Peter considered his options. He looked at the clock, looked over at the muted t.v. screen and Rebecca Creel's silently-moving lips and then stared at his feet and the ugly wool socks that clothed them.
The truth was, Peter didn't answer the phone.
...unfortunately, the other truth was the phone didn't give a rat's ass whether he wanted to answer it or not.
Peter picked up the phone.
And listened.
His reluctance to respond to whatever was on the other side of the line is what brings him to us now, crouched on the decrepit old roof of a factory building down near the Hudson.
Peter doesn't want to be here, naturally believing that NYPD is capable enough to handle their city in all its enormity, but he also understands that there are some things New York's finest–irrelevant as to whether or not they are able–cannot deal with.
Primarily because big-wigs are getting their pockets lined.
Ah, corruption.
The Spider senses already told him that he was there, waiting, when Peter landed on the roof, so Peter doesn't bother acting surprised when he comes up next to him.
"See anything interesting?"
Peter glances over, eyebrow raised beneath his mask.
"A pun?"
The Daredevil smiles thinly at his fellow vigilante's barely disguised surprise and motions down at the warehouse doors.
"I thought you'd catch it."
The silence is comforting, and the two vigilantes relax in it momentarily.
It's Peter who finally makes the move. He coughs.
Daredevil moves an ear to the side, acknowledging.
"So how," Peter asks, "did you get the home phone?"
The smile beneath the mask grows wider, more real and for a moment loses the cynicism that it held before.
Matt Murdock–blind lawyer/vigilante extraordinare–grins."Your wife," he says, "is funny when she's pissed at you."
Ah.
Revenge of the spouse.
It hadn't been much beyond the guerre de nom, the usual "hang up the mask, Pete" from her and the "great responsibility" jabber from him, but it had–nevertheless–been a fight. Peter had thought he had won, but he forgot that M.J. has the tendency to be very determined when she wants to be.
She struck back. It wasn't the usual blanket in hand, "hello, you're sleeping on the couch tonight" exile for him, but something much worse. She used her vast knowledge of people and resources to get payback.
She gave another vigilante the home phone.
He'd be more worried about the 'secret identity' thing if the sad truth wasn't that it was bound to be found out, anyway. New Yorkers weren't stupid, and the vigilantes that graced the town were nothing short of brilliant. They'd put two and two together, figure out that the "see Parker take pictures, see Parker run, see Parker vanish" was in reality the Chinese Fire-drill routine of the Amazing Spiderman, as he jumped from the passenger seat of his life to the driver's seat and then ran all the way around again. No one was stupid. They knew who was who.
Which brings Peter to his next question.
"How'd she figure you out?" he asks.
Abruptly Daredevil loses the smile, and his voice becomes softer and more serious.
"One of her friends was a client of mine," he says.
Meaning...
"Oh."
The two shift again, and the comfortable silence between comrades suddenly vanishes.
Peter shoots a glance over at Daredevil.
Superheroes and vigilantes alike have a set of codes set about their life. Though they will work with one another when it needs to be done, at the heart of everything they are all territorial beasts, each set to their lives and their routines and their lands with a loyalty that follows to the death.
Peter is the only one who can bounces between boroughs when its needed and not get dinged for it. The others fight amongst themselves for their territory, each trying to push their belief into the system and therefore onto others.
The thought occurred to him the second he picked up the phone, but now Peter realizes that something wicked is afoot.
The reality is that he wouldn't be here unless something was going wrong in the badlands near the Hudson.
Peter clears his throat. The Daredevil gives the indication he's listening.
"Contrary to popular belief," Peter begins bluntly, "I'm not a taxi-service superhero." He turns and looks directly at Daredevil and then continues."Why did you call our house?"
The Daredevil doesn't speak for a moment, instead drumming his fingers on the concrete barrier of the roof, but then he coughs.
"Dealt with any freaks lately?" he asks, and then, at the ice-cold glare Peter gives him (the blind man can't read faces but silences sure as hell scream at him), adds, "besides the usual?"
Peter still stares at him warily, but he does answer.
"No."
Daredevil looks (okay, he gives the illusion of looking and it's close enough) over at him and the surprise doesn't even try to hide itself in his next question.
"Not even–"
"All the loonies are in their respective prisons," Peter says, irritated. "Muggers and various degenerates of our fair city have been being a real pain in the ass with the wonderful summer influx of tourists, but otherwise that's been it." He leans forward and becomes emphatic. "That's. Been. About. It."
Daredevil opens his mouth to retort, but then suddenly he goes stiff.
This is not coincidental and from instinct Peter knows that the prey they've been waiting for has arrived. He slowly moves to a position on the edge of the roof, feet balancing lightly on the concrete barrier, and to the left, a dull snap echoes as Daredevil unsheathes his billy club.
"Brace yourself," the blind man abruptly whispers, sensing something behind the walls of the old warehouse. "Because this is ugly."
Peter knows New York, but for a brief moment he thinks that Daredevil has to be kidding.
When the warehouse doors open a second later and the creatures within begin to leave, Pete knows that he's dangerously serious.
"Jesus." The words slip from his mouth before he can even stop them."What--what are they?"
Daredevil looks over and that thin, dry smile graces his face again.
"We call them the Sight."
A/N: Trust me, I KNOW this is a terrible beginning, but my original copy was eaten by a nefarious computer crash, and I had to start all over from scratch. Daredevil happened to jump in there entirely by accident.
I hope that for now all those enthralled--P'tfami, alessandriana and Shonobi-Aquamarine--are okay with the first chapter. Just bear with me now and it'll get moving. I promise.
Critiques, reviews, criticisms? I would love to hear them.