I'm back :D!

First off, if you're new here, welcome.

This is a sequel to Devil's Kindred, my first work in this series. If you haven't read that, I'd strongly recommend doing so before taking a bite out of this one.

As I stated in Devil's Kindred, I own neither Daredevil nor any of its characters, nor the plot threads and dialogue from the series that come in to play during this story. They are the intellectual property of Netflix, Marvel, and any others who hold the copyright. I am merely a fan writing a speculate story for fun and fun only. I own only Iris and the other OCs associated with her.

That being said, it's Devil's Penance, guys!

So, it took me some time to finalize my plans, but here I am! Ready to return to the world of my salty child.

It's been a really great summer so far, but, of course, it's me so you know it's been busy.

I've been working a new job that isn't a summer camp, and a lot of good things have been happening lately.

I've got a lot to be thankful for.

Anyway, on with the story.

The Bill Comes Due

The low, rhythmic hum of Fogwell's florescent lights was the perfect background noise. An ostinato harmonizing the music of her fists against the punching bag. Her heavy breathing rounded out the trio, quick and alive with the excess adrenaline rushing through her body. She was the conductor of this strange little chamber ensemble, her mind fully focused on the intricate way it all fit together. Because as long as she thought about the familiar, the satisfyingly musical way her workout sounded, she couldn't think about anything else.

Thwack, thwack.

And the world was just fine for a second.

Silence, her labored breathing, and it all came slamming back to her. The pain in her knuckles. The burning, suffocating fire of poison. Her best friend, off in the world who knows where, maybe six feet under. Her sweet, sweet baby brother, feral and unrecognizable and...

Thwack, thwack.

Blissful silence, the push back of the ancient punching bag vibrating through her arms, humming through her muscles. Sharp, precise, strong.

Twhack. Twhack.

The allure of it, of having something yield to her fists, her strength. If she pretended the bag were her inner demons, it was almost like she was doing something about them.

Twhack. Twhack.

Her wrist zinged with pain, the ache no longer able to ignore. The constant pulse up and down her arm put everything into focus, and now she was breathing again.

She flopped down onto the floor and examined her wrist, the impeding swelling creating a new wave of heat. She was going to have a time and a half explaining this. A small, small part of her, a well-guarded and often-ignored part of her brain, found it alarming how little she felt, how far she'd pushed herself that night before breaking. She blamed the heat. Record-breaking temperatures across the city, a five-day slew of 100-degree weather, had the whole of the city on edge.

She normally wasn't so overt, the physical consequences of her outlet not as obvious. She was pretty sure her brother was getting suspicious, but he hadn't said much. Mostly because he was one to talk about self-destructive behavior. Besides, none of that mattered. The chatter in her head was quiet. She didn't have time to think about how painful playing would be later, because all she could focus on was the blissful relief of her head finally being calm.

She sighed, heaving her sore body up, the old floorboards moaning under her shifting weight. A flex of her fingers sent fresh jolts to her very core, but she collected her stuff and headed for the locker rooms. The showers didn't keep hot for too long, but the few seconds of heat over her screaming muscles was pure relief. When she stepped out, the water evaporating off her skin did wonders in the oven of a gym. She checked the clock on her phone, noting it was a little past one. She'd been here for nearly three hours now.

She wasn't too worried about her roommate, who always thought Iris spent late nights bar hopping with either her brother or fellow members of the pit orchestra she worked for, but she was worried about the fact that she'd agreed to help her brother out at his office. The firm had gotten a good deal of new clients in the past several months, and Iris helped out a few mornings a week to help them manage.

Already feeling the exhaustion of the early morning, she got dressed quickly and started for the front door. A shadow lingering by the ring made her yelp, almost dropping her gym bag, but she relaxed when the outline came into focus. The familiar shape of a devil-horned helmet and a red and black Kevlar suit.

"Matty," she sighed, hoping her nerves over seeing him were disguised as a startle, hoping her heavily scented soap distracted him from the blood rapidly gathering at her injured joint. That was why she'd changed soaps—shampoos and detergents too. So she could fool his senses and keep him from asking questions. "What are you..."

She was instinctively checking him for injuries of his own, so she figured he'd be doing the same. The new suit had helped matters immensely, but that didn't mean his night persona didn't meet with regular dangerous. There'd been more than a few close calls in the past few months.

However, nothing appeared to be seriously wrong tonight. A very familiar knot, one she felt in her chest every night when he was out, finally undid itself.

"On my way home," Matty said, taking a step towards her. It took everything in her not to shy back. If she kept acting like she had nothing to hide, maybe he'd actually believe it. "I knew you'd be here."

Iris shifted, trying not to read into that. He knew, because she'd told him, that boxing was an outlet for her—not surprising, given their heritage—but the fact he knew she'd be there this late made her a little nervous. She tried not to let her body react to that.

Having a sibling with a radar sense was a pain in the ass.

"I was just going home too," Iris impressed herself with her calm delivery. "Early morning, right?"

"Right," he said.

"Okay, Matty. Goodnight," she headed for the door, trying not to run.

"Iris," he said, when she was half-way out. She froze, turned around slowly. "You can talk to me," it was a near-whisper, a desperation that gave away any pretense.

Except they didn't talk. Not since Matty put Wilson Fisk away. Of course, they spent time together. They laughed, made jokes, went out with the rest of the group at Matty's office, with Iris's boyfriend. Spent weekly dinners together, like normal siblings. But they didn't talk. Not about anything that mattered, really. Talking meant staring down the issues Fisk's arrest had only slapped a band aid on. And that wasn't where she wanted to go, so she didn't. He knew she hadn't abandoned him, had forgiven her for those years away, and that is what she focused on. Nothing was broken if she didn't acknowledge the fractured parts.

They were fine. He was fine. She was fine. Everything was just so….fine it hurt.

She sucked in a deep breath, trying to wrangle her thoughts back in and hoping her heart didn't run away from her.

"Yeah, I know," she could talk to him, that wasn't a lie. She just didn't have any intention too, not yet. It was admitting too much, and things were so perfect during the daylight hours. She needed it to stay that way.

"Goodnight, Matty."

"Murdock! Wakey, wakey!"

"Oh, geeze," Iris groaned, trying to figure out what it was that had just hit her head. She squirmed under the top sheet—last night had been too hot for her comforter—and blinked at the offending projectile. A silk blouse was now draped halfway over her face. Her uncovered eye caught a familiar figure, stout and smiling and all wrapped up in a cheap suit.

"Franklin," she growled, ripping the shirt off her head.

"I told Foggy not to come in," a soft voice assured, and Iris sat up to see her brother standing in the doorway. She narrowed her eyes.

"Matthew. When I gave you a key..."

"Oh, we're in big trouble," Foggy shook his head. "She's using full names."

"She is going to kick both of your asses in a minute," she growled, nonetheless kicking off her covers. Her muscles screamed when her legs hit the floor, her whole body clearly unhappy with being awake. She tried not to wince at the solid brick of pain that was her lower back. Iris saw one of Matty's eyebrows rise above his tinted glasses.

"She was supposed to meet us outside her building five minutes ago," Foggy added.

"Shit," Iris looked at the clock on her nightstand, throwing herself back onto her bed. "I am so sorry. Our composer made some major revisions to the score, and we got out of rehearsal so late. I didn't hear my alarm. I'll be ready in..uh..."

Matty shifted around, grip on his cane tightening. "If you need more sleep.."

"Nope. I'm good to go," Iris finally got out of bed, examining the blouse Foggy had "picked out" for her. It was actually one of her favorites, so she went to her closet to get bottoms to match. "Give me a few," she called from the closet. "And get out of my room."

She heard them shuffling out, her door clicking shut. When she emerged from the closet, she saw Matty had seated himself on her desk chair. She frowned, tossing the skirt on her bed.

"I need to change if you want to get to work on time."

His expression didn't shift. "Give me your hand, Iris."

"Matty," she felt her heart hammer, betraying her instantly.

"Come on, cut the shit," his tone was eerily calm. Passionless. "Give it to me."

She relented, closing the gap between them, and showed her wrist like some sad offering. She laid it on top of his outreached palm. It was a little swollen since last night, but nothing too alarming. She'd iced in when she got in, and that helped. A minor sprain, if that. Her dad's profession made her well acquainted with stuff like this.

Matty listened for a moment, before letting out a low hum. "It's not sprained or broken. There's some inflammation and bruising, but.."

She gave a half-hearted shrug. "Good, I guess."

Matty only frowned. "My briefcase, front pocket."

She nodded, digging around until she came across a brace, one that looked suspiciously brand new. She sighed, slipping it on. She didn't like how the thing held her captive, but she had to admit it was helping. "Thanks."

"I'll let you get dressed." He paused, looking like he wanted to say more, but he (very wisely) didn't. Any chance of a pleasant day depended on ignoring the obvious. He finally left, giving Iris the privacy to quickly change. A minute later, she was walking into her kitchen to find Foggy and Matty at her counter. The former had helped himself to a bagel, and was happily eating.

"What's with the brace?" Foggy asked around a mouth full of crumbs as she entering the kitchen. He slid a plate in her direction, indicating the other bagel on it.

"Overuse. Happens now and then. Occupational hazard," she shoved a big bite of bagel in her mouth. She went to the cupboard, bringing down one of her to-go cups and filling it with the coffee her roommate had brewed that morning. Foggy's eyes were on her back, she could tell. She tried to pretend she didn't notice. "Now, let's get out of here before Foggy helps himself to the rest of my pantry."

"Very funny," Foggy rolled his eyes, but got up anyway.

"Morning, guys. You take the scenic route this morning?"

Nelson and Murdock's office was packed to the brim with their morning appointments, hot and stuffy with a combination of body heat and an ancient AC unit. Karen was currently under the weight of several files, which she put down on her desk when the partners walked in.

"My fault," Iris said, Matty dropping her arm. She went to Karen's desk, dropping off her purse. "I woke up late."

"Well, we have a full load this morning. Iris, can you hand me that legal pad right there? Thanks. Okay, well. Mr. Marino's dog was viciously beaten after the dog…uh…defiled the neighbor's statue of St. Francis."

Iris panned her gaze to the left to where Mr. Marino was sitting in one of the fold-out chairs, petting a Yorkie in his lap.

"Defiled?" Matty asked.

"Uh…" Karen coughed a little. "Humped repeatedly until completion."

Iris tried to stifle a laugh into her hand.

"Now, that's a dog I want to defend," Foggy grinned.

"All yours, cowboy," Karen flipped to the next page of her notes. "Now, Mr. Maxwell here was attacked in a bar fight…"

"He started it," the client—a big, burly man with a grey mustache, a load of tattoos, and a nasty shiner—insisted.

"Well, I called Metro General already, and the other guy will recover, but if we're looking at a trial, you'll probably want to wait until his jaw is unwired."

"Should have you in my corner," Iris winked at him.

"Anytime," he smiled.

"Finally, Miss Jacinto's working papers were denied for the third time. Her father's gone and she says that factory work is the only way to support her family."

"Well, tell her not to worry," Matty said.

"I've already pulled her applications from the DOE."

"Good. Cause we're going to find her something better."

"Right," Karen tossed down her legal pad, letting out a deep sigh. "Well, that's just the first hour. Want to talk about our 10ams?" she notched her head towards the conference room.

"Uh, what's that?" Foggy pointed to a large crate of bananas sitting on Karen's desk.

"Oh," Karen said. "Payment from Mr. Tate, for the fender-bender thing. And for you..." she picked up a saran-wrap covered pastry.

"Strawberry rhubarb," Foggy whispered. "You will be mine."

"Half yours," Iris countered.

"I'm technically your boss here," he said. "Don't try me."

"Come on, guys. In here," Karen gave a weak laugh, heading for the conference room. The others followed her, Foggy closing the door behind them.

"So, uh," Karen started pacing the room, wringing her hands together. "I installed this free trail of accounting software onto my computer. And the good news is that I can re-up it every thirty days with a fake email. The, uh, bad news is that…we're broke. As in, literally no money, and our income can't cover our bills."

Foggy and Matty both frowned, but kept quiet, the gravity of that statement hanging in the air. Finally Matty spoke, very quietly declaring, "We'll manage. I don't know how…but, I know we will. I have faith in this place."

Iris shifted from foot to foot. Karen let out a breath, pasting on a crooked smile. "Right. Yes. Right. Well…in the meantime, I guess we have plenty of pastries…and fruit. And…each other."

"Exactly," Foggy nodded, a little too vigorously.

"Good. Good. Um…I'll go get Miss Jacinto," Iris jumped onto the optimism train, scurrying out of the room. She smiled at the young woman in one of the chairs, nervously clutching a stack of documents in her lap. Mr. Marino was chatting her up, and she had a small smile on her face. They both turned their heads when Iris came up.

"Ma'am, they're ready for you."

The busy morning died down after the 10ams, and both Iris and Karen sat at the front desk, talking as they organized files while Foggy and Matt finished up with their last client. In the few months she'd been helping out at the firm, Iris found she and Karen hit it off pretty well. Iris knew there was plenty about Karen she didn't know. She'd talked to the other woman more than once during Fisk's reign, and Karen had more than a few secrets to herself. Including being forced to do something "unspeakable" that Iris still hadn't figured out. But, Iris respected Karen's space. The blonde stayed in her lane, and Iris stayed in hers. And they paused at stoplights, smiling and waving at each other through their windows. And that was the crux of their friendship, a beautiful mutual understanding of secrets and the need to keep them.

"….so, after the twelfth time of running this stupid number, and the lead blaming us for not syncing, the composer finally lets us go, making this snide remark about the lead needing to refresh herself on basic counting," Iris slipped the file she'd been organizing back into its place. "Sopranos."

"Well, regardless, we're looking forward to seeing it. The first musical you did with them was hilarious."

"Oh, yeah. The guys are geniuses. They make a great team."

"Ugh, Karen, you weren't kidding. I don't know how you guys stand it."

"Patrick," Iris looked up from the paperwork to see her boyfriend standing in the doorway. She set aside her stack, heading up to steal a quick peck on the cheek. "What are you doing here?"

"Karen called me about your AC unit."

"She called it an AC unit? That's being awfully generous," Iris quipped, earning a smile from Karen.

"Well, I'm here to see what I can do," Patrick shrugged.

"Patrick. Hello," Matt appeared in the doorway of his office, Foggy right behind him. The client they'd been talking to slipped out, offering a friendly goodbye before leaving the office.

"Please tell me you're here to help Wheezy Bernard," Foggy scooted past Matt.

"Wheezy Bernard?" Patrick raised a brow.

"Our affectionate name for our little AC unit that could," Karen explained.

Foggy nodded. "Yes, please save the poor fellow. He's like the office mascot."

"An AC unit that predates the Reagan administration is your office mascot?"

"Don't insult Wheezy Bernard's wisdom," Foggy said. "He clearly predates the Roosevelt administration." As if it knew it was being talked about, Wheezy Bernard let out a particularly ugly moan. "Uh…the Roosevelt that rode a moose once. Listen, you gotta save him. We'll take you out to Josie's with us tonight if you do."

"We already were going to ask him to Josie's," Matt pointed out.

"Little details," Foggy waved a hand.

"I'll see what I can do."

After an hour of very honest effort on Patrick's part, it was apparent only so much could be done for poor Wheezy Bernard. The rest of the morning past slowly, but before she knew it, she was on her way to Aldridge for her afternoon of lessons. When she got to her studio, depositing her bag in her chair, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Josephine, her roommate, sitting at the upright piano.

"Don't you have lessons?" Iris raised her eyebrow.

"I do. But, I just happened to be there when those were delivered," Jo nodded to a vase of irises on the desk. "Man, I really need someone in my life like Patrick. When he and I were dating, Thomas never did that stuff for me."

"Well, I'll send you flowers if you want," Iris snorted, swiping the little card.

When she didn't see Patrick's small, clean script, her mouth when a little dry. The messy scrawl was all to the familiar.

"Went to the moon, but I'll be back soon."

"Well, my first lesson will be here any minute," Iris said hastily, throwing the note down.

"Oh, is Patrick sending you risky messages at work? He knows you teach children, right?" Jo hopped up, lunging for the note. Iris held it away.

"Seriously, Jo."

"Alright, alright," Jo winked, already heading for the door. "But, this isn't over."

When she was alone, Iris grabbed the card, her heart hammering in her chest. Her hands were shaking, sweat beading on her palms. "Owen," she whispered.

The last time she'd seen her college friend, he had been the night of Fisk's arrest, when he'd disappeared with a bullet hole in his side. She'd spent the past eight months wondering how he'd made it out. If was alive. Where he went. Why he couldn't be bothered to tell her where he'd gone.

She'd spent eight months try to beat those questions out of her head. Her wrist throbbed at the thought, a wave of nausea rolling through her gut.

"Miss Murdock?"

Iris squealed, dropping the note, but relaxed when she saw her student standing at the door.

"Hi, Sonja," she breathed out, placing the note in her desk drawer, tucking it away. Out of sight, out of mind. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in. Get your instrument together and let's get started."

The note had her distracted all through her work day, but she tried to keep it together as best as she could. By the time her last lesson ended, she could feel knots of tension in her shoulders. Had a roaring in her ears, a twitch in her fingers begging to be released. But, she kept it under control, heading for Josie's. A night out with Patrick and the Nelson and Murdock crew was exactly what she needed.

"Murdock!" Foggy called across the room as soon as she got inside. It seemed she was the last one there, Patrick already standing by the pool table in the back. "You've gotta get over here. Karen and Patrick are kicking our assess, so we need yours."

"You're the one who wanted to be on a team with a blind guy," Karen countered.

"Pretty sure that's offensive," Iris laughed, coming up to Patrick. He wrapped her up in a hug, kissing her on the forehead.

"No fraternizing with the enemy, Iris," Foggy warned, handing off his pool stick to her. "Take over. Gotta use the restroom. Matt, keep your unruly sister in line. And, don't let Karen out of your four working senses. She is as quick as she is beautiful. She reminds me of myself."

The group chuckled as Foggy left.

"Well, I'm getting a drink while this pause is going on. Anyone need something?"

"Another round of beers would be great," Karen said.

"I'll help you carry them over," Patrick laid his stick aside, following her up to the bar.

Iris nodded politely to the crowd of usuals, leaning across the bar, and dropping down cash. "Hey, Josie! Can we get another round?" she pointed to the stack.

"Just a minute, Hon."

Out of the corner of her eye, Iris spotted an unfamiliar customer, staring her down. It made her just the slightest bit uncomfortable, but she also knew not to worry too much. Josie could handle trouble makers easily.

"So," Patrick turned around, leaning his back to the bar. "The wrist. How did that…"

"Um," Iris swiped at a stray hair, clinging to her neck with sweat, "overuse. No big deal."

"Okay," he didn't buy it, not that she expected him to.

She was formulating a response, when her gaze caught their table. "Um…are you seeing what I'm seeing?"

Karen was currently "teaching" Matty a trick shot, lining herself up with him, so close Karen was practically breathing down his neck. Iris noticed Karen's hand lingering on top of her Matty's as she lined it up with the cue. She didn't go far when he was ready to make his shot.

"So, um, is that, like, a thing now or…?" Patrick asked.

"Got me."

Matty fired away just as Foggy was getting back. Iris could hear the clatter from across the bar, as well as Foggy's lament. "No!"

"Oooh, sunk the eight ball," Iris whistled. "Alright, you wait on the drinks. I'll go make sure the lovebirds leave room for Jesus." She was heading back over when Matty suddenly stiffened, head cocking to the side just slightly, listening. He whispered something to Foggy, then made for the bar. She paused half-way to the table, letting him meet up with him. She tapped the back of his hand with hers, and she found his elbow. They fell into step together as she "led" him.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"The guy at the bar who keeps looking at us," he muttered. "Adrenaline's high. His heart rate's out of the control. There's something in his coat."

"Coat? Hot room. So, he's probably packing?"

"My point exactly."

"You not going to make a…thing, are you? Half the people in here are carrying guns."

"Yeah, but none of them have their finger tapping the trigger."

The guy in question was the one who'd been staring her down earlier, and he'd gone from lingering glances to outright drilling holes in Matty as they walked up to the bar. Iris stopped them right next to the stranger, who squirmed in the seat.

"You, uh, new here friend?" Matty asked. The stranger let his eye pass between the two siblings.

"No, actually," he said.

"It's alright," Matty's voice was calm, fingers mindlessly tapping on the bar. "Look, I'm just letting you know this is a good place. With good people. Lot of places a guy like you could drink tonight."

Again, the stranger cast a sidelong glance at Iris, back to Matty. "It's not what you think. I got business here," he said. "With Nelson and Murdock."

"Excuse me?" Iris let the words tumble out without thinking.

"I'm assuming you're the blind one?" the man swiveled around to Matty.

"Fifteen men. Toughest members of the Kitchen Irish. All armed. All of them blown away. It was a massacre. We weren't hit by any rival family, I'm telling ya. We were hit…hit by an army."

Matty had brought the stranger back to their table, Patrick heading to the bar to allow for this unconventional meeting without a breech of privilege but to keep any eye on the situation. The rest of the group had claimed one of the tables near the back, quiet and private as possible, as the stranger begin explaining things over a round of beer.

"That's quite the story," Foggy said.

"It's a fact," the man insisted. And the look in his eyes, the way he kept looking at the door, told Iris to believe him. "You can see for yourself. Burren Club, 47th and 10th. Can't miss it. It's the part of New York that looks like a warzone."

"What's your involvement in their organization?" Karen folded her arms.

The man narrowed his eyes at her. "Who's she?"

"Answer the question," Iris rolled her eyes.

"Who's she?"

"Cut the shit, if you want our help," Foggy said.

"I've run with them for a long time. A lot of the time, doing things I shouldn't have. I don't deny it. Pick ups, drop off. I'm no choir boy, okay? But I'm telling ya, I just…skirt the surface. Unlike the men I work for, and the guys that did this. I'm telling ya, I had nothing to do with that massacre."

Matty shifted in his seat, giving a subtle nod, mostly for Iris and Foggy. So, the dirt bag was at least an honest dirt bag. In way over his head, it sounded like. "If the Irish were hit by some sort of crime syndicate, and you're the sole survivor," Matty said, "your good fortune's gonna rub some people the wrong way."

"No shit," the man hissed.

"So, what can Nelson and Murdock do for you," Foggy asked, "Mr…"

"Grotto."

"Grotto what?"

"Just Grotto," he said. "Look, your firm is a trustworthy one. Quite a reputation after you took down Fisk. Which one of these girls was the one the Devil found in Fisk's clutches?"

"What, you want us to speed dial Daredevil for you?" Iris snorted, though the memory that night made her stomach clench.

"I want witness protection," Grotto said, sending her a rueful glare. "You gotta get me out of here."

"The DA's office is the only place that can make a deal," Foggy cut in.

"Yeah, and I'm not walking to the DA without representation," Grotto agreed.

"Nelson and Murdock does have a reputation," Matty nodded. "For representing the good people of Hell's Kitchen. Not negotiating of behalf of career criminals."

"Well, what if a criminal wants to…change his career? A second chance, that's all I want. I know I'm only coming here with my word. I got no one to vouch for me. I can…I can barely cover your fee. But, word is, that Nelson and Murdock put their faith in people."

A long sigh, Matty and Foggy silently deliberating in that creepy mind-reader-y way they seemed to have.

"Lie low," Foggy finally said. "We'll look into it."

"You have somewhere you can stay?"

But, Matty barely got the question out before a Grotto pitched over his beer bottle shattering on the floor. Karen and Iris leapt to their feet, Patrick doing the same across the room and making his way over. Patrons were starting to take a mild interest.

"Guys," Karen moved Grotto's coat aside, revealing a fresh scarlet stain. "Guys, he's bleeding."

"What happened?" Patrick shouldered his way past an interested bystander. Karen was dialing 911.

"Apparently, whoever did this left him with a little reminder," Foggy whispered.

"And probably wants to finish the job," Iris agreed.

"You and Karen take Grotto to the hospital. Patrick, stay with them, call us if anything goes wrong," Matty said. "Foggy and I will go to the address he gave us, see what we can dig up."

"Be careful," Iris nodded, standing up. She noticed she had a patch of Grotto's blood on her knee.

"You too," Foggy agreed.

"You think he'll be okay?" They'd been at the hospital for a good hour at this point, and Patrick and Iris were currently curled into two chairs in the waiting room. Karen was the only one in the group allowed to be back before Grotto woke up, because in the fiction they weaved to protect the man's identity, Karen (or Isaballe) was Grotto's (Steve Schafer's) devoted and concerned wife. They were just the concerned friends, and concerned friends had to stay in the waiting room and wait for news.

"I really don't know," Patrick said. His chin was resting on her head, and when he talked his voice tickled her hair. She snuggled further into his arms, feeling his heart beating against her cheek.

"I thought it was going to be awhile before I saw the inside of another hospital," she whispered.

"But it's not you here, and it's not Matty. At least those are things to be thankful for."

"Yeah," she started at one of the linoleum titles on the floor, squinting at the ugly fleck pattern etched into it. "Matty's not here."

"He went with Foggy."

Iris pulled out of the hug, looking Patrick square in the eye. "Do you know how many times Matty has used Foggy as a cover in front of Karen? Sure, they probably went to the address together, but I know for a fact the second he got any kind of lead, he went tearing across the city to get to the bottom of it. Whoever this syndicate is, Matty's going to want to take them down."

As soon as those words left her mouth, Iris stomach turned and she leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands. "Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit."

Patrick sat straight up, searching her face. "What?"

"I've been waiting for it—dreading it—ever since Fisk went away. For Matty's next….obsession. And…and this is it," she wrapped her arms around herself. "I can't handle another Fisk. Matty almost died, I almost died. How many times is he going to get lucky before he can't. Before I have to bury him? I've been.." was she crying? Shit, she was crying… "I've been holding my breath since Fisk, just waiting for everything to go south and…and…"

"We're not sure what took down those Irish," Patrick started rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand. "Let's not jump to conclusions before we know all the pieces. Grotto was the sole survivor of a takedown. He was scared shitless, and while I don't think he lied, we have no idea how his fear painted the events. We know there's a power struggle after Fisk went away. For all we know, this is just the latest incident. Two rival organizations gunning for a foothold. Matty's been dealing with that since Fisk was arrested. Until we know otherwise, let's not assume the worst just yet."

They were both silent for a minute, Iris back to staring at the floor. Patrick, moving his thumb back and forth, back and forth.

"Is that why you've been doing all this reckless stuff? Pushing your body to the brink in workouts?"

She stiffened, not able to look him in the face.

"I was good at hiding bruises once," Patrick whispered. "I know how to spot that kind of behavior in someone else. Does Matt know? He has to."

More silence.

"This has been going on since the arrest, hasn't it? Damn it, you were poisoned, for crying out loud, kidnapped, your best friend disappeared, and everyone was so caught up in the joy of taking down Fisk, we never stopped to ask…"

"Owen sent me a note today," she whispered. Patrick's grip on her hand tightened.

"What? Iris, what did it say? Why…"

"It didn't say much. Just 'I'll see you soon.' If he's coming back, maybe.."

"Again, let's not go to places we don't need to yet. Maybe he was lying low just in case Fisk had men on the outside, waiting to pick off traitors, and he's coming back because he finally feels safe. Iris, living on the edge like this can't be…." Patrick cut himself off, eyes glued to a stranger who strode through the double doors.

He had broad features: tall cheekbones, a wide forehead, and a Roman nose, all twisted into a cold, blank mask. His hair was shaved close to the head, his eyes dark and laser-focused ahead of him. His boots made heavy clunks against the floor as he moved, quick and purposeful. And, he was wearing an oversized, faded black coat.

He rounded the corner, disappearing as quickly as he came.

"Oh no," Iris hopped out of her seat.

"Iris, don't…"

"Call Karen," Iris was already sprinting out of the waiting room. She heard the screams as soon as she came around the corner, and that's when she saw the first security guard, lying unconscious on the floor. A nurse was huddled against the wall, sobbing.

"Grotto," she whispered, picking up the pace. She heard the first shots, the final spur to send her into an all out run. She got there just in time to see Karen and Grotto dart into the emergency stairwell, the fire alarm sounding as they sprinted away. The stranger tried one more shot, before abandoning , his plan and barreling forward. Right towards the rooftop.

"Iris!" Patrick yelled behind her, but she was moving forward again, hot on the shooter's tail. She'd be damned if she lost anyone tonight, and no useless thug was going to kill Karen over a petty gang feud.

She tripped into the stairwell right after the shooter had ducked in, hot on his trail. When she let herself out into the night, he was standing there, a gun cocked right at her. Those dark eyes boring right into her. Her blood went icy.

"Stay the hell out of my way," his voice was a near-growl, dark and quiet.

There was a fire, but when no pain followed she dared to open her eyes, seeing a the impact of the bullet in the ground. He'd meant to miss. A warning shot. He was already at the edge of the roof, ready to snipe Karen and Grotto out of existence.

"No!" she screamed.

The shooter didn't move, his finger resting firmly on the trigger.

And then a flash of red appeared, tackling the shooter to the ground. The gun fired in the air, and it was kicked aside as Daredevil wrestled the assailant to the ground. She started to move forward, but a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back inside. The rooftop door slammed, and she was soon struggling against and iron tight grip.

Her sobs echoed through the stairwell as she struggled against Patrick, determined to get to Matty, to not leave him to the shooter. Eventually, she stopped fighting, sinking to the ground in a pile of sobs. Patrick held her tightly, rocking.

"You're okay, you're okay," he kept whispering.

But it wasn't okay. Not in the least. Because, a second later, a single gunshot rang out, clear as day, right from the rooftop.

And that's how Iris meets Frank.

Uh...sort of meets Frank.

But, for real, the amount of sass that will result from having Frank, Elektra, and Iris in the same story. I'm excited.

Did I mention I love Frank Castle?

Anywho, that's all for the outro except I really love hearing from y'all, so if you enjoyed, please leave a review!

They make my day.

Bless

-Moonlit