Heather coughed, hot air and smoke making breathing a struggle. Her ears rang from the sound of the explosion. The force of the blast had knocked the chair she was in on its side, and the tops of her wrists stung from where the zip ties keeping her tied to the chair dug into her arms. Her left side felt like a giant bruise from hitting the floor, but Heather didn't think anything was broken.

She jerked at her bonds, sending pain up her arms, and she finally noticed the zip ties had cut deep enough that she was bleeding. Heather grit her teeth and yanked again despite the pain, but there was no give in the restraints.

Vladimir staggered into view. His steps weren't quite straight and he was bleeding from a gash in his head, but he was on his feet and he had a knife in hand. Heather took a breath to scream, and had a coughing fit instead.

"I'm not done with you yet," Vladimir snarled. He crouched over her, and Heather braced herself for what was about to come. Instead of stabbing her like she expected, Vladimir used the knife to cut the zip ties keeping her in the chair. "You don't get to die this quick."

He dragged her to her feet and they were through the doorway before Heather's brain processed that he wasn't planning to kill her yet, but she didn't have time to dwell on the realization. The main area of the building was engulfed in flames. On her own, Heather would never have been able to find an exit, but despite his head injury and slightly wobbly steps, Vladimir seemed to know where he was going and his grip on Heather's arm as he dragged her along was like iron. Somehow, they made it to an exit, and then they stumbled outside into the cold night air.

Heather blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. The flames from the building offered some light, but the fire also made the shadows twist and turn in strange ways. Heather tripped over something, and Vladimir staggered with her, only barely keeping them both up. "Keep your feet," Vladimir snarled. "Or I'll change my mind and leave your body here for Fisk to find."

She flinched, his already furious expression made even more sinister by the blood that coated half his face. And then she had a thought.

That's a lot of blood. I think he's hurt worse than I am.

He's planning to torture and kill me anyway. I can't make things any worse for myself.

It didn't make her any less afraid. Terror still shrieked through her veins. But the thought sparked a sudden, stubborn unwillingness to walk passively to her own murder.

She didn't pause to plan, just tensed up and rammed her whole body into Vladimir's side. He lost his balance, but not his grip on Heather, and they both hit the ground hard. Heather froze a second, stunned, but Vladimir moved, rolling so he was on top of her.

The hand still holding the knife went in the air. "You damn bi-" Someone caught his arm before he could bring the knife down, dragging him off Heather. Vladimir let out a choked cry and Heather rolled away in the opposite direction.

She shoved herself up to her knees, head whipping around in an attempt to figure out what was going on. A few feet away, Vladimir was sprawled out on the ground, clearly unconscious, while another man crouched over him, one hand fisted in his shirt to hold him down, the other raised as if considering whether to hit him again.

It's him! It's the masked man!

Tension drained from her, and her pounding heart slowed. A wave of relief washed over her. Maybe it was too soon to feel that way, but this man had saved her before, and Jason, and others too. His sudden appearance felt like a miraculous sign that she would survive this night after all.

He lowered his fist without hitting Vladimir again, his head turning in her direction. It felt like he was studying her intently, though between the shadows and the mask that covered the upper half of his face, Heather couldn't even begin to get a read on him.

"You're coming with me," he said. His voice was abrupt and gruff.

"Okay." The answer slipped out without thought, and for a second the man didn't move. Maybe he was as surprised by her quick answer as Heather was. But even when she paused to think it through, Heather couldn't see how she had any better options. She didn't know where she was, didn't have a way to contact anyone, and there was a very real possibility of other mobsters or criminals in the area that might kill her if they found her. The masked man had proved he was willing to protect her, even if she didn't understand exactly why. She wasn't about to walk away from him now.

The masked man nodded, then turned his attention back to Vladimir. He hefted the unconscious mobster over his shoulder as he stood, apparently intending to bring him along. Heather stood and walked over towards them, warily eyeing Vladimir. It didn't seem like he was going to wake up anytime soon, but Heather was hardly an expert on such matters.

"This way," the masked man said, leading her towards the exit of the alley they were in. Heather glanced around, taking a second to process where she was now the risk of getting killed had been reduced. The burning building looked like some kind of warehouse, and similar buildings seemed to box them in. They were somewhere in the warehouse district then.

She heard sirens drawing near, and the masked man caught her upper arm in hand, luckily missing any spots that were bruised. "Wait," he said, stepping to the side and gently tugging her along with him.

Heather expected the police car to whiz past the mouth of the alleyway, but it didn't, screeching to a halt instead as if the alley had been its destination in the first place. A second police car pulled in right behind it. The cops sprang out of the vehicles, and they spotted Heather and the others almost instantly, pulling out their weapons and yelling orders over each other.

It felt like her blood turned to ice at their aggressive approach, and it clicked in Heather's mind the cops probably had no idea what was going on. They probably thought all three of them were criminals, maybe even that they could be the ones who'd blown up the building, and under these circumstances, the cops were a danger too.

The masked man gently squeezed her arm, cutting through her rising panic and getting her attention. "Do as they say," he told her, his voice low and quiet. "Hands up, on your knees."

He let go of her arm, and Heather did as he instructed, slowly raising trembling hands and kneeling down on the ground. The masked man did the same, kneeling down and dropping Vladimir to the ground so he could also raise his hands. Vladimir groaned; the masked man hadn't been particularly gentle putting him down.

The cops drew closer, their weapons still trained on them. One of the cops focused in on Heather, his weapon lowering slightly. "Are you Heather Fisk?"

Her mouth worked for a moment, caught by surprise. How could they have any idea who she was? "Y-yes."

The cop holstered his weapon, though the other three kept theirs out and pointed at the masked man and Vladimir. "Don't worry ma'am, you're safe now," the cop told her, reaching out to help her back to her feet. She winced when he accidentally pressed down on a bruise. "We'll get you back to your brother."

…What?

"What about these two?" one of the other cops asked.

"You know what he said," the cop now leading Heather towards the squad cars said. "No witnesses."

No!

Before the protest could make it past Heather's lips, the masked man was moving. One of the cops fired his gun, and Heather screamed at the sound, stumbling back as the cop that had been guiding her lunged back towards the fray.

The books Heather read almost always likened fights to a violent dance: elegant, choreographed, evenly matched, and somehow beautiful despite the violence. This was nothing like that. This was abrupt, and brutal, and fast, as the man flipped and kicked and the cops fell with sickening thuds. It took less than thirty seconds, then they were all down, the masked man standing over them, the slightly faster rise of his chest the only indication that it had taken any effort at all.

Heather stood where she was, hands pressed over her mouth, staring down at the fallen cops.

"We'll get you back to your brother."

"You know what he said. No witnesses."

The words bounced around her skull until she thought she might break. This was Wilson's doing. Those cops were working for him, they'd have killed the masked man even after he'd saved her life, because Wilson had said no witnesses, and oh, if that was their instructions, and if they'd been here so fast after the explosion, then was the explosion Wilson's fault too, but why, how could he –

"Ms. Fisk. Heather."

Heather blinked, focused. She hadn't noticed the masked man move, but there he was in front of her, his hands on her shoulders steadying her.

"I know you're scared." His tone was softer than before, but still firm. "And I'm sorry, but this isn't the time. We've got to keep moving. Can you do that?"

He's right.

She wanted to break down, to curl in on herself and sob until next week. But she couldn't, not now. She had to keep going. She took a breath, and lowered her hands from her face. "Yeah – yeah okay. I can do it."

He gave her shoulders a light squeeze. "Good. Then let's go."

Heather followed after him as he retrieved Vladimir and led her away into the dark. She kept her focus on him and his calm, confident movements, hoping his confidence would bolster her failing courage. She wasn't sure where he was taking her, and she didn't bother asking. It didn't matter. The masked man was the only steady thing in her world at this moment. She'd follow wherever he went.

Matt led the way into an abandoned warehouse and up some stairs to the second floor, trying hard not to let Heather see how much effort it was taking. He ached from half healed injuries, his head was still ringing from the explosion, fatigue was pulling at him, and having to carry Vladimir helped absolutely nothing. But Heather was barely holding herself together, and Matt wasn't sure he could handle both Vladimir and Heather if the woman started having a panic attack or something.

He didn't blame her for being terrified, or for bordering on shock. He'd heard enough of Vladimir's conversation with her to finally put some pieces together. Fisk had murdered Anatoly, and framed Matt for it. Vladimir wanted revenge for his brother's death, and had kidnapped Heather to get at Fisk. Heather had apparently had had suspicions about Fisk being involved in illegal activities, but had had no idea of the actual depth of his crimes. This was an awful, ugly way for her to find out and Matt…

…Matt wasn't as sorry for her as what he maybe should have been. He didn't think she deserved anything that had happened to her tonight, and he wished he had been at her place in time to stop it. But as far as her distress at finding out about her brother, well. She'd been suspicious of Fisk, and from what Matt had heard, Heather had actively avoided finding out if her suspicions were correct.

So, no. As much as Matt might have wished that she'd never been kidnapped, that she hadn't been hurt, and her life never placed in danger, he didn't have much sympathy for her distress over finding out that her brother was a murderous criminal.

Vladimir is going to wake up soon.

He ducked into a mostly empty room. "Shut the door."

Heather did as he said, pushing the heavy door closed while Matt laid Vladimir on the ground, relieved to finally put the man down. Heather took a few steps towards them, but stopped several feet away, her arms curling around her torso. Matt tilted his head her way, assessing for a moment. The bleeding from her wrists had already slowed. Probably wouldn't need stitches after all then. Still scared, but calmer than she'd been before.

"What happens now?" Her voice wavered when she spoke.

Matt stood, intentionally looming over Vladimir as he began to stir. "I ask questions. I won't let him near you," he added, because he needed to ask questions from both of them, and didn't want Heather panicking when Vladimir woke up.

Vladimir groaned, in obvious pain from his many injuries. He shifted, trying to push himself up, and didn't even make it half an inch off the ground before his body gave out.

"Don't move," Matt told him. "You've been shot." He heard Heather's sharp intake of breath; she must not have realized that the shot that cop had fired back in the alley had actually hit a mark.

Vladimir snarled something in Russian, the words laced with pain, anger, and hate. In response, Matt kept his own tone light and uncaring. "That sounds bad, but I don't speak Russian."

Vladimir swallowed, and spoke again. "I am going to kill you for taking my brother from me."

Matt shrugged. "You've got the wrong guy. I don't kill people. Not even scumbags like you who deserve it." He kept an ear on Heather as he spoke. He didn't want her to buy into Vladimir's story and try to run or something. That was a headache he didn't need to deal with.

Her weight shifted, and her heartbeat picked up, but she didn't move or say anything. Good sign so far.

Vladimir let out a wet laugh. "You threw Semyon off roof. Put him in coma."

Heather's heart skipped a beat, but she still didn't move. Matt wondered if she regretted agreeing to come with him so easily now.

"Yeah. But he was still breathing, wasn't he?" Matt pointed out. It was a better fate than he'd deserved.

Vladimir shook his head. "Your mask. I found it on what was left of my brother."

Matt crouched over him. "I didn't kill your brother."

"Lies!"

"You think I'm the one that blew your operation to shit too?" He noticed Heather flinch at the question, but didn't acknowledge it. Guess she put that one together after what happened with those cops. She wasn't stupid then. Just in willful denial. "You were being played," Matt told him. "By Fisk."

Heather made a soft, wounded sound at Matt's words. It was enough to get Vladimir's attention. He turned his head. "You!" Vladimir started to try and push up off the ground again, but Matt shoved him back down with one hand, purposefully pressing down on injuries to keep him down.

"She's not your concern," Matt snapped.

Heather had taken a step back at Vladimir's movements, but froze when Matt restrained him. Still, she was poised to flee, if Matt didn't handle this carefully.

"You protect her," Vladimir snarled, "and still try to claim you're not one of Fisk's dogs?"

"I don't work for Fisk," Matt said, making no effort to hide the disgust he felt at the very suggestion. "Doesn't mean I'm going to let you hurt an innocent woman."

Vladimir let out another wet, disbelieving laugh. "Innocent? You think anyone connected to Fisk is innocent? Even if she didn't participate in his activities, she never tried to stop him, did she?"

Heather flinched, a hand coming up to press over her mouth. Matt could smell the salt as fresh tears spilled from her eyes and ran down her face.

He didn't address Vladimir's question. It was just a rabbit trail really, irrelevant to what Matt wanted from him, and they didn't have time to waste. Police were no doubt hunting them down, and Matt had no idea how many of them might be working for Fisk. Even the ones that weren't would probably come in trigger happy, what with the explosions going on. Either way, Matt needed to get the information he wanted and get out.

"What matters," Matt said, "is that Fisk is trying to kill you, and I'm not. Pick a side."

Silence stretched out for several long seconds. "I choose my own."

Frustration flickered through Matt. Of course, he was going to be stubborn. Even if Vladimir believed that Matt didn't work for Fisk and wasn't the one who'd killed his brother, he still had plenty of reasons to hate Matt. But the moron didn't have choices, not if he wanted to live. "Not an option. Fisk made sure of that."

Vladimir held out a few more seconds, and then the tension left him. "What do you want?" he asked, despair underlining his voice.

Matt shifted his weight slightly, making sure he was ready to move at a moment's notice, because if Heather was going to try and run away, this was when it was going to happen, and he couldn't let her yet, for the same reasons he'd dragged her along with him. One, it wasn't safe. There could still be criminals about, and while she wasn't a target of the cops, avoiding wound up people with guns had a much better survival rate than running into them. Two, given the way things had escalated tonight, Matt needed to ask questions, and he needed answers. He wouldn't hurt her; that was a line he refused to cross as she wasn't an active threat to anyone. But he was hoping that maybe after being confronted with her brother's criminal ways, that maybe she'd willingly answer some questions.

He was also hoping she wouldn't freak out and run once he answered Vladimir's question.

"I want Fisk on trial for everything he's done."

Heather's heartbeat took off like a startled rabbit, her muscles tensed up, and she stopped breathing. Matt almost moved, thinking she was going to bolt, but…she didn't. Everything he could read about her said she wanted to run, yet she remained locked in place. Matt couldn't begin to guess why, but he'd take it. She slowly began to breathe again, as Vladimir chuckled, the sound turning into a wet cough.

"You are a fool," Vladimir said.

Matt shrugged. "Maybe. But you're bleeding out, so here we are."

Vladimir grimaced, his hand pressing down on his gunshot wound. He had lost a worrisome amount of blood. Not enough to kill him, and Matt didn't plan on letting him die, but he definitely needed medical attention and soon.

"And if I believe you," Vladimir asked slowly, "and give you what you want to know, what do I get out of it?"

"Payback," Matt said. It was the only thing stood any chance of appealing to Vladimir now.

Vladimir turned his head in Heather's direction. "I already had my plans for payback."

Heather flinched, one foot sliding back. Matt caught Vladimir's jaw and turning his head to face him instead. "Not an option." Heather stilled.

For a second Matt thought Vladimir was going to reply, but then his breath came out in a long sigh, his muscles went lax, and his heart rate slowed. "Vladimir?" No response. Matt let out a short curse and dug out the burner phone he'd gotten to contact Claire.

"Is – is he dead?" Heather asked, her voice shaky and horrified.

"Not yet," Matt said, punching the buttons to dial Claire.

Please pickup.

She did, after a few rings. "Please tell me all this isn't you dealing with the Russians." He could hear background noise behind her voice; sounded like she'd gone in to the hospital. He shouldn't be surprised. Claire was nurse, and too kindhearted to stay away when she knew how much they'd need her.

"Wasn't me," Matt said, "but I don't think you have to worry about them anymore."

"Did you call just to tell me that?" she asked. He heard the sound of a door and background noise got quieter. Good, she was getting to a place where she wouldn't have an audience. Matt was only too aware of his, though Heather wouldn't be able to hear Claire's side of the conversation.

"I need your help," Matt said. "I've got someone with intel on what I've been looking for, but he's been shot."

"Call 911," Claire said, pointing out the obvious solution.

"Can't," Matt replied. "Police are the ones that shot him."

She sighed, the sound staticky through the speaker. "You want me to come out to you?"

"No," Matt said. He didn't want her out there for a lot of reasons. "Just talk me through stabilizing him."

"…It's not as easy as it looks in the movies you know."

And it was a pity Heather was near enough to listen in, because that was a great opening for a joke that he couldn't take. "Not a lot of options."

Claire sighed again. "Alright. Is there an exit wound?"

Matt slid a hand underneath Vladimir's torso. "No. The bullet's still inside him."

"Any kind of first aid kit?"

"I'm in a warehouse. Abandoned." Good for avoiding notice, not so good for emergency triage.

"Tell me what's there, anything you can use."

"Hold on." He straightened, focusing on what he could notice about the objects in the room. "Uh, half a box of nails…broken glass…wood, duct tape, old roadside emergency kit, a lot of plastic sheeting."

He didn't think about Heather until her heard her shift, her head turning. Matt winced, realizing his mistake. The windows to the room were partially boarded up. He had no idea how much light might be filtering in from outside. There was every possibility that Heather couldn't see the things he was naming off. In which case, Matt just might have revealed that he observed the world with something other than sight.

Deal with that later. One emergency at a time.

"The kit," Claire said. "Are there any flares in it?"

There were. "Two," he answered, standing and moving to the kit.

"You're going to cauterize the wound."

"Shouldn't I take the bullet out first?" Matt asked, crouching down by Vladimir again.

"Remember what I said about this not being like the movies? If you cut him open and start digging around, you'll kill him. This way at least he has a chance of not bleeding out before you get what you need out of him and get him to a hospital."

"How do I do this?" Matt asked. He could guess, but he didn't want to accidentally make things worse.

"Light the flares, and hold it close to the skin until the entry wound seals. He'll scream, but don't let up."

"Got it. Thanks." Matt hung up, tucking the phone back in his pocket.

"What are you going to do?" Heather asked. She'd shifted towards him, her heart beating faster again. She was going to pass out when all of this was done.

"I'm going to cauterize the wound," he said, and she responded with a small noise of alarm. "You probably don't want to watch."

Matt lit the first flare, and it hissed and sizzled. Heather spun around, putting her back towards them. Matt pushed Vladimir's shirt up enough to uncover the wound, and held the flare near. The stench of burning fleshed curled up. The pain revived Vladimir, and he screamed, trying to recoil from the flare. Matt shifted, pressing a knee down on the man's chest to keep him still and using a gloved hand to cover his mouth and muffle the sounds. Heather made a distressed noise, her hands coming up to cover her ears.

Vladimir passed out again before Matt was done. Probably best for him. As the flare fizzled and died, Matt heard a noise, and his head snapped up. Footsteps. Someone was in the warehouse.

"Central post 41 – " Matt winced as he listened. A cop. Sounded young. Didn't matter, he was calling for backup, meaning they were in trouble.

"Is it o-"

Matt lunged, catching hold of Heather and pressing a hand over her mouth to silence her. Too late; he could hear the cop pause and then move with a new purpose. Heather was trembling, her hands holding onto his wrist. "Sorry." He kept his voice low and soft so as not to carry. "Someone's here; don't talk." She stilled, her grip on his arm relaxing.

The cop was on the stairs. They didn't have much time. Matt dropped his hand and nudged her towards some empty wooden crates that had been left behind. "Hide."

She did as he said, scampering over to the crates and ducking down behind them. Matt moved out of the way. There was nothing to do about Vladimir, sprawled out on the ground as he was. Matt would just have to make use of him as a distraction.

The heavy door slowly opened and the cop eased in, starting to do a sweep of the room. His light landed on Vladimir almost immediately, and like Matt had hoped, all the cop's attention focused in on him. "Show me your hands!" the cop demanded.

Heather flinched at the cop's words, and Matt tensed, worrying for a moment that she might panic and dart out in sight. She didn't though; she just curled in tighter on herself.

"Show me your hands now!"

Despite the danger of their situation, Matt couldn't help but feel a tinge of exasperation at the cop's repeated demand. It ought to be obvious that Vladimir was unconscious. How the cop could miss it was beyond him.

Matt moved from his hiding place. "He can't hear you."

The cop whirled around, but Matt was ready for him, shoving his arm with the gun down and landing a solid blow on his jaw. The cop stumbled, and Matt knocked his feet out from under him. He landed hard on his back, and Matt dropped down, using his knee to pin him in place, and with one hand grabbing his wrist and twisting so the gun fell from his hand and clattered to the ground.

I've got him; now what do I do with him?

The cop took a deep breath, about to yell, but Matt just shifted his weight forward so his knee pressed on his throat. "You're going to stay quiet," Matt told him. "When I take my knee off your throat, you're going to answer my questions, or this night will get a lot worse. Got it?"

The cop nodded frantically, and Matt shifted back so he could take a gasping breath. "Who do you work for?"

"The – the city of New York," he said.

Matt frowned, listening. The cop's heartbeat seemed steady, but he needed to be sure. "I'm going to ask you again, and I want you to think about your answer. Who do you work for?"

"The city of New York," he said again, without any hesitation. "I got two months on the job."

His heart was still steady. And two months…two months probably wasn't enough time for Fisk to get to him. More than likely, this cop was clean.

Matt reached over, unhooked the guy's radio and held it towards him. "Call central. Tell them it was a false alarm; no need to send backup."

"I do that," the cop said, "you let me walk?"

"Eventually." He couldn't risk letting the cop go off right away. He could call for backup again as soon as he was out of the building. Matt needed more time than that. But if the cop sent out that this had been a false alarm, then maybe Matt could make this complication work in his favor.

The cop nodded. Slowly reached up and took the radio. "Central post 41."

"10-4, post 41," came the crackling response.

The cop hesitated. His sudden deep breath was the only warning Matt had. "Second floor, perp in mask, wounded civilian!"

Matt snatched the radio, and a swift blow to the head knocked the cop out. The radio crackled again, dispatcher giving out information to other units. Frustration swelled. This place was going to be swarmed with police in a matter of minutes, and even the ones that weren't working for Fisk were going to think he had hostages, and that one of those hostages was a cop. All of them would be out for his blood.

This night keeps getting worse.

Sirens were already getting closer. Now what? If he were on his own, he could sneak out before the cops had a chance to pen him in, no problem. But he wasn't on his own. With Vladimir and Heather in tow, there was no way Matt could make it out of there, not with cops this close.

Heather moved out from behind the crates, her movement slow and hesitant as she came towards him. "They're…they're going to try and kill you again, aren't they?"

"Yeah," Matt said shortly, because it was true. He could hear cars parking in front of the building already. He needed to rethink his strategy. He wasn't going to be able to get everything he'd originally wanted from this night; the way things had gone, it was no longer possible.

His most important source of information was Vladimir. Heather could definitely tell him things about Fisk that would be useful to know, but she didn't know his criminal empire, and Vladimir did. Besides, he knew where Heather lived and worked. She'd be easy enough to locate later. Vladimir would be harder to get to. His goal then, was getting away with Vladimir so he could get useful information from him, and making sure Heather was returned safely. He also had to do something about the unconscious cop at his feet.

A plan formed, and Matt motioned for Heather to move closer. "Come here, please."

She hesitated, but once more surprised him by doing as he asked. He still couldn't quite figure out why she kept listening to him so willingly, but this wasn't the time to ask. Once she was close enough, he caught her left arm and snapped the cop's cuffs around her wrist, careful to leave it loose enough that she'd be able to keep it from aggravating her injury. Then he attached the other cuff to the cop's right hand. Heather had to quickly sit down beside him to keep the dead weight of his arm from pulling on her.

"What – why?" she asked.

Matt shrugged. "Being handcuffed to you will keep him out of my way. And it'll make it easier for you to get out of here without some trigger-happy cop accidentally shooting you." He found the keys on the cop's belt and pocketed them, to make sure he'd have to get to the other cops to get uncuffed from Heather. "You'll have to wait for him to wake up."

Vladimir stirred, coming awake again. He turned his head, observing them. "You've been busy."

Matt turned his way. "Building is surrounded. And more are coming more coming." He reached out and picked up the cop's gun, walking away from Heather and the cop and making quick work of taking the weapon apart.

"We could have used that," Vladimir said as the pieces fell to the floor.

"I'm not big on guns." Matt scooped up the metal pipe he'd been going for before moving near the window where he could get a better focus on what was happening outside.

"Ah, metal stick," Vladimir said, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Much better."

It was less likely to kill people, so yes, Matt preferred it.

Vladimir groaned, his hand moving towards the gunshot wound. "What did you do to me?"

"Cauterized the wound with a road flare," Matt said.

"You burned me?" He sounded genuinely shocked.

"I had to stop the bleeding somehow," Matt answered. "Bullet is still inside you though. Wouldn't move around much if I were you."

"Do you expect me to say thank you?" Vladimir asked.

Matt shifted away from the window, walking back towards Vladimir. There was nothing good happening outside; just more people arriving.

"If I didn't need you alive, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Matt told him. He didn't expect or care about any sort of gratitude from Vladimir over the situation.

He let out a laugh that turned into another cough. "So, you'd stand there and let me die, but you won't kill me yourself. Is that where you draw the line?"

The words were barbed, and they sank deep. I wouldn't actually have let him…I wouldn't. I just need him to think…I don't let people die.

Matt pushed down the uncertainties. This was not the moment to wonder. It wasn't the moment to doubt. Vladimir was still a shark, even wounded, and Matt couldn't let him sense any weakness.

He crouched down in front of him. "Tell me what I want to know about Fisk."

"…You think you're different? From me? From him?" Vladimir shook his head. "You'll get there. Sooner or later. We all do, men like us."

He had no way to know that his words echoed messages Matt had heard in his past, insistences that the only way to stop enemies was to kill them. No. I won't believe it. I won't let it be true.

"Fisk just took out your entire operation," Matt said. "He may not own all the cops, but he owns enough that you won't make it into a prison cell. Right now, I'm your only shot at getting out of this building alive."

Facts. Just facts. If there was anything rational left in Vladimir after losing everything, the appeal of facts might work.

Seconds dragged by. Precious seconds when there wasn't time to waste. But finally, Vladimir spoke again. "His lapdog came to us first. Told us his employer had taken note. He complimented our business. Invited us to be a part of something bigger. To expand. If we entered into an agreement."

Matt held his eagerness in check. Finally, he was getting answers. "What did Fisk offer?"

"Police looking the other way. Aid from politicians. Access to the Chinese and their heroin."

A far wider network than Matt had guessed he'd have. "He's working with the Chinese?"

Vladimir sighed. "You really don't know anything, do you?"

He didn't. He hadn't started this with the intent of trying to take down organized crime. His goals had been much smaller. Just protect the individuals that needed help. Really, he'd stumbled into the organized crime thing, but once he had, Matt couldn't make himself look the other way. He had to try and do something about it, especially if no one else was going to. With the kind of backing that Fisk had – political, police, and other criminals – it wasn't likely that anyone would move against him. So Matt had to.

"I want names," Matt said. "Everything you know about them and how they connect to Fisk."

"There's only one name that matters," Vladimir said. "The man who can tie it all together."

"Who?" Matt asked.

"You need the money man," Vladimir told him. He turned his head, spat a wad of blood. "One man. He handled the money for all of us."

"Who is he?" Matt asked again. He couldn't keep the eagerness from his voice this time. One name, and he'd have the key to taking down not just Fisk, but many of the major players in Hell's Kitchen's crime world.

"We were going to rule this city," Vladimir mused.

"Vladimir, the name," Matt snapped. He didn't have time to let Vladimir reminisce.

"His name is…" A phone started ringing. Loud and shrill and cutting through the quiet. The sound came from inside Vladimir's jacket. The Russian slowly reached up and tugged it out. "Huh. It is Fisk."

Heather drew in a sharp breath, abruptly reminding Matt of her presence. He'd been so focused on finally getting information, he'd nearly forgotten that she was still there. Her heart took off like a startled rabbit once more, reasserting her strongly in his notice.

Matt took the phone from Vladimir and flipped it open. He held it up to his ear and waited.

A deep, gravelly voice came through the speaker. "I want you to know that whatever harm has been done to Heather, I will unleash on you a hundredfold."

"I haven't hurt her, Fisk," Matt said dryly. "Unlike you. Pretty sure the worst of her injuries are from your bomb."

That silenced him a moment. "Let me speak to her."

Matt turned slightly towards her. She was trembling, as panicked as she'd been at any point this night. "I'm not sure she wants to talk to you."

Heather bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She shook her head, the motion jerky.

"You will not keep her from me!"

"I don't need too," Matt told him. "Like I said. She doesn't want to talk to you."

A hopeful sign, actually. Maybe this withdrawal meant that later, when Matt came back around to ask Heather more questions, she'd be willing to answer them.

"If you are planning to threaten her to get to me – "

"I'm not." Anger churned inside him. "I'm not like you. I don't hurt innocent people to get what I want." Heather cringed. Matt didn't care.

"You know nothing about what I want. I will make this city a better place!"

"Not for the people you killed, or who's lives you've ruined." He stood, too much angry energy coursing through him now to remain still. Matt paced.

"Life isn't a fairy tale. Sacrifices have to be made."

Sacrifices, he called them. Like they weren't talking about people. As if somehow they didn't matter. "I'm going to find you, and I'm going to make you pay for what you've done."

"No. You won't."

The breathing pattern of the cop cuffed to Heather changed. He was about to wake up, and now was not the opportune time. Matt crossed over to them, knelt down with a knee on his chest to keep him in place, and put a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

Shots rang out outside, and the cop jerked to proper wakefulness. Heather yelped when the cop's movement yanked on her arm, and he went still.

"What did you just do?" Matt demanded.

"It's not what I did," Fisk replied. "It's what you did. You just blew this city to hell. You just murdered cops. They will rip you apart for me."

Matt wanted to protest that no one would believe he was responsible, but…they would, wouldn't they? He wore a mask, worked in the shadows. People didn't know anything about him, but they didn't even know Fisk existed. And if Fisk had control of politicians and police, then it wasn't a stretch to think he had people in the media too. Matt would be public enemy number one.

"And if you are thinking about changing your mind, and harming Heather," Fisk said, "know this. I will find everyone that you have ever cared about, no, everyone you have ever been acquainted with, and they will all die."

Matt believed him, that he would try, but the threat wasn't necessary. This would change the city's perception of him, but that didn't mean it changed Matt.

He flipped the phone shut. There was nothing more to say. Nothing he could hope to gain by trying to continue to talk to Fisk. He needed to move. If Fisk had just killed three cops, the rest wouldn't wait much longer before charging in for Matt.

Matt focused on the cop. "I'm going to let you go. You'll notice that your cuffed to Heather here, and if you check, you'll find you don't have your keys. Take her outside. You might want to radio first, so no one shoots you." Maybe. Fisk had just proved he was willing to kill cops. But maybe being attached to Heather would prove to be as much a shield for him as he was for her.

He let go of the cop and moved away, back towards Vladimir. The cop didn't move for a second, possibly suspecting a trap. He sat up and looked Matt's way. Matt jerked his head towards the door. "Go!"

The cop stood, helping Heather to her feet as well. She was still shaking, her heart still pounding. They left the room.

"Now what?" Vladimir asked.

Matt listened to the echo of their steps as they went down the stairs, the cop whispering hasty assurances to Heather that she would be fine.

"We survive."

AN: Thank you so much for the feedback last chapter! It was so appreciated! While I didn't have time to respond, I will say that the reviews were a big part of what motivated me to get this chapter done so quick!

You may recognize pieces of this chapter from episode 1-6, Condemned. I hope my version is different enough that you enjoyed it. And if you're wondering what exactly is going through Heather's mind now, don't worry. You'll find out next time :)