So…um…

Yeah, okay it's been awhile. Again.

So, I was in the musical at my school, and it turned out to be a HUGE undertaking. We did Seussical, which was probably the most fun I've ever had in my life. Then, before I knew it, finals happened.

I just finished my last exam today and celebrated by

having a migraine (not so fun) and

finishing this chapter (considerably more fun)

Now, it is time for a summer of gainful employment before I start my final year of college! Yay!

One more chapter left after this one!


Like a Bat Out of Hell

"Breakfast."

Hoffman's voice ripped through Iris's hazy sleep. She squinted up at the crooked cop, who was currently hovering over her, holding a white paper bag in his hands. She groaned, sitting up. Her back popped a little with the motion, every muscle in her body knotted from days sleeping on the old couch, and she brushed past Hoffman, right to the small little card table where Owlsley's captives ate their meals.

As usual, any identifying information as to where the food came from had been removed. Not that Iris could communicate to anyone where she was even if she knew. When Owen and Hoffman said they were valuable to Hoffman, they weren't kidding. He was keeping his lifelines locked up tight.

Owen came to the table, scraping his chair across the floor slowly. "Papers," he said, dropping a stack of newspapers out for the group to see. Owsley's men always brought in several, from all over the city, again obscuring their location, but letting the group at least keep some contact with the outside world. Keep a hold of their sense of time.

Iris zeroed in on the front page of The New York Bulletin, right on top of the stack. "Devil of Hell's Kitchen on the Warpath," Hoffman read the headline that had caught Iris's eye.

"Apparently he's been quite active these past few days," Owen said. "Wonder what he's looking for."

Iris ignored his terrible attempt at subtlety, reaching for the paper and hoping she didn't appear too eager. "Warpath" was right. Apparently, a good chunk of criminals in Hell's Kitchen would probably be eating through straws for awhile. And yet, she was still here. And there was even a statement from Fisk himself, promising to end the vigilante's career. And, though it obviously didn't say so, Iris knew Fisk wanted to end more than that.

Her mouth went dry, and she dropped the paper, letting it fall open on the way down. The content on the next page caught her eye too, and she slowly brought it closer to her again. In Memory of Ben Urich…

"Holy shit," she whispered, stomach squeezing.

"Iris," Owen started, but she was already getting up to leave. She wasn't sure where she was going, but the exit was getting closer and closer…

Owsley's guards, who were mostly content to ignore the captives, started to shift a little. Owen grabbed her arm, yanking her back.

"What are you doing?" he hissed in her ear.

"Ben…" Iris's voice came out as a ragged whisper….. "he…Nelson and Murdock…if they got to him, then…"

"You saw the headline," Owen was smart enough to keep her voice low. "He…"

"Could die because of your dumbass plan," she yanked her arm free. Took several more steps towards the guards. Owen step in front of her, grabbing her forearms. Owlsley's goons were all-out staring now, but Iris decided she didn't give a shit if she threw Owen under the bus by revealing herself.

"Iris, why know why…"

"You could have left him a helpful tip, not send him tearing across the city like a bat out of hell," she wound up a punch, but he caught her wrist this time.

"I left him a tip. A list of holdings the holdings, but it's for the practiced eye. He needs to…."

"A practiced eye? Owen, think about what you just said to me. Regarding my brother. It's been three days, Owen. What if…"

"Iris…"

"Don't 'Iris' me," she jerked free again, this time letting her voice ring out. Best to cover the whole thing up as just a quarrel anyway, try and keep up the pretense for her own safety. He moved to intercept her, but she held up her hands in warning. "I swear, Danvers, come one step closer and I will punch the shit out of you."

"I did this to protect you," Owen said, and damn if he wasn't achingly sincere. Which somehow pissed off Iris even more.

She let out a bitter, grating laugh. "I've taken care of myself my whole damn life, Owen."


Owsley's guards seemed relatively entrained by Iris and Owen's altercation, and Hoffman definitely got a kick out of it, but Iris couldn't care less about any of that. She was focused on the world outside, a world she couldn't get to. A world where her brother was recklessly tearing through the city—a city that hated him—to get to her. And with the real devil ready to take off his head.

She really was toxic.

"Alright, alright," the voice of one of the guards tore Iris from her thoughts. "Got the subs."

Iris turned her head, blinking. She hadn't realized how late it had gotten. That it was already dinner time.

"Thought it was pizza," one of the other guards replied.

"Too heavy to carry with the boxes," the first guard reached into the bag, tossing a sub to each one of the room's inhabitants. Iris caught hers, and stared at the foil wrapping. She didn't have much of an appetite.

"He call yet?"

"No. But we got eight minutes."

Iris looked up at that exchange, mouth going dry. By now, Iris knew Owlsley checked in daily. And if he didn't, he'd made it clear that could only mean one thing….

A loud bang echoed off the walls, one of the guards falling right in front of the couch, draped across Iris's feet. A bloody, mangled mug gapped back at her, a pool of scarlet rapidly collecting on the floor. Iris screamed, pulling her feet up.

"Shit," Owen yelled.

More gunshots rang out, Owlsley's guards falling one by one around them.

"Iris!" Owen yelled, diving for the couch. They tumbled off the back together, Iris slamming to the concrete floor with a whoosh, Owen shielding her from the gunshots firing above her. She went rigid, shivering as she waited for the end.

Then, a flash of black over her head. The sound of screaming and more gunfire, bodies hitting the floor. Then nothing, Iris's panicked breathing echoing through the newly made silence.

"You!"

Hoffman's voice.

Owen was suddenly lifted off of her, tossed carelessly to the side. A strong hand yanking her to her feet. Then a bone-crushing hug. A wall of muscle, but one that was quaking just as much as she was. The familiarity of the touch was a dizzying relief.

"Are you okay?" Matty's voice was a thin whisper, barely enough to be heard by someone who had normal, unenhanced hearing. But Iris understood well enough. She nodded. The ripped up black shirt he wore in the mask was sweaty, rough against her cheek.

She let out a pent-up sob, shaking in her brother's arms. She knew he was already assessing her. Listening for broken bones, injuries of any kind. He was here, he was alive. He'd found her.

"Yes," she choked out. "I'm…"

"Give me a minute," he let go of her, stalking towards the terrified Hoffman, frozen in his usual place at the fold out table.

Matty approached, slowly pulling out the seat just opposite the trembling detective. The scrape of the chair was deliberate and slow, Matty letting the man stew in the tension. Hoffman sat there, unable to tear his gaze away from The Devil of Hell's kitchen. Matty sound down, pausing for a few pregnant seconds before speaking.

"You have an opportunity here, Detective," Matty's voice was low, a near-whisper. And that clearly terrified Hoffman more than screams of rage. "By turning in evidence on Fisk, you can set things right. If that's what you want." Another pause, Matty leaning forward just a fraction. "If not, you can sit here playing with yourself until Fisk sends more men to kill you."

Hoffman whimpered, Matty's stone-cold expression not shifting an inch.

"Decide," The Devil hissed.

"It won't make a difference," Hoffman cried. "He owns the cops. I'll be dead before I can testify—"

"Not all of them," Matty cut him off. "Turn yourself in to Brett Mahoney, you can trust him. And he has a couple of lawyers that can't be bought. They'll help you. And one more thing," Matty made a gesture in Iris's general direction, and it took here a minute to realize he wanted her to come forward. She took a shaky step, coming to his side. "You never saw this woman," Matty tilted his head in her direction. "She is coming with me when I leave here, and you're going to say nothing, and I do mean nothing, about seeing her. You've never met her. And if you say a word about her, you try to run or do anything but what I just told you, you're going to wish I'd never saved you from that bullet."

"You're taking her with you?" Owen's voice sounded right behind her. Matty stepped around Iris, putting his face inches from Owen's.

"You're lucky I got here before they put a bullet in her," Matty growled. "If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from her after tonight."

"I'm not going to hurt her," Owen assured.

"You already have," Matty snarled, turning his attention back to Hoffman. "Better get going, Detective. Before Fisk sends more men."

Matt took Iris by the arm, and she numbly stumbled forward, not saying anything as she was lead out into the night. She tried not to puke when she had to step over the corpse of one of the guards to make it through the only exit. The alleyway they dumped out into was cramped and dirty, but the sounds of the city were like a lullaby. They put some distance between themselves and the building before she let exhaustion hit her. She fell quaking into Matty's arms. He was ready for her, bracing as her weight collapsed against him.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, wrapping her in a hug. Like they were little and he was protecting her from a thunderstorm.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she assured. "I just…"

"It's okay," Matty shook his head. "You're lucky you're alive. And Owen's lucky that…"

"That you didn't break his jaw?" Iris guessed, quirking her eyebrow.

Matty laughed. "No, he's lucky you didn't break his jaw."

"Not for lack of trying," Iris snorted, folding her arms.

"I have to tail Hoffman," Matty finally dropped the hug. "Walk a block down the street. Patrick's waiting to pick you up."

"Pick me up?"

"He's taking you back to my apartment," Matty said.

"And you?"

"I'm going to the precinct, let my other life see this through. It's almost over."

"How did you find me?"

"I really need to follow Hoffman," Matty shook his head. "Patrick will explain it. Are you okay to get there?"

"I'll be okay," she nodded, and she stood there and watched as he disappeared into the night.

"Be careful, Squirt," she whispered, barely hearing herself over the distant siren's.


Patrick picked her up in the van and the ride to Matty's apartment was quiet. Patrick was white-knuckling the wheel the whole time, and when he finally found parking near Matty's apartment, he held her hand very tightly on the way up. Iris didn't mind. She didn't feel safe until she was once again surrounded by the familiar light of the billboard.

The light was like a security blanket, and it struck her how comfortable she felt here. It was almost like…

She let that thought sink in, the weight of it bringing her to the couch. She let out a strained laugh, tears following just a half-second after. Patrick sat down at her side, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close.

"Want to talk about it?"

"It's just funny," she rubbed her face, taking a deep breath to compose herself. Ran her hands through her hair. "I looked around this apartment, and I thought…it almost feels like home. Do you know how long it's been since I felt that way?"

"Oh, Iris…"

"I reunited with Matty here. I've argued with him here. I've stitched him up here. I've helped take care of people he's saved here. Truth and lies and tears…all here. All the things I've been trying to get past….they're what make this place what it is. And this place…is almost like home."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, years and years of longing hitting her at once, rolling over her like a semi. And she sat there with Patrick, watching the billboard flicker, listening to the city around her.


She was woken up by the sound of a door closing, jerking her head off of Patrick's shoulder. Her neck twinged, stiff from sitting who knows how long at an awkward tilt. Patrick was out, the arm that had been wrapped around her draped limply at his side. Soft snores echoed through the apartment. It was still dark , but the sky outside was grey. Dawn was impending.

She turned her head to see Matty enter the living room, looking more energetic than she'd seen in awhile. She stood up, carefully so as not to wake Patrick. She jostled him but he didn't even stir. Heavy sleeper. "Hey, Squirt," Iris whispered.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said, heading for the table.

"It's okay," she walked past him into the kitchen, started rummaging through his cabinets as quietly as she could. She set a pan out on his stove, cranking up the burner. "How did…"

"Hoffman and Owen spilled everything they knew," Matty said. "They gave names, dates. They'll be in protective custody for a little while, but….Fisk is finished."

She didn't know what to say, so she just kept working. She grabbed cheese and butter from the fridge, shut it with her hip.

"Grilled cheese?" Matty guessed, sensing her unwillingness to talk about it.

"Figured you were hungry."

Matty paused, letting out a long sigh. "I am, actually."

They didn't say anything else. Iris made three sandwiches—in case Patrick woke up—and brought them to the table with glasses of water. "I haven't had a grilled cheese since the last time you made me one," he admitted quietly. That made her pause, staring across at him.

"Iris?" she heard Patrick ask, shattering through the moment. His curls were a mess, which Iris had to admit she found slightly endearing.

"Sorry to wake you," she said.

"It's alright," Patrick came to the table, taking notice of the plates.

She frowned, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. "You were really out," she noted. "Have you been sleeping well?"

"You were poisoned, you were kidnapped…it's been a rough couple of days."

"It has," Matty admitted.

"But it's all over. We got him," Iris sighed, leaning back and letting her gaze pass between both men, and she was overwhelmed by it for a second. How much they both cared for her. How much she cared for both of them. For Foggy, for Karen. For Ian, Andy. Even Jo.

Somehow, without even looking, she was starting to form a new family.


Fisk and his associates went down fast and hard. The next morning, the FBI had swarmed Hell's Kitchen, hunting down all the names Hoffman and Owen had given. The news of it took over all the airways, TV and radio.

"I can't believe it," Jo was listening to a radio broadcast at their kitchen island, detailing the arrests. "I mean, it's been playing all morning, but I still can't…"

"Believe it," Iris said, walking over to the radio. She dialed it to the classical music station the two usually listened to when getting ready for work. "Libera me" from Faure's Requiem filled the apartment.

"Iris!" Jo gasped.

"Sorry, I'm getting a little tired of the Fisk coverage," Iris shrugged, pouring herself a mug of coffee.

"It's only been on the air for a half hour," Jo shrugged.

"I just got out of the hospital after being poisoned from his attempted assignation," Iris shook her head. She was thankfully Foggy, Matt, and Patrick had kept her kidnapping under wraps from people like Jo, Karen, and Andy. She was thankful she didn't have to come up with excuses or lies. "I've had my fill of Wilson Fisk."

"I'm so sorry," Jo said. "I didn't even…"

"It's fine. All fine," Iris took the other seat. "But, let's just…not talk about it, okay? Fisk is over. Done." Her life could finally move forward. Matty's life could finally move forward.

"You're right. Happy subject change," Jo set down her mug. "I'm not really supposed to tell you this. Mr. Aldridge wanted to surprise you with it. So, there's this off-Broadway theater Dr. Manson plays pit for. They write all their own musicals. Their composer is apparently a genius, fun to work with. Has some pretty awesome connections in the city."

"And?"

"And, Mr. Aldridge says they're looking for an oboist. He obviously recommended you."

"Really?"

"No, not really. I just like to tease my friends with fake opportunities," Jo laughed.

"I'm rubbing off on you."

"Maybe a little," Jo leaned back in her chair. She stared intently into her mug for a minute, sighing before she looked up at her roommate, "Hey, Iris?"

"Yeah?"

"I know…I know you've been through a lot since moving back. And I don't know your full backstory or anything. And, though it may not seem like it, I really don't mean to pry. I just….Well, you know, if you ever need to talk, I'm here, right?"

Iris allowed herself a tiny smile, "Thanks. That means a lot."


The Nelson and Murdock crew met at Josie's that night to celebrate. Everything was so different given their circumstances, and this time around Iris was able to see the charm her brother and his friends found in the little dive. Foggy ordered everyone their first round, pouring the glasses himself. More news coverage on Fisk played in the background, a triumphant

"Now the world knows just what kind of asshole Fisk is," Foggy raised his glass.

"Here, here," Iris declared, the group clinking glasses in agreement.

Matty smiled, setting down his glass after his first swig. "See," he said. "This. Right here. This is how it should be. Knowing the people I care about are safe. And having some sense of closure for the ones we've lost."

Foggy nodded, holding out his glass again. "For Elena."

Karen put hers up, "For Ben."

"And everyone else that son of a bitch has hurt," Patrick agreed.

Foggy almost choked on his drink. "Patrick, I didn't know you knew how to swear."

"I'm a bad influence on him," Iris shrugged.

"That I can believe, Murdock."

The levity continued from there. There was none of the excess of the night of Elena's wake, but there were enough drinks for at least a happy buzz. The old jukebox in the corner popped and hissed out a pleasant background drone. They swapped stories, bantered back and forth.

Matty was right. This was how it should be.

This….this may actually be what she was looking for.

Familiar lyrics jumped out at Iris, and she looked over her shoulder to see Patrick standing by the jukebox. "Really?" she called to him. "Goo Goo Doll's Iris? Do you know how many guys in my lifetime have tried to use this song to pick me up?"

"You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever get," Foggy sang at an embarrassing volume. "And I don't want to go home right now."

Karen laughed into her hands. Iris threw her head back, "Matty, help me."

"Oh no. I've got a lot of years of embarrassing my older sister to catch up on."

"And I don't want the world to see me," Foggy squawked, "cause I don't think that they'd understand."

Patrick came up to the table, shaking his head. "I didn't expect to get a Foggy Nelson concert. I kind of hoped you'd like to dance."

"Dancing to a song I hate in a dive bar while my brother's best friend reinvents tonality in the background," she took his hand. "I couldn't think of anything more romantic."

And, for a brief second, Iris's world was damn near perfect.

For a brief second, her life wasn't the least bit complicated. It was just a group of friends at Josie's, butchering Goo Goo Dolls songs and enjoying cheap beer. And, she could almost pretend she could ignore all that had gotten them to this point.

Almost.

The couple headed back to the table, Iris spotting a missed call on her cell. From Owen. Reality hit her harsh and fast.

"Gotta make a call," she muttered, instantly unsettled. She swiped her phone, letting herself out into the night.

The sound of the bar were only slightly muted out on the street, her perfect night so close and yet so far. She almost didn't want to dial, but she knew she had to. Owen was supposed to be in protective custody. He wasn't supposed to have his phone.

"He has a plan," Owen didn't waste time with pleasantries.

"Who? And…how do you have your phone? Owen, what is going on?"

"Fisk," Owen said. "He's going to escape. This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

"What do you mean…"

"Iris," Patrick rushed out of the bar, white as a sheet. "Come inside. Now."

Blood roared in Iris's ears. She kept speaking into the phone. "Owen, what's…"

"Just come in," Patrick ushered her inside.

The rest of their group was at their table, looking as sheet-white as Patrick.

Iris followed Foggy and Karen's gazes to the old TV, where pure chaos had broken out. The channel was showing Fisk's transport, as it had been frequently that night, but this time it was different. The armored truck was at a dead stop, surrounded by police vehicles. The back of the truck was wide open, dead cops littering the scene.

Iris slapped her hand over her mouth.

Of course it wasn't over. Of course it wasn't that simple.

Fisk wasn't finished at all. And he'd tear Hell's Kitchen apart to keep his freedom.


Iris by Goo Goo Dolls. Yess.

So, also the song on the radio in the scene with Jo and Iris, Libera me from Faure's requiem, is actually going to be v significant for the installment. My choir performed a "requiem tapestry" program this year, where we took different movements from different requiems (and sometimes just Mass Ordinaries). Fun fact: I sang the soprano solo in Kyrie from Schubert's Mass in G Major.

For those of you who don't know, in Catholic tradition, a Requiem is a mass for the dead.

The Libera me movement is essentially about seeking repentance, more or less.

I am still undecided as to which one fits better, but the chapter names for Devil's Penance (the next installment) will either come from the Libera me or Lacrimosa movements.

I also think Faure's setting of Libera me just screams Daredevil to me. It just fits. Give it a listen! I prefer the Cambridge Singers' recording.

Okay, I've gushed about music enough!

Hope you enjoyed!

See you soon for the last chapter of this installment!