Where do you even find these people, Matt?"

"In dumpsters," Matt deadpanned. Foggy almost choked on his bagel at that. Karen, on the other hand, no doubt thinking Matt was just making a joke, laughed. Taking the lag in conversation as an opportunity to change the subject, Matt said, "Changing the subject: we have an appointment in an hour. Are were prepped for that?"

And with that, seriousness descended as they prepared for their next client (a mother of two who was being wrongfully evicted by her landlord— certainly not a large or high-profile case, but unlike most of their clients, she could actually afford to pay them). It wasn't until after the woman had left that Foggy brought Harry up again.

"I want to meet her," Foggy announced as Karen packed up the paperwork from their consultation. They were still in the conference room, a sign of Foggy's unwavering persistence. It made him a great lawyer, but, at the moment, Matt was really regretting it.

"Who? Our client?" Matt played dumb.

"Nooo," Foggy said, rolling out the word as though he thought Matt was being deliberately obtuse (which, to be fair, he was). "Harry."

"You've met Harry," Matt pointed out.

"Yeah, like, once, and that so doesn't count because of the—" he hesitated slightly when he remembered that Karen was in the room with them. "Extenuating circumstances. Plus, Karen hasn't met her yet!"

"That's true," Karen confirmed.

Matt huffed and walked out of the conference room to the main office, hoping to avoid the conversation entirely, but Karen and Foggy weren't giving up and followed him. Foggy whined, "C'mon, Matt!"

"I don't even know if you'd classify what we're doing as dating," Matt argued. He'd like to think that he and Harry were dating— or were going to start, at any rate, but these days, it was impossible to tell that sort of thing. For all he knew, Harry jumped into bed with men all the time, although she didn't seem like the type (not there was anything wrong with that).

"You've known her for months," Foggy said. "Girlfriend or not, I want to meet her. Officially. Bring her to Josie's tomorrow."

Foggy's voice had taken on a familiar tone with Matt: the one that said Foggy would win this argument or bring them both down trying. Matt had heard it often enough in court. Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, Matt muttered, "Fine. I'll see if she's free."

His frustration evaporated as Foggy let out a cheer and Karen rushed over to hug him.

His friends were something, but he wouldn't change them for anything.

Harry put an end to his wondering about the status of their relationship when she called that afternoon to see if he was free for dinner that night. For a date. After he confirmed that he was, she told him to meet her at her place at around eight, and that she'd be cooking. With that she hung up, and Matt was left with a dopey grin on his face, grateful that he was in his office where Foggy and Karen couldn't see and make fun of him for it. He'd said Harry was braver than he was. Well, now he had his proof.

Matt stopped by his apartment on the way to Harry's to drop off his briefcase and pick up his Daredevil suit. This way, he figured, he could go on patrol right after dinner (and he happened to stay the night at Harry's after, well, whose business was that but theirs?).

He arrived a few minutes early, but Harry didn't seem bothered. She answered the door as soon as he knocked and greeted him with a quick kiss before ushering him inside. The smell of food— which Matt had detected down the block— now overwhelmed his senses, and he felt his mouth water in response. He had known Harry was a good cook from the leftovers and quick meals she had occasionally fed him, but this was something else entirely. There was some sort of meat roasting in a slow cooker, and Matt could detect a plate of freshly sautéed vegetables on the counter, the smell of garlic and olive oil wafting from them. A bowl of partially mashed potatoes was near the sink.

"Sit, sit," Harry ordered, directing him to her small, kitchen table. He could hear the ruffle of a table cloth as he did as she asked, and could tell by the slight heat emanating from it that there was a candle there, too. She'd gone on all out, and it made his heart feel funny inside his chest.

"Wine?" Harry offered.

Matt thought about it it, but then shook his head. "I'm patrolling later."

"Of course," Harry agreed. She considered for a moment. "Ever had pumpkin juice?"

"No, but I'll try it."

"It's a wizarding thing," Harry explained as she went to pull the juice out of her fridge. "Well, a British wizarding thing. I have to get my stuff imported from Diagon Alley. Apparently wizards around these parts prefer blueberry juice."

The face she pulled made it quite obvious what she thought of that.

After she had poured him a glass, Matt took a tentative sip. It was sweet, which he supposed he should've expected, but not from added sugar or artificial preservatives. This was all pumpkin, and Matt had to admit that he quite liked it. He told her as much and she smiled.

"Good." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Dinner will be ready in just a minute."

"You know," he said, as she disappeared into her kitchen (there was no need to raise his voice, since the apartment was small enough for her to hear fine),"You didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"I know," she retorted, laughing. "That's why I did it!"

"I can help!"

"Matt, I've had your cooking," she said, referring to the poor man's breakfast he had made her the morning after the Russians had tried to kidnap her. "For everybody's sake, I'd rather you just sat there and looked pretty."

"I can cook," Matt grumbled, not commenting on the 'pretty' comment, although it made him smile just a bit to himself.

Harry heard him. "Heating up frozen food doesn't count."

Matt just grinned wider at the good-natured ribbing and took another sip of his juice. For the next ten or so minutes, conversation flowed easily between them, Harry occasionally popping back out of the kitchen to check on him. She eventually emerged one final time from the kitchen, carrying the roast, vegetables and potatoes floating behind her (which, okay, was a bit weird, but there were some things he was still getting used to when it came to magic).

The food was spectacular, as he had imagined it would be, and conversation ceased for a while as they ate— well, to be honest, Matt more or less stuffed his face. He was fairly certain his tongue had an orgasm. It was all just so good , although Harry insisted that it wasn't as good as Mrs. Weasley's food or the food at Hogwarts (Matt wondered if the school had an obesity problem, because if he had food like this available to him all the time, he'd be eating non-stop). When they finished, Harry cleared everything away with a wave of her wand (he heard the dishes start to wash themselves in the sink) and offered coffee. Thinking of the long night ahead of him, he eagerly agreed.

It was ready a few minutes later, and, as they sat drinking at at the table, Matt asked, "Where did you learn to cook?"

"My aunt and uncle made me cook growing up," Harry explained. Her voice took on that same clipped, efficient tone it always took when she spoke about them, which is why Matt hesitated in asking his next question.

"You don't get along very well with them, do you?" She had mentioned her relatives a few times here and there to him, but never in full detail. Even when she had told him about her life in the wizarding world, she had only told him that they had taken her in after her parents had died.

"They were never very supportive of my magic," Harry said finally, "Or of magic in general. Aunt Petunia was jealous of my mum because of it, and she turned it into some weird 'normalcy is superior' crap, which turns out my uncle complete agreed with. When I moved in with them, they decided they would do the best they could to 'stamp the magic out of me'— their words."

Matt felt the stirrings of the devil in his veins. "What does that mean? 'Stamp it' out of you?"

"Generally just make me as miserable as possible," Harry shrugged. "I did all the chores around the house: the cleaning, the cooking"— here, she gestured towards the food in the kitchen— "No toys growing up, no presents on my birthday or the holidays. All my clothes were hand-me-downs from Dudley, never mind that they didn't fit, and I only ate the leftovers once everybody else was done, if I was lucky, since Dudley usually ate most of what I cooked."

At this point, Matt had set his mug down for fear that he would break it with his grip. He took a few deep breaths, focusing on his heartbeat, and Harry's, to ground him and distract him from the blood rushing to his head. Harry's hand was on his now, and she was rambling (if Matt weren't so upset, he would've called it 'adorable.').

"It's fine— really. Once I got to Hogwarts, things got a bit better and I only had to spend the summers at home— I spent holidays at school. Plus, the Dursleys got worried that I'd tell on them or hex them or something, even though they always took my magic stuff away over the summer, so the threats and comments were toned down somewhat. And my room got moved from the cupboard under the stairs to Dudley's spare room, even if they put bars on the window and the catflap,— and why am I telling you this? It's only making things worse, isn't it?"

"That's— That's—" Horrific, he wanted to say. Child abuse.

"I know," Harry agreed, understanding what he meant. "I know. But it was years ago and I'm, well, not over it, to be honest. I don't know if I'll ever be over it, but I've moved on, at any rate."

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Dudley's nice to me now, you know. We aren't close or anything, but we email each other checking in from time to time, and send each other holiday cards. He realized what a right prick he was growing up and has been trying to do better."

"That's— good," Matt said. "Why did they even take you in, though? If they hated you that much?"

Harry removed her hand from his and sat back in her chair, sipping her coffee as she mused it over. "Two reasons, I think. The first is the money they got from the state. They always were greedy."

"And the second?"

"My mum sacrificed her life for me." Harry's voice had gone soft, as it usually did when she talked about her parents. His voice often did the same when he brought up his father. "That invoked an ancient type of magic— a sort of protection— based on my blood. By staying with my mum's sister, that protection remained until I was eighteen. It protected me, but also them. The Dursleys might've feared magic, but they feared Voldemort more. They weren't completely stupid, I suppose."

Matt grunted, reluctantly conceding to her point. With a groan, Harry placed her arms on the table and rested her head on them.

"I've ruined this date, haven't I? Things are weird now."

"I brought up your relatives," Matt pointed out. It was his turn to take her hand and give a reassuring squeeze. "And I'm glad you told me. I wanted to know more about you— even if it's bad stuff."

Harry lifted her head up. "I'm smiling at you now."

Matt smiled back. "I know."

"Does this mean I get to ask you a question about your personal life?"

"Ask away."

"Not yet," Harry decided, after a minute. "I want to think on it. Rain check?"

"Sure," Matt agreed. He got up and stretched. "I should probably get out and patrol, anyways. It's getting late."

Harry sent their coffee cups back to the kitchen and began to put away the tablecloth and candles. In the meantime, Matt went to the bedroom to change into his suit. As he did, he called out, "I remembered that I'm supposed to ask you something."

Harry's footsteps echoed through the apartment as she came to join him in the bedroom. "Is it for help getting your pants on?"

Matt, who was struggling to get the skin-tight material over his legs, scowled at her. "No. Foggy asked me if you wanted to come with us— him, Karen, and I— to Josie's tomorrow night."

Harry let out a delighted gasp. "Am I getting the shovel talk?"

"You might," Matt laughed. He grabbed the top part of his costume and slipped it on. Harry came over and helped him straighten it, so he lowered his arms and let her. "I just know Foggy and Karen really want to meet you."

"Foggy has already met me," Harry pointed out.

"He said that doesn't count."

"He was stunned into silence for most of it," Harry admitted. "Has he asked you anything at all about my magic?"

"He asked a few questions, but once I told him more information meant an increased risk of memory-erasure, he shut up pretty quickly."

"Sounds like Foggy possesses some common sense." Harry, satisfied that his suit was adjusted properly, finally took a step back. At least with her to help, he'd never have to worry about running around looking idiotic (or more idiotic, if Foggy's hang-ups about how his outfit looked were any indication).

"What does that say about me?" Matt demanded. He picked up his mask from where he had left it on the bed with the rest of his clothes (all folded neatly), but didn't put it on just yet.

"You are many things Matt, but possessing common sense isn't one of them." Had it been anybody else who said that, Matt might've been offended, but this was Harry, and she said it with such affection coloring her tone that to take it as anything other than a compliment was impossible.

"So you'll come?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Harry confirmed. "I've never gotten a shovel talk before."

"Great," Matt said with a grin, finally slipping his mask on.

"Are you coming back here after patrol?"

"I have to get my clothes—"

"I meant to spend the night," Harry said, with a roll of her eyes.

Matt hesitated. "I don't want to presume."

"You're not presuming," Harry assured. "Stay. Spend the night." Her voice turned playful: "That way I can thank you properly for keeping our city safe."

And with an incentive like that waiting for him back at Harry's apartment, who could blame him if he patrolled a bit more hastily than usual?

The next night, Matt found himself at Josie's with Karen and Foggy after work, waiting for Harry to arrive. Foggy and Karen were laughing about something, but Matt was admittedly a bit preoccupied about whether his friends and his girlfriend (Could he call her his girlfriend after one date? Were they official? Was 'officialness' even still a thing? What about tonight: did that count as a date?) would get along. He cast his senses out, listening for Harry's heartbeat amongst the crowd outside, feeling a bit antsy. He was just about to call her when he heard it, moving up the sidewalk.

Still, when she entered the bar (bringing the distinct smells of herbs and soap and disinfectant with her), he made no move to acknowledge her, cognizant of Karen, who still didn't know his secret, at his side. Thankfully, Foggy recognized Harry from their first meeting.

"Oh, there's Harry. Hey! Harry!" he called out, waving a hand to get her attention. Matt heard Harry let out a slightly relieved sigh (was she nervous, too?) as she scuttled over to them, shrugging off her coat in the process.

"Sorry I'm late," she apologized, draping her jacket over the chair next to Matt and taking a seat. He ducked his head to offer her a quick kiss, and felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "There was this annoying patient who wouldn't let me leave, just kept asking questions about the lightbulb I had to remove from his— and I just realized this is probably not appropriate talk for dinner."

"Drinks, not dinner," Foggy corrected, "So talk away!"

Harry laughed at his enthusiasm. "Better not. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all." At this point, she reached out a hand to Karen, who was sitting across from her at the table. "Hi, by the way. I'm Harry. I don't think we've met."

"No, we haven't," Karen confirmed, and Matt felt her pointed glare in his direction, which he studiously ignored. "I'm Karen. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

"So!" Foggy interrupted, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. "What would you like to drink, Harry? Matt's buying."

"I am?" Matt asked, bemused.

"You are. You owe us for keeping Harry from us for so long."

"We haven't been dating that long, Foggy." Harry's heartbeat jumped slightly at the word 'date,' but judging from the slight flush on her face and the upturn of her lips, this was more from happiness than anything else, a fact which greatly eased Matt's worries. She adjusted her chair so that she was a bit closer to him. He draped his arm around her slim shoulders, feeling her soft curls tickle his skin.

"Whatever." Foggy waved away his point.

"Eloquent argument, counselor."

"You're still buying. So, Harry, what would you like?"

Harry shrugged from her position, leaning against him now. "I'm not picky. Whatever is good here."

Matt didn't have to see to know that Foggy's eyes had lit up at this opportunity. "Perfect. I know just what to get. Be right back!"

As Foggy scampered off, and Harry turned to Karen to ask about her day, Matt took the time to take in the details about Harry that he had missed earlier, distracted as he was: she had taken the time to change out of her scrubs, by judging the overly powerful smell of 'hospital' that still clung to her, this was done in the locker room, not at home. Despite the lack of sleep from the night before (they had gotten a bit caught up in things), she didn't seem too tired, her breathing and heartbeat steady and even. She had reached up to grab the hand that rested on his shoulder, clutching it gently, and Matt could feel the oddly shaped scar on her palm, which she had explained away as a result of some enchantments on the cup she had stolen from Gringotts all those years prior.

Foggy returned with a round of drinks just as Karen finished telling Harry about her daily fight with the copier. Harry laughed, the sound low and sweet to Matt's ears.

"So, Harry," Foggy began, as he started handing out the glasses (Matt recognized the smell in Harry's glass as Josie's signature drink). "What are your intentions towards my friend?"

Matt's response to this was to let his head fall onto the table with a loud THUNK, hiding his flaming face. Harry wasn't bothered, though. In fact, she was delighted.

"Is this the part where you threaten to hurt me if I hurt him? Because I've been looking forward to this talk all night."

"Well, since I'm fairly certain you could wipe the floor with me, small or not—" Harry made a slightly indignant sound— "I won't threaten to hurt you, just litigate the heck out of you."

"That's almost worse."

"Don't distract me!" Foggy accused, pointing a finger at her. Matt had lifted his head back up at this point and taken a swig of his drink, which did not contain eel, thankfully. "Your intentions: state them"

"Aside from my intentions to do dirty things to him in bed?"

Matt's head thunked back onto the table and Karen let out a small cheer and gave Harry a high-five.

"Naturally." Foggy confirmed.

"I guess I just plan on keeping him from driving himself too crazy," Harry contemplated. "If I can get him to crack a smile every now and again, all the better."

"I've been trying to do that since I met him in college."

"Why does everybody assume I don't smile," whined Matt, his face still on the table. He felt Harry reach over and pat his back with the hand that wasn't still clutching his.

"You're not smiling now," Karen pointed out.

"Of course I'm not smiling now. My friends are actively trying to sabotage my relationship."

"We're not sabotaging anything," Foggy retorted. "Harry doesn't mind. Do you, Harry?"

"Not at all," Harry confirmed. Her hand moved from patting his back to clutching his shoulder, pulling him up so he was sitting again. He adjusted his glasses and gave a small smile to show he wasn't being serious (and to prove them wrong). Foggy and Karen had both gone quiet as Harry took a sip of her drink. Even Matt had to admit to focusing in on her to see her reaction. She noticed the extra attention almost immediately.

"What?" she demanded.

"Just wondering how you like your drink," Matt assured.

"Tastes fine," Harry shrugged. "There's something in it that I can't place, though— sort of bitter—?"

"That would be the secret ingredient," Karen informed her gleefully. Matt had a feeling she was enjoying this too much after Foggy had played the same joke on her when she had first joined their firm.

"What's that, then?"

"Eel."

Matt waited with baited breath for Harry's reaction, belatedly realizing that maybe he should've warned her about it. She wouldn't dump him over this, would she? She had a great sense of humor, after all. Instead of throwing the drink in his face or anything quite so dramatic, Harry just let out a soft "huh."

Then she took another sip.

The look on his face must've been as priceless as Foggy's. Foggy demanded, "That's it? 'Huh?' C'mob! You gotta give us better than that!"

"I went to visit one of my old professors— now Headmistress— in Scotland once," Harry said, in what appeared to be a sudden change of topic. "In some sort of sick, twisted revenge on all the trouble I caused in school, she made me haggis for dinner."

Matt blinked. "Haggis? The thing made from—"

"Sheep's pluck," Harry confirmed. At Karen's confused expression, she elaborated with, "Heart, liver, and lungs."

"Ew," Karen muttered in response.

"After that," Harry continued, "Eel is nothing."

"I'll drink to that," Foggy proclaimed. He held up his glass. "To haggis!"

"To haggis!"

And they drank, and Matt had to admit that it had been a long time since he could remember himself quite this happy.

AN: I have no idea if US wizards like blueberry juice. I just made that up.

Also, yes, I know this chapter took forever and I apologize. But it's long, so yay? Still, you can expect a bit of a wait between the premier of season 2 of Daredevil and me posting my version of it. Aside from the fact that I have to watch, outline, and write it (and I'm pretty sure Elektra is gonna blow a hole in my continuity), I wanna get the Jessica Jones cameo written first. That will be posted here. Season 2 will be upended to Masked Men and Where to Find Them. We all cool with that?

Also, if there's anything you wanna see, just let me know, and I'll see what I can do :)