'Intermezzo' – The drunken, the angry and the guilty one (Brett)

Brett Mahoney was having a good day. If not good, at least not bad. The night shift was relatively calm, no muggings, no break-ins, no assaults – he hoped there were none and not that anyone wasn't alert enough to report one.

It was only around nine p.m. when he got a call – some drunk kids had been too loud, messing around after they were probably forced to leave Josie's bar. Brett didn't like the place, it was usually filled with… well, odd bods, drunks and ex-cons and the list of weirdoes included Foggy Nelson (and he happen to know that ever since Murdock made a trip he still hadn't returned from, Nelson was definitely a regular there). Josie was a scary woman though and she rarely let something really bad happen in her bar – she was intimidating enough to muscle idiots out before they managed to start a fight inside.

There were three officers at the precinct when Brett picked up the phone – Jeggers, Vildow and himself. He wasn't a chauvinist, but Jeggers was a freaking scrag who was better to left to paperwork and Vildow… Vildow really should have retired years ago. Which only left him one option. With a sigh, he grabbed the car keys and headed to the reported address.

They were four skinny kids who couldn't hold their liquor, one of them already throwing up by the time Brett got there. The police lights – together with rattle of the handcuffs he offered them in case they didn't want to shut up and go home – were enough to scare them away. Each of them walked (or rather stumbled) different direction and Brett silently prayed for them not to jump under a car. That would be much more work for him.

He sighed, turning around to head back to his service car, when he heard a rough voice.

"Sergeant."

Brett instinctively reached for his gun, spinning around to the sound, aiming at nothing. "Who the hell is there?!" he demanded, not admitting he was startled by the sudden noise. He scanned his surroundings, lights from his car illuminating the alley in red and blue. There was not a single person. Was he getting crazy? He should have drunk the third coffee no matter it was crap…

"Sergeant," the voice repeated and Brett looked up this time, finding a shadow of a crumpled figure on a fire escape twelve feet in front of him. As the red light passed over it, Brett would swear he saw horns on the stranger's head. He blinked, chasing away the ridiculous thought, aiming his gun at him.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he asked, unsure whether he should put his weapon back to his holster. Just because he didn't see the guy properly it didn't mean he was dangerous – it didn't mean the opposite either though. "Show yourself."

The figure jumped down with a surprising grace, standing up straight, head bent down slightly. Brett, seeing him better now, was shocked. He was wearing some freaky red-black costume (spandex?), leg holster attached to his thigh and he had a helmet – with fucking horns. It was the weirdest cosplay costume of Satan Brett had ever seen. And it was kinda terrifying that he had something to compare to.

"Who the heck are you?" he spitted out, gun still in his hands, never putting it down. The stranger didn't approach him, only raised his hands in I'm giving up gesture. Brett allowed himself to relax a little.

"Not the bad guy. I thought we established that when I handed you Wilson Fisk," the man exclaimed solemnly and sudden realization made Brett gasp and finally lower his weapon.

'When I handed you Wilson Fisk.' The billy clubs in his holster. Kinky costume of the Devil. Voice that sounded too familiar. Because he heard it before – when he got beat up (not much, considering the amount of broken bones the Devil of Hell's Kitchen usually left behind) and when he was indeed arresting a man who tried to corrupt half of the city. Including Brett's friends and colleagues.

"Holy shit. It's you," was all he managed to choke out intelligently.

The Devil lowered his hands, giving a small nod. "Yes. I need to talk to you."

"Where the hell have you been?" Brett blurted out, offended by the fact the so-called hero (and Brett hated himself for being actually kinda fond of him) just left his city in the lurch and disappeared to the wind. For what? Getting a new costume?

The man tensed. Then: "Gone. I had no other choice than leaving…. But I heard you did some pretty dangerous stuff while I was gone."

The tone he was speaking made Brett's hair stand on its ends. He subconsciously tightened his grip on the gun once again. The man sounded dangerous. Threating.

"Meaning?" he asked cautiously.

The Devil took a step closer, snarling. "Veronica Machackova. Rings a bell, Sergeant Mahoney?"

Brett froze, fear actually licking his soul. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, pulse loud in his ears. It was no secret that the Devil was fixated (and it bordered on obsession, really) on the young woman – that was the reason Brett contacted her when the Devil worshipping got out of hand after all. The man would punish anyone who would lay a hand on her – Brett could recall very vividly how his former colleague ended up after kidnapping and hurting her. Collins was partially crippled for the rest of his life.

And now it was Brett facing the Devil after he endangered Vera; he put her in the front line when taking down a ring of criminals, bunch of kids really, but criminals and dangerous freaks nevertheless. It didn't matter it was for a good cause and it was more her doing than his – she ended up hurt and no one felt more sorry for it than Brett. They hadn't expected the evening to turn out like that.

"Yeah, it does," he tried to remain calm, hoping the Devil could be reasoned with. Which was probably a fool's hope. "Believe me, I wouldn't choose her if I had a better option." The man didn't react, only tilted his head to side, like he was listening to something only his sensitive ears could hear. "She volunteered," Brett added and he could immediately tell it was a mistake, because the man's mouth twisted in ugly grimace.

"That doesn't surprise me, Sergeant. Did you at least make sure she was safe?" he demanded, voice still dangerous, more like a nonhuman growling that sent shivers of fear down Brett's spine.

That, he could confirm. "Yes. We made everything we could. That's why we could step in as soon as it took the unexpected turn."

And shit he just poured gasoline on the fire. The Devil's shoulders straightened, his figure looking bigger than before. "What do you mean, unexpected turn?" he thundered and Brett actually winced.

And he was getting really confused. Obviously, the Devil was back in town and learnt about what happened during his absence – most likely from Vera herself (and really, Brett didn't feel good about their weird connection, he wouldn't get less obsessed with her if she kept encouraging him). The man knew about her involvement and he was pissed off (it was hard to tell which direction his anger was directed most intensively). So how the hell he seemed honestly confused and didn't understand what Brett was talking about?

Unless… he did talk to Vera. And she kept details for herself. Oh man, oh fuck, Brett was in so much trouble. He lost his awareness for one second and the Devil was right in front of him, hissing into his face. "What are you talking about?"

Before Brett could raise his gun, it was knocked out of his hand, wrist twisted and he was pushed against a wall, face on the cold surface, vainly struggling to free himself. Holy shit, that guy was strong. And fast.

"Tell me," ordered the voice, not permitting any objections. Brett was a cop for god's sake! He would not let some ass-

He hissed when the turn of his wrist became more painful. Fuck. "Okay, okay. Jesus, man. I thought you knew."

"Knew what?!"

"Would you be so kind and let my hand go so we could actually talk?" Brett complained, feeling really uncomfortable in that position. Incomprehensible grumble in his ear and he was free. Brett massaged the wrist, more embarrassed than in pain. One guy. One shitty guy and he overpowered him so easily. Then again, he overpowered most of people – often in very unfair numbers.

"I'm waiting."

"She was gathering information – became a member, gaining their trust. We knew they were about to sacrifice another criminal, the period was too long without any body popping out…. She let us know about the upcoming ritual, giving us the address and everything. We wired her so we knew what was happening in there, demanding her to say something as often as she could, ready to step in and caught them red-handed. We didn't expect them to change their M.O."

He made a pause and he could tell the Devil was getting impatient but also was morbidly curious. "Change how?"

Brett sighed. "Trust me, no one feels sorry for it more than I do. She's a good kid, alright? They told us once we arrested them – they believed that their sacrifices weren't working so they... they thought they should somehow return the gift what you gave people or whatever. That she was really important. We were listening to the weird mumbling and whatever shit they believed in, so we didn't panic when she didn't talk for a while, because no one really did. The moment we realized she was about to be the next victim-"

His back was suddenly pinned to a wall, one arm holding him on place, his other forearm crushing his windpipe. He gasped for air uselessly, meeting only resistance. He tried harder, blood roaring in his ears, real fear clouding his mind as he couldn't took a single breath in.

The glassy eyes of his helmet reflected his desperate face as the Devil was only inch from him. "Are you telling me," the man strained through his teeth, voice trembling with supressed rage. (Supressed? Brett was fucking hovering in the air, having his throat being crushed. There was more of his anger held inside?) "That she almost got crucified?"

The edges of his vision were getting blurry, head spinning. He wanted to say yes or not really, but he couldn't let out a single word, dizziness taking over him. His feet hit the ground unexpectedly and he had to steady himself, supporting onto the wall. He finally gasped for air successfully, almost crying in relief as the oxygen filled his lungs, his vision becoming sharp again.

The Devil was still there, just a step away from him, fists in gloves clenched so hard his hands were shaking with the power. Brett slowly raised his head, only to meet the visible half of his face in ugly grimace. He was terrifying, like an angel of vengeance. The costume didn't look ridiculous all of sudden.

"You were saying?" the man growled and Brett massaged his throat before he found strength to speak. His voice was more like gasp than an actual voice.

"We-we- rushed in, ok-okay?" He fought for another air, coughing. "They- already cut some of- her hair and- put the crown on. She was- out cold, rohypnol- as usual, half-naked. That was-"

Brett didn't expect the sharp pain shooting to his jaw, the crack echoing in his skull and the darkness in front of his eyes. He stumbled backwards from the brutal blow, colliding with the wall once again, hand covering the injured place. And fuck if that didn't hurt like a bitch.

He distantly heard the voice speak up for the last time. "You do something like this again and I'll break more than your jaw."

I'll break more than your jaw.

Suddenly everything got crystal clear, making perfect sense. Vera being saved from attempted rape. It wasn't some idiot playing a vigilante – not anyone new at least – it was the Devil, making a dramatic entrance. He definitely left one hell of an impression. He made sure he wouldn't be seen at the same time though; Brett didn't bother trying to find a reason in that action.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Brett managed to mumble, each word vibrating in his broken mandibula, blood mixing with saliva in his mouth. The Devil, walking away slowly, stopped in his tracks, not turning around. "It was you who beat that guy almost to death."

Brett was sure of it. The amount of broken bones. Torn tendons. The person who roughed him up must have been experienced, knowing what he was doing. And he was very, very angry. Of course it was this lunatic.

The Devil didn't answer, no doubt knowing what Brett was talking about. The silence was the best confirmation. He took several steps and jumped back on the fire escape, disappearing, leaving Brett alone to pick up his weapon and dignity. He had to spit out the blood. Jesus. His jaw throbbed with pain. He needed to go to the hospital. He had no idea what to tell them though – despite the Devil being a nutjob, Brett kinda deserved that one and he didn't want to report this. Shit. Where that guy came, he only brought trouble. And right now, he was out of his mind – Brett expected a lot of criminals beat up to pulp that night.

A terrible thought struck him and he tried to chase it away immediately. No, he wouldn't do that. That would be crazy…. But then again, the Devil was a little crazy, wasn't he? Brett didn't imagine he was thinking clearly at the moment, he seemed furious. Despite the tiny odds, he took his phone and before dialling 911 – he couldn't drive in his condition – he called a number he saved only recently.

"Macháčková," the voice on the other end of the line answered reluctantly, probably disturbed by the fact someone was bothering her at that hour.

"Hey, Vera, it's Brett. Mahoney." He hoped she could understand him, he tried his best despite the pain.

Surprised gasp. "Oh. Sergeant. I mean, Brett. What's going on? Is everything okay?" She sounded a little on edge by herself and Brett could only assume her own conversation with the Devil about her… activities was recent, didn't go well either and she was disconcerted by it, the memory still raw.

"I just had a talk with your friend – he seemed quite angry if the fact my jaw is probably broken is anything to go by. Look out, okay? He was pretty pissed off. Lock the- windows or whatever."

Shocked silence lasted for long seconds. "Oh my god. What happened? Did- did he- he broke your jaw?!"

"I think so. Next time I would appreciate a warning."

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea he would- Jesus Christ," she whispered to the phone, obviously absolutely taken aback and horrified, regret easily heard in each word. Brett almost felt sorry for her. It wasn't like she was responsible for the guy. "What… what did you tell him?" she asked hesitantly, voice filled with something that could only mean fear, which only confirmed his suspicion about her secrecy.

"The truth. You've told him but obviously haven't shared details, have you?" Dammit, his jaw really, really hurt. But he needed to warn her. "Look, I just wanted to let you know. He's angry and I don't know, he might be heading your way…"

She sighed. "I don't think he would hurt me. I'm really sorry, Sergeant. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Brett snorted, delighted at the fact that didn't hurt. "Not really. Be careful." He ended the call, content he fulfilled his duty and then he asked an ambulance.

After being taken care of, he visited the room of Bryan Nickel. At the end, he had to admit he got lucky that he only got away with one broken bone. It still hurt like a bitch though.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
I really do love Brett! He is a poor precious baby and I'm sending him my most sincere apologies.

By the way, Matt is totally pissed off because of the hair thing, that's the main reason. The rest? Details. A+ for his anger/fear management.