Welp. Here it is, Friends. Volume 3.

If you're new here, this is the third Volume in a series, so I'd suggest taking a look at the other two, Devil's Kindred and Devil's Penance, first.

That being said, welcome.

I know it's been awhile since I wrapped up the last part.

Truth be told, Defenders and I have a complicated relationship, so mapping this volume out has been challenging.

I also wrote this first chapter twice. So...there's that.

Here's the volume 3, friends!

Closer Than a Brother

"Mr. Berkowitz, you're on record saying the new subway station on 50th and 10th would be, quote, 'Good for the community.' No. Quote, unquote, 'Good for the community'."

Iris watched her brother pacing his living room from where she stood in the kitchen. Matt was surrounded by stacks of paperwork, weeks and weeks of notes leading up to this final, pivotal day in court.

"Food's up, Boys," she called, carrying the pan full of scrambled eggs up to the island, scraping them onto the three plates.

Ian, who was lounging on the couch, playing his 3DS, tossed his game aside, scrambling up to the counter. "Thanks, I'm starved."

"Well, don't be shy, Kid," Iris winked. "Tuck in, we've gotta get you to school and Uncle Matt to the courthouse."

Iris looked past Ian, to where Matt was still standing in the living room. Matt stopped his pacing, clutching his snack of notes in one hand with a white-knuckle grip. Iris saw his head tilted towards the window, listening to something in the distance.

"Matt?" she called.

He snapped back to life at her voice. "Sorry," he shook himself out, walking up to the counter. "Breakfast?"

"Yep," Iris nodded. "You good?" Her question was pointed, careful. They both knew what she meant.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Just fine. Thanks for cooking."

"Thank you for babysitting the other night," Iris put the pan in the sink.

"It was no problem. I worked on the case, and Ian hit the books. It was a productive night. Right, Buddy?" He held out his fist, and Ian grinned, bumping it.

"You bet!"

"Well, good to hear. Now, eat up. Ian, make sure your backpack is ready to go."

"Yes, Sarge," Ian mock-saluted, scrambling off the chair. He went to the living room, gathering up his games and books.

"You sure you're good, Matt?" Iris asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, Iris. It's all okay."

And it was okay. The most okay things had been in months. Everything had been normal, steady. More simple and normal than she'd ever dreamed up. Sometimes she wondered if it was too okay. She knew her brother. And, as peaceful as he'd seemed the past few months, she knew there was a huge part of him that missed…

She stopped the thought there. She wasn't going to think about that.

"Iris, don't worry," Matt said, cracking a small smile. It was twisted, forced. Iris knew there was more to it than he was letting on, but she also knew prying would get her absolutely nowhere.

She decided to play along. The safest option. "Alright, well. Since I obviously missed a lot of prep work, what does your dashing assistant need to know before we take on Mr. Berkowitz today?"

"I'll brief you on the way," Matt hopped off his chair, his smile actually genuine this time. "Wheels up, remember?"

"Right," Iris nodded. "Ian, let's go."

"Already on it," Ian scrambled to the couch, collecting up his lunch and backpack. "You sure I can't come to court today? I want to see Uncle Matt in action."

"Sorry, Kid. No can do," Iris laughed.

"Fine," Ian huffed.

"Don't worry," Matt assured. "Iris will tell you all about it tonight, okay?"

"If you have all your work done by the time your father and I get home, that is," Iris raised a brow, though her authority was undermined by her warm smile. Damn it, she loved this kid...

Ian chuckled, "Okay. Deal."

"Good," Iris gestured for the door. "Let's move."

"He hasn't stopped talking about the other night," Iris laughed, watching her future stepson scramble for the door.

"It really was no trouble. He's a good kid."

"I know," she agreed. She folded her arms, sighing. "What did you hear back there?"

"Iris…"

"I'm not gonna make it a thing, I just...want to know."

He was silent for a moment, weighing his options, before he gave in. "Minor fender-bender. Nothing serious. There was almost a fight, but the cops broke it up. All good."

"All good," she repeated, shaking herself out. "Thanks for talking about it. Now, enough of that. Let's get you to court. You've got a case to win."

Owen was following her through a dark tunnel, occasionally catching glimpses of her dark hair in the patches of sunlight. Every time he caught sight of her, he could smell her perfume. Feel the heat of her skin against his. Hear her whispers in his ear, her lush voice making his hair stand on end.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn't catch up to her. Whenever he got close, she'd disappear into shadow, materializing again several feet ahead.

"Elektra!" he finally called out, making her pause. She turned around, walking up to him. She twisted her red lips into a familiar smile, coy and dangerous. There was a white hand on her shoulder, thin and ghostly. "Kill him," someone hissed from the shadows. The figure pushed her forward.

Elektra's expression didn't shift as she lifted a sai, plunging it into his stomach. He fell to the ground, coughing.

As he lay there, bleeding, she reached out into the darkness, pulling someone into view. Wild, terrified green eyes met his.

"Iris," he wheezed. "No. Elektra, don't…."

But she didn't listen, never did. All Owen could was watch as Elektra slashed her sai, still coated with Owen's blood, across Iris's throat.

The image was seared into his eyes, even after he woke up to his blaring alarm. At least he didn't wake up screaming this time. Small victories.

He took a blind swipe at his alarm clock, silencing it, letting the sounds of the apartment (he couldn't bring himself to call it his apartment) slowly form around him. The blackout curtains obscured any daylight from outside, but his clock said 7:00am, so it wasn't going to be all that bright anyway. His suitcase was still in the corner of the room, his dirty clothes in a single pile next to it. He refused to put anything in the drawers. His gym bag was sitting next to the door. He sometimes worked out alone in the apartment (he had to keep himself in shape, ready), but there were days (usually ones where he absolutely needed to go get food) when he ventured out to a local gym. Maybe he'd go today. Try and clear his head.

He was tired of the damned nightmare. But, the more reports that came in, the more times a week he had it. Shaking himself out, he hopped out of bed, shuffling for the kitchen. Coffee was usually the only remedy for the lingering terror the dreams left.

His bare feet made an echo across the empty apartment as he headed down from the loft. It was freezing, but he'd been unable to make himself touch the thermostat. If nothing changed, he could pretend nothing had happened. Even setting the coffee pot to an automatic timer had been a big deal for him. One day, Elektra would waltz through the door, carrying some artisan liquor. "Oh, Sorry, Darling. I popped over to Italy for a few days. You know how it is…"

He grabbed his mug, the only one he ever used, from where he'd placed it by the sink the previous morning. It was quiet, as always. The penthouse was made to be that way, to shield the inhabitants from the buzz of the city. It had been nice to come here with her, the few nights a year Elektra had let herself be in New York. It had been perfect, a way to preserve the delusional little bubble of their superficial "romance." But this place, like her, had never really been his. And without her, he was just a squatter in this cold, silent tomb.

A spot of color on the stainless steel fridge caught his eyes, and he sighed. The sticky notes were the only communication his "mentor" had employed with him over the past few months (notes the old bastard couldn't even write himself), but Owen didn't care. He'd been happy to follow orders from a distance. Not not look the old man in the face for awhile. Stick seemed to respect Owen's need for Space. Or, as close Stick could get to "respecting" something. It had been months since Owen had seen Stick in person. The notes would show up every couple of days, and Owen followed the leads, took care of it, then retreated back to the apartment to wait for the next one.

Owen tore the bright yellow paper of the fridge, frowning.

"Find John Raymond"

Was all it said. Whoever the hell that was, but Owen guessed he'd find out soon enough.

He rolled his shoulders, setting the emptied coffee mug in the sink. He'd hand wash it when he got home. "Guess I'm not going to make it to the gym today."

"Mr. Berkowitz, you're on record saying the new subway station on 50th and 10th would be, quote, unquote, 'Good for the community.' In your professional opinion, was it good for Aaron James?"

Today had gone swimmingly so far, at least in Iris's limited understanding, but this was the pivotal moment, Matty's big smoking gun. Beside Iris, Mrs. James was holding her breath. She was clutching her son's hand tightly. Mr James had his fists balled into his lap. Iris gently smiled at the family, in an attempt to be reassuring.

"The whole thing is very unfortunate," Mr. Berkowitz looked annoyingly relaxed, practically lounging on the witness stand. "Our sympathies go out to the family, of course."

"Were you aware the products used in your new station were hazardous to children?"

"Objection," Berkowitz's lawyer piped in.

Matt held a hand up. "I'll rephrase. What was attractive about Endexoprene?"

"It's strong. It's durable."

"And half the price."

"I do run a business."

"Is it worth endangering people in the interest of saving money?"

"All materials are tested. The moment those findings are made public, we replaced that mortar in all remaining stations."

Matt paused, all but smirking. "Made public," he repeated. "What do you mean? Are you referring to a report released on September 29th?"

"Your Honor," Berkowitz's lawyer spoke up again. "He's asking my client to respond with unreasonable specificity."

"Mr. Berkowitz, if memory serves me right, your office received an urgent delivery from the safety commission on June 3rd. Three months earlier. I'm curious, did that have anything to do with Endexoprine?" Matt gestured in Iris's direction, approaching the table, and she grabbed several copies of a record of delivery from Matt's stack, handing it to him.

"I don't know anything about that…" Berkowitz's face started to pale a little.

"Your Honor," Berkowitz's lawyer stood up. "Unless Mr. Murdock can prove my client received these hypothetical documents…"

"It's not about whether he received them, it's about whether he willfully ignored them. Your Honor, I ask that this record of delivery be admitted into evidence."

"I mean...I get a lot of those…." Berkowitz stammered.

"Which do you think is worse? Ignoring data in the interest of cutting costs, or neglecting to supply the court with documents that prove you put people in danger? Including…"

"Your Honor…"

"...including this young man, Aaron James, who may never walk again."

"Your Honor, we would like a recess," Berkowitz's lawyer had her jaw clenched.

"No need, I'm done," Matt said, walking back to his seat. "And I think he is too."

"11 million dollars," Mrs. James repeated, as the family followed the Murdocks out of the courtroom. "Thank you, thank you so much, Mr. Murdock." She threw her arms around Matt.

"Of course, of course."

There was a sea of press, clamoring to get statements on the verdict. The case had been a bit of a media circus from the beginning. A poor kid, poisoned by a toxic substance used in a new subway station, now confined to a wheelchair, likely to never walk again. Represented by a "saintly" (Iris had outright rolled her eyes when she'd read that description in the paper) blind young lawyer. Press had a party with it, but Matty hadn't done it for the publicity, or the money (he didn't collect a cent from the families, unless then won, and was even reluctant to do it then). He'd done it to help the James family, and Iris had expected that to give him some sense of stability, of closure. One he'd lacked since last dawning Daredevil's suit. Some positive motion, towards the betterment of the world. One he could get without using his fists. Iris had hoped it would be enough, but she suspected it wasn't.

Mrs. James dropped the hug, going to join her husband a few paces away. Aaron stayed put, right next to Matt and Iris, sheet white as she stared down the wall of reports.

"God," he whispered.

"Hey," Matt said, gently. "You okay?"

"Yeah…"

Iris looked between the two, understanding. "Matt, I'm going to check on Mr. and Mrs. James, okay?" she squeezed the kid's shoulder. "Congratulations, Aaron."

Iris managed to weave her way through some of the press (none of them wanted to speak to the mere assistant of the lawyer who won a historic verdict, so she was blessedly ignored) and approached the couple. "Hi, Mrs. James."

"Iris, hi," Mrs. James wrapped her up in a tight hug. "Thank you for all your help."

"Oh," Iris shook her head. "Seriously, it was all Matt. I just helped with the paperwork, really."

"Regardless. Thank you," Iris noticed Mrs. James staring across the room, to where Matt and Aaron were talking. "Iris, if you don't mind my asking…"

"No, Matt wasn't born blind. It was a car accident."

"Oh," she looked slightly embarrassed. "I guess the two of you get asked that a lot. I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"Can I ask...how did...when he was going through all of that...how did you help him? I keep looking at Aaron, seeing him like this. He's angry, he's scared, he's upset, and I…"

Iris took a deep breath, looking around. "So, we were raised by our dad. We didn't know our mom. It was just me and Matt a lot growing up. We did everything together. It felt like there was nothing he went through I couldn't understand. Until...you know. He was going through so much, and...for the first time in my life, I felt like I couldn't understand my brother. But, what I could do was be there. However he needed, and however I could. I couldn't even pretend to know how he felt, but what I could do is make sure he wasn't alone, however that looked for him."

"Thank you, Ms. Murdock," Mrs. James nodded, thoughtful.

There was a break in the crowd of press, a wave flocking over to Mr. James and Aaron. From the throng, Iris spotted a familiar face.Iris looked to Matty, and she could tell he'd sensed her as well. "Excuse me," Iris gave the couple a polite smile, before braving the crow again.

Iris reached Karen Page at the same time her brother did.

"Hi, Karen."

"Hello, Iris," Karen smiled, then peered around Iris to look at Matt. "Congratulations, Mr. Murdock," she was hugging her coat and back to her chest, standing a good few feet away from him.

"Uh, thank you, Ms. Page," Matt nodded.

"It's okay," she chuckled a little, "you can be proud of yourself. A little. I won't tell."

"Ha," Matt allowed himself a tiny grin. "You here for a statement?"

"I am," she agreed. "But...uh...if you want to do that over a bite...or coffee? It's uh...been awhile."

"Uh...sure. Yeah," Matt nodded, slightly dumbfounded. "Iris?"

"Oh," Iris checked her watch. "No, sorry. I have lessons today. I have to get to the conservatory." She looked between the two. "But, uh, have fun, okay? Good to see you, Karen."

"You too, Iris. We'll have to catch up soon."

"Yeah," she agreed. "We will. I'll see you later on, Matt."

"Of course," he gave her a quick side hug. "Just, give me five minutes, okay, Karen?"

(Section Break)

"I told you, she's a walking disaster, Mom. She can't do shit for us."

Owen looked up at the sound of Lexi Raymond's voice. The daughter of his target.

"Lexi, please," Michelle, John's wife, sighed. She looked on the verge of tears, and like she'd spent the better part of the last few days actually crying.

Owen wasn't the only one looking for John. Michelle had gone as far as trying to hire a local PI, which didn't go well, by the sound of things. Shame, really. Owen had been planning on riding the coattails of whatever the investigator dug up. But, maybe for the best, given the fact that Raymond was probably somehow in deep with The Hand. The less people involved, the better.

The mother and daughter took off down the street, and Owen moved to start following them.

"Hey, Kid."

Owen froze, hissing air out through his nostrils. "Stick."

"Glad I could coax you out into the light of day."

"Why are you here? You've left me alone up until now."

"Well, that ain't gonna work anymore, Kid."

Owen finally turned. "What's going on? Who is John Raymond?"

"You found and tailed his wife and kid, and you still have to ask me."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"What did you find on the guy?"

"Pretty white-bread," Owen shrugged. "Wife, kid. Nice house. Good job."

"Good job, huh?"

Owen knew Stick was baiting him. It was annoying. "Yeah," Owen rolled his eyes. "Architect. But you knew that."

"Right, Kid. And do you know what his most recent project was?"

"No, but you're going to tell me."

"He designed the building for Midland Circle Financial."

Owen froze, his blood running cold. His nightmare stirred up in his mind. He tried to push it down, though he knew Stick sensed his agitation. "Midland Circle. The…."

"The deep hole in the ground that The Hand dug," Stick agreed. "Yes. That. I told you The Hand wasn't done. Don't play dumb, Kid. You've been dreading it for months. I could smell that fear everytime I dropped by."

Owen didn't take the bait. "So, if Raymond designed the building, and he's on the run, he…."

"Must know what's in the hole. Exactly."

"So, if he knows what's in the hole, and he's in the wind..."

"We'd better find him before they do, or Raymond's good as dead."

"Wonderful."

"Another thing, Kid."

"Yeah?"

"Your other assignment. The Iron Fist."

"Yeah. Last I heard, he was in Cambodia. I told you that."

"I know. Well, he's headed back for New York tonight."

"Oh…"

"Kid, shit's hitting the fan. And it's hitting it soon. I know you're such a deep tortured soul, but you gotta buck up, Kid. I need you sharp."

"I'm fine," the biggest lie Owen had ever told anyone. Stick knew it, of course. But it was good enough.

"Good."

"Stick…"

"Huh?"

"Elektra….the reports coming in…"

"Honestly, I don't know. But, if they did manage to dig her up, whatever they have ain't Ellie. She's gone. For good. Whatever is left only serves The Hand. And they're about to bring a crushing blow down on this city."

(Section Break)

"Miss Murdock! Guess what?"

Sonja, one of Aldridige's oboe students, practically barrelled over Iris's previous lesson on the way into the studio. She was holding an envelope in her hands, waving it around like a warbanner. When she finally held it still enough, Iris caught the NYU logo in the top corner.

"You got in," Iris grinned, holding her arms out.

"Yes!" Sonja leapt into her teacher's hug. "Thanks for everything. Miss Murdock!"

"It was all your hard work," Iris waved a hand.

"There's actually something I wanted to ask you about."

"Anything."

"There's a couple of scholarships I'm applying for. A lot of them have a letter of recommendation requirement. I was wondering…"

"I'd be honored," Iris nodded.

"Thanks," Sonya crossed to one of the posture chairs, getting out her instrument. "Deadline's in a few weeks."

"I'll have it for you as soon as possible."

"Great," Sonja got out her reed. "Well, I'm glad I'm headed off to school before you leave. I don't know what I'd do without you as my teacher."

"I'm not leaving anytime soon, Sonja," Iris rounded her desk.

"I mean, you've been spending time with that Miss Reid Lady….Who has some serious sway with the Philharmonic, right?"

"Who told you all that?"

"Mr. Aldridge is kinda talkative."

Iris rolled her eyes, sitting in the chair beside Sonja's. "He is. Now, let's get to work. If you've got scholarship auditions coming up, we've got to get your rep nice and polished."

"Hey, sorry we're late! I had a lot of paperwork to wrap up at the office."

"Oh, not a problem," Iris waved her hand. "Glad you guys could make it, Foggy. Hey, Marce."

"Hey, Hon. Patrick," Marci smiled, giving both Patrick and Iris a side hug. "Thanks for holding the fort. We've both had a killer week at the office."

"I'm just glad we could nail down a movie time that works for everyone."

"Us too."

"Well, let's head in," Marci said. "I'm dying to take a load off."

"Pat, you and Marci grab us seats? Foggy and I will grab some the drinks and stuff?"

"Sure," Patrick agreed, a knowing smile on his face. Marci nodded too. Both of them were used to this. In the past months of their weekly outings, Foggy and Iris had taken to stealing a few minutes, checking in. A small preservation of the Nelson and Murdock days. .

"So, 11 mil in court, huh?" Foggy asked, as they took their place at the back of the concessions line. It was fairly long, which Iris was slightly thankful for. It had been a little while since she'd gotten to really catch up with Foggy.

Though they didn't have Daredevil binding them (at least not in the way they used to), they still found there was plenty they had in common, and plenty they could help each other through. Their Matt related baggage had brought them together, but there was plenty else keeping them close

"Yes. Something I can take absolutely no credit for."

"Well, your brother's a damn fine attorney."

"You are too, Mr. Corner Office. Marci told me about your high profile client."

"Well, about time I put all the vigilante experience in my life to good use. Besides, Luke Cage is a good guy. They don't call him Harlem's Hero for nothing."

"Is the guy really bulletproof?"

"As far as I know, yes," Foggy said. "But, I can't really say I'm surprised, given all that you and I have seen."

"You took the words from my mouth. Who knows, maybe one day my involvement with vigilante bullshit will pay off in dividends, too."

"One can only hope." He hesitated a bit before asking, "Speaking of…."

"He's doing fine. Or the Matt version of fine. He actually talks to me. At least, 80 percent of the time. I can tell there's a part of him that's still struggling through it, but we've got this real fragile arrangement going on. If I push too hard, I'm worried he'll shut me out. So, I take it one day at a time. And so far, it's been….okay. And, frankly, after everything I'll take 'okay.' At least for now."

"Oh. Good to hear. I think?"

"He and Karen went for coffee today. They ran into each other at the courthouse."

"They did?"

"Yeah. Um….have you and Matt talked much?"

"Here and there. Though, a lot less after we took care of all the work of shuttering the office."

"He asks how you are, whenever I mentioned we've seen each other."

"Oh…" Another pause, Foggy shaking off whatever came over him with that news. "Though, I suspect we'll be back to talking more. It's my understanding the best man and groomsmen do a lot of talking in prep for the wedding. Don't worry, I'll make sure your brother plans a decent Bachelor party. But not too decent."

She laughed, "Thanks, Fog."

"Marci got her dress ordered, by the way. You know, you didn't have to ask her…."

"Fog, you know I love Marci. And, she's going to be around awhile, I suspect. Am I right?"

"Yeah…" Foggy smiled to himself. "I see a future with her. And it's really nice."

"You guys are a pretty nice power couple, too."

"You and Patrick aren't so bad yourself."

"Hmm, I tend to agree."

"Next, please!" the attendant at the counter waved them over.

"Well, Murdock, looks like it's time we got back to our hot dates."

"I think you're right."

Years ago, when Owen was a wide-eyed kid setting foot in New York for the first time, he would have been terrified by places like this. The lights were flickering, making it hard for Owen to keep the PI in his sight. Arguments spilled out into the halls from almost every door Owen walked by, many of which sounded like they could escalate into physical blows. But he wasn't here for that.

On a whim, and mostly because Stick had given him nothing else to go on, Owen decided to go with the PI angle after all. See if there was anything she would happen to turn up. He wasn't disappointed. Apparently, she'd decided to take the Raymond case after all. Which, while helpful for Owen, would be problematic if she took it further. But, if Owen could convince this woman to leave it be….

"John Raymond!" The PI banged on the apartment door belonging to their mutual friend. "It's Jessica Jones. I'm...returning your call. Remember? The one where you tried to scare me? The guy downstairs said you were here." Silence from inside the apartment. "Dude, I don't care what weird shit you're into. We gotta talk." After a few more seconds of nothing, she sighed. "Fine. But you're gonna pay for this." She jiggled the handle, and Owen flinched back when he saw it come off in her hand. Surely he'd seen that wrong. The lock had to already be broken.

She slipped into the apartment, and, slowly, Owen inched forward. He approached the door, peering through the crack. He'd have to play this carefully. He wanted Jessica Jones out of this. The last thing she'd want is to accidentally end up neck deep in The Hand's plan. But, he had to play it carefully. He didn't want to give the wrong impression, didn't want….

A hand grabbed Owen, jerking him into the darkness of the apartment. He found himself airborne, landing with an alarming thud against a wall. He let out a strangled wheeze, his vision swimming a little.

"Who the hell are you?" Jessica slammed the door behind her.

Owen coughed. Jessica grabbed him by the collar, yanking him to his feet. Dark eyes bored into his from a tangle of black hair.

How was she so strong? She wasn't exactly tiny, but there was no way she should have been able to pick him up one handed.

"I…"

"Not what I asked."

She threw him back again, further into the apartment. He skidded back into a pile of boxes in the living room, toppling it over on impact. A series of small crashes echoed through the room as the contents spilled out.

"Holy shit."

Over the ringing in his ears, Owen heard Jessica rush forward. Blinking, Owen shifted around, finally looking at what he'd knocked over. He was surrounded by C-4.

"What the hell was this guy into?" Jessica asked.

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Owen managed. "But, I can tell you one things. It's not pretty."

"Who are you?" Jessica repeated.

Owen opened his mouth to at least try to answer, but a rattling from the apartment silenced them both.

"I'm glad we got to do that. It's always great to see Marci and Foggy."

Patrick flopped onto the couch, handing Iris a glass of wine. He grabbed the throw blanket off the back of the couch, draping it across both of them.

"Me too," Iris agreed, taking a slow slip. She let out a contented sigh, leaning back into the cushions, and tucked her legs underneath her.

"Good day?" Patrick draped his arm around her neck. She settled her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah. Court was good."

"Sabrina told me Ian was talking about it all night," Patrick smiled. "Ian's really warmed up to Matt."

"He has."

"You put a lot of work into helping Matt with the James case."

"Oh. Well, he did most of the heavy lifting. I just…" she paused. "What? You're giving me a look."

"Nothing. I just….You've spent so much time helping Matt out, and...you have a really good opportunity with Alexandra Reid. You keep putting off auditioning, and they won't let you keep them waiting for much longer, even with Alexandra on your side. I just don't want you to let this slip by."

"Matt's not holding me back," Iris sat up, letting his arm slip from her neck.

"I didn't say that."

"You implied it."

"No, I didn't. But, what I did imply is you're holding yourself back."

"Excuse me?"

"Iris," he let out a long sigh, setting down his wine. "You have an opportunity for the Philharmonic right in front of you. And you haven't jumped at it yet. I understand your complicated feelings about it all. But, for better or worse, this is something you wanted since you were a little girl."

"Patrick…"

"Iris, I love you so much. And ever since I've met you, you've kept yourself trapped by everything that has happened to you. There is no reason you shouldn't be at least trying to take advantage of…"

"Seriously, Patrick?" Iris slammed her glass on the table.

"Iris, come on. You're the love of my life. Anything I say to you is because I care. You've been through a lot, I know that. And I understand why you keep holding your breath for the next thing. But, if you keep bracing for everything to go wrong, you'll miss everything right that's happening in front of you."

Glass shattered to her left, and Iris look over to see both wine glasses on the ground. It was then she registered the shaking. The floorboards were shaking beneath her feet, their quiet little apartment suddenly alive and trembling around them.

"Dad?" Ian rushed into the living room, bleary eyed and a little panicked.

"Earthquake," Patrick said, grabbing Ian and holding onto him tight. He grabbed Iris into the embrace as well.

Iris held on tight, holding her breath as all of Manhattan shook around them.

Well, chapter one done!

Sorry this took so long. Like I said, Defenders and I are on unique terms.

See you next time,

Moonlit