Matt had been hopeful after his meeting with Heather that maybe his night was going to go better. Things with Heather had gone better than he'd expected, so maybe that was a sign. It seemed to be, at first. He'd managed to track down Owlsley, isolate him in the parking garage of his building, but then Matt heard a heartbeat and breathing and measured steps that he hadn't heard in roughly twenty years. His focus slipped, and Owlsley took advantage of his distraction to hit him with a taser and get away.
Not Matt's finest moment. So of course, that was the one that Stick chose to walk in on. Stick was more or less as Matt remembered him, what with his caustic lectures about the futility of the life Matt had built for himself, and his vague warnings of his oncoming, mystic war. Even so, when Stick had asked for Matt's help dealing with a weapon that the Japanese were bringing into Hell's Kitchen, Matt had agreed. He didn't want them bringing in weapons of any kind, much less the sort of doomsday weapon that Stick claimed this was, and he wanted Stick out of New York.
But as usual, Stick failed to tell Matt the most important parts. Like that this Black Sky doomsday weapon was actually just a kid.
Matt tried. He tried.
It wasn't enough. Stick still managed to kill the boy.
They fought and Stick left, and this time Matt hoped he'd never meet Stick again.
He didn't get much sleep that night, so when he went to work Tuesday, he was exhausted and in a bad mood that he tried to hide because he didn't have a good reason to give Foggy and Karen for it, and none of it was their fault anyway. But his determination to pretend nothing was wrong was put to the test before he even made it to the office door, when he overheard Foggy and Karen talking.
"Matt wouldn't understand. You know what he would say."
Karen's voice. Exasperated and firm as she walked across the office. Matt's steps slowed in the hall as he listened.
"That we're awesome?" Foggy offered in response.
"No, that we're being stupid."
"I prefer the term foolhardily provocative."
A frown pulled at Matt's face. Neither sentence boded well for whatever they were up to.
"Yeah, that's lawyer talk for stupid," Karen grumbled. She'd moved to their coffee machine, pouring herself a mug. "Want some coffee?"
"If we're going to be Nancy Drewing together, I think a certain level of honesty is required."
"What? You don't like my coffee?"
"No. I hate it. I appreciate the effort, but the technique or lack thereof…"
Foggy's words earned a small laugh out of Karen. "You are such a dick."
"On occasion some dickery may leak out, but it doesn't mean I'm wrong."
"Well it means something."
Matt drew near to the door. Neither of them noticed.
Foggy sighed. "Okay, let's say we keep Matt in the dark. How long do you think – " Matt opened the office door, and Foggy spun around, his heart ticking up as he quickly changed whatever he'd been about to say. " – I should grow my hair? Matt, what's your take on that? Mullet? Full pony?"
"Did you fall down again?" Karen asked, obviously noticing the cut over his eyebrow from his fight with Stick.
"It's nothing. Don't tell me what?" he asked, because there was no way he was letting this go.
"Dammit," Foggy grumbled.
"You heard that?" Karen asked.
"Guy's like a bat," Foggy complained, then switched to his recognizable instant regret mode that he did any time he accidentally said something that he worried might be offensive. "I mean, not blind like a – you know, the hearing…"
"Bats aren't blind, Foggy," Matt said dryly. He took a couple steps towards then, slipping his hands in his pockets to affect a casualness he didn't actually feel.
"…They're not?"
"It's a myth," Matt told him. He directed his attention towards Karen, because she was the one that had been the most insistent about not telling him whatever it was that they were up to. "What don't you want me to know?"
She looked over at Foggy, and Foggy shook his head. Matt didn't react to the gestures, but their reluctance didn't help his mood any.
Then Karen shifted and said, "We're investigating Union Allied."
Foggy sighed. "Remind me to keep you off the witness stand."
Matt barely registered Foggy's words. He was too busy trying not to react with the amount of force that he wanted to at Karen's admission. Investigating Union Allied was what had led Matt to the world of organized crime in Hell's Kitchen. It had led him to Fisk, who was willing and able to wipe out anyone who might threaten his empire. If Karen and Foggy managed to get anywhere in their investigation, if they managed to get noticed at all…Matt couldn't stand the thought of what Fisk might do to them.
"You can't do that."
Karen stiffened at his words. "Why not?"
"For starters you signed legal papers and took money to leave it alone," Matt said.
She didn't hesitate at all before she replied, meaning she'd already thought through that objection. "No, I signed papers saying I wouldn't go public with any information. And I won't."
"We have someone lined up for that part," Foggy added, and Matt's head tilted.
"What part?"
They exchanged another look, and Karen slowly said, "Breaking the story." Before Matt could respond to that bombshell, she hastened on. "Look, whoever is behind Union Allied or whatever they call themselves now, they are trying to strong arm people like Elena so that they can sweep their homes away from them and build condos no one can afford."
"And what do you think is going to happen when these whoevers find out what it is that you're up to?" Matt asked. He only asked the question to try and make them think, because Matt already knew the answer. Why was he surrounded by people who didn't think these risks through?
"We already took care of it," Foggy said.
Matt slowly turned in his direction. "Took care of what?"
There was another moment of drawn out silence, then Karen spoke, reluctance coating her words. "The, uh, guys who busted up Elena's apartment. They…came after me when I was leaving her place last night."
Matt lowered his head, rolling his lips between his teeth, and wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. "Are you okay?" He didn't notice any injuries, but he wanted to be sure.
"Yes," she said. "Foggy was following me."
Great. Of course he was. Matt hadn't had nearly enough sleep to properly deal with this.
"And why were you following her?" he asked Foggy.
"She was acting funny," Foggy said defensively.
"There was no funny," Karen countered.
"There was a little funny," Foggy replied.
Matt held up a hand to stop their back and forth. "This is what I'm talking about," he said, trying to reel them back in to what was important. "There are things out there…You can't be doing this, you're going to get yourselves hurt." He couldn't stand the thought of them getting hurt, the knowledge that they had been in danger and he hadn't been anywhere near to help. They weren't trained fighters, either of them, not like he was. They shouldn't be taking these kinds of risks.
"I've already been hurt by those bastards!"
Karen's exclamation brought Matt up short.
"I don't care what I signed," she said. "I don't care how much money they paid me to forget. I'm not just going to stick my head in the sand and let it happen to somebody else because I'm scared! Which I am. A lot."
"And he is a monster. I get that. Vividly. I can't pretend he isn't. Not anymore. And now…now if I don't do something, then Vladimir's right. I can't let him be right."
Karen's determination, her desperation, and her fear…they all reminded Matt of Heather. His resolve weakened. The need to do something, that was a need Matt understood very well.
"If you could see her face, you'd know she means it," Foggy said.
Matt didn't need to see her. Everything about her spoke of her determination. "Yeah, I got that."
I can't stop them.
Karen was going to do this, regardless of whatever objections Matt brought up, and Foggy would doubtless help her. The only option Matt had left was to work with them then, and try to mitigate the danger they put themselves in that way.
"Who else is involved in this?" he asked, turning to head to his office, not doubting they would follow him. If they were actually going to talk about doing this, Matt wanted to sit. "Who's helping you break whatever it is you think you're going to find out?"
"Ben Urich, from the Bulletin," Karen said, her footsteps and Foggy's following him.
"The one who wrote the Union Allied piece," Matt said, recognizing the name. He sat in his chair, while Karen and Foggy stood on the other side of his desk.
"And the article from yesterday," Foggy added. "The one about Heather Fisk, and her account of the bombings?"
"Which leads us to the next thing," Karen said. "Ben thinks she's a lead."
Matt's head tilted, and for a second, he didn't think he'd heard Karen right. "What?"
"We talked to Ben last night," Karen said. "He thinks that the kingpin Heather Fisk told him about is the same person at the top of the Union Allied situation, and he's convinced that she knows who the kingpin actually is. If we can talk to her – "
"Absolutely not."
The words came out more forcefully than Matt had intended, but he wasn't about to take them back. Karen and Foggy talking to Heather was about the worst idea that Matt could think of, because Urich was right. But her connection to the kingpin was that she was his sister, and it didn't take much creativity to imagine what Fisk might do if he caught wind of people snooping around Heather.
"Why not?" Foggy asked. "If she does know who he is, she could be the key to getting this guy locked away."
Except Matt already knew that she wasn't, not really. Heather didn't know anything about Fisk's crimes, except what had happened with the bombings. Even then, she couldn't actually prove that Wilson was behind that incident. Even if she agreed to testify against him, it would only be a game of he said, she said, and Matt knew how that would end. If they had an actual case against Fisk, her testimony could probably be helpful. On its own though, it'd be useless.
"If Urich's right, and she does know who the kingpin is, he's probably watching her," Matt said. "Especially after that article yesterday. If we start asking questions, there's no way he won't notice. Which puts us in exactly the kind of dangerous situation that I'm trying to avoid."
"If Ben's right, then she's in danger," Karen pointed out. "She needs someone to help her."
"Ben did say she seemed pretty convinced that the kingpin wouldn't go after her," Foggy said.
Karen shook her head, her hands gripping the back of the chair that sat in front of Matt's desk. "That doesn't make her right. She needs help."
"I thought we agreed yesterday that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen would probably look out for her," Matt said.
"What if he isn't enough?"
The challenge in Karen's voice was enough to shut Matt up. "I already killed it while you were busy with Nobu's goons." Matt swallowed. He hated that she was right. Sometimes…sometimes he wasn't enough, no matter how hard he tried.
"I'm sure he'll try to help her," Karen said, "but he's just one guy and this is huge. She obviously wants to talk to someone since she went to Ben."
"If she wants to talk to someone so bad, why didn't she give Urich the kingpin's name?" Matt questioned.
"I don't know," Karen said. "But we won't ever know unless we talk to her."
Matt leaned forward in his seat. "Talking to her could get you killed!"
"Okay, hold up," Foggy said, holding his hands up in a slowdown gesture. "You both have excellent points. And, I for one, am a big fan of people not trying to kill me. So, compromise. Talking to Heather Fisk isn't the only way to get information about her. We can do research. See what we can dig up. Who knows, maybe since we know she's connected to the kingpin, we'll manage to find something that can lead us to him without ever talking to her at all. If we can't find what we need, we will revisit the idea of interviewing her. Sound good?"
Matt could tell Karen wasn't thrilled with the compromise. Matt wasn't either, since it left talking to Heather open as a possibility. But it would stall for time, maybe enough for Matt to figure out a way to keep them from going anywhere near Heather. "It works for me," Matt said.
Karen was silent for a moment, but finally she nodded. "Yeah. Okay."
Foggy clapped his hands together. "Great! And now that that's settled, we do have actual work to get done. So, let's hop to it!"
Matt rubbed at his temple. This is going to be a long day.
In the end, it only took them a couple hours to finish up the actual work they needed to do that day. They still had so few clients, there just wasn't that much to do yet. So, by lunch time they were able to order takeout and settle in, ready to research Union Allied and Heather Fisk and see if there was any legal avenue they could pursue.
They'd only been at it for a few minutes when Karen let out a short curse.
"That doesn't sound good," Foggy said, looking at her over the screen of his laptop.
"It's not. I just googled Heather Fisk, and the news is full of responses to that article she had put out," Karen said.
"Not good, I'm guessing," Matt said.
"That's an understatement." Her mouse clicked, probably opening more articles. "Here, I'll just play this clip."
The news anchor's voice played through the speakers. "Officer Sullivan, what can you tell us about the events of Saturday night?"
Matt recognized his voice when he replied. It was the cop that had stumbled upon him, Vladimir, and Heather. He claimed that the media's previous version of events had been on the money. That Matt had been the one to blow those buildings up, that he'd actually seen Matt shoot the cops, that he'd only released Heather and Officer Sullivan to slow down the other cops, but otherwise he'd have probably killed them too.
There was no kingpin. No hidden threat. Just Matt.
"If this is true," the anchorwoman asked, "then why would Heather Fisk claim otherwise? Why would she try to make it sound like the Devil of Hell's Kitchen is actually some kind of hero?"
"I don't know, ma'am," Officer Sullivan said. "It certainly isn't what she said in her police report. I can only assume that she's being coerced somehow. If the Devil of Hell's Kitchen has threatened her, I wish she'd come to the police for help. We'd keep her safe from him."
The clip came to an end. "Damn," Foggy said.
It deserved a stronger response than that.
"There's plenty more where that comes from," Karen said. "There's a lot of condemnation for the Bulletin too, for printing the article."
"Which means even if we could figure out who the kingpin is, and Urich printed an article about it," Matt said, "no one will believe him."
Karen and Foggy didn't say anything. What was there to say? Their plans at exposing kingpin had just gone up in smoke.
"No," Karen said suddenly. "No! We're not done with this!"
"Karen," Foggy said, but she stood, shaking her head.
"This isn't over! We know this guy exists! If we can just find a way to prove it, then this won't matter. We can't give up now. We can still fix this."
"Maybe," Matt said.
But things just got a lot harder.
…Heather hasn't tried to call me.
He'd told her to, if anything happened because of the article. This definitely counted as something happening, and it was unlikely that this was all Fisk had done. So why hadn't she called? Was she waiting for something? Did she think he wouldn't try to help after all? Or had Fisk done something that meant she couldn't call him? There were too many possibilities, and Matt didn't like any of them. If she didn't call him, he'd definitely be checking in on her tonight.
Wilson rode the elevator up to Heather's floor alone and in silence. He hadn't intended to force this conversation, and he didn't look forward to it. But outside forces left him with little choice. Her article had been a stunning, unexpected blow. No doubt the Devil of Hell's Kitchen had put her up to it; Wilson couldn't fathom that Heather would have acted in such a way on her own.
To make things worse, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen had also gone after Leland. It was a stroke of fortune that Leland had managed to get away. Then the Devil had managed to foul up Nobu's operation, and Madame Gao had come calling with her gentle but razor-sharp warning that Wilson was getting soft, that he needed to keep his own house in order.
Everything Wilson had worked on so carefully building for years was starting to slip, and the worst of it was that Heather was at risk of being caught in it.
Wilson's jaw clenched. It's all his fault.
The elevator dinged as the doors slid open, and Wilson did his best to put the Devil of Hell's Kitchen out of his mind. This moment would require all of Wilson's focus. He'd already taken steps to ease the damage Heather had done with that article, and this was the next.
He walked down the hall to Heather's door, pulling out his key to her apartment. He'd never actually had cause to use it before, but he doubted if she'd open up if he knocked, and Wilson couldn't let her avoid this talk.
Wilson walked inside and saw Heather standing in front of her faded green couch, remote clutched in one hand as she stared at him wide eyed. Wilson studied her face a moment, taking in the sight of dark bruises that had yet to heal. Then his gaze moved past her to the television, where the news was playing. "You already know then," he said. He shut the door behind him.
Her gaze darted to the television then back to Wilson. "What did you do to him to make him say that?"
Wilson looked over at the television again. The interview with Officer Sullivan was playing. The man looked pale and unhappy, but he said the words he needed to say. He talked about how the Devil of Hell's Kitchen and Vladimir seemed to have had some sort of feud that had resulted in the Devil blowing up those buildings. He said he had seen the man with the sniper rifle that he'd used to kill those cops. He said the only reason that he and Heather had gotten out alive was because the Devil of Hell's Kitchen had decided to let them go to slow the cops down. He said he didn't know why Heather was lying about all of it; perhaps the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was forcing her to, maybe he was threatening her, but the story in the Bulletin didn't match what had actually happened, or the statement that she had given the police.
"What did you do?" Heather asked again, her voice cracking on the last word.
Officer Sullivan had a pregnant wife. In a situation like that, gaining compliance was a simple matter. But that knowledge would only hurt Heather, and she was going to have to deal with enough hurt already.
"It doesn't matter," Wilson said. He took a step towards her, and Heather recoiled, arms curling around herself protectively. Wilson stopped.
"How could you?" she whispered.
He walked deeper into the apartment, though not towards Heather, mindful of the way she shrank from him. Wilson let a hand come to rest on the kitchen counter. She didn't know everything yet. This was going to get worse before it got better. "You left me with little choice, Heather."
She made a small noise of disbelief. "But I didn't – I didn't tell them anything they could use against you."
She didn't understand. Of course, she didn't. Wilson could hardly expect her to. Heather was too gentle, too soft. She didn't have a cunning bone in her body. It was why he had to do this. It was for her own good, much as it might hurt her now.
"You told them I exist," Wilson said gently. "That was enough."
Her face paled, and slowly she sank down to sit on the edge of coffee table. She was staring at him, brown eyes wide, but Wilson wasn't sure if she was really seeing him.
Or perhaps she was.
Wilson moved towards her, though he left the couch between them. "Heather," he said, wanting to make sure she was listening. She blinked, and her eyes focused on him though she didn't speak. "It is no longer safe for you to remain in Hell's Kitchen. Your article did not only put me at risk, but my associates as well." He thought of Nobu's anger, Leland's disdain, and Madame Gao's razor warnings. "I cannot be sure of your safety as long as you are here."
Heather shook her head slightly. "This is my home."
Wilson hated this next part. He didn't want to see the look on her face. But he would do what he must to keep her safe. If she had to hate him for it, then so be it.
"The media is going to turn you into a pariah," he said simply. "I don't know if Principal Evans will fire you immediately, but at the very least you will be suspended without pay. The termination will come sooner or later, and if you were to look for work, there is no one in New York that would hire you. Your bank accounts have been mostly depleted. When your rent comes due in two weeks, you won't be able to pay it. Your landlord will not offer you an extension."
Heather's lips parted, but no sound came out. The remote, which she'd been holding this whole time, slipped out of her hand and landed on the floor with a dull thud.
"I am sorry," Wilson said. He hoped she could see how much he meant it, but the look of devastated betrayal on her face told him she couldn't. "Your life here is done, but I promise, I will take care of you. I will make sure you have every comfort you could want."
"No." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Wilson's shoulders slumped. He'd expected that she would be stubborn, at first. She was still in shock. This was a big change. It'd take time to sink in. She would accept things. And if somehow her stubbornness held out, if in two weeks' time when she was removed from her apartment she still refused to go, well. This wasn't really a choice for her. He'd do what he must.
"I'll leave you for now," Wilson said, "but we'll speak again soon." He turned and went to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "I love you, Heather."
He waited, but she didn't say it back.
Wilson's heart was heavy as he left Heather's apartment. He wished things could be otherwise. He wished that Heather could be allowed to remain where she was, living the quiet, simple life that she enjoyed. He wished he didn't have to tear her away from it.
But the truth was that the moment that Vladimir had decided to kidnap Heather, her simple life had ended. It would never have happened if the Devil of Hell's Kitchen hadn't made Vladimir so desperate.
Wilson glowered at his reflection in the dull metal of the elevator doors. Everything Heather was going through now was all his fault. Wilson would make him pay for it.
Heather couldn't say how long she sat there on her coffee table, staring but unseeing. She felt numb in the wake of Wilson's visit.
Jack was right.
He'd warned her. He'd said that Wilson would have to do something in response. Heather hadn't really believed him. Not about Wilson. She'd heeded his warning about the dirty cops and other criminals, but Wilson. She'd been sure that he could never do anything to hurt her.
She guessed he hadn't, in a way. Not physically at least. But it hadn't occurred to Heather that he could tear down her entire life without ever laying a finger on her.
He was so…calm about it.
Calm and apologetic. She could almost believe him when he said he was sorry. But he'd still done it. In space of a few minutes, he'd destroyed her life so completely that she wouldn't have a choice but to do what he wanted.
Heather couldn't go to her friends for help. That would only make them targets. She couldn't try to fight Wilson, couldn't go to Ben Urich and say she wanted to reveal the kingpin's identity, because now her reputation was in shambles and no one would believe her. She couldn't even run away, because running would take money and Wilson had made sure she didn't have any. And if she tried, Heather had no doubts anymore that Wilson would have her kidnapped and dragged to whatever place he'd decided to keep her in.
I'm done.
Heather had tried. She'd tried.
She'd tried to take a stand against Wilson for once in her life, tried to do the right thing. Tried to make up for all the years she'd pretended and lied and told herself she didn't know that he was doing something wrong. Tried to defend someone else.
It hadn't been enough. And her efforts had backfired spectacularly. Now she was looking at spending the rest of her life locked away in a cage. A comfortable cage, no doubt. But a cage was still a cage, no matter how comfortable.
Her cellphone rang, snapping Heather out of her thoughts. She blinked, noticing it was markedly dimmer than it had been when Wilson had left, and at some point, it had started raining outside. She was stiff; she must have been sitting there for hours.
That's Maria's ringtone.
She'd probably seen the news, and wanted to check on Heather to make sure she was okay. Heather didn't want to answer, but she knew if she didn't, Maria would probably come over, and that would be worse. Heather stood, her muscles making their protest at her uncomfortable position for the past couple hours known. She picked her phone up from the couch and answered just before it went to voicemail.
"Hello?"
"Oh, good, you answered," Maria said. "I'm on my way over."
"You don't need to do that," Heather said.
"Oh no, don't think you're talking me out of this," Maria said. "I know you, and you do not need to be alone after that mess on the news."
Heather bit her lip. She appreciated Maria's concern, but she couldn't handle seeing her right now. Not when she'd have to spend her evening lying to Maria, pretending things weren't quite as bad as they actually were.
"Actually, I'm not home," Heather said, closing her eyes and praying for forgiveness even as she lied.
"You're not?"
"No," Heather said. "I'm, um, staying with Wilson. Actually, I'm going to be out of town for a couple days. He's been wanting to send me on a vacation, and with everything going on, I thought now might be a good time to let him."
"Oh. Well, well good. I'm glad. It's about time you took a couple days for yourself, and – and…" Her voice faded for a moment. "You know this is going to be okay, right? Everything will blow over."
Heather had to swallow the lump in her throat. Maria was wrong, but Heather loved her for trying. "I know," she agreed quietly. "It'll be okay."
They hung up, and Heather stared at the phone in her hand. It occurred to her that she could try calling Jack; he'd said to call, if something happened as a result of the article. She dismissed the thought almost as soon as it crossed her mind. It wasn't like there was anything he could do about this. She wasn't being threatened, exactly. No one was trying to kill her. There was no one for him to fight for her. All she would manage to do was bother him more than she already had.
She let the phone drop back on the couch and ran her hands over her head. What am I going to do?
There was a rapping on her window, and Heather jumped, turning to see Jack there on her fire escape, like her thoughts had summoned him. She gaped a moment. She hadn't expected him to just show up like that. Then she remembered it was cold and raining, and she moved to the window to open it and let him in.
She didn't know where he'd come from, but he'd been outside long enough that he was fairly soaked by the rain. He had to be freezing. "I'll get you a towel," Heather said automatically, turning to head to the bathroom. Jack caught her wrist before she made it more than a step away; his grip was loose, but it still made Heather freeze in place as she looked back at him.
He was frowning. She couldn't see his eyes of course because of the mask, but the way his head tilted towards her made Heather feel like he was studying her. She did her best to keep her face neutral.
His mouth softened. "You don't have to do that," he said, his voice gentle. "You don't have to pretend you're okay with me."
For a moment Heather just stared at him. Her mouth trembled, a sob escaped, and then it was like a dam burst within and she cried. Her legs went weak, and Jack's arms circled around her in a hug to carefully lower her to the floor. He sat with her, and Heather pressed into his side, uncaring of how cold he was, or the way the water from his shirt soaked through her sweater. She just buried her face in his chest as she cried, and he let her, one arm curled around her to keep her close, the other rubbing circles on her back. He didn't try to talk while she cried, he just held her and waited.
Eventually Heather cried herself out, and as her tears dried, she felt exhausted. Then it filtered through how she was clinging to Jack, practically draped over his lap, and Heather flushed, hastily pulling back. The moment she moved his arms dropped, letting her go. "Sorry," she stammered.
"Don't apologize," he said. "You've had a rough day."
Heather let out a hollow laugh. "That's one way of putting it."
"He came to see you, didn't he?"
She looked over at him in surprise, and Jack shrugged. "I can tell a man's been here. Not hard to guess who."
He could tell? How could he possibly….? Heather shook the questions away. It didn't really matter how Jack's abilities worked. He was right after all.
"Yeah. Wilson was here."
"What happened?"
Heather bit her lip. There wasn't anything Jack could do, but…he was the only one she could possibly tell. The only one who knew what she was really dealing with. Heather found the words spilling out, what Wilson had told her and what he'd done.
"And there's nothing I can do about any of it," she said once she'd told him. "I can't even try to run from him, because that takes money, and he made sure I don't have any left." A hollow bleakness filled her again. "I'm trapped. He won."
Jack didn't respond right away. Heather really didn't expect him to say much of anything. Maybe tell her he felt sorry for her or something. She certainly didn't expect what he finally said.
"What if you could get away from him? Hide somewhere he couldn't find you?"
Heather looked over at him, confusion pulling her expression into a frown. "But…I can't. I don't have the resources to get away from him. The only place I could go without money is with my friends, and I can't do that to them. They'd be in too much danger."
"You could stay with me."
"I – what?" She couldn't have heard that right.
Jack shrugged. "You're not connected to my real identity. Fisk would never know to look for you with me. Your friends wouldn't know where you were, so he'd have no reason to bother them. You're going to lose your job and apartment anyway, so you don't have to worry about that."
Heather stared at him. He was actually – he was seriously suggesting that she – ?
"Plus," Jack continued, "it could give me an advantage. If you vanish on him, then Fisk will be distracted. He might panic, could get sloppy. After today, I need every advantage I can get."
Heather could hardly believe what he was offering. "You realize for that to work, I'd have to stay with you until Wilson was arrested. We have no idea how long that might be. It could be months."
"I know," Jack said.
"And – and if I stay with you, how would you keep your identity a secret?" Heather asked.
He hesitated a moment, then said, "I wouldn't. It wouldn't be possible."
His simple reply floored her. That was such a risk on his part. He didn't know her, not really, and her brother wanted him dead. But he was still willing to take that risk, to help her. To stop Wilson. To try and protect a city full of people that right now mostly hated him. It was the kind of selfless courage that Heather could only dream of having, and the warmth of it had the words coming out before she'd even consciously made her decision.
"Okay."
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Like you said, this could take months. For it to work, you won't be able to have contact with anyone. This won't be easy."
That was true enough, and Heather didn't like the idea of vanishing and not being able to tell anyone that she was okay. But this wasn't a cage, and it wasn't forever; this was a choice. It was a way to stand up against Wilson. It was a chance to try again.
"Yes," Heather said. She felt like a weight had lifted from her chest. "I'm sure."
AN: Ah, I had fun with this one! I really enjoyed writing the talk with Heather and Wilson; I feel bad for Heather, and I also find it kind of hilarious how little Wilson actually knows her. Also, what do y'all think of Matt's plan? I can tell you it'll definitely work to make Wilson made. You think he hates Matt now? Just wait until Heather vanishes on him.