"THE RED VICTORY SAGA" - Chapter Four: The Road To Redemption

We continue in the middle of Elektra #20... The Assassin has renounced her old ways, gained a new sensei, and a new understanding of life. Meanwhile, Matt Murdock deals with the pressures of a defamation lawsuit against local tabloids accusing him of being Daredevil...


Hell's Kitchen. Present Day.

ELEKTRA There were footsteps outside, hushed voices. Just homeless passer-bys dragging cardboard around on concrete and discussing where to sleep the night. It was enough to disturb her slumber. Elektra awoke and for a minute, she thought she was still in east Los Angeles, training with sensei Drake. She could still smell the sand in the children's playground where she had spent her past few days coming to terms with her humane side... It surprised Elektra most of all that she even still had one. The decision to take that flight across the country back to New York was her decision alone, but sensei had been very supportive. Elektra was ready to be released back into society. Blinking wide awake, the woman realized where she really was: an inexpensive hostel on the edge of Hell's Kitchen - one of the many little buildings she had passed as a girl growing up within these parts. She remembered why she had taken that flight now. The first thing on Elektra's mind the moment she regained enlightenment was to find someone. Find -him-. Talk to him. Tell him about sensei Drake and what she saw out of the plane window when it began raining over the city, about how the Hand tried to find her, about the crippled Jeremy Locke who set her free... Elektra peeled the thin cover off her frame and began to dress. She had scaled the rooftops in a matter of minutes.

DAREDEVIL Meditation was a worthless pastime when there was no possible way to block out the sounds of Hell's Kitchen. There were times when the casually-dressed figure on the rooftop wished to be able to transfer the silence he saw into silence he could hear. Just to meditate in peace without worrying about the escalating domestic violence four blocks down, or the old woman heaving a death rattle all alone in her tiny apartment across the street. Tonight was an exercise in patience - the Man Without Fear would be found nowhere, even though there was crime to be fought and justice to be served. Matthew Murdock was laying low for a while. There was practically a reporter on every corner, waiting to snap a picture of Daredevil in action for the tabloids. Ready to tie Daredevil by some abstract thread of evidence to his everyday persona. He wasn't used to being in a different seat in the courtroom. Lawsuits were a pain in the ass, he'd decided. It was stressing him - putting tension in the chisled shoulder muscles that hunched idly in dismay on the ledge overlooking the Kitchen.

ELEKTRA The last time she had seen him had been before Christmas, at the height of his exposure in the papers. When she came to him then, he was irritable and depressed - a rambling exoskeleton of the confident man she once knew. He had lost it on that rooftop, right before her very eyes. The sight was almost dishonorable. She didn't recognize him. But all the same, Elektra was a different person that night herself. For although she weaved through the canopy of Hell's Kitchen with the same dexterity and control of her old body, she pursued her location tonight with a different mindset. -Wisdom- was the Rosetta Stone that her corrupt being had been missing all this time, and after having shamefully lost to Drake, Elektra gained enlightenment and finally earned the right to shoulder the responsibility. A good fighter, Drake taught her, was not empty of a soul. In fact, the most seasoned fighter was one who fought with -heart-. Without this wisdom, Elektra would have stalked after this man under different intentions. She would have never, three months ago, come to him with an ulterior motive other than to kill him for a nominal fee. Tonight, Elektra would come to him no longer the soulless beast that he knew. She was a flutter of scarlet silk, moving as one with the wind, red tabi boots propelling her over the roof edge of his apartment. She moved without noise, a shadow in its purest form - fleeting, sudden, but constant. She made no sound, but watched Matt Murdock gaze over a cityscape that he could not envision.

DAREDEVIL It was absurd to think he didn't know she was there. No meditation, no matter how deeply he concentrated on exacting some sort of peace from the night's noises, would see him ignorant of her presence. The slightest ruffle of silk caught his attention. A hint of incense traipsed across the wind. Her very silence made a sound. There was no one else who had the same sort of presence. Elektra. His own heart thumped wildly. He had no weapons about him. Was she here to try once more at killing him? How much was his head on the market for these days? Those burdened shoulders slumped again. "I'm not fighting you tonight, El." Matt said tiredly, her presence filling him with elation and pain at the same time.

ELEKTRA's gaze lingered a moment, as though insulted by this greeting. There was once a time when he never spoke to her in so indifferent a tone, a time when they met on this rooftop absent of weapons. But that was the past, and they had mutually decided over time that the past was a -mistake-. Elektra exhaled inwardly, calm though falsely pretending that she was expecting such callousness from him. It was deserved, and for tonight, it was acceptable. After all, she had ruined his life irrevocably when she left his side, never to return unless to pose as a threat to his existence. Straightening in response, the assassin's ever present daggers were twirled away from her side, tossed, and replaced beneath the sheer sachet belted around her waist in one fluid move. The silk seemed accepting of their weight, accustomed to the many times that Elektra had carried them there while she stood at ease. Her face, though already a mere shadow to him, was unreadable. Much like her heart, which was a steady lump inside a stale figure. Elektra wanted to present herself to him unarmed. "Nice to see you too, Matt." It was the most she had said to him in months. She didn't mean to sound so sarcastic, but old habits die hard... "For someone who wishes to disappear from the media, you are easy to find." She took the first step forward, an uncharacteristic move.

DAREDEVIL "Easy to find, if you know where I live. I'm not trying to -disappear-." Something in the way he said that last word was loaded. With hurt. With the bitterness of someone who'd been disappeared on too many times in the past. Someone who'd built a wall so it wouldn't ache so much. A frown drew in his brow as he heard her replace her weapons. An unusual beat to her pulse. She stepped towards him, and he glanced over his shoulder as the sound of her steps produced an image for him. She looked the way he remembered her looking. She said more in those two sentences than she had on several visits combined. Something about Elektra had changed. Shifting off the balcony he leaned against, his body followed the cant of his head to face her. He felt unprepared for her visit, not clad in his costume. Jeans and a fitted sweater were all Matt donned tonight. He felt unbalanced.

ELEKTRA "I heard about Fisk," she continued, undeterred by the lidless milky orbs that were probing the darkness for her figure. "Death comes in many forms, but not as a frequent visitor to the Kingpin. He would not have survived this long were he not the very centerpiece of the pyramid you call home." She nodded indistinctly at Hell's Kitchen. "His legacy alone is too strong to be buried." Elektra abruptly stopped her Confucian monologue, leaving it for Matt to deduce that she believed the Kingpin was still alive. She had read the tabloids' point of view on what had happened to Fisk, but aside from finding amusement from the bloated images of the Kingpin, the ronin couldn't find any credibility to the 'death'. The Kingpin was still alive and out there. Somewhere. "He didn't even make the Obituaries," Elektra continued quietly, as though offering the man some hope. Matt was so easy to talk to out of costume, when he was grieving, did he know that? Elektra was aware that Daredevil had formed an unusual kinship with his archenemy - the most prominent mob boss on the east coast - over time, and she didn't put guilt past Matt. God, if anything, he was probably thinking about how he could have prevented Kingpin's death before she got here. Dark lashes fell sleepily under his scrutiny. "You can stop staring," she said suddenly. Even with all the life-altercating training Drake had provided her, Elektra still had a hard time being watched. It felt uncomfortable having his eyes on her again after so long. "I have something to speak with you about."

DAREDEVIL folded his arms, the practice of patience in effect. He'd wait through her maze of words, find out what she really wanted to say. He'd already formed his opinion that Wilson Fisk wasn't dead. She'd know that. Despite what someone had told him, hope was not lost to him merely because he feared nothing. Still, as perturbed as Matt visibly was, hearing Elektra say more than two words to him tugged his memory back to times when they actually spoke to each other. When an idle conversation about absolutely nothing could occupy their hours, and her laughter wasn't sparse. Out of some habit Matt had forgotten he observed, he glanced away from her in deference to her request. It bothered him that he still cared to obey her requests so perfectly. The goddess had spoken, and Matthew complied. He nodded once and reached for his stick, pushing off the ledge to walk towards the entrance to his apartment. He never needed to invite her to follow.

ELEKTRA trailed wordlessly after him, though the steps leading to his humble abode had grown alien and unfamiliar to her. When she was revived from the dead nearly a decade ago, Elektra's being was tainted with evil magic. It stripped away her old passions and all her old memories. She eventually lost all desire to be around Matt's living space, much less be around him. Elektra spent the next few years disappearing in the blink of an eye, playing contract executioner for the highest bidder. And they never spoke again. Until recently. Elektra watched silently as the lawyer took to his old routines - the careful way he listened for the padlocks to snap, the smooth transition of his movements. It was a fascinating thing to be an audience of. Although the assassin was no mute, the concept of talking irritated her. She disliked saying too much than was necessary. Conversation was about patience. Timing. Elektra kept her sullen absorption until they were deep inside his quarters. The apartment was near pitch-black. No lamp in sight. Were it not for the moon and the woman's keen eyesight both, she would have easily stumbled in the darkness.

ELEKTRA lighted upon the edge of his leather sofa, basking in the rays of the moon, hands on her lap. An assassin's meditative repose. She kept her attention forward, not blinking once, though Matt was nowhere in sight. "I died in your arms once," Elektra began, sinking into the memories that slowly began flooding her mind. There was no place left on earth for her to feel comfortable in, but she knew this was a safe space. She could talk freely. "And though you see a woman in your midst now, I was never the same after that night. We both know this." Elektra waited for Matt to seat himself in her line of sight before continuing. "The truth is, I have not known life in the way you have all these years, in the way everyone else has. Every time I kill-" The assassin's eyes fluttered to her weapons. "I know exactly how it feels to die. The Hand paid me a visit recently. They made me an offer I was near close to accepting. They wanted to bring me back to the fold, wanted me to turn back to that life of killing. But then I met a woman named Drake who challenged me in battle and won. She WON, Matt. Do you understand how many times I have lost a fight since that night I left you? Not once. This woman, Drake, she knew about me. She knew everything -about- me: my strengths, my weaknesses... She saw right through me... And for the first time since that night, I felt naked and exposed. Drake helped me to see that I was sick. That I knew more about the art of killing than I knew myself. You would have liked her, Matt. She made me want to start over. I laid down my weapons and showed her my empty hand. She assured me I still had a chance to put my sins behind me and turn away from my crimes. We talked. And for hours on end, I listened. What she spoke of changed something in me, the way she had taken away my anger when I found myself at her feet, defeated."

ELEKTRA Without notice, the calm woman suddenly began distressing over her dark past. "Oh God," Elektra continued remorsefully, "I killed so many..." She pitied Matt then somewhat - she was breaking down to him the way he had done to her earlier that winter. The only difference was, she had turned her back then and left him. Elektra suddenly grew conscious about how she must have sounded at that moment. The assassin, it seemed, had grown a -conscience- last time they met. It embarrassed her, like a child growing shameful after getting caught stealing. "I have been dead all these years, Matt. And not in the way you think. I have been DEAD. I do not know how to live anymore. I have murdered close to -one hundred and thirty- people. I want to know if there is anything left for a monster like me. I know that is all I am. A walking executioner. I want to know if I have anyone left. I want to know why Drake or Jeremy Locke refused to kill me when they had the chance. I want to know why they let me go. I want to know why I cannot DIE. I am READY to. I have -tried- to end my life. How do you do it, Matt? How do you separate yourself from being the good guy and the bad guy? How am I supposed to live with my sins?" And then, just when it seemed that Elektra's old rage had once again resurfaced, the weary assassin willed her heart to slow and fell silent.

DAREDEVIL never actually sat down in her line of sight. He was more comfortable pacing slowly back and forth in front of her. That is, until it dawned upon him that perhaps she found that unnerving. And even then, he sat down not across from her, but beside her. And leaned back against the sofa, an ankle resting over his knee. His casual pose was deceiving in that one may think his attention was elsewhere. In reality, Matt could not have been more attentive to her words. He wished he could see every nuance of pain in her expression when she took to spilling everything that had happened to her, so he could know that the angst he heard in her voice was real. A hand posed over his mouth, covering the frown that settled there. He was right - Elektra had changed. For the better, it seemed, if she could manage to cope with her demons. Like her, he saw his own desperation from that night mirrored in the way she was baring all of these things to him. Elektra's voice was hypnotic to someone who had scarcely heard this many words from her in years. He was compelled to listen.

DAREDEVIL As she spoke, he remembered the night she'd died. Like it was yesterday. She was so cold in his arms. He remembered the night he'd found out she was alive again. It had broken his heart to see what she'd become, to know that the darkness in her heart had consumed the woman his heart belonged to. He remembered the night not long ago when he'd needed her to stay with him so badly, and she'd left. And, after all that, he remembered the night he'd fallen in love with her. In remembering this, there was no way Matt could conceive of turning his back on her now. He'd never known Elektra to be so pained about anything - this was the truth she spoke. If Elektra had died that night so long ago, then she was now reborn. She was admitting things that were putting her that much closer to coping. Matt remained silent for a long time, mulling over her words before shifting forward. He rested his elbows on his thighs and glanced sidelong, if only to be that much closer to her. Matt wondered if she'd let him touch her - she hadn't for a long time. Alas, risking death, dismemberment and a host of other unpleasant repercussions, he reached over and collected one of her hands. It was his way of telling her that, even now, she did have someone left. "You do exactly that, El," Matt finally spoke, quietly and reasonably. "You live with them. You keep them inside you, and you fight against them. Redemption doesn't come without work. It's not easy. But nothing worth having comes easily." He stopped rather abruptly, not wanting to sound patronizing to her. "I know you can."

ELEKTRA was suddenly at a loss for words. His touch was surprising in that it unsettled feelings within her that she thought had been long suppressed by her evil transfiguration. The intimacy of hand-holding was not a luxury she could afford with her type of lifestyle. She slit wrists, broke fingers, snapped tendons... These things were anything but romantic. Slowly, uncomfortably, and with some regret, Elektra withdrew her hand. The nearness alone of his presence was different enough of a scenario change in and of itself. After having forsaken any semblance of romance for such a long period of time, Elektra needed some distance right now. Being far was what made her comfortable... It was what she was good at... "Sorry, I-" she tried after a moment, addressing the awkward silence between them but failing to explain why she was apologizing. Assassins were not ones to mince words or go out of their way to explain themselves. So she shook off the apology.

ELEKTRA's gaze fell back down upon her hand, studying the unsightly bruises on her wrists and knuckles that were complimentary to her sai usage. "I have spent...a week...pondering my fate. A week is nothing compared to the lifetime of people that I've-" Elektra paused again and swallowed, collecting her composure. Crying was not a reaction ingrained into her system, but the gravity of the subject was not something she discussed every weekend over coffee. She was beginning to wonder, in fact, just why in the hell she was here. The woman swept ebony locks behind an ear, freeing her olive profile. Another uncharacteristic gesture. "What is happening to me, Matt?..." It was the first time in nine years she had spoken to him in so tender a manner. If Elektra had closed her eyes then, it would have been easy to pretend that they were back in his old dorm room, and she was still asleep in his arms. But the woman dried her eyes and kept them wide open. "I think you might be alone in thinking that," she continued. "Or it has been far too long since we have talked." She chuckled - a fake, uneven sound. "I do not know if it is simply that easy for me anymore."

DAREDEVIL He should have known trying to offer the simple comfort of contact would have been shunned. It worried him then that the only thing she might still be interested in being close to were her targets. "I don't think I am. Or are you just looking to excuse your actions by fooling yourself into believing you can't." It wasn't the most reassuring thing he could have said, but Matt had no interest in sheltering her from the very real threat of sinking back into her self-pity. "You wouldn't have come here and told me all this if you had absolutely no intention of leaving that behind you." Retreating from her side, he traversed the dark apartment without a single misstep. "Feeling sorry for yourself is the first step back onto the path you say you've abandoned."

ELEKTRA chewed over his words with irritation then stood carefully, defiantly shielding her 'obvious' frustration from him and his keen senses. Elektra was one of the few human beings he knew who had this uncanny ability to disguise her feelings. And it was because she didn't want Matt getting any closer tonight. The option of leaving him once more seemed very seductive all of a sudden, in fact. The temptation grew stronger when her line of sight fell upon his double doors. There he was in a separate corner of the room, far away from her. There she stood. There was the exit, easily accessible... Goddamn lawyer, Elektra huffed inwardly. But Matthew was right. He always was. There was no outsmarting him or outarguing him ever. Not here. Not in the courtroom. It was what made him uniquely Daredevil. And annoying as hell. Elektra clamped her mouth shut and burned a hole through the man's figure with her gaze, consumed with impatience. For someone who was practically invincible to men's leering, or even their machismo, there were times when Matt's self-righteousness had gotten the best of her. Kind of like now. "I guess we will see, won't we." It meant she needed more time to think about this. There was a hint of disappointment in the woman's voice that unfairly accused him of not caring about her. But, Elektra realized belatedly, wasn't she guilty of overstepping the no-trespass, no-involvement boundaries they had etched for each other over these years? Daredevil was no ally of hers anymore. Hardly an acquaintance. She came to him when asked, but never to play his therapist. In return, he didn't get in her way. Even if her profession went against every moral code in Matt's law books, they still held a fair amount of respect for each other. Matt was her first. To him, she had no equal. Not now. Perhaps not ever. But Elektra never had a chance to fully realize this. The assassin retracted her attention away from him and moved for the door. Something stopped her, just before she disappeared out of his space. She did say she had changed, didn't she? "Thank you for listening tonight," Elektra intoned over her shoulder, unfeelingly, barely above a whisper. "I'd like to see you again." Her exit was swift and dignified, befitting of her assassin trade. She had no doubt Matt caught her every word.

NEXT: Daredevil needs to cope with Elektra's news and return... of all the people in Hell's Kitchen, who does he turn to?