Matt Murdock slammed the shot glass down on the table far too forcefully, causing peanut shell remnants to scatter in its wake.

Jessica Jones laughed. "You're drunk, Murdock."

"I told you, I don't get drunk."

"Well, neither do I."

They were lying, of course. His was a lie of dignity, not wanting to seem like the kind of guy who got sloppy after three shots. Hers was a lie of sanity, not wanting to admit that even her iron stomach couldn't handle a few pours of tequila.

But they weren't drunk… at least not yet. They were just content and loud and laughing. And they both knew it was completely strange.

He has to be drunk, Jessica thought, because she refused to believe he could be this at ease in the midst of so much chaos. It was usually her place to be carefree. Most mistook it for recklessness, but Jessica knew Matt was smarter than that. He understood the need to take a break from the insanity.

"One more for the road?" Matt asked.

At least she thought he did.

Matt raised his hand in the air silently calling for another round of shots.

"You're done already?" Jessica scoffed.

"Well, we do have more important things to-"

"No, no, no," she forcefully cut him off. "We promised we wouldn't talk about any of that."

Matt smiled. "I made no such promises. Besides, not talking about it doesn't make it not true."

"Wow. Are those the same smarts you use to win court cases?" she joked, knowing he hadn't had a case since before they met... before he died.

"No," he told her. "I buy off the judges."

Jessica choked out a laugh. "So you really are a good Catholic, huh?"

"Last round or we risk the chance of finding out," Matt slyly told her as the next serving of shots and lime wedges arrived at their table.

If it had been any other man, Jessica would have known he was flirting with her. But Matt Murdock was a breed all his own. He'd seen her vulnerable, beaten, bruised- hell, he'd seen her nearly naked and barely made a move. He couldn't be flirting, she assured herself. All she needed was another conquest, another Luke Cage to come barrelling into her life and her bed and then leave just as suddenly. She couldn't risk letting someone else take a piece of her away.

She took her shot and threw it back, letting the untouched lime wedge plunk to the tabletop like the others.

"No, I think we should take the night off," she told him. "The whole night. I'm sure you've made exceptions for all those pretty blondes you date. Make one for me, Murdock."

Acting far too boldly, Matt pounded his shot back in kind and immediately regretted not coating his tongue with salt first. He knew no one could out drink Jessica Jones. Why was he even trying?

"Ugh," he let out, his mouth on fire. Jessica passed him a lime wedge and he hungrily crunched it between his teeth. "Just one blonde," he mumbled, as citrus slowly poured down his chin.

"What?"

Matt stuffed the used wedge in his empty shot glass. "Just one blonde. Karen."

"Ah, Karen," Jessica repeated. "So you're telling me you've never foregone work for a late night rendezvous with her?"

"Is this a late night rendezvous?" he asked, and she was sure she saw his eyebrow crest above the rim of his red sunglasses in jest.

Jessica rose her hand in the air, just as Matt had, and the server sluggishly pulled herself to the table again. "We're going to need the rest of the bottle. And some more lime wedges."

"Jessica, I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Don't worry. I'll carry you home."

Matt loosened his tie. Jessica had been right, off all the clothes he could have foraged from his ransacked apartment he probably shouldn't have taken almost exclusively suits. Leaning back in his chair as Jessica leaned forward in her own, he realized they were growing ever more comfortable with each other. And why shouldn't they be? She had see him at his most vulnerable, heartbroken and filled with rage. And yet she had allowed him to serve as her protector, a role he desperately needed to play despite the fact that she was capable of caring for herself. Hell, she'd even let him see her nearly naked, allowed him to tend to her wounds, something he was sure even Luke Cage hadn't managed. He'd risk a few drunken missteps if it meant spending more time with her.

"So, if we can't talk about the matter at hand," Matt began, "And I certainly don't want to talk about any past…"

"Conquests?" Jessica playfully offered.

"Girlfriends," Matt replied more diplomatically. "What can we talk about?"

"Hmm. I'm not much for talking, at least not about anything that matters."

"Then how about we play truth or dare?" he asked just as the server returned with their bottle of tequila and a bowl of lime wedges. Through the fog of thickening intoxication he was sure he caught her shake her head before departing.

"Truth or dare," Jessica laughed as she poured two more shots, swallowing hers in an instant. "Am I seeing the Matt Murdock Playbook in action?"

"The what?"

"Come on, you're telling me this isn't how you impress the ladies on first dates? Have them dare you to do something no blind man could possibly do, then you do it, of course. And eventually fall into bed with them, enraptured, as they beg you to show them other things blind man can't do... or some bullshit like that."

"You have quite an imagination."

"So I've been told."

Matt wanted to know who had told her that, but he held his tongue. "Sadly, I've never played truth or dare before. At least not as an adult."

"There's a reason for that, Murdock. It's a kid's game."

She poured herself another shot and slammed it back, not waiting for Matt to match her quest to reach the bottom of the bottle.

"Ah, child's play, huh?" he teased. "Then I'm sure you'll do fine." He drank his shot, once again forgetting the salt, and once again stifling his gag reflexes.

He had once been so good at all this: drinking, talking, acting smooth. But now he was stumbling over himself, tripping at every upturn of the corners of her mouth.

"Fine," she told him. "I'll go first. Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Where were you for the last three months?"

Damn, he thought. She didn't mess around.

"Maybe we could start with something a little less in depth."

"Okay. How did you survive a building falling on your head?"

"Jesus, Jessica," Matt groaned.

"You wanted to play," she reminded him.

"Well, that question feels a little out of bounds."

"It was a fucking building, Murdock. Come on. Did you think no one was ever going to ask?"

Matt grabbed the bottle from her hand and took a huge swig of harsh, gold liquid. "No, of course not. But does knowing how change anything?"

Jessica thought for a moment. Did it? Would unravelling the mystery of his seemingly miraculous survival change their relationship? And if it did, would the change be for the better?

"I'm a P.I.," Jessica finally said.

"Well, then I guess you don't need my help to figure it out." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table.

She knew he was staring at her, looking into her eyes from behind his glasses, seeing inside her, but she refused to turn away from his glare. They sat frozen like that, stuck in place as the movement of the bar swirled around them.

Jessica longed to take another chug of tequila, to quell the unease she felt with booze, but she sat firm. Perhaps she shouldn't have asked him about the events following Midland Circle's collapse, but could he blame her? She felt as if he knew everything about her, all her dirty secrets, and yet she was painfully in the dark on more than one topic when it came to him.

Matt could feel her boring into him, her stare latched to the red of his sunglasses, seeing through their reflective sheen into the brown of his eyes. He longed to lean back again, feel the ease he'd had in her presence just moments before, but he couldn't let her break him. She was so good at getting under his skin. He had seen her crawl inside those around her and exploit the things they kept closest to their heart. He didn't want her to have that kind of leverage over him. He knew the fear was foolish, a holdover from a time when women like Elektra, women who manipulated him, ruled his life. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that some secrets should remain shrouded in darkness.

"You lose, Murdock," she finally said, and Matt knew it was her way of giving him respite from the staring match - a match she would have surely won. "Dare."

He swallowed hard.

"I dare you to steal another bottle of tequila."

Matt shrugged. "We already have one," he told her, before realizing she had it in her mouth, head tipped back, as the last splashes of alcohol coated her throat.

"What was that?" she asked, slamming the now empty bottle before him.

"You know, I could just pay for a bottle."

"So could I… I think," Jessica said. "But this way's much more fun."

"These people are running a business, Jessica. Not to mention the fact that this is the kind of thing I try to prevent others from doing."

Jessica laughed. "You put on red rubber fetish wear to stop petty theft? Geez, no wonder this neighbourhood still has a terrible crime problem."

"This wouldn't be helping it," he said, ignoring her snide joke.

"Alright, let's dial the indignation back. First, this place is a shithole and not just because it vaguely smells of actual shit, but because the owner uses it as a front for illegal gambling. Those doors back there don't lead to the men's room, you know. Second, the bottle you're going to steal has already been stolen. A liquor shipment was boosted a few days ago. It's not the first time this month a truck was stolen, not to mention a driver given the beating of his life. And third… don't be a pussy, Murdock."

Her lips curled again, a sly smile creeping across her face. He couldn't help himself. He was intrigued. "And if I do this, it's my turn?"

"Of course. I'm a good sport."

"Then where are we taking this little party?"

"Just get the bottle."

Jessica stood up, taking a crumpled twenty from her pocket and dropping it on the table. Matt knew whatever she had put down wasn't enough to cover the first bottle, but he let it go. He was in no position to argue.

As she walked to the exit, he followed a distance behind. Then in one quick motion he reached out his hand toward the table closest to him and swiftly knocked it sideways. Beer bottles and glasses shattered on the floor. As the two men sitting at the table stood, Matt pressed his foot out, tripping one of them and forcing a domino of people knocking into one another. While a few people realized Matt was the culprit, it was too late, he had already used the distraction as an opportunity to hop the bar. Before the bartender could react, he had tucked a bottle of Silver Patron under his arm and was jumping back.

"Hey!" the bartender yelled, but Matt ignored him. He was more concerned about the server who was swinging her tray directly at his face. Matt tried to duck, but he was already pressing himself over the bartop and there was nowhere to go. The serving tray crashed into his shoulder and he fell flat on the floor. Before she could grab him, he rolled out of reach and crawled for the nearest table to take cover, as more glasses came shattering down. He had inadvertently started a brawl and there was no stopping the drunken patrons from throwing errant punches and swinging pool cues in any direction.

Jessica stood outside, watching the mass fight take place through the grime covered windows. Matt was somewhere in the melee, scurrying between stomping feet. When he finally emerged, the bottle still tightly held under his arm, Jessica reached down and snatched it.

"Took you long enough."

Matt sighed, as the sound of yelling crested through the door behind him.

Jessica strode down the street, ignoring the chaos behind her, as Matt struggled to catch up.

Less than 10 minutes later they found themselves on a nearby rooftop. Jessica settled on the ledge, with one leg dangling over and one on the tar top. If it was anyone else, Matt would be worried, but Jessica could handle herself - even while drinking. And despite only seeing it once, he knew she could jump, almost fly.

"Are you still out of breath?" Jessica asked as she removed the cap from the tequila bottle.

"I'm not out of breath," he told her, as he nestled himself on the ground beneath her, his back against the ledge she was perched on.

"I was sure the Devil of Hell's Kitchen had better reflexes than that. I've seen them in action."

"I wasn't in action back there," Matt replied, as she passed him the bottle and he took a small sip. He could feel her disapproving eyes on him, so he followed it with a bigger gulp and regretted it once again.

"No kidding. Taken out by a waitress. And to think I was this close to letting you train me," she laughed.

"Glad I could make your night," he replied sheepishly. "Now it's my turn?"

"Your turn?"

"Truth or dare, Miss Jones?"

"Truth," she said, as he gave the bottle back.

"What's really going on between you and Luke?"

"I don't think so, Murdock. I can't ask you about anything important, but you can ask me-"

"So Luke is important to you?"

"Of course he is," she said, before realizing Matt's true meaning. She scoffed. "I mean, like Trish is or…" She couldn't think of anyone else.

"Do you love him?" Matt asked. The question surprised them both.

Jessica took a long drink, swallowing slowly, using the time to think of an answer, an answer she shouldn't have to give. But she didn't want to back out of the game - not like Matt had. She wanted to be honest, but honesty tended to leave her cold.

Finally, after her stomach was full of tequila, she quietly answered, "Not anymore."

Matt nodded, as if he understood what she meant, as if telling her love was complicated and messy and in their line of work all too extreme to be for the best, but Jessica wasn't having his empathy. She swiftly kicked him in the arm. He let out a groan.

"Truth or dare, counselor."

"Truth," he replied, against his better judgement.

"How many canes do you have?"

"What?"

"After we first met and you decided to follow me - badly, I might add - I watched you ditch your cane in the alleyway before front flipping out of there. I assume that's your usual M.O., so how many of those fuckers do you have?"

Matt laughed. He loved how she could turn like that, from dark to light, sad to… well, not happy - he probably hadn't seen her really, truly happy before - but at least she didn't hold a grudge, not against him.

"I buy them in bulk," he told her sarcastically, before rising to the ledge to sit next to her. He reached out for the bottle, his long fingers gently grazing her own, heat rising off her skin.

"What are we doing, Jessica?" he asked tentatively.

"Drinking. Playing some ridiculous game. Waiting for the sun to come up. Take your pick."

"Are we flirting?"

She smiled. "If you are, you're not doing it well."

Matt moved closer to her. "I think I'm doing just fine."

"Let's say you're right, let's say we are flirting, it'd be harmless because as you said earlier, we have more important things to-"

Matt cut her off. "Not now. Not tonight."

"Wow, get a few drinks in you and all that vigilante bullshit goes out the window, huh?"

He didn't know how to reply. He wasn't sure what he was trying to accomplish, but he felt warm and woozy.

"Besides, one of us has that pretty blonde girlfriend, remember? A girlfriend who thinks your dead."

Matt shook his head. "Karen's not my girlfriend."

"Does she know that?"

"Yeah," Matt told her truthfully. "We didn't exactly leave things on great terms."

Jessica clicked her tongue before pulling the bottle from his grasp and taking another swig.

"She wanted to…"

"Date?" Jessica offered.

Matt smiled. "Doesn't that sound crazy? Dating a guy who could die at any moment?"

"Dating a guy who has died," she reminded him. Jessica rested the bottle on the ledge between them. "Is that why things didn't work out between you and Claire?"

Matt raised an eyebrow. "How did you know about me and Claire?"

Jessica opened her mouth, but Matt cut her off. "I know, I know. You're a P.I." Matt sighed. "If I'm out there fighting Fisk or The Hand or whoever and I have to worry about Claire or Karen or…"

"Whoever."

"Yeah. If I have to worry about them then I can't protect the city."

Jessica shook her head from side to side. Matt could see it, her white skin and raven hair awash in red, illuminated by the security lights perched high on a neighbouring building.

"You don't believe me?" he asked.

"I believe you believe it. But it's just an excuse. Luke makes it work with Claire. Colleen inexplicably loves Danny. I mean, really, what does she see in that guy?"

Matt smiled again. He had been smiling all night. He was always smiling with Jessica, even when their lives were at stake, even when their past was creeping into their present, there he was, his cheeks straining with joy.

She's right, he thought. They had all made it work. Police officers didn't forgo relationships because they had dangerous jobs. Why should he? He had let Claire go, he had ruined their promising beginning by being too stubborn, to short-sighted. And he spent over a year lying to Karen. There was no coming back from that. Perhaps that's why she gravitated to Frank Castle. He killed, but at least he was honest about it.

Jessica's right… again.

Taking his cue - a cue he wasn't sure even existed - Matt lifted his arm to the empty space between Jessica's neck and chin, resting his hand on her smooth, pale skin. An errant thumb ran along her jawline and for an instant he thought he felt her lean into his touch. Swiftly, he moved forward, the bottle rocking on the ledge between them, as his torso brushed against it. But then Jessica turned her head away, and he frowned.

"The scientist," she said.

"What?" Matt questioned, his hand still cupping her face.

"The mad scientist from Fisk's warehouse lab."

Matt turned to look at the street, his senses now keenly aware of a short, lumpy man's awkward gate as out of sync footsteps tread along the sidewalk. It dawned on him then that they were working surveillance. Jessica had slung herself over the ledge earlier to get the best view of the street below, of the apartment across the way: the scientist's apartment.

"How did you know where he lived?" he asked, but knew the answer would be the same as before. She was a private investigator. She investigated.

"I knew he'd turn up after that scene at the bar," Jessica told him, her body slipping out of Matt's reach as she leaned forward for a closer look.

"The bar? He was at the bar?"

"Yeah, in the back. Chronic gambler," she said. "I'm telling you almost every asshole I come across is. That or an alcoholic."

"Two birds, one stone," Matt whispered. The mad scientist had been in the back room while they drank their tequila. Jessica must have seen their little game of truth or dare as a way to force him out of there. The fight breaks out, the cops eventually arrive, the gamblers in the back flee, and a drunken scientist stumbles home on a moonless night. Damn, she was good.

"So we were flirting," Matt finally whispered, as she watched the scientist reach the door of his dilapidated four storey walk-up.

"Huh?" Jessica murmured, barely listening.

"You were stringing me along all night."

"Not quite. But it doesn't really matter because you loved every minute of it," she replied a bit more seductively than she had meant to.

As Jessica moved to stand up and perhaps jump to the street below to catch her prey, Matt reached out for her once more. He wasn't sure why he need to touch her, maybe to convince himself that this night and the things they had shared had been real.

But in his haste, he knocked the bottle off the ledge and listened as it picked up speed on its way down to the sidewalk below. As it hit the cement, the crash echoed off the buildings and rang heavy in his ears.

The scientist looked to the bottle then up to the roof of the building, catching a glimpse of Jessica Jones. He quickly abandoned his plans to go inside and ran down the steps back into the darkness.

"Shit!" Jessica exclaimed before she leapt from the ledge, leaving a dazed, drunk, and defeated Matt Murdock behind.