Chapter 4: Don't Think Twice, It's All Right

Matt

He was finally living his dream, for both parts of his life. The days were spent with Foggy and Karen, doing the work he'd always dreamed of doing, using the law to help his people, the people of Hell's Kitchen. The nights belonged to Elektra: racing across the rooftops, fighting with her at his side, helping the Kitchen in ways the law couldn't. Afterward, going back to his apartment and falling asleep, still entwined in each other after making love. Waking up in the morning with her next to him, breathing in her scent. His life, both of his lives, were complete. He was complete.

Foggy

It was fine. More or less. It just wasn't the Nelson, Murdock & Page reunion he'd hoped for when they agreed to work together again. Instead of the three of them re-connecting over drinks at Josie's after work, Matt was spending his evenings and nights with Elektra. Matt was showing up for work and making all of his court appearances, and he wasn't lying to them about what he was doing with Elektra, as far as Foggy knew. That was a pretty low bar, but it was an improvement over the last time she showed up. Matt actually seemed content. That was a word Foggy never thought he'd use to describe his best friend. Another upside was that Matt looked less beat-up than usual, when he arrived at the office most mornings. Maybe Daredevil could actually use a back-up (not that Matt would ever admit it). And Matt insisted he and Elektra were making a difference, taking drug dealers off the streets.

Elektra seemed to know to keep her distance, or maybe Matt had warned her. She only showed up at the office a few times, to consult Matt about legal issues connected to her assets. Somehow, she had managed to recover them, along with her identity. Foggy decided not to think about how that happened. But even if Elektra wasn't physically present most of the time, her presence in their lives loomed over them, a constant reminder of the havoc she had caused the last time she showed up. Foggy tried, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that, sooner or later, everything was going to go to sideways, again.

Mostly, Foggy worried about Karen. After a week or so, he started noticing a pattern: she was usually out of the office when Matt was scheduled to be there, and in the office only when he wasn't. This was troubling. He knew she and Matt had reached some kind of understanding, in the aftermath of Poindexter's attacks at the Bulletin and the church. He didn't know what kind of relationship she wanted with Matt, going forward. He was pretty sure Karen herself didn't know. One thing was certain: she had been hurt when Elektra showed up before, and her reappearance undoubtedly had reopened that wound. But Karen was careful not to let on what she was thinking and feeling, especially on the rare occasions when both she and Matt were in the office.

Foggy finally found out what Karen was thinking one evening when they were working late, preparing for a mediation in the morning. Matt had already left for the day, saying he was meeting Elektra for dinner. About a half hour after Matt's departure, Karen marched into Foggy's office, her heels clicking on the worn asphalt tile floor.

"Please tell me you aren't OK with this," she demanded, standing on the far side of Foggy's desk and leaning over it to glare at him.

"OK with what?" he asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Don't try to be cute with me," she snapped. "You know what I'm talking about. Her."

"Jesus," Foggy thought, "she can't even say the name. This is bad." Aloud, he said, "Yeah, I know." He sighed wearily. "And, no, I'm not OK with it."

"Then why aren't you saying something? Or doing something?" Karen demanded. "We need to do something."

"What, exactly, would that be?" Foggy asked. "Please, tell me. I'm begging you."

With a frustrated huff, Karen sank into a client chair. Foggy came out from behind his desk to sit in the chair next to hers.

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Ms. Page?" he asked.

"What? No!" Karen exclaimed. "I just think she's . . . not good for him."

"Not wrong there," Foggy said, but he wasn't buying Karen's denial.

"There's gotta be something we can do," she insisted.

Foggy shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. He thought for a moment, then added, "I remember what happened in college, when they were together before. I know how this is gonna go. It won't last. It's only been two weeks. We just need to be patient."

Karen gave him a skeptical look but didn't argue the point. Instead, she asked, "What is it with her? Did the Hand do something to her that gives her some kind of hold on him?"

"No," Foggy replied. "The same thing happened in college, only worse. It was like he was obsessed with her. He spent all his time with her. He stopped going to class. I hardly ever saw him, except when he stopped by our dorm room to pick up a change of clothes. Then, one day, she was just . . . gone. Not only gone from Matt's life, gone from campus."

"What happened?"

"No idea. He refused to talk about her, just shut down. All he would say was, 'It didn't work out.' Then he buried himself in his course work. He had a shitload of it to catch up on by that time."

"If it wasn't the Hand, what was it?"

Foggy leaned forward, his hands clasped together in front of him, and thought for a minute before answering. "I think there were two things." He held up a finger. "First, even though Matt didn't know it at the time, they were both 'trained' by that bastard, Stick. He shaped both of them in the same ways."

"'Warped' is more like it," Karen muttered.

"You got that right," Foggy agreed. "So he probably saw things in her that were like himself." He held up a second finger. "Second, I'm pretty sure Elektra knew about Matt's abilities. She could have figured it out for herself, but I think it's more likely that Stick told her about him. This was at a time when he was keeping his abilities secret from everyone. He must have felt very isolated and alone at times."

"Not getting any sympathy from me," Karen asserted. "He should've told you."

"Nope, no sympathy from me, either," Foggy agreed. "But my point is, he was free with her, free to be himself. When he was with her, he didn't have to pretend to be someone he wasn't, like he did with everyone else. Including me."

"OK, that makes sense," Karen said. "But what do we do now?"

"Nothing," Foggy replied. "Or, rather, we wait them out. It's only a matter of time before they crash and burn. Trust me."

"If you say so," Karen said doubtfully.

"I do," Foggy assured her, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. "I only hope it isn't too ugly, this time. Because we're the ones who will have to pick up the pieces." He got to his feet and went to sit at his desk. "But now we need to get back to work. That summary of the client's damages isn't gonna write itself."

As the weeks passed with no disasters, Foggy started to relax, a little. Until the morning an article on the Bulletin's web site popped up on his phone.

DEATH IN THE DRUG TRADE

Special Report to the Bulletin

By T.J. Mason

On the streets of Hell's Kitchen, drug dealers and their customers are dying in alarming numbers. In the past ten days, seven men allegedly involved in drug trafficking in the West Side neighborhood have been found dead. All were recently arrested for drug sales and subsequently released on bail. The Medical Examiner's Office has not publicly disclosed how they died, but sources tell the Bulletin some of the victims were strangled, and in other cases, the victim's neck was expertly snapped. Several also sustained nonfatal lacerations or stab wounds, apparently inflicted by a large knife or a small sword.

In addition to these deaths, there has been a rash of fatal overdoses among drug users in Hell's Kitchen. In many of these cases, paper packaging stamped with a logo depicting an owl has been found on or near the victim's body. According to our sources, analysis of the contents of these packages has detected high levels of fentanyl, a potent synthetic opioid, mixed with heroin.

Detective Sergeant Brett Mahoney of the NYPD's 15th Precinct declined to say whether the vigilante known as Daredevil or the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was a suspect in these killings. If he is involved, this would represent a change in his methods, as he has not previously been known to kill his targets. (The killer who attacked the Bulletin's offices and the Clinton Church recently, killing multiple victims, turned out to be an imposter wearing a "Daredevil" suit. The imposter, former FBI Special Agent Ben Poindexter, is now in custody). Asked about reports of another vigilante operating in Hell's Kitchen and his possible connection to the killings, Mahoney would state only that police are looking at several persons of interest.

Mahoney advised users of heroin and other opioids to avoid purchasing and using the "owl" branded product, and he encouraged those struggling with addiction to get help by contacting the City's help line at 1-888-555-DRUG (3784). ###

Foggy let his phone fall to his desktop. He felt sick to his stomach. "Oh, shit," he muttered as he buried his face in his hands. When he looked up, he saw Matt hanging up his coat. "There's an article on the Bulletin's web site you need to read," he said.

"Already read it," Matt replied. "It's not her killing those dealers." He walked into his partner's office and stood across the desk from Foggy with his hands on his hips.

"And you know this how?"

"I just know it."

"How can you be sure?" Foggy asked. "You told me yourself you couldn't hear her heartbeat. She could be lying about this, for all you know."

"She wouldn't do that," Matt insisted.

Foggy snorted derisively. "Do I have to remind you that this is the woman who killed Stick in cold blood, right in front of you?"

"No." Matt shook his head grimly. "But she's different, now."

"Says you."

"I know I'm right," Matt said. "Whoever's doing this, it's not her. We go out together, Fog. Together."

"And you're telling me you stay together all the time, you don't get separated, or have to split up sometimes?"

The doubt on Matt's face was all the answer he needed. "Well, um, maybe," Matt finally said, "uh, sometimes."

Foggy leaned forward, jabbing a finger into his desktop. "And didn't you tell me she sometimes spends the night at her place, that penthouse she has? So you don't know what she does on those nights, do you?"

"God damn it, Fog, stop cross-examining me," Matt snapped.

"Just tryin' to get to the truth, buddy," Foggy retorted.

"Are you?" Matt countered. "Looks to me like your mind is already made up."

"I don't want it to be her, any more than you do," Foggy said, "but if Elektra isn't killing them, who is?"

"I don't know, but it can't be her," Matt declared. "I know her. You gotta trust me on this, Fog."

Foggy shrugged. He wasn't going to change Matt's mind, not now, anyway. "I hope you're right," he said, keeping his misgivings to himself. He took his laptop out of his briefcase. Time to get to work.

Matt

When Foggy opened his laptop and started typing, Matt headed to his own office. He had work to do, but his doubts kept intruding. Finally, he stopped even trying to work and replayed the conversation with Foggy in his mind. He got why Foggy suspected Elektra, but she couldn't be the killer. She was no longer the woman who killed Stick. He would know if she was. Surviving Midland Circle had transformed them both. He believed in her. He believed in the power of love and redemption. He had to.

Then he remembered something else Foggy had said. If not Elektra, who? Good question. One he didn't have an answer for. He needed to find one.

Lee Owlsley

Lee scowled at the article from the Bulletin on the screen of his laptop. "Martin!" he yelled.

Within a few seconds, Broadus appeared in the open doorway to his office. "Yes, boss?"

"Seven?" Lee asked.

Broadus knew without asking what his boss was talking about. He nodded. "Seven dead. One in intensive care."

"He's tryin' to put me out of business, Martin."

"That's what it looks like," Broadus agreed, taking a seat one of the client chairs. "But are you sure it's Daredevil? They say he doesn't kill people."

"There's always a first time," Lee pointed out. "And he could've changed. He was missing for months. No one knows what happened to him while he was gone."

"True," Broadus agreed. "Or maybe someone else has decided to take his place."

"Whatever." Lee waved a hand. "It doesn't really matter who he is. We have to take him out." He leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands in front of his face. "Double the number of men on the street in the Kitchen," he ordered, "and tell them to shoot to kill."

Author's Note: "T. J. Mason," whose byline appears in several of my stories, is based on two bits of dialogue between Karen and Ellison in season 3. When Ellison assigns the Kazemi story to Karen, she suggests giving it to "T.J." Later, when Karen is investigating Fisk's purchase of the Presidential Hotel, Ellison says he's giving the story to "Mason." I've combined them into one person.