Heather's steps dragged slower than normal. Part of it was because she was still sore from everything that had happened, but if she was being honest with herself, part of her was having second thoughts about what she was about to do.

Dominique and Becky had spent a good chunk of time Sunday afternoon trying to talk her out of it, but Heather had been firm then. Resolute. She owed the masked man, and she was going to help him in the only way she could. Maria had stayed mostly quiet, until it became clear that Heather's mind wasn't going to be changed. Then she'd spoken up to give Heather a name.

"If you're going through with this, then the person you need to talk to is Ben Urich."

Maria didn't know the reporter personally, but apparently, he had some kind of reputation at Landman and Zack. Mostly as a thorn in the big partners' sides. He'd gone after more than one of Landman and Zack's clients in the past. So far as Maria could tell, he was only interested in getting to the truth, and he wasn't one to be intimidated.

"You need a reporter this kingpin doesn't own. I'd bet money that Urich is your best option."

Keeping Maria's endorsement in mind, Heather had made a point of looking Ben Urich up when she'd gone back home that night. She'd quickly found an article he'd written about the bombings, and she was a little surprised by the content. It was the fairest account she'd seen of the night. Just the facts, as Urich knew them. His article acknowledged the blame that was being pointed at the masked man while refraining from pointing fingers himself. Between the article and Maria's endorsement, Heather's decision to talk to Urich was settled.

But that had been last night, when Heather's resolve to tell the truth – or most of it – had been firm. Now it was morning, and with each step closer to the New York Bulletin's office, her resolve wavered. She'd had time this morning to think some more about the potential consequences of what she was planning.

For one thing, it had finally occurred to her that this might put her out in the spotlight. Heather had been mentioned in the reports already, but only as a minor footnote. Anyone who didn't know her probably wouldn't spare a thought to her involvement. But now she was going to share her own version of events, one that was going to contradict the popular narrative. People would notice. They'd notice her. And for the other thing, Heather had no idea how Wilson would react. She still didn't believe he'd hurt her, but he wasn't going to like this. He'd want to do something, but for the life of her Heather couldn't figure out what that something might be.

Heather hunched into her coat. Maybe this is a mistake.

"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 cringed as Vladimir's words echoed in her mind. If she backed down now, without even trying, everything he'd said would be right. She couldn't let him be right.

And I can't forget how much I owe the masked man, either.

He'd saved her life, he'd saved Jason's life, and how could she even think about standing back and letting Wilson frame him as a terrorist and a murderer? It shouldn't matter what it might cost her. Heather needed to do whatever she could to help him.

Resolved, Heather perked up slightly as the building came into view. Okay. I'm doing this. I'm really doing this.

She went in and found herself in a reception area, several chairs lining the wall and a desk immediately in front of the door with a secretary behind it. The office was mostly open, and Heather could see people bustling around in the large space behind the secretary.

The secretary eyed Heather. She knew she looked odd; her bruises were too dark to properly conceal with makeup, so in an effort to avoid stares Heather had bundled up more than the day's weather called for, with a beanie pulled low, the largest pair of sunglasses she owned, and a thick scarf piled up nearly to her nose. The only way she could have made it more obvious that she was hiding her face would be wearing a ski mask or something. Still, her clothing choice hadn't drawn much notice as long as she was outside. Heather had no real excuses to keep it all on in here, so she reluctantly tugged the scarf down so she could talk and took the sunglasses off. The secretary's eyes widened for a moment before she managed to get a professional expression back on.

"Good morning. I'm looking for Ben Urich. I don't have an appointment or anything, but um, is he available?" Heather asked. She fumbled a little as she tucked her sunglasses in her purse.

"I can check," the secretary said. Heather spotted her name tag, identifying her as Melissa Caldwell. "What name should I give him?"

"Heather Fisk."

The woman paused a moment. She probably recognized Heather's name in connection with the bombings. Luckily, she didn't say anything about it. "Of course. If you'll have a seat, I'll check."

Heather moved to the chairs and sat down. She couldn't relax, sitting nearer the edge of the seat than the back. Ms. Caldwell picked up the phone on her desk and hit a few buttons. Heather tried not to stare as she spoke quietly into the receiver. A moment later and she hung up, then looked over at Heather with a professional smile. "He'll be up in just a moment to get you."

"Thank you," Heather said.

The words barely made it out of Heather's mouth when she spotted door near the back of the room opening, and older black man coming out and moving their way. She recognized him from her brief bit of research. It looked like Ben Urich didn't plan to make her wait at all.

Heather stood as he walked up, hand clutching the straps of her purse. "Ms. Fisk," he greeted, holding out a hand to shake. "This is a surprise."

She shook his hand, smiling on reflex. She managed not to grimace when the motion made her bruises twinge. "Yes, well, I wanted to talk to you, if you have time. About what happened."

"Let's take this to my office." He led her back, and Heather did her best to ignore the looks she got when people noticed her. "Please, have a seat," he said as they entered his office, motioning to a chair.

As Heather sat, she glanced around the office. It had a lived-in look that was a testament to how long Ben had been working at the Bulletin. Framed articles hung on the wall, pictures and knickknacks sat on his desk.

Ben settled in the seat beside hers, rather than behind the desk. "Are you doing alright, Ms. Fisk?"

"I'm fine." She realized how ridiculous the words must seem as soon as they left her mouth. She'd seen what she looked like in the mirror that morning. "Or, I will be."

"Glad to hear it," he said. "What can I do for you today?"

And this was it. This was the moment. Heather took a long, slow breath. "I need to talk to you about the bombings. Everything the media is putting out is wrong and – and I need someone to tell the truth."

He didn't respond immediately, his dark eyes studying her from behind his glasses. Ben had a good poker face. Heather couldn't begin to guess what he might be thinking. She did her best to hold his gaze and tried not to fidget. After letting the silence draw out for a minute, he slowly nodded. "I'd like to hear about what you saw. Mind if I record the conversation?"

"That's fine," Heather said.

Ben stood and got a tape recorder from one of his desk drawers. He then returned to his seat, pressed a couple buttons on the recorder and set it on the edge of the desk between them. "You can start whenever you're ready, Ms. Fisk."

She nodded, glancing at the recorder nervously for a moment before refocusing on Ben. Heather gave him the same version of events that she'd told her friends. She was careful to make it sound like she'd been a chance victim rather than a specific target, and she never mentioned Wilson by name. Heather also made sure to emphasize how the masked man wasn't at fault for anything that had happened; not the bombings, not the shootings, and he'd only fought those cops after realizing they were planning to kill him. The tale came out smoother this time, compared to when she'd told her friends.

Ben didn't interrupt her once while she spoke. He just watched and listened, letting Heather get all the words out. When she finished, he reached over and clicked the recorder off. Heather wasn't sure how to interpret that action.

"Do – do you believe me?" she asked.

"I do," he said. "It fits."

Fits? Fits what?

Before she could ask, Ben was speaking again. "Ms. Fisk, why do you want this story told?"

The question stumped her. Heather had mentally braced herself for the idea that he might not believe her, that he might ask for more details. But of all the questions she'd imagined he might ask, why had not been one of them. She didn't know how to tell him why, not without bringing up Wilson, or Vladimir, or the accusation that had sunk in and latched on to her.

"…she never tried to stop him, did she?"

But there was another reason she could offer, and hopefully it would be enough. "This isn't the first time the masked man saved my life," Heather said. She refused to call him Devil of Hell's Kitchen, because he wasn't a devil. Not to her. "A couple weeks ago, a guy tried to mug me. The masked man stopped him. And I'm not the only person he's helped." She thought of Jason, back in her classroom, happy and healthy and recovering from his ordeal. God only knew what might have happened if the masked man hadn't saved him.

"He's not a terrorist, Mr. Urich," Heather said. "He's not a murderer. He's a man who's decided to he'd risk his own life to save other people, and I can't sit back and do nothing while the city tries to crucify him."

"I see," Ben said. He leaned forward slightly in his seat. "You do understand that if I run this story, your life could be in danger? You're trying to expose the existence of this kingpin as you called him, and he isn't going to like that. He might decide you're too big a risk and have you removed, and police might not be quick to help you after you've accused them of being corrupt."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be okay." It was the first thing that Heather felt reasonably confident in. No, Wilson wouldn't like this. He wouldn't like it at all. But he wouldn't hurt Heather. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed like there wasn't anything he could do about it. Not once the story was out there.

Ben studied her again, and this time it was a little less of a struggle to stay firm under his gaze. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. I'll speak to my editor, see if he'll let me run the story."

"Is there a chance he won't?" Heather asked.

"There's always a chance," Ben said, "but I'd be very surprised if he nixed it." He stood from his seat, and pulled a card out of his jacket pocket. "Here's my information, if you need to get in touch with me again. And I know you said you'll be okay, but do me a favor and be extra careful."

Heather stood. "I will." Ben escorted her outside, where Heather quickly slipped on her sunglasses and tugged her scarf up to hide her face.

I can't believe I really just did that, she thought as she walked away. She felt a weird mix of nervous and relieved, and now all she could do was go home and wait to see the results of her actions.

Ben wasn't the least bit surprised when Mitchell approved the story. It was a huge scoop. Mitchell wanted to do a special run to get it out before any other news source got wind of it. Ben had a feeling they didn't need to worry about that.

When he made it back to his office, he didn't start working on the story right away. Instead, he walked behind his desk and paused, considering a portion of wall blocked from easy view by a bookshelf. Playing cards were pinned up, with strings connecting them. It wouldn't mean much to anyone else, but for Ben it was all different pieces of a puzzle, all leading to the card at the top. The king of diamonds, meant to represent the new power player in Hell's Kitchen's underworld. The one Ben had so far had no luck pinning down.

But now Heather Fisk had entered the picture and inadvertently given him another piece to work with. There was no doubt in Ben's mind that the kingpin Heather had talked about was the same person at the top of the Union Allied mess he'd been looking into with Karen. Two people with that kind of power and influence operating at the same time in the same place? Not likely.

He opened a drawer and flipped through some cards until he found the one that he wanted. The joker. He pinned it up next to the king of diamonds. "You're not as subtle as you think, Ms. Fisk," Ben murmured.

Decent enough to fool the average joe probably. But for someone used to digging to get information out of people? Not so much. It hadn't escaped Ben's attention that she'd been at her most confident when she'd insisted that she would be okay. He also hadn't missed the way she'd kept her story vague when it came to explaining how she'd ended up kidnapped by the Russians in the first place.

Ben had enough experience piecing stories together to figure part of this one out. Somehow or another, Heather was connected to this kingpin. Probably a close connection, for her to be so sure of her safety despite turning on him.

Which begs the question of why?

Was it just simple gratitude towards the man who'd saved her life as Heather had claimed? Or was there some other plot going on? Ben wasn't sure, but he was determined to find out.

First, though, he had a story to write.

Matt was counting down the minutes until he could leave his office. He wasn't normally quite this eager to leave, but he had a long to do list for tonight.

Vladimir had waited to the last possible moment, but he'd finally given Matt the name of Fisk's money man: Leland Owlsley. Matt had spent most of his Sunday researching him, and he'd been pleased to discover that he wasn't a ghost like Wilson Fisk had been. Matt found quite a bit of useful information, including where he worked, and he was planning to pay him a visit.

But before he tacked down Owlsley, Matt wanted to talk to Heather. He'd considered going to her place the night before, but ended up deciding against it. After what she'd been through, Matt figured she had earned at least one night of rest.

Plus, Matt wasn't really sure how she was going to respond to him showing up at her home. She'd cooperated willingly enough the other night, but that had been when people were trying to kill her and Matt had been trying to keep her alive. This was a different situation. This time, Matt would be the one encroaching on her space, looking for more information that might help him put her brother in jail.

He was cautiously hopeful that she'd be willing to talk to him, but there was no way to know until he got there. Matt was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of Foggy's footsteps coming into the room.

"Hey, have you guys seen this?" he asked, waving a newspaper through the air. Karen looked up from the documents she was going over at the end of the table she and Matt were working at.

Matt was unable to resist making a jibe. "Well, it sounds like paper, but I assume you're referring to what's on the paper."

Foggy pointed a finger at him. "You know what, I'm letting that one go because this is more important. The Bulletin ran a special. Somehow they managed to get an interview with Heather Fisk, you know, the woman that was one of the hostages during the bombings."

It took every ounce of will power that Matt had not to visibly react to Foggy's news. What?

The legs of Karen's chair scrapped over the floorboards as she stood and snatched the paper out of Foggy's hand. "Seriously? Let me see."

Matt carefully leaned back in his chair. She actually talked to a reporter? He hadn't pegged her as the kind of person that would willingly talk to reporters. He'd figured she'd stay holed up in her apartment after everything, or maybe stay with a friend. Not have conversations with the media. What did she tell them?

Foggy was talking. "She's claiming that everything the media has put out about the situation is wrong. That the Devil of Hell's Kitchen isn't responsible for the explosions, or the cops that were killed, or any of it really. In fact, she says he was trying to stop all of it from happening."

"Huh," Matt said. It was a second before he could gather himself enough to ask, "Mind reading the article out loud?"

"What? Oh, of course," Karen said.

Matt listened as she read, his shock growing with every line. The account Heather had given was amazingly accurate, though with a few notable exceptions. She didn't reveal Wilson Fisk's identity, or that she was in any way connected to the 'kingpin' that the article talked about. She also said that Vladimir hadn't given him any information while she was around, and that was a small relief. It meant Fisk was probably still in the dark about what – if anything – Vladimir had told him. The article ended with Heather's insistence that Matt had been framed, and that it was the kingpin everyone should be going after, not him.

Does she have any idea what she's done?

That article was very nearly a no holds barred attack on Fisk and his empire, even without mentioning his name. She was exposing the fact that he and his empire existed, a secret that Fisk had jealously guarded up till now. She was exposing an unheard-of level of corruption within the police force.

And she was painting a giant target on her back in the process.

Maybe Fisk wouldn't harm her over this, since she was his sister. Maybe. But Fisk wasn't the only person she'd put at risk. All it would take was just one dirty cop deciding that Heather was too much of a liability. Or just one criminal who wanted to get at Fisk and now knew that he had a weakness they could target, since she'd just revealed the fact that she existed to everyone.

What was she thinking?

"So, what do you think?" Foggy asked. "Is she telling the truth?"

"Why wouldn't she be?" Karen replied, letting the newspaper drop to the table.

"I don't know," Foggy said, leaning against the door frame. "It just seems like a kind of convoluted story."

"Doesn't mean it's not true," Matt said. Of course, just because it was true, that didn't mean people would automatically believe it. It did seem convoluted for someone who hadn't been there. Matt wondered if Heather had even considered the possibility that the public might not believe her.

"Yeah, I know," Foggy said. He let out a breath. "But if she's right, then…man, this is huge."

"I hope she's going to be okay," Karen said. "There's no way this kingpin will take this article lying down, and the cops probably won't do her any good now that she's accused a bunch of them of working for a crime lord."

Foggy shrugged. "I'm sure she thought of some kind of plan before doing this." Matt was not convinced that Heather had done anything of the sort. "And who knows, maybe the Devil of Hell's Kitchen will look out for her. She's taking this risk to clear his name, after all."

"That's true," Karen agreed. "Yeah, he'll probably look after her."

After this stunt, I'm going to have to.

The work day ended not much later, and Matt made excuses to get out of there quickly. Thanks to the time of year, the sun was already setting, so he didn't have to waste time waiting when he got home. He just changed into the suit and left. He'd waited long enough to have this talk with Heather, and after finding out about that article, Matt wasn't willing to wait any longer.

The route that led to the roof of Heather's building was starting to feel familiar. When he made it there, Matt paused a moment to listen and make sure she was actually in her apartment. She was, and Matt headed down the fire escape that led to her window.

She didn't notice him. She was leaning on her kitchen counter, staring at her coffee machine as it slowly dripped fresh coffee into the pot. Matt hesitated a moment longer, uncertain how Heather was going to react to him just showing up at her window like this. But hesitation wasn't going to get him anywhere, so Matt shoved the feeling aside and gently rapped his knuckles on the window to get her attention.

Heather jumped, her heart taking off as she whirled around. Then she spotted him, and the tension drained from her muscles and her heart rate slowed back down to normal. Her reaction made something click for Matt.

…She trusts me.

The sudden realization explained why she'd listened to him the other night, when he'd told her she was going to come with him. Why she hadn't run away, even though she'd wanted to. And why – without any prompting on his part – she was coming to the window and unlatching it.

Heather pushed the window up, and warm air rolled out onto the fire escape. "Um, hi."

"Hi," Matt said, momentarily at a loss for words as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that she apparently trusted him. He cleared his throat. "May I come in?"

"Yeah, sure," she said, backing away from the window to give him space.

Matt slipped inside the apartment, closing the widow behind him to keep the cold evening air out.

"Are you okay?" she asked. He paused. The way she spoke, it sounded like Heather had been trying to hold the question back. She fidgeted, her fingers playing with the sleeve of her baggy sweater. "I was worried. I mean, I knew you got away, but I wasn't sure if…"

"I'm fine," Matt said when she trailed off into uncertain silence. "I made it out okay."

"Oh. Good." The coffee machine beeped, and Heather started, a hand coming up to rest over her heart for a moment. She looked over at the coffee machine, then back at Matt. "Um, would you…like some coffee?"

It brought to mind the last time she'd offered him coffee, her gentle insistence of replacing what she'd spilled. "No, thank you."

She nodded, then moved back into the kitchen, presumably to fix a cup for herself.

"We need to talk about that article in the Bulletin," Matt said, deciding there was no reason to dance around the subject.

Her movements faltered a moment as she opened one of the cabinets. "What about it?" she asked as she retrieved a mug. Her tone was even, but Matt could hear the nervous flutter of her heart.

"You shouldn't have done it." He couldn't stop some of his frustration from bleeding into his voice, and Matt moved a few steps towards her. "Do you realize what kind of risk you're taking?"

Heather didn't look at him as she poured her coffee. She set the pot back in its place before she replied. "I'll be fine. Wilson…he won't hurt me."

Matt scowled. He felt that point was debatable, but she said it with such certainty he knew there was no use trying to argue about it. "And what about the dirty cops whose whole lives you've just threatened? Or what about other criminals that might want to get at Fisk and now know you exist?"

Now she did look at him, her mouth working for a moment before she managed to stammer out words. "I – I didn't threaten anyone! I didn't even name anyone. I just said enough so people would know it wasn't you!"

…She doesn't have a clue what she's done.

Matt rested his hands on the counter between them, feeling the need to anchor himself. "Heather." He kept his tone firm, but restrained. "You didn't have to name people. There's identifiable video footage of me fighting those first cops that showed up. You told everyone they were trying to murder me and Vladimir. That gives IA a place to start investigating, if they do. Your brother has had people killed just to hide that fact that he exists, much less his identity. You threatened all of them."

Her breathing went shallow, and Matt could hear her heart pounding. He thought maybe it was finally sinking in the risk that she'd taken by doing this. "Oh," she whispered.

Matt waited, but she didn't say anything else. Instead, she turned and walked over to her fridge, opening the door and getting something out. He identified it as the peppermint mocha creamer she seemed to favor when she popped the cap open. Heather poured a liberal amount into her mug, more than Matt would have been able to tolerate.

"Oh?" Matt repeated when she didn't say anything else. "That's it?"

Heather shrugged, closing the creamer and returning it to the fridge. "What else am I supposed to say? It's not like I can take it back. The article is out there already." She walked back to the counter, her hands curling around her mug. "Freaking out won't help either, and I feel like I've been doing that a lot lately anyway, so…" Her words trailed off and she shrugged again.

She was right on both counts. She couldn't take it back, and panic wouldn't help. The knowledge did nothing to temper Matt's frustration.

"Why did you do it?" he asked. The why of the situation was one thing he hadn't been able to figure out.

Heather fidgeted with her mug. Matt hadn't expected an immediate answer, so he waited determinedly for her to say something. When she spoke, her words came slowly. "I just…I felt like I needed to tell the truth about what happened. I owed you. For saving me."

He heard the tell-tale flutter of her heartbeat as she spoke. "You're lying."

She took in a sharp breath, and her heart ticked up. "I'm not – "

"You are. Or you're leaving something out." Matt tilted his head. "Either way, you're not telling the whole truth."

Heather bit her lip, tension radiating from her. "You have some kind of superpower, don't you?"

"What?" Matt asked blankly, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

She nodded slowly. "You must. When you were on that phone call, listing off what was in the room, I couldn't see half of the things you were talking about. You knew the cop was there way before I could tell, and that the building was surrounded. You knew when Officer Sullivan was about to wake up, and you weren't even looking at him. You're the only one who managed not to bump into my bruises when touching me. And now, you can tell… I don't know what kind of power that is, exactly, but it's something."

Matt had never thought of what he could do in terms of superpowers. Superpowers were for people like, say, the Avengers, and Matt certainly wasn't one of them. But the average person definitely couldn't do what Matt could, so he supposed that maybe the term 'superpower' wasn't technically wrong either.

She's more observant than I gave her credit for. Maybe she was only oblivious where her brother was concerned.

"That's not the point right now," Matt said. It wasn't really an answer, which he knew was answer enough. "The point is you're not answering my question."

She stared a moment longer, and for a second Matt thought she might try lying again. Then Heather slumped, leaning forward on the counter with a sigh. "I do feel like I owe you," she said quietly, "but you're right. That's not the only reason." She took a sip of her coffee, and Matt waited for her to keep talking.

"I did it because…because Vladimir was right. And I don't want him to be."

Matt frowned. Her heart was steady, and she was telling the truth now, but it didn't make sense. "You lost me," Matt said.

Heather fiddled with the handle of her mug. "You said you wouldn't let him hurt me because I was innocent. And he said I wasn't. That I'd never done anything to try and stop Wilson."

Matt remembered the moment now. He hadn't given Vladimir's words much thought, because it hadn't been relevant to what he wanted. It hadn't occurred to him to wonder what kind of impact they might have had on Heather.

He could smell the salty tang that meant her eyes had welled with tears, and now the words spilled from Heather's mouth like she couldn't hold them back any more.

"I knew. I mean, I didn't – I didn't know exactly what he was doing. But I knew that something wasn't right. There was just – just too many things that didn't add up. But I never asked. I never tried to figure it out. I didn't want to know. Because – because he's my brother. Maybe that shouldn't mean anything. But it does, okay? It does!"

She pushed up, away from the counter and paced the kitchen floor. She swiped at her eyes with a hand. "He's always been there for me. Always. He's done more for me than anyone. How – how was I supposed to admit that he might actually be a monster?"

Heather stopped pacing and swerved around to face Matt again. "And he is a monster. I get that. Vividly. I can't pretend he isn't. Not anymore." She took a deep breath and curled her arms around herself. "And now…now if I don't do something, then Vladimir's right. I can't let him be right."

Matt waited, but she didn't say anything else. He didn't respond right away, mulling over her words. Her desperation and grief pricked at him, especially as he remembered how unsympathetic he'd been before.

That Wilson Fisk was a monster had been obvious to Matt. But he'd dealt with the awful results of Fisk's work from the start. Heather hadn't. Fisk had been her brother first, and apparently a good one. Matt hadn't taken time to consider things from her point of view. How would he feel, if it had turned out that Foggy was secretly a criminal?

"Okay," Matt said, trying to choose his words with care. "If you want to help stop him, that's good, but…try not to do anything that makes you more of a target for people."

Her weight shifted. "Did you have something in mind?"

Matt nodded slowly. "You could answer some questions for me."

Heather shuffled back over to the counter and picked up her coffee. The cup was lukewarm now. "I don't know anything about his criminal activities."

"I know," Matt said. "But you know how to find him."

He let the sentence hang in the air. Heather took a long, slow drink of her coffee, setting the cup down and licking her lips. "I'm not going to tell you where he lives, if that's what you're asking."

Matt frowned. "Heather – "

She shook her head. "No. I know Wilson. He wouldn't keep anything incriminating in his home. He's not that sloppy. The only reason for you to go to his home is to…" She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. The only reason for Matt to go to Fisk's home was to hurt him.

"You said you want him on trial for what he's done," Heather said. "I'll help you do that. But I'm not going to help you hurt him. I can't – he's still my brother."

Matt wasn't sure there was as much a distinction between getting Fisk on trial and hurting him as Heather seemed to think. Fisk wasn't the sort of man to go down without a fight. But if the distinction made her willing to help in any way, Matt wouldn't quibble over it.

"Then what are you willing to tell me?" Matt asked.

She considered, rocking back on her heels. "Um. He's got two office buildings that I know of. You could probably find something there."

"What are the addresses?" Matt asked.

"Oh, I'll write them down for you," Heather said, moving out of the kitchen and into the living room. Matt turned to follow her movement. He didn't tell her that it'd be simpler for her to just tell him the addresses instead of writing them down. She'd already figured out there was something different in how he perceived the world, but she didn't need to know he was blind. Reading ink on paper was annoying, but he could manage it.

She dug through the satchel she'd been carrying on her way home from work that day he'd bumped into her and tugged out a notebook and pen. She scribbled down the addresses, but paused. Then slowly her pen scratched out something else.

"What did you add?" Matt asked.

She dropped the pen back in the satchel and ripped the paper out of the notebook. "A name." Heather stood, tossing the notebook on her couch and holding out the paper for Matt. "James Wesley. I don't know who Wilson's money guy is, but James is his assistant. He does pretty much everything for Wilson."

Matt took the paper. I bet that's the guy who hired me and Foggy to defend Healy. He tucked the paper in a pocket, and he wondered if Heather realized what she was doing by giving him Wesley's name. If he was Fisk's assistant, then he must be loyal to the man. If Matt was going to get anything from him, it was a guarantee he was going to have to hurt him.

He decided not to mention it.

Heather crossed her arms. "That's all I can think of right now that might be useful to you."

"Thank you," Matt said. "This helps." He hesitated a moment, then pulled out his burner phone and held it out to her. "Here. Do me a favor and put your number in?"

She took the phone from him and flipped it open. "Why do you need…?"

He shrugged slightly. "In case something comes up." He listened to the quiet beeping of the buttons as she put it in. When she finished, he added, "Go ahead and call your phone with it." She paused, looking at him. "If something happens because of that article, I want you to be able to reach me," Matt explained. "I don't trust the cops to help you anymore. But if you need me, I'll do what I can."

Heather hit a button, and her phone rang from its spot on her coffee table. She flipped the phone closed and handed it back to Matt. He tucked it back in his pocket.

Matt couldn't think of anything else to say, so he nodded to her and turned back towards the window.

"Hey, um," she started, and Matt stopped, turning his head her way. She fidgeted. "I don't know what I should call you. I mean, obviously I don't expect you to tell me your name or anything, but Devil of Hell's Kitchen is kind of…"

Matt shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Call me whatever you want."

She rocked back a little, seemingly thrown for a loop by his response. She shifted a bit, her attention darting to her bookshelf for a moment, then back to him. "Jack?" she tentatively offered. His surprise must have shown, because she hastily added, "I can pick something different."

"No, that's…fine," Matt said. It shouldn't be such a big surprise, he supposed. Jack was a common enough name. But it was also his dad's name, and he hadn't quite expected it.

"Right. Good." She bit her lip, and Matt waited, because he could tell there was something else she wanted to say. "Um, I wanted say thank you. Not about the other night – I mean, yes, I'm grateful for that too, obviously, but, um…" She stopped and sighed, the temperature in her face rising. "I'm a teacher. Jason Holloway is one of my students."

Matt shifted, turning to face her completely, because he recognized that name. That was the boy he'd saved from the Russians.

Heather took a few steps towards him, stopping about an arm's length away. "I've wanted to say thank you from the moment I found out you'd saved him, but I didn't think I'd ever get the chance. So, thank you."

"How's he doing?" Matt asked, because it was something he'd wondered in the days following the rescue. Jason hadn't been hurt physically, but it was hard to guess how a kid might react to what he'd been through.

"He's good," Heather said. "A lot better than I expected, honestly. He's back at school." A small smile crept up her face. "He, uh, draws a lot of pictures of you, actually. You're kind of his hero now."

Matt wasn't sure how he felt about that. He hadn't started this with the intention of being anyone's hero. "I'm glad he's alright."

He headed for the window, and this time Heather didn't say anything to stop him. She followed behind him, and once he was on the fire escape, she closed the window and locked it.

Matt headed back to the roof. The meeting with Heather had gone surprisingly well, but the night was young, and Matt's job wasn't done yet.

AN: Whoo, this chapter got longer than I planned, but hopefully that's a good thing! Heather has made her move, and we got some more Matt/Heather interactions. Next chapter, Wilson and Heather get to have a conversation, which I'm really looking forward to.