Chapter 5 – Secret Identities

Daredevil jumped down from the dumpster behind Midtown Tech. For this mission, he'd opted for the all-black suit made for him by Melvin Potter. He wasn't here to make a statement as Daredevil; he was here to find that notebook. He also wore a small black backpack to hold the notebook and any other evidence he might uncover.

Staying out of the view of the security cameras, he found the back door he'd checked out earlier that evening. There was an alarm, but he didn't hear the hum of electricity. That told him the alarm wasn't on. He hoped. Whispering a short prayer, he pulled out his lock picks and got to work. When he heard the tumblers fall into place, he turned the knob and gently pushed the door open with a gloved hand. Only silence followed. He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He paused, his head tilted, making sure no one had heard the click when it closed. Then he pulled out the map the assistant principal had given him at the beginning of the school year. Robertson's classroom was one corridor over.

He reached the classroom without being spotted and slipped inside. He checked the light switches next to the door to make sure the lights were off, then located Robertson's desk. It was the most likely hiding place, so he'd start there. The desktop held only the usual items, scattered and in disarray, probably from the police search. Or had the killer searched, too?

Matt was about to open the desk's center drawer when he heard footsteps approaching. They stopped outside the classroom door. He moved quickly away from the desk and flattened himself against the wall, behind the door. The door swung open, followed by the sound of the light switches being flipped and the familiar hum of fluorescent bulbs. Then he heard the person's heartbeat. He knew that heartbeat. Damn. He stepped out from behind the door and started to blurt out the name that went with the heartbeat, but he stopped himself just in time. Matt Murdock knew Peter Parker. Daredevil didn't. Instead, he asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm Spider-man," Peter replied, pointing to his chest.

Oh. He must be wearing his costume. Shit. That only made it worse. A 15-year-old was Spider-man? That was just . . . wrong. He shouldn't be here.

"Can't you – ?"

Matt interrupted him. "Oh. Right. Didn't notice."

Before Matt could say anything else, Peter piped up, "And you're Daredevil, right?" Matt nodded grudgingly. "Cool!"

With what he hoped was a stern expression below his mask, Matt demanded, "What d'you think you're doing here?"

"Looking for Mr. Robertson's notebook, of course," Peter replied. "Same as you, right?"

"Yeah," Matt admitted. "But you can't be here."

"Why not? Two can search faster than one."

Matt's mind raced. He had to come up with an answer that wouldn't give away his identity. Then he noticed Peter had gone very still, but his heart was racing, even faster than usual.

"Mr. Murdock?" he blurted out.

Fuck. Just when he thought things couldn't get worse. How did the kid figure it out, anyway?

"What? No. Um, no, uh, I'm not – "

He only got that far before Peter interrupted him. "I know you think I'm just a stupid kid, but that doesn't make it OK to, you know, lie to me. I know it's you."

Matt sighed resignedly and pulled off his mask. "Yes, Peter, it's me. And for the record, I don't think you're stupid. But did you not hear what I said? You can't be here. You have to leave."

Peter folded his arms across his chest. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not my dad."

"Thank God," Matt muttered under his breath.

"I heard that."

"I'm not your dad, but I am your lawyer. And you're a 'person of interest' in a murder, maybe a suspect. This is a crime scene. If you get caught here . . . ."

"I won't," Peter declared. He paused for a second, then said, "Wait a minute. You're Daredevil. How – ?"

Matt didn't let him finish the question. "We don't have time for this," he said irritably. "I have to find that notebook. If it's here. You need to go. Now."

"I can help!" Peter protested.

"I don't need your help," Matt told him.

"But I can see," Peter pointed out.

"I am well aware of that," Matt replied coldly, "but this doesn't involve you."

"It doesn't?" Peter asked. "I'm the one the cops dragged out of class. In handcuffs."

"But – "

"I'm not leaving, and you can't make me," Peter declared.

Matt frowned. He had to admit it: Peter wasn't entirely wrong. Two people could search faster than one. And his eyes might be useful. "All right. Have it your way." He waved a hand. "Go ahead, look for it, but if you find anything, don't touch it. It's evidence."

"I won't," Peter assured him. He crossed the room, opened a storage cabinet, and pulled out a pair of gloves. "Gloves," he said, holding up his hands as he put them on, before searching the shelves and storage cabinets along the far wall.

Matt stuffed his mask in a pants pocket, then went back to the desk and pulled out the center drawer. Nothing there. When his search reached the bottom drawer on the left, he noticed an anomaly: the drawer wasn't as deep as it should be. He took out the contents, a few files that the cops hadn't taken, and tapped the bottom of the drawer. There was a space below, and it wasn't empty. He reached up to open the center drawer and felt around for the letter opener he had noticed earlier. He used it to pry up the drawer's false bottom. In the space below it was the notebook. But not only the notebook. There was a sheaf of papers, a laptop, and a plastic baggie containing something he couldn't identify.

"Got it," he said to himself. But Peter heard him and rushed across the room.

"That's it!" the boy exclaimed excitedly. "But what're those other things?"

"I was kind of hoping you could tell me," Matt said dryly.

"Oh. Um, yes, sure." Peter picked up the papers and ruffled through them. "They look like bank statements," he said.

Matt held out a hand and took them from him. He shoved them in his backpack, along with the notebook, then asked, "What about the laptop?"

Peter opened the lid and turned it on. It booted up quickly. "Password protected," he reported, sounding dejected. "But my friend Ned, he's great at this stuff, he can– "

"No," Matt said. "I know someone. You have to leave this to Foggy, Karen, and me, Peter. We know what we're doing. You can't be involved."

"But – "

"No 'buts,' and that's final," Matt said firmly. He closed the laptop and put it in his backpack, then held up the plastic bag. "What's in the baggie?"

Peter seemed to study it for a moment, then shook his head. "No idea."

"Describe it to me."

"Um, it's mostly gray, with some splotches of white and brown. It kinda looks like someone took a slice off a, a rock . . . or something. Except it's not round. The edges are, like, jagged, like someone broke off some pieces."

Matt shrugged and added the baggie to the other items in his backpack. "No problem. We'll figure it out." He pulled his mask out of his pocket and put it on. "Now let's get outta here. I'll meet you back at the office, OK?"

"OK."

# # # #

Peter's backpack was where he'd left it, hidden in an empty planter box behind the school. He took off his Spider-man shirt and mask and stuffed them into his backpack. He pulled out a shirt and hoodie and put them on, then headed to the brownstone that housed the offices of Nelson & Murdock. The front door opened as soon as he reached the stoop.

Matt had already changed out of his Daredevil suit into jeans and a T-shirt. He let Peter in, then gestured toward the conference room with a gloved hand and said, "Let's see what we have."

The notebook, bank statements, laptop, and baggie were already on the table. Peter sat down and pulled on the gloves Matt handed to him. Matt reached for the notebook, but Peter snatched it away from him. "Just a freakin' minute. I just found out my blind lawyer is Daredevil. How is that possible?"

Matt grimaced. "Chemical spill, when I was a kid," he said curtly, not inviting further questions.

Peter persisted. "And you have powers?"

"Something like that. And you?"

"Bitten by a radioactive spider."

Matt raised his eyebrows. "Interesting," he murmured. He gestured toward the notebook in Peter's hand. "This is the notebook you saw?" he asked.

Peter nodded, then answered aloud. "Yes." He flipped through its pages. "There's a bunch of chemical formulas." He took a closer look at the page the notebook was open to. All of the formulas included "C" – carbon. "I think they're formulas for something . . . organic."

"That would make sense," Matt observed. "Robertson's Ph.D. was in organic chemistry."

"Right. I haven't had organic chemistry yet, but I can probably figure them out." Peter started to put the notebook in his backpack, but Matt reached out and grabbed his arm before he could do so.

"No," Matt said, holding out his other hand.

"What're you gonna do with it?" Peter asked. "You're a lawyer, not a scientist."

"True," Matt conceded, "but I know people who are. They should be able to tell us what this all means."

"Who?" Peter demanded.

"People at Rand Enterprises."

"Oh. OK," Peter said reluctantly, handing the notebook over to Matt.

"Now, what're these?" Matt asked, holding out the stack of papers.

Peter took them from Matt and looked over them. When he was done, he raised his head and said, "Bank statements, going back nine months. One deposit of $10,000 every month. No withdrawals. Current balance $90,000."

"So someone was paying him to do . . . whatever he was doing," Matt mused, thinking out loud. "Can you tell where the payments were coming from?"

Peter shook his head. "No, it's just a bunch of numbers and letters."

"No problem. Karen will track down the source." Matt held out his hand. This time, Peter handed over the papers without protesting.

"What about the laptop?" Peter asked. Matt pushed it across the table. Peter opened it, and a lock screen appeared. He tapped a few keys, then frowned. "Like I said, it's password protected," he told Matt, "but I have a friend who's great at this stuff, he can get into it." He closed the device and started to put it in his backpack, but Matt's hand on his arm stopped him again.

"No. We don't know who we're dealing with, but they're dangerous, whoever they are. Your teacher was killed because of this. You can't involve your friends."

"But – "

"No 'buts.' I told you, I know someone." Matt snatched the laptop out of Peter's hand, too quickly for Peter to react. What the – ? How did he do that? What were his powers? Peter was reminded there was a lot he didn't know about his lawyer. He was about to ask when Matt picked up the baggie and opened it.

A musky, earthy odor filled the room. And something else, something foul, something decayed. Matt had smelled it before, in the secret underground chamber below Midland Circle Suddenly, Matt was there, smelling that same odor in the dust and debris that swirled around him as the building collapsed. Holding Elektra in his arms, hearing her say, "This is what living feels like," as the building fell. Then she was ripped from his arms. His head snapped to one side from a remembered impact. Then . . . nothing.

Peter wrinkled his nose at the odors that emanated from the baggie. He didn't know what the object in the baggie was, but it didn't look like much of anything, to be honest. Definitely not something important enough for Mr. Robertson to hide in his desk. He was about to ask Matt about it, but the words died on his lips when he saw him. Whatever it was, it was having an effect on Matt. He was gripping the side of the table, white-knuckled, muttering something under his breath. Peter couldn't make out any words; what he could hear sounded like "ek." The blood had drained from Matt's face, leaving him ghostly pale. His head jerked to one side. Peter's heart raced. His mouth was dry. He swallowed hard. "Mr. Murdock? Mr. Murdock? Can you hear me? Are you OK?"

For a long minute, Matt didn't respond to him. Finally, he gave a little shake of his head and licked his lips. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said.

Peter wasn't a human lie-detector like Daredevil (supposedly) was, but he didn't believe him, not for one second.

"What is it, anyway?" he asked.

"No idea."

Peter didn't believe him this time, either.

Matt slipped the object back into the baggie and sealed it shut. "Our friends at Rand will be able to tell us what this is."

"So what do we do now?"

"'We' don't do anything," Matt said firmly. "You need to stay out of this."

"I can't. I'm already involved."

"You can and you will."

"You think I'm just some dumb kid who can't handle this."

Matt shook his head. "No, I know how smart you are, but being smart isn't enough in a situation like this. You have to know how the world works. It's not something you can learn in school, there's only one way to learn it."

"OK," Peter said, "you admit I'm smart. So how do I learn it?"

"Life."

Peter shrugged. Typical adult. No point in arguing with him about this. Instead, he asked, "Are you gonna tell anyone? About Spider-man?"

Matt frowned and shook his head. "No, except for Foggy and Karen. I don't keep secrets from them." Peter opened his mouth to protest, but Matt talked over him. "You can trust them. They've had lots of practice keeping a secret identity secret," he said dryly.

"If you say so," Peter replied doubtfully.

"I do."

"You're not gonna tell Aunt May?"

"No. You are."

"What? No! I can't!" Peter cried. "She'll, she'll . . . ." He fell silent, at a loss for words.

"She'll what?"

"I don't know," Peter said miserably. "But it'll be ugly. My life as I know it will be over."

"I doubt it will be that bad," Matt told him wryly.

"It will," Peter declared. "You don't know her." He contemplated his fate for a moment, then something occurred to him. "Wait a damn minute. You keep Daredevil secret. Why don't I get to keep Spider-man secret?"

"You can. Just not from your aunt."

"Why not?"

"I know you don't want to hear this, but you're 15 years old, you're a minor. Your aunt is your guardian. It's her job to protect you. She has a right to know."

"No, it's my job to protect her, ever since Uncle Ben . . . " Peter's voice broke. He blinked back tears.

"Uncle Ben? He was your aunt's husband?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah." He fell silent, but then the words spilled out of him. "It's my fault he's dead. I didn't get there in time. I'm Spider-man, I'm supposed to save people. I could've . . . I should've . . . ." He gulped.

Matt's heart ached for the teenager. He started to tell Peter he was just a kid, it wasn't his fault. Then he remembered: that was what they said to him after his father died. Peter deserved better than that bullshit. Instead, he just said, "That sucks, kid. I'm sorry."

Presently, Peter sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. That was Matt's cue to speak. There was more he needed to say. "You're not protecting your aunt by not telling her," he said. "She needs to know so she can protect herself – and you. I learned this the hard way. I kept my identity secret from Foggy and Karen for far too long, and I paid a price for it. I don't want you to have to pay that price."

Matt flipped open the crystal on his watch and checked the time. It was getting late. Damn. If Peter didn't get home soon, before May noticed his absence, the whole issue of telling her would be moot. But there was one last question he had to ask. "Does anyone else know about you? About Spider-man?"

Peter didn't answer him right away. His rapid heartbeat speeded up, then slowed, as if he was thinking about lying, then reconsidered. Finally, he said, "My best friend. Ned."

"You told him?"

Peter shook his head. "No, he figured it out on his own, a couple months ago."

"Anyone else?"

"No."

"You trust him not to tell?"

"Absolutely," Peter said firmly. There was no doubt in his voice or his heartbeat.

Matt stood up. "It's late," he said. "You should go home." He reached for his wallet. "I'll give you cab fare."

Peter scoffed. "I have a better way." His webs would be faster. And swinging from his webs, high above the city, would help him clear his head. He needed that.

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah, I got it."

Matt walked Peter to the door, then closed and locked it behind him, As the teenager's steps faded away, he leaned back against the door and let out his breath all at once. He wasn't sure he'd done the right thing, telling Peter he wouldn't tell his aunt about Spider-man. But it wasn't his secret to tell, it was Peter's. Would Peter tell May? And if he didn't, what was Matt supposed to do? He had a bad feeling about all this. Spider-man was making a name for himself, and he was fucking 15 years old. Stick was gone, but there were others out there, others like him, who wouldn't hesitate to exploit Peter and his powers for their own purposes. People like the people Robertson had been working for. Matt had a pretty good idea who they were – and what was in the baggie.