Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Marvel's "Daredevil", wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: Inspired by a prompt on the Daredevil kink meme which asked for: "Matt/Wesley: Good!Wesley, undercover: When S.H.I.E.L.D. came to Agent Wesley about an undercover job in Hell's City, he thinks it'll be quick and easy. The kind of in and out he's used to. But it's not, because Wilson Fisk is so much worse than anyone ever thought. Now he's stuck as Fisk's right hand and in far too deep to quit. Only, between Daredevil fucking with his plans and Karen Page sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong, Wesley is scrambling to protect innocents and bring Fisk down before Hell's Kitchen becomes a war zone...again. *Extra points for Wesley's meeting with Karen being about trying to scare her off for her own safety but she shoots him (non-fatally this time) anyway.
Warnings: Adult language, au – no character death, mild crossover with Avengers/AOS, spoilers for the entire first season, blood, injury, violence, angst, drama, and maybe a hint of pre-slash in terms of Matt/Wesley.
Bad news (like a suckerpunch)
Chapter One
"Do you really think I would put a loaded gun on the table where you could reach it?"
The answer was yes, apparently.
And while the searing burn in his chest certainly wasn't pleasant - about as invigorating as the last time, right thigh, left shoulder, during an op gone sideways in Prussia - it did put more than a few things into perspective.
Namely that he had seriously misjudged one Miss Karen Page. And secondly, that he might actually not be able to talk his way out of this one before he bled out.
Fascinating. He always thought he'd die on the job. For the cause. He was prepared for it. Counted on it, if he was being honest with himself - which he always was. But being clipped by a fledgling secretary moonlighting as a wannabe crusader of truth and righteousness just wasn't what he'd pictured.
Hubris. A voice whispered, sounding distressingly similar to Agent Romanoff. Willful self-confidence. A rookie mistake. Pride before the fall, remember? I taught you better than this, James. You threatened her. You threatened all of them. You thought she would fold. Like the others. But she was different, wasn't she? You wounded her, but then you threatened her brood. And what happens when you turn your back on a wounded animal, hmm? It fights back. You deserve this, James. You got sloppy. People like us? We don't have that luxury. Distraction? Carelessness? It gets you killed. You've been under too long, Agent. You should have asked for extraction – reached out – why didn't you-
His head lolled, shaking it off as the echoes reseeded and a fresh trickle of his own red sluiced through his fingers. Watching her watch him as she trembled, finger on the trigger, a hair's breath from ending it as the barrel of the gun quivered with her.
The shot had missed his lung.
Barely.
But in passing through, it nicked something else. An artery no doubt. Something people who weren't part of S.H.E.I.L.D might call beginners luck. He sucked in a shallow breath, then another, ignoring the strangled whimper as the sniffling tang of tears wafted from the other side of the table.
He cocked his head, gaze turned inward as he tried to pin it down. There was something wrong – immediate - something he really should be getting out his phone and calling someone about. Only right now he was staring into the face of a child, horrified by what she'd done, but with hate burning high in her eyes.
He didn't blame her. Much.
Sometimes when you go undercover, you go too far. You forget where the lines are. That's why they'd called him. That's why they'd needed him. A man who knew where the lines were, but could still stand to look at himself in the mirror in the morning if circumstances dictated that those lines be crossed. And they had. Repeatedly. But S.H.I.E.L.D still hadn't pulled him. Even when the fallout from Mrs. Cardenas death had lured out the thus far unidentified 'Man in the Mask'. Just like he knew they wouldn't. He'd barely heard a word from his handler since he'd gone to ground in Fisk's operation and that was how he liked it.
Hell's Kitchen needed more than tough love if it was going to pull itself out of the gutter.
In the scheme of things, his presence here would barely cause a ripple.
If he lived past today, that is.
"I believe you have erred quite seriously, Miss Page," he remarked softly, pointedly not looking as her finger tightened around the trigger reflexively. Choosing to remain as unthreatening as possible as he breathed through the pain. Watching the crimson-iron of blood surge, leaking between the gaps in his fingers as his phone started ringing again.
Fisk.
He didn't have to see it to know.
He always answered his phone for Fisk.
Always.
Wilson would be worried.
Which was unfortunate considering the man had the coping skills of a teaspoon.
"Yeah?" She returned, breathing like she was the one with the bullet in her as the gun steadied itself in fractions. Point blank range. One bullet less than a full clip. Overkill. "How do you figure that?"
"The answer is right in front of you," he returned, magnanimous as his free hand swept out, as if to encompass the room at large and all the shadowed players it might have contained any other day. "Because while your aim is impeccable for someone who wishes to gather information, unfortunately for the both of us, you shot the wrong man."
Her snort was waspish and unlady-like as she adjusted her grip on the gun. He liked it immediately. Spirited, as Fisk would say.
"Pretty sure I didn't," she shot back. "You're the guy running around kidnapping people. Threatening people. You work for Fisk! I'm right, aren't I? How can anyone trust a word that comes out of your-"
"You think I am a bad man?" he cut in, smooth and neat, just the way he liked as her lips fish-tailed. Indignant. "And what, that you're the good? Am I right? The protagonist to my antagonist? Black and White? Yin and Yang?"
His lip curled, waiting until he had her undivided attention before sneering disdainfully. Meaning every second of it as he used the moment to teach as well as tell. To show her through her own example how monumentally foolish she was. How foolish all of them were. Nelson. Murdock. Urich. Every single of one them. Their idea of justice was nothing more than an infectious disease set to harm everyone and everything around them.
Like a farmer trying to save a single plant when the entire field was withering.
"Right and wrong. Good and evil? I'll start taking you seriously when you start using something other than words regurgitated from romantic paperbacks and children's movies," he replied scathingly, forcing his fingers to tighten another fraction around the wound. Using the fission of pain to his advantage as he arched up, biting down on a groan he didn't need to fake for effect.
"They are points of view, Miss. Page. Directions in course that often get you to the same destination. Fairy tales. Fiction. Nothing more. Instead, ask me a real question," he posed, head buzzing as he forced his eyes to focus. Ignoring the judgement in her eyes in favor of trying to make her understand. She had to at least try. He could get her halfway there, and then the rest would be up to her.
"A real question?" she started, voice breaking. "I don't-"
"Ask me how much it costs? Ask me who you have to know? Who you can save versus who you can't? Ask me how can the scales be weighed in your favor? How you can win when the world things you're losing. The real fight is keeping the world balanced, Miss. Page. Something that you and your…friends have been making very difficult for me of late."
Self-satisfaction blossomed across her expression for a quick half second. "So this is what you do? What you're doing, with Fisk? You call that keeping a balance?!" she charged, jerking the gun at him violently like it was an extension of her point.
He regretted the nod he gave almost immediately. Head throbbing. Wanting more than anything to reach into his jacket and press the mute on his phone as the ringing started up again.
"Dissonant harmony," he expanded, smirk looping. "Like the old saying of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer, I have control Miss. Page. In keeping Fisk close, he is within my ability to crumble. The game I am playing is a dangerous one, but it has a beginning, a middle and an end. There is structure. And an end game. But you? You're a child trying to reach the finish line with half the board missing."
"You see, Fisk believes he found me," he continued, speaking between the rings of his phone as he gestured towards his inner pocket. "That he gave my...skills...the opportunity to flourish, when really, I gave him the chance to use his. Fisk had a choice when all this started. The choice to be the greater good or the necessary evil."
"Necessary?" she repeated, incredulous. Voice stark as the building shifted. Offending his ears with the impotent whine of rusting steel and three decade old hinges.
"Yes, Miss. Page. Have you seen Hell's Kitchen lately? Of course you have," he hummed. Weaponizing each word with the bitter aftertaste that most people called reality. But he'd always viewed as opportunity – boldly unmoved by the plight of the everyday nine to fivers – but always ready to grasp if you set your mind to it.
"You out of all people know the dangers that lurk in this city's dark corners. And you've seen the apathy that sweeps along its wake. People need to be shown the face of corruption to believe it. To truly enact change," he affirmed, losing his calm in favor of pushing out the words faster and faster. Feeling the numbness begin to spread as his fingers flexed against the hole in his chest.
"Fisk could have succeeded in doing that through pursuing good. Only, he didn't. He chose the opposite balance and now, through that...failure, he will show them evil's face and the same conclusion will be reached."
Her mouth opened, jaw flexing like she was about to throw his words back at him before he cut her off. Clean and without regret as her lips firmed in a hard line of naked, bloodless skin.
"I am the scalpel in a city full of blunt instruments, Miss. Page. The people around you? That your firm defends? That pass you on the street? They are dangerous, filthy animals and you know it. Often doing far more harm than they do good. My organization understands that, and we learned a long time ago to use that to our advantage."
She swallowed hard, delicate throat bobbing. Feeling his attention stutter as he amused himself with how easy it would be to reach over and snap it.
"Your organization," she echoed, seizing on the word like a drowning man to a life raft. Trying to regain a semblance of control over the conversation as she all but fell into the bait he'd set out. Marveling at how the truth - more or less – after all these years of secrets and hiding was tumbling forth so freely. "There are more of you?"
The corner of his lip quirked, answer enough as the gun shivered in her grip.
"Who? Who do you work for?" she managed, finger back on the trigger. Giving him the distinct impression that if she didn't like his answer he'd find himself very uncomfortable indeed.
"I am an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, Miss Page. I believe you've heard of us?"
A/N #2: Thank you for reading. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be more, stay tuned.
