AUTHOR NOTE: Hi everyone. Thanks for continuing to read. This chapter is leading to the beginning of a journey with Matt - I want to show what he is up to now. I know where this story is going. It does have an end, trust me. But your reviews keep it coming. So please, please let me know if you like it - or if there's something you want to see. THANKS!

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Cold water ran down the side of Matt Murdock's face, the remnants of moisture squeezed out of Jessica Jones' tank top. She had removed her plaid button up and taken off the top that lay beneath. If Matt hadn't been so injured, his left eye nearly swollen shut, he might have tried to spy her sleek silhouette against the light cast through a cracked window.

After their encounter in the alley, Jessica had carried him into the nearest abandoned building. It appeared to have once been a laundromat, a few broken washing machines still lined the wall covered in dust. Jessica laid Matt on the only surviving table with ease, then left him to find water and drugs. Lots of drugs.

Even in the worst of New York's neighbourhoods one could always find a corner store. This one was open 24 hours, a scary thought given the clientele it must have served: pimps, prostitutes, thugs, and the occasional PI looking for a ton of Tylenol and more bandages than she could carry.

Now Matt lay at her mercy, the contents of her shopping trip strewn around him as she tended to his wounds. The water rushed into his open cuts forcing blood into his eyes. He winced, but Jessica ignored him. Like Claire before her, she knew what had to be done.

When a handful of Tylenol was pressed against his lips, Matt moved his head away. But again Jessica wasn't having it. She roughly grabbed the back of his neck and held him in place. He knew he needed to swallow them or she'd never let up.

Something about taking drugs bothered him, even the over-the-counter kind. His body had always been good at healing. He listened to what it needed and in most cases gave it what it wanted and it took care of itself. But Jessica's punch, her kick, was mightier than most. It would take more time than they had to heal him. The drugs would barely ease his pain.

Matt grunted hard as the handful of pills squirmed down his throat, chased by a gulp of water.

As Jessica put the finishing touches on the gash his forehead had received, she stared down into his one good eye wondering if he could see her. She hoped not - the worry was too prominent on her face. She didn't want anyone to see her so distressed.

"Stop moving," she told him as Matt began to sit up. Had this been Claire, he would have moved anyway knowing she couldn't stop him. But the ferocity in Jessica's voice told him to stay put. He would rather choose to lay back down than be pushed back down. Her strength was already etched on his body and face. He didn't want any more.

When the work was done, Jessica gave his face one last wipe using her soaked tank top and then moved to the other side of the room. With a loud scrape, she pulled over a chair, dust covered and torn, and sat it next to Matt's makeshift bed.

After what felt like an eternity she finally asked him the question he had known was coming, "Are you you?"

Matt couldn't help but smile. "You can't tell?"

"Don't," Jessica told him, her voice low and serious. "Don't use your cute fucking quips on me."

Matt opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn't done.

"I've seen this before. A man, charming and disarming and saying everything I want him to say. And then he turned out to be under someone else's control. Or he turned out to be the one doing the controlling. So tell me... is it you?"

Matt didn't want to argue the point that even if he told her he was of sane mind it didn't make it true. He could say anything and still be under Fisk's control. She would never really know. Only he knew. He was Matt Murdock. He was of sound mind. He was home. Hopefully, she believed him.

He nodded. "It's me."

In that instant, Jessica's eyes crested with a flurry of tears. She couldn't hold it back, couldn't save herself from the embarrassment of crying, of being so weak.

Matt could instantly taste the salt in the air and hear the exaggerated exhale that followed. He wanted to fight against his pain and hold her, but as fast as they came she'd wiped the tears away. It was as if it never happened. Vulnerable Jessica was a liability, one she couldn't afford.

"So you lied," she said. It wasn't a question, but Matt felt compelled to explain himself.

"I saw an opportunity and I took it."

"You were never under his control."

Again, it was just a statement. Again, Matt felt she was pressing him for more details.

"No, never."

"So when I went out that window, what happened?"

Matt sighed. "It took everything I had not to grab for you, not to fight. But after you hit the ground I could hear your heartbeat. I knew you were okay."

Jessica snorted. "Okay? We have vastly different definitions of the word okay."

"Jessica, please-"

She didn't let him finish. "I'm not mad, Murdock. It was a good plan. A smart plan."

"Then what's with the third degree?" he countered.

She rubbed her forehead forcefully, the frustration of the last few days without him bubbling to the surface. Should she tell him she missed him? Worried about him? Feared for him? No. None of that mattered now. The third degree was because she didn't understand.

"So what? He just didn't have his powers? Did the batteries die?" she quipped.

Matt shook his head. "No, I think he had them. I heard him being injected with something two different times. I could sense that others were just following him." Matt could hear the quickening of Jessica's pulse. He knew she was begin to doubt him. "I can't explain it, but I just know he wasn't the Wilson Fisk I remember."

Again, Jessica's hand found her forehead. "I don't get it. He has the ability of mind control and yet… you're immune?"

There was that word again: immune. The concept had swirled around the team since the beginning, back when only Jessica believed there was something to be immune from.

Matt began to prop himself up on his elbows, but Jessica quickly pressed him back down. He didn't like talking to her this way. He felt small, trapped almost, under the weight of her questions. He knew she deserved answers, but he couldn't give them. He didn't know if he was immune. He didn't know why he couldn't be controlled.

"I suppose I am," he told her sheepishly.

She didn't reply.

"I mean, it's not so crazy. You can withstand his control," Matt reminded her, but she didn't need reminding.

"I killed a woman," Jessica said flatly. "I killed a woman and it killed whatever power men like that have over me. But you… you're just stronger than everyone else? I don't buy that."

But she had bought it, hoped for it even, well before she'd encountered Matt on that roof ready for a fight. She told herself over and over that he was wise and calm and clear and true and that if anyone could withstand Wilson Fisk it was him. Yet, now that he was there in front of her, it was hard to believe. Could Matt Murdock really be stronger than she was?

Matt didn't know what to say. Just moments earlier she had cried, seemingly overcome by the idea that he hadn't been mind controlled. Now she was testing him - saying it couldn't possibly be true. He didn't know how to make her believe it yet again.

Jessica abruptly stood up, the chair screeching loudly against the cracked tile floor. She had to pace. It was a habit she'd picked up from Trish, all those nights in her apartment watching her fret about her mother, her career, her sister's seemingly magical abilities. Jessica would give anything to be back in that apartment sarcastically joking about superhero costume ideas. Instead, she was standing over a real live superhero, his mask discarded at her feet.

She sighed.

You don't have time for this, Jessica thought. You either believe him and stay or think he's controlled and go. You don't have time to play around.

"Okay," she finally said. "You're stronger than me."

Matt knew she wasn't really talking to him. It was as if she was confirming it to herself, as if the act of saying it aloud made it so.

"You're stronger than me," she said again, this time more assuredly.

Matt sighed. "It's not a question of strength."

"No, it is," she replied, the pace of her repeated steps slowing. "You're strong, stronger than I realized. It's your…" Jessica thought for a moment. "...your willpower."

"If that's true, then there's nothing in that, nothing biological that Fisk could exploit."

"Which explains why the scientist's experiments didn't work."

"They can't make an antidote to something that's in our heads," Matt said.

Jessica stood still, silent, thinking.

"What?" Matt asked her.

She let out a soft chuckle. "Luke's bulletproof and Kilgrave got to him. I'm… well, me, and it was the same. But you, a blind lawyer from Hell's Kitchen, can somehow withstand it. Just seems strange, that's all."

"But you believe it now?" Matt questioned, realizing that now more than ever he wanted her to feel him again, to trust in him as she had before.

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I believe you," she told him, almost surprised at her own admission. If it had been anyone else - Luke, Danny, Claire, Colleen… hell, even Trish - would she have been so quick to believe? She didn't want to wonder why Matt had such a hold on her, she just wanted this whole ordeal to be done.

Finally, she added, "Even if I believe you, the others will take more convincing."

"You can't tell anyone," Matt quickly and sternly told her.

It dawned on them both that his mission had only just begun. She nodded in the affirmative. Jessica understood how important it was to have someone on the inside of Fisk's operation. She also knew how skeptical and paranoid those with power tend to become. There could be no hint of deception on Matt's part. If Fisk discovered him she knew his death would be painful and gruesome.

"I'll try to contact you. I'll try-"

"No, don't," Jessica told him. The risk was too high.

Matt knew she was right. He'd just allowed her to beat him into real submission to keep up the pretense of his fake mind control. He'd broken Danny's wrist knowing it was possible that while Fisk had left the scene there could be spies lingering in the darkness.

"Just go back and tell him…" Jessica stopped. Shit.

She quickly removed her wet shirt from her face and looked down. The swelling was still clearly visible, his left eye almost completely fused closed. But the blood had been cleaned. The wound just above his right eyebrow has been closed and bandaged.

Jessica grabbed an edge of the white gauze and yanked at the tape holding it to his skin. Matt yelped, the surprise and pain mingling together.

"We shouldn't have done this," she said, but Matt could tell she was, yet again, talking more to herself. "We shouldn't have…"

"Hey," he began, reaching out for her hand. He wanted to quell whatever newfound worry had caused her brow to furrow. "Trust me, I appreciate it."

"Great. And do you think Fisk will like it, too?"

Matt closed his eyes as the realization of what they'd done hit him.

He'd been careful when he'd crawled off the roof and into the alley. He'd listened as long as possible and heard no footsteps, no errant breathing from one of those spies. He had assumed they'd seen the fight and believed Fisk's power was working.

Matt had allowed himself to be defeated - well, almost. He knew while lying under Jessica's boot that she would have bested him, even if he'd brought all his might down on her.

But he had always planned to lose. That loss would give him time to talk to her, to tell her he was just pretending. But that loss would have to end with Fisk finding him. Matt needed to get back to the roof.

"I have to go," he told Jessica as he began to lift himself up, his ribs straining under the movement.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait," she replied, her arm holding him down. "You can't go back like this."

Matt reached up and touched the gash on his forehead. While the wound was still open, it lacked the blood and puss it once had. Jessica had thoroughly cleaned it, same for his swollen eye. Picking at the cut, Matt tried to inflame it, but his fingers were too bruised from fighting to do the trick.

"Just reopen it," he finally told her.

"There won't be enough blood," she replied.

Jessica knew what she had to do. Without warning she brought her fist down against Matt's face. His body slammed back on the table making it shake. His groan echoed in the stark room, bouncing off bare walls and broken washing machines.

She watched as blood began to trickle from his forehead wound, but it wasn't enough.

"Close your eyes," she warned him, and Matt quickly did as he was told. He knew there was no arguing with her. He knew he would have to take a beating from Jessica Jones yet again.

She punched twice more in quick succession. They weren't hard hits - not hard by her standards - but they did the job. The cuts on his face opened wide, blood bubbling to the surface. The bright red she had seen on his lips just a few hours before was back, coating his swollen skin like the mask he couldn't properly wear.

"How do I look?" Matt croaked out, the blood in his mouth spitting forward on each word. He chuckled at his own bad joke and immediately regretted it. The movement made his face feel as if it were on fire.

"Come on," she said, grabbing him by the front of his costume and swinging him off the table. "We have to get you back to the roof."

As she held him in her arms, Jessica looked over his now battered face. She had never truly revelled in her abilities. The power of her punch wasn't always a blessing. Yes, she was able to help people in her neighbourhood, but she suspected her PI skills could do that job solo. When confronted with the magnitude of her strength - a groaning, bleeding Matt - she was reminded how hard she could be, her edges jagged and dangerous.

As she was contemplating the horror her strength could cause, Matt was silently thanking the skies for them. He didn't know what he would have done without Jessica Jones. He had always been so closed off, so distant from the people he loved. He had told himself that his secrets were what kept people safe, but Jessica lived freely, loudly, unapologetically and still kept her tiny clan intact. She was keeping him intact now, too.

While his bloodied face would scream the opposite to most, Matt knew that since he had returned from his supposed death, Jessica had been his real lifesaver. He wouldn't have been able to fend off Fisk, even with his heightened willpower. Not truly. He needed a partner. Or in her case, a leader. It was Jessica who first recognized something was wrong. It was Jessica that propelled their investigation forward. It was Jessica that made Matt want to crawl back into the lion's den. Perhaps he could finish what she started and bring an end to the mind control powers that had stolen so much from her.

Overcome with the sense that this parting was the beginning of a journey he had to succeed in, a journey he might not come home from, Matt leaned towards Jessica, his lips just inches from her own.

But just as quickly as he had moved close, he pulled away, tasting his own blood and deciding no one else should have a sample.

Jessica sighed. She knew this goodbye could be permanent - she had done permanent with him once before. That night beneath Midland Circle she and Luke had no idea what Matt was planning. Only Danny had heard Matt's plea to keep Hell's Kitchen safe and Jessica suspected he didn't initially think it was Matt's way of tossing in the towel. Had she known about Matt's decision she would have pummeled him into submission and dragged his unconscious body to the surface.

This time she did know - Matt was making another dangerous, potentially deadly choice. But all Jessica could do was slyly smile. The bruises slowly forming on Matt's face took on new meaning. She had pummeled him, pummeled him good. Yet, instead of dragging him away from the danger she was preparing to place him once again at the heart of it.

Jessica rested Matt on her left side and then swooped down and grabbed his mask. As she came back up, their faces so close, his breathing so laboured, she couldn't help but lean in and kiss him. Matt's earlier worry about his blood filled mouth had been correct, she could taste the heavy iron on her plush lips. But Jessica didn't care. She wasn't being sexy or romantic. She was saying goodbye to an old friend - maybe even a best friend.

Once she had pulled away she elected not to wipe the remnants off her lips. She didn't want Matt to sense it. Instead she wore the smear of blood like war paint, as she tucked herself under his arm and carried him from the old laundromat.

Matt didn't say a word. The pain and the pleasure was just too much.

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Jessica watched from her hiding spot across the street, as the black van pulled up in front of the building. Six men exited, followed by Wilson Fisk. The men quickly made their entrance. They were searching for Matt, but came up short.

As they left the building, their heads hung low, Fisk bellowed, "Find him."

Jessica had planned to leave him on the roof, but the blood trial he had created earlier - the one that led from the roof to the alleyway she'd found him in - had long since dried. If Fisk spotted it he would know something was amiss. She had to leave Matt in the alley. Once he was there she went back to the laundromat and cleaned up the best she could. There could be no evidence remaining that she and Matt had been together. Fisk could never know.

On her way out, she noticed the blood droplets on the sidewalk, the ones leading to the laundromat. She tried in vain to buff them out of the concrete with her heavy boot. After a few minutes Jessica gave up. There were only a few - maybe he wouldn't notice.

Please, he can't notice.

Now, as she watched, the men scurried from the building and began a sweep of the area. Jessica was confident they would find Matt and so she turned away. She needed to get back to the safe house. But first she had to come up with a lie for where she had been.

Just say you were drinking, she thought. A smile crossed his lips. Of course, because everyone would believe that.

Jessica walked the back streets, moving swiftly away from Fisk - and Matt. With each step she wondered how he would survive. She knew she could never bear it, could never pretend to do the bidding of a madman. Her trick against Kilgrave had only lasted a few minutes. She couldn't have kept up that charade… unless it was to save Trish. She would do anything for Trish.

It dawned on her, as the now early morning air bite at her face, that maybe Matt was doing the same. Maybe he thought of her, of the team, as she thought of Trish. Maybe they were family. And what wouldn't Matt Murdock do for family?

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"I found him," one of the men called.

Fisk pushed his way through the small grouping of manipulated thugs. There on the other side lay Matt Murdock. His face was swollen and bloodied, his devil mask clenched in his hand.

"Get him into the van," Fisk commanded. "Hurry!"

They scrambled to comply and Matt was whisked away, each man grabbing a limb and tugging toward the curb.

Fisk looked toward the rooftop, just a few blocks away, and then down to the alley that spread out before him. He wondered where Matt had been going. He wondered how far he would have crawled if only he hadn't been so defeated, so broken.

As he turned to follow his men back to the van, Fisk looked down and caught sight of a blood drop. It was to the left of the others, leading away from the alley and away from the building. There next to it was another and another. They were small. Very small. Had he not been standing under a streetlight he wouldn't have seen them. But they seemed out of place. They pointed in the wrong direction.

Perhaps Matt had turned around, gone back to the alley when he knew he couldn't walk any further. Or perhaps…

Suddenly, the sky opened above him and let out a flurry of warm rain. Fisk turned his eyes to the ground, now soaked. He shook his head and hurried back to the van as an early morning thunderclap howled above him.