Summary: Matt promised to do whatever it takes to protect his city. This time he might push himself too far. Set after season 1.

Warnings: canon typical violence

Disclaimer: I don't own Daredevil. No copyright infringement intended. Just showing my appreciation for the show.

Chapter 1

It was well past midnight at New York Harbor and the air was cold from the snow that had fallen. It covered the street along the water with a thin layer of pure white and coated the tops of the containers that were lined up at the waterside. A pale moon glimpsed through the opening sky, its reflection dancing on the water under the skyline of the city. Between the distant sound of a siren and the lonely barking of a dog, the place was almost peaceful.

However, the man who crouched on top of the containers had not come for the atmosphere of the place. In fact, he couldn't see the lights at all. Blind eyes hidden behind his mask, he tilted his head in concentration, ignoring the foul smell of the water and the traces of diesel and rust that he could taste in the air, and tried to concentrate on the heartbeats of the men on the ship that anchored below him.

He counted four on deck, the strong, regular heartbeats of probably well-trained men, noticed the soft scratching noise their guns made in their holsters when they walked. He took his time to find out how heavily they were armed. One of them, he had the heavy footsteps of a bodybuilder, carried an assault rifle. Matt heard it touch the rail as the man leaned against it to take a short break from his watch. The man worked off his gloves, blew on his hands for some warmth, then reached to retrieve something from his pocket – paper rustling, the click of a lighter. A few seconds later, cigarette smoke hit Matt's nose.

The men were relaxed, didn't have the slightest idea that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was watching them. Matt grinned in anticipation. Whatever they were smuggling into the city – his informant hadn't been very specific about that matter – it would end tonight. The truck that was supposed to transport the goods would arrive in about half an hour. Enough time to take out the four guards, deal with the remaining men under deck and find out about the exact nature of their business. The truck driver probably wouldn't be much of a problem. Matt could call the police afterward to take care of the rest.

He allowed the guard to take another drag before he swung over the rail and stepped on deck with catlike litheness. The cigarette fell from the man's hand as he turned in surprise, failing to pick up his rifle in time. Matt took a swing at the man's chin and his opponent stumbled backwards. Before he could recover, Matt dealt a second blow to his chest that sent him flying over the rail. A shot rang out from behind just as the man splashed into the water and Matt could feel the bullet hit the wall inches from his right shoulder, denting the steel. He instinctively ducked to the side, avoiding another shot that was fired with more precision, and covered the distance to the shooter in one swift movement, controlling the second guard's gun arm with a firm grip before he could fire another time. Matt dealt a solid punch to his face, felt the nose break under his knuckles, and at the same time heard the third man approaching from behind.

A skilfully placed blow to his temple knocked his current opponent to the ground the moment the third guard cocked his gun. Matt whirled around, reaching for his twin batons as he did. Number three started to empty his gun, firing in rapid succession and forcing Matt to dodge the bullets in a series of near-impossible flips and turns. Snow made the deck slippery, forcing him to go slower lest he lose his footing, and Matt grimaced as he felt the last bullet graze his shoulder, tearing the fabric of his armor in a less reinforced spot. Matt rolled to his feet, his attacker staring in disbelief when the hammer hit an empty chamber. The guard didn't have long to process the information though, as Matt summarily flung his baton against the man's temple, effectively knocking him out.

There had been four men on deck. Where was the last one? Matt stood over the unconscious form of his last opponent, panting slightly from the fight, and listened for the fourth heartbeat. He found it without difficulty. The man had escaped under deck, his frantic heartbeat joining two calmer ones. Matt tilted his head as he concentrated on the hushed conversation behind the steel wall.

You're a coward, Baker! What the hell are you doing down here?

Shut it, will you? Get her on the phone, now! We're in deep shit here and she needs to know.

Don't wet your pants! There's only one way in and out. He comes through that door, we own him.

No, you don't get it. This is Daredevil! We're screwed!

Matt couldn't suppress a satisfied smile at the last line. He had built up a reputation during the past months, fear preceded the persona he had created. And fear was a weapon he could use to his advantage. As he bent to pick up his baton from where it had fallen, he heard the men behind the door move into position. Guns were being cocked. It would be dangerous to take them on, and he felt adrenaline pulsing through his system with anticipation. Matt made his way to the door in a few, long strides, placed himself beside it and reached for the handle, his back against the wall.

Bullets started flying the instant the door swung open. Lead hit the floor, kicked up snow, buried itself in the door frame. It took a moment for the men to realize there was nobody to aim at.

Matt weighed the baton in his hand, preparing himself for a good throw. He sensed their heartbeats as clearly as the warmth of their bodies, three accelerated pulses but four sources of heat. The only lamp in the room, a fluorescent tube under the ceiling, bright and hot as a beacon.

When the shooting stopped and one of the men turned to reload his gun, Matt slipped into the doorway and hurled his baton against the hot spot at the ceiling, heard glass break as he moved back to safety before they could shoot again. The sound of his baton hitting the floor, followed by a curse. It would take a moment for their eyes to adapt to the near darkness.

Matt charged. He was down the stairs in a second, a movement somewhere between sliding and a controlled leap, jumping into melee before his opponents realized what hit them. The shots fired were a kneejerk reaction at best, random, missing their mark by a wide margin. Matt went for the man who still had rounds in his gun left, used his right hand to force the weapon out of the way while driving a fist into the man's face. Bones broke with a wet smack and the man tumbled against the wall, while his comrade brought the hilt of his not-yet reloaded gun down on Matt's head. Momentarily stunned, Matt fell to his knees and took a vicious blow to the ribs before recovering enough to block a second kick. He managed to catch the man's foot at a favorable angle and twisted it around, sending him to the ground. Matt groaned as he stumbled back to his feet, a hand against the wall for support, trying to focus past the dizziness. His head gear had absorbed a great deal of the blow but he still felt like he had been kicked by a mule.

His opponent was faster to get up and Matt barely dodged a swing at his face. His back against the wall, Matt threw himself into the heavier man and managed to seize him by the collar, head-butting him hard enough to elicit a pained grunt before driving his fist into the man's solar plexus. Matt felt him drop to his knees, gasping for breath, and finished him with a solid strike to the neck.

One more to go. Matt stood, panting, listening. Down the corridor, his senses provided, second room to the left. The man that the others had called Baker was at the phone, talking in a hushed voice. Informing their employer, by the sound of it. Trying to get reinforcements before it was too late. Not the dumbest plan, Matt granted him that. Too bad it wouldn't work.

Matt felt the already frantic heartbeat step up a notch as he entered the room and made his way to the shaking man with menacing slowness. Shapes from the environment registered to his mind, barrels neatly stored across the room, more than he could count. The faint trace of an unfamiliar, chemical smell in air, undetectable to normal senses.

Keep him busy. A female voice at the other hand of the cell phone. We'll be there in no time.

Baker didn't seem to be all that happy about the advice, obviously doubting that he was capable of what was asked of him. Matt could smell the panic in his sweat as he approached.

"Hang up," he ordered.

The man complied, unable to avert his gaze from the armored devil that was heading towards him. His heart sounded as if it wanted to burst from his chest. If he hadn't been such a low-life, Matt would have pitied him. As things were, his panicked reaction would probably make things easier.

Matt grabbed the man by his collar and shoved him effortlessly against the wall. The phone cluttered to the floor.

"That your employer?"

Baker nodded, wide-eyed, scared to the bone.

"Her name."

"I-I don't..." He choked, trying to come up with an answer that sounded believable.

Matt punched him into the face, a hard smack followed by a cry of pain, then wrapped his hand around Baker's throat.

"Don't lie to me."

Baker's panicked heart skipped a beat before falling back into its frantic stampede.

"Qa'id," he wheezed, struggling under Matt's grip. He was fighting for breath and Matt relinquished his hold, ever so slightly. Wouldn't want him to pass out before he got his answers. "We call her Qa'id."

Truth. Matt had never heard that name before though. He wondered if she was a new player or if he simply had missed her until now.

"Go on."

The man clutched at Matt's hand, trying to get him to release his grip as his knees buckled, but Matt didn't move an inch.

"Nobody knows where she's from," he continued breathlessly. "Appeared from nowhere, with her psycho first in command. Started recruiting about a month ago."

That explained why Matt hadn't heard of her until now. He'd love to have a little talk with her.

"Where can I find her?"

The man huffed a laugh despite his discomfort. "You don't. She finds you."

Not the answer he wanted to hear. Matt's nostrils flared as hit the man in the face. A pained yelp, then the coppery taste of blood in the air.

"Where is she?" Matt growled.

"Nobody knows where she is, I swear." Fear in his voice, his heart hammering wildly. "But she's coming. She'll be here."

"Tell me about the barrels."

The ghost of a sound behind him in the corridor. An intake of breath, the subtle change in the rhythm of a heartbeat.

"I don't know, really. She has some… "

Matt didn't listen to the lie the man was about to tell him and tilted his head, shifting his attention from Baker's heartbeat to what was going on in the corridor. A barely suppressed groan, the shuffling of feet. Matt suppressed a curse, realizing that one of the guards he had taken out had just come to. Baker must have noticed too, as his eyes darted to the doorway in hopeful expectation. Matt took that as his cue to end the conversation and unceremoniously slammed the man's head against the wall, taking him out.

He started towards the doorway but had to change plans in mid-movement when a shot was fired at him. Matt dove behind the barrels just in time, seeking cover, hands reaching for a baton which wasn't there. He sensed it lying at the far side of the room where he had forgotten to pick it up after his last throw. He mentally kicked himself for the negligence. There was nothing here he could use as a missile, he would have to wait for the guard to come closer. Now that he was standing next to the barrels, the chemical stench was nearly overwhelming, a smell somewhere between ammonium and chlorine, but there was an organic component too. It stung in his nostrils and irritated his eyes, even through the mask.

The man in the doorway had no idea where he was hiding, Matt was sure of that. Maybe he could use it to his advantage. Let him come close, then disarm him in one swift attack. However, the guard did not seem to be interested in entering the room.

"Hide all you want," the man called from the door, venom in his voice. Judging by his stance it had to be the one responsible for Matt's headache. "You're dead. You just don't know it yet."

Gunfire echoed through the room and Matt instinctively crouched lower, avoiding a ricocheting piece of lead. It was only then he realized that the man was aiming at the barrels. He heard the bullets penetrate the containers, heard the liquid ooze out of the holes, dripping slowly like oil and dissolving into the air before it could hit the ground. The stench he had noticed before became a solid thing, nauseating, setting his senses on fire.

"See you in hell."

The door slammed shut, and Matt heard a bolt slide into place as toxic vapors started to swirl up, burning his eyes, sending liquid fire through his airways. He coughed, pressed a gloved hand in front of his mouth, forcing himself to breathe past the pain that flared in his lungs.

Out. He had to get out of here.

Matt stumbled to his feet, fighting down a reflexive gasp that would only suck more poison into his lungs, placed a hand against a barrel for support. Holy shit, what was this stuff? There were only traces of the substance in the air but the effect was horrifying. He was reeling already, darkness looming at the edges of his mind, his chest growing tight and tighter still as if crushed by the force of an invisible vise. His shoulder stung fiercely where the bullet had grazed him earlier, screaming at the touch of the toxic air. Half-conscious, Matt found himself staggering across the room, trying to get as much distance between himself and the leaking barrels as possible, willing himself to ignore the flaming agony inside him.

There was a porthole at the end of the room, the only way out. If he could reach it. Somewhere to his right he sensed the form of Baker on the floor, writhing weakly but unable to rise, and Matt stopped to haul him to his feet, arms across his chest in a fireman's carry. Criminal or no, Matt couldn't just let him die. The limp body was a dead weight in his arms that slowed him down, forced him to take another breath that was pure poison before he could go on. Agony in his lungs, eyes watering against his will. Fresh pain when they overflowed, sending rivulets of flames down his face. His heart was beating like a hammer, a reaction to the lack of oxygen in his blood.

Matt stumbled against the wall and grunted, arms firmly locked around the unconscious man. He shifted Baker's weight to his right arm, feeling for the catch that would open he porthole. By now, his legs were like rubber and it was by sheer willpower that he didn't pass out on the spot. There it was. He would have sighed from relief if he could have spared the breath. As is was, he contented himself with hauling the window open, and gulped in the sweet air of New York Harbor.

His lungs protested, still screaming, raw from the abuse, but the roaring in his ears subsided. With some effort, Matt managed to maneuver Baker's limp body through the hole and slipped out right after him.

The water closed above him with a splash, ice-cold, knocking the breath from his lungs. Freezing as it was, it drove some of the dizziness away and he felt his heart rate speed up. Beneath him, Baker's body sank into blackness, small bubbles of air soaring upwards. Without thinking Matt dived after him, gripped him under his shoulders and pulled him up despite the numbness that weighed his limbs. Left hand curled under his chin, he carefully held Baker's head above water and swam ashore, willing his legs to kick, to do their work.

He didn't know how he made it. At some point, he just found himself kneeling in the snow, Baker's body beside him, unconscious but still alive. Matt knew he should get up, but he couldn't, felt himself drifting. It was difficult to breathe past the agony that shredded his lungs and clawed at his eyes and shoulder. He was spent, cold beyond description, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Sirens in the distance. Somebody must have heard the shots and called the police, his pain-muddled brain provided. Good for Baker, as he needed immediate medical attention. Between the chilly temperatures and the toxins in his body, he wouldn't hold out long.

Unfortunately, Matt couldn't hang around. Shivering violently now, he scrambled to his feet, driven by the need to get to safety, away from the harbor. He wasn't sure if he could make it back to his own apartment in the state he was in, didn't trust himself to do climb a roof, let alone parkour across it, but he couldn't stay here either. Swaying, he made his way down the block, warmth draining through his soaked suit with every passing moment. Cold, he was so indescribably cold.

Turning a corner, he leaned heavily against the wall for support, listened to the squad cars arriving at the waterside. He had to call Claire. Foggy, if she wasn't home. The burner phone shook in his hands. He was pressing the correct button, he knew he did, but it wouldn't turn on. It must have been his dive into the harbor that had killed it, effectively cutting off his only line of communication. His only chance of calling for help. He wanted to hurl it against the wall in frustration. Somehow he ended up tucking it back into his pocket though, forced his sluggish mind to think.

Claire's place was nearest, closer than his own place or Foggy's. Closer than his church, for that matter. But it was still a far walk from here and he wasn't sure if he could make it. Hell, his legs were giving out already, every breath was hurting worse than the one before. If somebody saw him, one of his countless enemies, the police even… he didn't want to finish the thought.

Bracing himself against the piercing cold, Matt started to make his way down the alley, one hand against the wall, and disappeared into the night.

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this chapter, please let me know. Feedback is greatly appreciated :-)