"You should follow her," Father Lantom had said to him as Jessica stormed across the small, wet yard, along the cramped path and out onto the city street.

Matt Murdock had nodded his agreement, but he had no intention of following her. She was seething and being in her orbit could only lead to personal injuries.

So Matt lied to his priest. It wasn't the first time and, regretfully, he knew it wouldn't be the last.

Rolling off the damp lawn, his pants soaked in dew and smelling of freshly cut grass, Matt lumbered down the path himself. He didn't say goodbye or even thank you, but he knew Father Lantom was no stranger to the underbelly of Hell's Kitchen. The confessional booth brought him into contact with all forms of criminal and victim. Matt's own after midnight visit was strange to be sure, but perhaps expected when the streets were littered with danger.

"God bless and good luck," Father Lantom whispered as Matt rounded the corner and walked out of sight.

Matt heard him perfectly.

XXXXXXXX

The text chimed though at 5:49AM: Meet me on the roof.

The reply came over an hour later: What roof? Also, fuck off. It's too early!

By 8:00AM Matt was soaking up the sun on a roof just above 10th Avenue, only blocks away from the hospital. He knew it well. He had almost died on it, and had it not been for Foggy Nelson he might have.

"Really? 6:00AM texts?" Foggy questioned as he stepped out onto the cracked tar, his feet scraping along years of shoddy workmanship.

Matt had noticed that since Foggy took the job with Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz he walked differently. Perhaps he was standing taller, striding longer and stronger. Matt couldn't be sure, but he imagined his newfound swagger was coupled with new suits. Not the baggy, sweat and sriracha stained ones he wore throughout the short lived life of Nelson & Murdock. Since he had little reference, Matt could only picture the mobsters that pressured his dad to throw fights. He hadn't know that's what they were doing when he saw them, but he should have. Their slick pinstripe suits screamed shark.

Foggy was now a shark - one of his own making. He didn't threaten people, sure, but he definitely got things done. If Matt weren't tired and in pain, he might have admitted to Foggy that he was impressed.

"Thanks for coming," Matt told him, a smile slowly forming beneath the bruise Jessica had left on his face.

"Jesus," Foggy exclaimed. "What happened?"

"Jessica Jones."

Matt knew he didn't have to say more. Foggy had read Hogarth's files too. Suddenly, Matt wondered how many people had, how many people thought they knew her.

"She got you good, man."

Foggy dropped his worn leather bag on the ground and found his place next to Matt, leaning on the brick wall and taking in the city. As the bag came to rest at Matt's feet he sighed in relief. There was still something of the old Foggy hanging on.

"It was a misunderstanding," Matt told him, referencing the now purple blotch on his cheek.

"Is that what you're calling it?" Foggy chuckled. "because it looks like she kicked your-"

Matt cut him off. "I need your help."

"I figured." Foggy sighed. "But, I don't know, I thought we could talk for a minute. Like we used to. Have a laugh, have a drink."

"At 8:00AM?"

"Okay, maybe no drink… although it's not the worst idea I've ever had."

Matt smiled again, immediately regretting it as pain lit up his face.

"You were dead, man. And before that you were Daredevil and before that you were lying to everyone," Foggy solemnly reminded him. "It was just hoping we could talk for five minutes like we used to. You know, before there were superheroes and everyone got resurrected."

Matt loved how honest Foggy was. Sure, he would know if his friend was lying, he could read his heartbeat, time the fluctuations of his pulse, hone in on his breathing, but he didn't have to. Matt always knew Foggy was sincere. It was comforting that in all the chaos Fisk's return had brought there were still people who said what they meant and did what they said they would do.

So Matt acquiesced. He talked.

"How are you and Marci?"

"Oh!" Foggy cried, chuckling and choking on his surprise at the same time. "That's the first thing you ask? Come on."

"What?" Matt asked innocently.

"Forget it. Let's talk about death cults or private detectives that can punch like a wrecking ball or whatever."

"Oh, no. Now you have to tell me about you and Marci."

Foggy sighed. Matt could hear his expensive suit rustling as he lifted a hand to run through his dirty blonde hair.

"She wants us to move in together."

There it was again, that smile, followed by a shallow wince.

"Don't smile at me like that," Foggy told him.

"I'm just surprised."

"You're surprised? Hello? I'm the guy who has to get rid of his record collection and start investing in scented candles."

"You don't have a record collection," Matt told him. "And a few scented candles couldn't hurt."

"Hey, man. Not fair. I bet everyone smells weird when you use superpowers to get a whiff of what they ate three days ago."

Matt felt himself relaxing, the brick wall hugging him like the mattress at a five star hotel. His body eased and his fists finally unfurled. Standing beside Foggy he felt, for the first time since he'd returned, that he was home.

"So, are you going to do it?" Matt asked.

"I don't know."

"Is there someone else?"

"What? No. I'm a one woman guy. If I can even get that one woman," Foggy reminded him. "Usually I'm a no woman guy."

"So what's the problem?"

Foggy sighed. "Our five minutes is almost up. You sure you don't want to tell me about how you have the hots for the P.I. before we launch into another end of the city scenario?"

"I don't have the hots for Jessica Jones."

"I might not have super hearing or smelling or whatever, but I know Matt Murdock. And trust me, he's never met a dark, complicated woman he hasn't wanted to bang."

Matt lightly shoved Foggy out from his place against the wall. He stumbled, nearly tripping over his bag. They laughed together as the sun finally leapt above New York's tallest building casting the city in light.

"So?" Foggy questioned once he found his footing again.

"So what?" Matt played dumb, knowing it was not that easy to weasel out of a Foggy Nelson cross examination.

"So spill. I've met Jessica Jones in passing and she doesn't seem like the kind of woman any man would want to mess with. But you? Oh, yeah. I can see you messing with her all over the place."

"Jesus, Foggy," Matt croaked, trying not to picture what form of messing Foggy really had in mind.

"On, no," Foggy started, lightly slapping Matt on the shoulder. "You're not being noble right now by trying to not picture her naked, are you?"

"Foggy, I can't picture anyone naked. I have no frame of reference."

Foggy laughed. "Man, you went blind when you were nine. If my secret magazine collection from that age says anything it's that you definitely know what a naked woman looks like," Foggy joked. "Besides, you've been with more women than… well, anyone I know. So, excuse me for thinking Jessica Jones belongs on that list."

"You make me sound like a sleaze," Matt said.

"Yes, but a blind sleaze," Foggy reminded him. "And one that came back from the dead. Seriously, you can do no wrong where women are concerned if you tell them that."

Matt raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe leave out the back from the dead thing. Which, by the way, is something we still need to talk about."

"I think our five minutes are up," Matt stated sternly.

"So, you're not going to tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What's going on with you and Jessica Jones," Foggy restated, this time with a smile across his face. Matt knew he was hoping for good news. Foggy wanted his old friend to be happy, and if Jessica made him that way, Matt knew it's what Foggy longed to hear. He wished he could give that to him, wished her could tell him that two damaged people had found one another and were healing together.

But the reality was bleak, dark, and sadly all too common.

"Jessica and I are working together," Matt said.

"Big case?"

"Sort of. Wilson Fisk is out of prison and he knows that I'm Daredevil."

Matt couldn't help but listen as Foggy's heart skipped a beat.

XXXXXXXX

"Trish!" Jessica screamed as she exited the elevator and ran headlong into Trish's top floor penthouse apartment. Her door was unlocked. Jessica knew it was the point of exit, but maybe not the point of entry for whatever happened just beyond the hall.

It was obvious to Jessica that there had been a struggle of sorts. The leather stools that surrounded Trish's granite kitchen island were toppled on the floor. The coffee table had been smashed, it's glass top shattered and metal legs bent out. Paintings no longer hung on the wall and one section of her floor to ceiling windows had been blown out, the early morning wind ripping through the apartment rustling debris with an eerie whistle.

Jessica closed her eyes, trying to summon her investigator instincts and recreate the fight. The abductors came in from the window, repelling perhaps from the roof just above. They knew they couldn't bypass Trish's security, break through her reinforced door, but how?

Startled, Trish had tried to run, knocking over her stools as she slipped into the kitchen for a weapon or her phone. She must have grabbed her cell, hiding it in a pocket or in the small gap between her breast and the lace of her bra. She must have known the fight would not be won here - especially after she was thrown into the coffee table lodging glass shards in her back.

Smart, Jessica thought. Smart that she got that phone. Smart the she called her from - where had Matt said she was? A car trunk maybe? Hopefully nowhere worse than that.

Jessica fished her own cellphone out of the back pocket of her dirty jeans. But who could she call? Matt? Fuck Matt.

He had wanted to think things through before charging in when it was her best friend, her sister. But when it had been about him, his identity revealed, his enemy returning, he was ready to fight. His fists suddenly had a mind of their own.

Slipping the cell back into her pocket Jessica muttered, "Hypocrite."

She thought there was no one there to hear her, but as she turned to the door she encountered the brooding body of Wilson Fisk.

"Hello Miss Jones."