Let me tell you about Moonlit's past month cause...ouch.

Okay, so I have had a lot, and I do mean, a lot of personal crises (minor ones, so please don't worry about me. I have a strong faith and a strong support group).

Holy cow, not gonna lie April was not kind to this little writer. At all.

And...May's started off a little rocky too.

That being said, here is Chapter 4. I do apologize for the delay. But...yikes.

Summers are unique times for me, because I am a camp counselor, but I am gonna try and keep the updates coming.

This is a touch shorter than the other chapters, and honestly I...am not entirely sold on it. But, heh, I did my best.

I'll stop second-guessing myself now and just let you read!

A Song for the Beast

There was a stabbing under Iris's ribs as she rushed into Aldridge three minutes after the start time of her first lesson. She was still reeling, carrying with her the panic and disorientation of a deep sleep and an alarm that never blared. Her body had shut out the world, emotional exhaustion from her dealings with Matty pulling her further under than she usually went. After a late night shift at Ethan's, she really didn't stand a chance of waking at a decent hour.

Heaving for air, she thrust her weight against her door, tripping over her heels as she rushed inside her studio. "I'm sorry I'm late. I…." she cut herself off, blinking rapidly at the man seated on the opposite side of her desk. "Can I help you?"

It sounded harsher than she'd intended, but strangers turning up in her studio was starting to become a regular occurrence. An occurrence she was not comfortable with. Aldridge really needed a bouncer….

The man was well-dressed, olive skinned and with a smug, pseudo-charming expression. Eyes as blue as anything, hark thick and dark and wavy. He offered Iris a smile she supposed was supposed to be cheerful and warm but sort of just came across as…probing.

"Ms. Murdock," the man stood. "Your first lesson as been canceled. Chicken pox. The mother called, left a message on your machine while you were out. Couldn't help but overhear."

"How long have you just been sitting here?"

"Your fellow teachers did tell me to wait in your office."

Iris was going to have to have a talk with her "fellow teachers" before one of them let a serial killer just hang out in her posture chairs.

"You've recently signed a contract with my employer," the man stood up, not waiting for a response.

Iris swallowed. Her contract with Wilson Fisk. The one she'd yet to tell Matty about. She found herself falling into her desk, cold dread seizing her chest. "Right," was all she found herself able to say.

"I am here to inspect and approve repertoire for the evening and bring copies of the scores to the accompanist we have lined up."

"Repertoire?"

"You have prepared for this job, yes?"

She blinked, trying to get ahold of herself. Calm down, Iris. "Of course. Forgive me, I've had a rough morning and you surprised me a little." She popped open her music bag, producing a handful of scores. "For you. And your employer."

The man narrowed his eyes at the music, and Iris wondered how much of it he understood. If, like her, printed notes could sound in his head to some degree, giving her a vague idea of the piece. "Very good choices, Ms. Murdock. I commend your taste." He stood, storing the music in his own briefcase. "I will be seeing you tomorrow." He stood, preparing to go out.

"Do I get your name? I know your employer isn't too keen on introductions, but this is my office…"

"Wesley," the man cut her off. "James Wesley." And he left, his presence lingering like a bad stench.

Iris fidgeted just outside Matty's apartment, passing her weight from heel to heel. Her last lesson also canceled because of a case of chicken pox (apparently, it was going around Aldridge) and so she'd decided to swing by her brother's before her shift at Ethan's. She wasn't sure if he already…patrolling (was that a good word?) for the night, but she owned it to him to at least…mention the contract with Fisk.

"Iris, are you gonna stand out there all night or are you going to come in?" his voice floated from behind the door.

"Show off," she grumbled, entering the apartment.

Matty was half dressed in his outfit for The Mask, foot on the coffee table as he laced up his left boot. Its mate was sitting waiting for its turn, his cowl at the ready. "Hey, Squirt."

Matty paused, lowering his foot to the ground. "You have something to tell me."

"Okay…we really need to talk about boundaries with extra-sensory perception thing."

"That wasn't extra-sensory perception," he shrugged. "That was being your brother."

"You're right, I did come here to say something." She wasn't sure how to proceed, but her hammering heart ensured she'd have to say something. His head was titled towards her, listening. Betrayed by her own nerves. Band-Aid approach then. "You know that gallery job I worked? Well, a wealthy man heard my playing and wants me to help woo some girl with the aid of my oboe."

"A wealthy…" he tensed, figuring out the implication of her statement. "Wilson Fisk. Iris, you didn't."

"You don't get to lecture me, Matty," she said. "I get that you're not going to stop. I even think you have this twisted notion you can't stop. So, screw it. I'm helping you." He didn't say anything, so she kept going. "And, if you don't want my help, I'm getting a shit-ton of money out of this anyway."

There was a moment where neither Murdock said a word. Tense silence. Iris was afraid there would be a screaming match. That he'd kick her out of the apartment, out of his life. That isn't what happened.

Matty grabbed his other boot, jamming his foot inside. "When is the job?"

"Tomorrow," she said. "It's in a public place, I'll be fine."

"I've been tracking the Russians, trying to get what I can," Matty said. "None of them are talking. And Fisk comes right to you.."

"Technically, Fisk's employees came to me. But yeah."

He offered her a wry smile as reward for the terrible attempt at humor. "Just…be careful, okay?"

Iris grabbed his mask from the floor, placing it in his hands. "I will if you will."

"Got a table of two for you," Andy said as Iris came back in from running the trash to the dumpster.

"Sure thing," the younger woman wiped her freshly-washed hands on her apron she grabbed her pad and pen from her pocket.

"Hey, what can I get started for…" Iris's usual greeting caught in her throat when she saw who here customers were. To the man's credit, he seemed just as shocked to see her as well.

"Iris," Patrick blinked, his grip on the menu slack. "You work here?"

"I….uh…yeah…"

"You must have just started," Patrick said. "Ian and I are regulars, right buddy?"

"Right," Ian agreed, flashing a toothy grin. "My tutor lives nearby. Daddy takes me here after I meet with her. Can we have two slices of peanut butter pie, please?"

It took Iris's brain a second to process, but she nodded numbly. "Anything else?"

"A coffee," Patrick said.

"Coming up."

It took all of Iris's strength not to run from the table…and right out of the diner. But Andy was staring. So Iris kept her calm and grabbed the coffee pot from the counter, praying her boss wouldn't press the issue.

"So how do you know Patrick Kent?"

"Shit," Iris swore under her breath, taking a centering breath before turning to face her boss.

"We met briefly when I first moved back," Iris grabbed a coffee mug, hoping that keeping busy would dissuade Andy.

"Patrick and Ian come in all the time. Patrick's an electrician, helps out at my apartment building, since the repairmen our landlord hires…well, don't worry about any of that. Nice guy, Patrick."

"I'm sure he is," Iris skirted past the older woman, headed for the refrigerated display where they kept the pies. She felt Andy's stare on her back, but ignored it as she carried the Kents' order to their table.

"Thank you," Patrick offered her a small smile.

She could only return the gesture with, "I'll be back to check in on you in a few minutes."

"So, where did you meet him?" Andy leaned across the counter as Iris approached. The younger woman claimed a stool, scraping her thumbnail along the countertop.

"Andy, it's not…I don't really."

"Oh, I get it," Andy wiggled her eyebrows. "I'm hip you know."

Iris choked. "Andy, no. That is definitely not what this is about."

"So you admit there is…"

"We both got saved by the masked man, okay?" Iris let out a shuddering breath. She felt instantly guilty for saying even that much, but saying she was saved by The Mask wasn't necessarily a direct line to Matty. And, it worked to get Andy off the trail.

"Iris," the older woman rounded he counter, throwing a comforting arm around Iris's shoulders. "Honey, are you okay? What happened?"

"I don't….it doesn't matter. I can't talk about it. We're both safe, that's what counts."

"Yes you are," Andy nodded empathically. "I'm so sorry I pried."

"It's alright."

"Patrick is a nice man, just so you know," Andy assured. "Deserves a little respite after what he went through with his ex-wife."

Iris remembered not seeing a single picture of Ian's mom. Of Patrick's sensitivity to the subject.

"What about his ex-wife?"

Andy shook her head, a silent request for Iris not to keep asking. So, Iris let the subject drop. Instead, she focused on Andy, for the first time taking in the dark circles under the woman's eyes. The slump of her shoulders. The way her usually vibrant and knowing eyes were a bit dull and listless. Iris had been so consumed with her own business that she hadn't given noticed until now…

"Andy, is everything okay with you?"

"Yes. I'm okay, don't you worry."

"Come on, Andy. You take such good care of me. Let me at least try and return the favor."

"It's nothing to worry yourself over. Haven't been sleeping all that well is all. Landlord hasn't been putting priority on our repairs, is all."

"What do you mean by that? If you think you think it's a problem, you can talk to Matty. I'm sure he…"

"Iris, don't even worry about it."

The bell jingled, a young couple skipping inside. The girl laughed at something her boyfriend was saying, swinging his hand back and forth as they headed for a booth.

Andy made a move to go help the customers, but Iris intercepted. "I've got it, Andy."

"Iris, you don't…"

"I've got it. And I'll stay on later. Help you out in setting up for the breakfast shift."

"Iris…"

"I insist," Iris grabbed her notepad, winking at the other woman. "Face it, you're stuck with me."

Matty was visibly startled by Iris's presence when he emerged from his bedroom that morning. She was seated on his couch, legs crossed and two breakfast sandwiches from a deli between their two apartments sitting in a paper bag.

"Iris?" he asked, groggily. He was moving slowly, Iris's unexpected presence meaning he hadn't been putting on the charade of being okay. "What are you…?"

"You break into my apartment, only fair I break into yours right?" Well, it wasn't breaking in and they both knew it. He'd had a spare key made for her shortly after the night with Patrick. A "just in case" sort of precaution. She nudged the bag with the toe of her shoe. "Breakfast."

"I smelled the food before I smelled you," he agreed, finishing off his sentence with a soft groan.

Iris frowned, taking in his appearance. As he usually did, he'd slept shirtless, allowing Iris's full view of the nasty new gash across his upper chest. And the rather impressive stitch work keeping it closed. "You were never that good at stiches," Iris noted.

Matty gave a half-hearted shrug. "Remember the nurse who helped patch me up after the Russians' trap? I've kind of been going to her, letting her stich me up when things get bad. The night with the Russians…if it had been either one of us trying to…." He graciously abandoned the thought. "Clarie's a good person, Iris. I trust her."

The way he said that made Iris smile. She grinned, offering a half-laugh. "So baby brother's got a crush, huh?"

"Iris…come on, that's.."

"Look, she kept you from dying. I approve."

"Iris, seriously. I get enough badgering about my love life from Foggy. I don't need your input as well."

"You always need my input, Matty. That is my legally mandated job as the elder sibling."

He snorted. "Didn't you work a late shift last night? Why aren't you home in bed?" The evasion was clear, and though Matty's smile was pleasant, it also begged Iris to stop. Given her own recent experience with similar goading, she decided to honor the request.

"Volunteered to help Andy in getting ready for breakfast. She's been having some trouble with her landlord, and I sounds pretty sketch to me. I'm not the Murdock with a law degree, but its sounds like she may actually have a case. She wouldn't budge when I suggested she talk to Nelson and Murdock. Still, do you think she might have some grounds for legal action?"

"Hard to say without more information," Matty said. "See if you can get more out of her, we'll go from there."

"Thanks, Matty," she said, her voice giving way to a yawn.

"For now," Matty sat down beside her, fishing his sandwich out of the bag. "You could use some sleep. Big night tonight, right?"

Iris's heart squeezed at the mention of her gig for Fisk.

"Yeah," she shuddered. "Big night."

"Speaking of which," Matty crossed over to his counter, tossing a small flip phone in her direction.

"Why are you giving me a burner?" Iris asked, tossing the small object between her hands.

"Smart phone is too fragile for the Mask. So I leave it here," he said. "So, this is what I carry now. Claire's number is in there. Put yours in, under a fake name obviously, and memorize the number. If you need to get a hold of me, or I need to get ahold of you while I'm out, this is how we do it. If anything, I mean anything, goes wrong tonight call." He frowned. "Promise me you'll call if you need to, Iris."

She thought he was being hypocritical, given the fact that he was the one who risked his ass on the streets night after night, but this form of contact worked both ways. He was giving her a way to make sure he was safe as much as a way for him to make sure she was safe. So she relented, typing the info for "Jane Manry" (the first name that came to mind, for whatever reason) into the burner's contact list.

Iris shuddered as she stared at herself in the mirror, the smell of heated hair and styling spray a little too overwhelming given her current state. Regret over the whole situation was building up inside her. Fisk was dangerous. Probably more so than she or Matty realized. And yet, Matty was spending night after night trying to go after this guy.

She swallowed hard, trying to console herself with the fact that she had the burner, her brother's vigilante side hidden under the name "John Manry" and available for her to call whenever she needed it.

"You good there, Murdock?" Jo asked from the shower, poking her sopping wet head from behind the curtain. "Don't tell me you're nervous about being background music for a restaurant."

"I guess I'm just being silly," Iris offered a half-hearted shrug. "It's a well-paying job, I want to do well."

"Please. You'll do great," Jo killed the water, snatching the towel out from off the rack. She came out, covered up. She made a shooing motion with her hands, a request for Iris to step hogging the mirror. "I'm not going to pretend I'm not jealous that a super rich stranger didn't offer me a small fortune to play for his date."

"I told you, an old friend got me this job," Iris shrugged.

Their doorbell cut through the conversation, and Iris let her breath hitch as she checked the time on her phone. Right on the dot for when Fisk's employees were supposed to pick her up.

"You'll be fine, Murdock," Jo waved her hand.

"Here's hoping," Iris grabbed her phone off the edge of the sink, dropping it into her silver clutch.

Iris went to the door, relieved when she saw it was Owen who had been sent to retrieve her. "Pretty dress," he nodded to her deep blue gown. "You look really good, Iris."

"I'm just glad it's you," Iris closed to door behind her, began walking for the elevator. "That Wesley guy your employer sent over was…interesting?"

"My employer sent Wesley," Owen stopped in his tracks, whirling on a dime to face her.

"Yeah. He came to my studio to approve my repertoire," Iris raised an eyebrow.

"I assumed you sent PDFs in. That was supposed to be my job."

"Owen, you're scaring me."

He grabbed her forearms, startling her. "Look at me, Iris. Right in the eyes."

"What…"

"Just look at me," he cut her off. "I need you to be honest with me. My employer sending Wesley…well, that could one of two things. One, my employer had need of me and send him to take care of it, or…something else."

"Something else?"

"Iris, is there anything, and I do mean anything, any secret you think my employer would be interested in knowing?"

Iris's whole world narrowed to a singularity, and it took all of her strength not to go rigid in her friend's arms. Could Fisk have…someone gotten wind of her knowing The Mask? Did he have any inkling who Matty was, where he lived? Had Owen's "employer" been following her?

"No," she said, a gorgeous lie than only Matty would be able to detect. "Not at all." Owen relaxed, pasting on a rather unconvincing version of his goofy grin. Iris played along.

"What's with the melodrama, Owen?" she quipped, starting towards the elevator again. She tossed a gesture over her shoulder, not bothering to look back. Because if she faced him, he'd see the tears of terror she was attempting to fight back.

They drove her to the restaurant in a limo, and she spent the whole time sipping on champagne and talking with Owen. She tried to pretend they were two undergrads, arguing over theory homework. They were both trying to pretend the freak-out in her hallway didn't happen, that nothing had changed since late nights in the practice rooms.

When they reached the destination, the driver escorted Iris out and into the night. The tinted windows and distracting company had ensured she wouldn't quite pin down her route, which Matty would have killed her for. Still, she could give him her surroundings over the burner and he'd probably be able to find her. She had a feeling nights in the Mask had given him an intimate familiarity with the city.

The restaurant itself looked like the kind of place she could only afford to go to with Doctor Manson. There were other patrons, of course, but a table for two had been set apart from the others, elegantly set and resting right next to a baby grand. The pianist was a gruff older man, who stiffly acknowledged Iris with merely a curt nod.

"Shall we tune, then?" Iris set down her clutch, unhooking the latched on her case and removed her dissembled instrument.

"My employer will be arriving soon," Owen explained. "I have just received word they car is pulling around the block. Please, be ready quickly."

Iris attached her reed, offering Owen a reassuring smile. "This part, you don't have to worry about." She winked, turning to the piano to begin tuning. Iris and the pianist ran through their first number to get a feel for one another. It wasn't as natural as playing with Jo, but it would have to do.

A few moments later, Owen's posture shifted dramatically and Iris followed his gaze across the restaurant. She almost missed an entrance when she saw her friend's employer. She identified him easily enough, especially since he was escorting Vanessa Marianna herself.

Fisk…looked strangely normal, at least at first glance. He was very present, tall and with a stocky build, and completely bald. His suit was definitely expensive, but he didn't look all that comfortable in it. Or maybe it was just his own skin that caused him discomfort. His eyes held an uneasiness to him. There was a kind of nervous air that reminded Iris of a young high-schooler picking up his date for prom. He pulled out Vanessa's chair for her, launching into a nervous tirade about the menu selections.

And yet the way Owen grew visibly more tense in the presence of this man…

Iris drowned out everything, and kept playing. She'd purposely chosen songs she knew in her very soul, songs that would allow her to listen to the conversation. She had, after all, come with a purpose. They said nothing of merit, simply small talk and Fisk ordering a fancy-sounding wine, all allowing Iris's first song to pass uneventfully.

"I see you've hired one of my musicians," Vanessa smiled in Iris direction, causing the musician to pause. "It is wonderful to hear you play again, Ms. Murdock."

"Thank you, Ms. Marianna."

"Ms. Murdock, I found your playing particularly pleasant," Fisk agreed. "The oboe is a tricky instrument to master, but you do it justice. I am glad Vanessa shares the sentiment."

"I'd love to share another song," Vanessa said.

"Of course," Fisk turned his gaze fully to Iris. It was all she could do not to shrink away. Not because his gaze was all fire and brimstone…quite the opposite. He had a shyness to him…but there was something beneath that. An instability Iris would have missed if she didn't know the truth. "You would please, Ms. Murdock?"

"Right away, Sir." Iris found her voice, picking up her next piece. She was thankful for the music, using it as a barrier to let herself hide away from this potentially dangerous man. What followed was…dinner conversation. Vanessa's attempts at humor being met with Fisk's shaky smiles. Iris couldn't follow every word. It was impossible to juggle that with her own playing. She wasn't sure what she had expected to find, but from the outside this could have been a completely normal date. An awkward, stammering man and a charming, dazzling woman attempting a connection. It was all rather run of the mill, until…

"When I was twelve years old, my mother…she sent me to stay with relatives. They had a farm, middle of nowhere. Those were good years."

"But you came back?" Vanessa asked.

"Yes," Fisk nodded. "Time and..distance. The they afford a certain...clarity. I realized that the city was a part of me, that it was in my blood. I would do anything to make it a better place." He leaned slightly more forward towards Vanessa. "For people like you."

Iris song ended, and she found her arms peppered with goose bumps, her breath a little shaky. Owen, standing guard just in eyesight, raised an eyebrow at her.

Vanessa smiled, unfolding her arms and picking up her glass of wine. She extended it towards Fisk. "To a better place."

Iris stated her next piece, the little snippet of conversation nagging in her mind. She wasn't sure what to make of it, but if Fisk was the dangerous mastermind Matty's client implied he was….

And then there was the matter of Owen's behavior in her apartment, her whole interaction with James Wesley. All things that laid just outside the realm of normal, existing uncomfortably in the uncanny valley.

Despite Iris's growing apprehension, Fisk himself seemed to warm up to the evening. And with his growing comfort, Vanessa's smile grew. Through the whole meal, Iris found nothing but odd, unsettling normalcy. Right up until they were debating desert.

"I told you, he's indisposed," the voice of Wesley came from the doorway, its familiarity leaving Iris with a bad taste in her mouth. A vague commotion accompanied the outburst as Wesley attempted to keep an indistinct figure from entering. Fisk's security, Owen included, came to life. The pianist stopped playing. Iris lowered her oboe.

"Sir," a tall, leering man attempted to shoulder his way past Fisk's security. "I need to speak with you."

He spoke with a Russian accent, which, of course, made Iris's stomach turn. She retreated a step, her back finding the crook of the piano.

"What is this?" Vanessa asked.

"We need to go," Fisk muttered, gently leading her from her seat. "Now."

"My brother and I," the Russian man yelled, "we gratefully accept…"

"Wesley will take care of you," Fisk cut him off.

A hand grabbed Iris's forearm, and she let out an involuntarily squeak. "Come on, Iris."

"Owen, what's…"

"Come on," his grip firmed and she barely had time to grab her case before he dragged her towards the back door, right through the kitchen. The staff looked up, offering glares, but said nothing as he pulled her through.

"What the hell was that?" Iris demanded, wrenching her arm free once they were outside.

"Yes. I'll be there in a minute," he said into his earpiece. "I have to take care of the oboist." A pause. "Thanks. I'll bring her around front."

"Owen," she repeated.

He turned to face her, taking a deep breath. "All you need to know, is that you should never discuss what you saw tonight. Ever."

All she managed was a vague nod as he led her through the alley to the front of the restaurant. The limo was waiting for her, but she shook her head fervently. He knocked on the window, giving her address to the driver.

"Make sure you get her there safely," Owen added.

"You're not coming with me?" she asked.

"I can't," he shook his head. "But don't worry. He'll take care of you. Go, quickly."

She only stared at the vehicle, her world spinning. "Owen, who is Wilson Fisk?" her voice came out in a taut whisper.

Saying the name aloud, it was like he'd been struck. Owen shook his head, nudging Iris another step towards the car. "Someone you don't want to piss off."

When Iris got pack to her apartment, Josephine was in her bedroom. She was streaming something, probably on Netflix, a faint glow and the low hum of voices radiating from the other bedroom. Iris's heart was still working overtime, the whole limo ride back nothing but a tense exercise in pretending nothing was wrong. The driver hadn't closed the privacy screen, and she had a feeling asking him to do so would result only in a convenient language gap.

She was reminded of being younger, her earliest days with Dr. Manson, sitting though dinners with orchestra members, following rather epic shouting matches. She had to sit still, smile through dinner with the musicians. Smile as if nothing was wrong, let no one know the truth.

And so that was how Iris spent the ride.

Now that she was free, she was on the verge of breaking down, her whole body quaking from the pent-up emotion. With shaky hands, she undid the latch on her clutch, fishing out her phone.

Her throat closed when she saw six missed calls from "John Manry" on her phone. She feared the worst until she saw a missed call and voicemail from Matthew Murdock just beneath that notification.

Letting out a shaky breath, Iris brought the phone to her ear and let the message play.

"Iris…they….the Russians. They got Claire. I have her now, brought her back to my apartment, but…Iris, I could really use you right now. Can you come over? And can you bring something from the pharmacy for me?"

"What a shitty night," Iris laughed bitterly, going to the counter to grab a notepad for Matty's list.

"Hey, I'm here."

Iris had thrown on comfortable clothes but didn't bother to take off her make-up or let down her hair before hailing a cab to her brother's apartment. She found her brother at his table, tending the wounds of a stranger.

She was pretty, dark-skinned and dark-haired, though her features were marred by several nasty looking cuts and bruises. The stranger tensed at Iris arrival, looking the newcomer up and down.

"Relax," Matty assured. "This is Iris, you can trust her. Iris, this is Claire Temple."

"Nice to meet you," Iris crossed over to the table, setting down the pharmacy bag with a purposeful noisiness. "Looks like everyone's had wild night because of the Russians."

"What happened?" Matty asked.

"Later," Iris grabbed the painkillers with sleep out of the bag, twisting off the child-proof cap and handing Claire two tablets. The woman sucked in a breath, staring warily at her.

"It's okay," Matty assured. "You can trust her."

"So how do you know Mike, Iris?" Claire's voice was ragged, probably from screaming and sobbing. Two things Iris would have definitely done if she'd been taken by the Russians. Regardless, the woman swiped to two pills, throwing them back with the glass of water Matty had already gotten for her.

"Mike?" Iris repeated.

"It's what she calls me," Matty explained. "Or called me. Until I told her my name. So, we'll just let the 'Mike' thing die. Right now."

"Right," Iris snorted. "I hope you know you're never living this down, Mike."

Claire chucked softly, the ghost of a smile cresting her bruised face.

"Iris," Matty's heart was only half-way into the argument. He was tired, ragged. And, beating himself up with guilt.

She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to seeing him like this. But, she'd have to try. For the sake of her relationship with her brother, she'd have to try.

"Go take a shower," she told him. "You smell like sweat and the blood of stupid-ass criminals."

"Iris," Matty repeated.

"Seriously. Go, I got this."

"Make up my bed for her," was all he said before shuffling towards his room.

"Matt listens to you a hell of a lot better than he listens to me."

"Well, he should," Iris shrugged. "I'm his big sister."

"He told me about your dad," she said. Iris paused, suddenly tense. "Sorta. Is he...around still."

"No."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"It's alright," Iris held up her hands. "You know, scares the shit out of me how much Matty's like him."

He could probably hear her from the shower, but screw it. She wanted him to know how much this whole thing scared her. How any end she could see was bloody and depressing and ended with...her life once again in shambles, ruled by the pain of loss.

"And you?" Claire shifted. "You don't...beat up criminals in your spare time?"

"Hell no. I'm an oboist," Iris shook her head. "I think I take after my mom, really. Though, that's more of a guess. Never knew her. She left when Matty was only a few months old. Dad never talked about her. I only have...faint memories, fragments, but I don't actually remember what she looks like or anything. She was...pretty, gentle. At least that's I pretend." Iris probably said too much. Here she was, spilling her guts to a near-stranger. But, Claire only listened.

"Well," Iris let her shoulders sag. "I am sorry I turned this into an Oprah special.

Claire snorted."I fished your brother out of a dumpster. Teary confessions about long-lost mothers? Casual small talk, comparatively."

Iris actually managed a smile.

"I'm just glad there's only one one of you to patch up," Claire shrugged. I don't know what I'd do if there were more vigilantes running around Hell's Kitchen." She winced, grabbing her side.

"The pain killers should be kicking in soon," Iris assured, because she really wasn't she what else she could say. "I can give you one of Matty's shirts and make up the bed for you."

Claire weakly nodded, large brown eyes locked with Iris, clearly unsure of what to say. Claire and Iris had something in common. The musician found the seat across from the nurse. "I'm really sorry this happened."

The only response was a weak shrug. "I knew there were risks. Men like Matt…danger follows them. And it tends to trickle outward."

Iris nodded slowly, the weight of her night catching up on her. Slamming into her body. She imagined herself falling in a ring, the mat hard and unforgiving. She imagined Wilson Fisk leaning over her, ready for a finishing blow.

And Owen standing on the sidelines, just watching.

Okay, well that was chapter four.

Patrick is back. I don't know, I have a soft spot for him, but maybe that comes with knowing his whole dang story.

Also, I am just now getting around to watching Iron Fist because I am a good daughter and waited to be home to watch it with my family. I am conflicted about it.

BUT THAT DEFENDERS TRAILER DO!

Anyway, hope you enjoyed

Blessings

-Moonlit