The first time Ruth felt genuine rage was in fourth grade. And it was towards herself, of all people. It was inexplicable, just a dull feeling in her arms that told her she needed to punch something. Someone. So she hit herself.

Sixth grade was the first time her rage manifested against another person. She had a shitty friend. All middle schoolers do. And in her annoyance, without thinking, she dug her fingernails into the girl's arm. She regretted it, but worst of all, she couldn't understand why she did it. Ruth decided then that she might've had anger issues. Issues that she continuously took out on herself. She knew well into her friendship with Matt that that was why they clicked so well. Two angry souls.

Matt, in his Daredevil garb, had shown up at her apartment that night. Louisa was sound asleep in Ruth's bedroom, and Ruth was on the couch, staring at the phone in hopes the hospital might call with an update. Or perhaps her sister might even call, if she'd woken up. He told her he'd deal with Vanessa, and not to answer any calls. He offered very little sympathy for what happened to Nelly, but Ruth chalked it up to being in Daredevil mode. He wasn't that heartless, and he'd known both Nelly and her husband.

Still, when a parent of Louisa's friend called Ruth at school the next day to offer Louisa a sleepover for the night, Ruth decided she needed to face Vanessa herself. She was guided purely by blinding rage. She knew she shouldn't go, but the more she thought about her sister and brother-in-law in the hospital and poor Louisa being without parents, the worse the anger became. Vanessa was unsurprisingly at the art gallery—which was still free of visitors.

"Ruth. Kind of you to finally show up." She said, smirking. Of course she knew Ruth was coming.

"How did you do it?" Ruth asked, ignoring Vanessa's greeting.

"Do what?" She replied, feigning innocence.

Ruth had felt angry before, but not quite like this. Her hands trembled with rage, heart squeezing with all of the pain, confusion, and guilt she'd been feeling since the night of the gallery opening.

"I get that you miss your shitty mobster boyfriend, and that you're pissed at Matt for putting him away, and I get that you want to try and use me to get under his skin—even though he doesn't and will never care about me the way he did when we were kids—but how fucking dare you bring my fucking family into this!" Ruth stepped close to Vanessa, the voice in her head that would usually scream at her to stop quickly overpowered by the storm of anger swelling inside of her. A bodyguard began to make his way over, but Vanessa waved him off with a smirk.

"You aren't the fast learner I thought you would be, Roo." Vanessa said, letting the nickname roll from her tongue like venom. "What else would you like me to do to make you comply?"

"You can start by fucking off ." Ruth spat, taking another step forward. Vanessa laughed. The room spun as one of the bodyguards grabbed Ruth, shoving her into the wall harshly. The back of Ruth's head slammed against the concrete wall on impact. Her vision swam for a moment.

Vanessa continued laughing. "Boys, boys. Relax a little." She said, waving her security away once more. Vanessa came nose-to-nose with Ruth, smiling a moment before bringing her hand to Ruth's neck, squeezing. "You should be thanking me that your niece wasn't in that car." She taunted as Ruth clawed at her hands. "Continue behaving like this and you won't be so lucky."

Ruth slammed her foot down onto Vanessa's in desperation, causing the woman to wail and let go of Ruth. Before she could make any kind of move, another bodyguard pinned her to the floor, his knuckles colliding with her face. Her entire body ached as blood began to trickle from her nose. She squirmed under the man's hold, breaths coming in rapid gasps. Vanessa recovered fairly quickly, stalking over to Ruth and digging the bottom of her heel into Ruth's palm, twisting. Ruth screamed in agony, desperately trying to get out of the man's hold. A distant memory echoed in Ruth's mind.

"Make sure your thumb is over your middle finger." Matt reminded Ruth, running his hands over hers until they were in perfect fists. "And when you throw the punch, hit with your middle knuckle."

She swung at the man with all her might, channeling into the hit all of her rage, desperation, and memories of sneaking away to Fogwell's Gym with Matt. The man cried out in pain and Ruth rolled out from under him, grabbing Vanessa's ankle in an attempt to free her other hand. Vanessa merely kicked her off, leaving Ruth to scramble away on her hands and knees. She attempted to catch her breath, heaving as her nose dripped blood onto the pristine hardwood floor. "Fine." She muttered, her arms struggling to hold her weight. She did her best to push herself to her feet, leaning onto the wall as dark spots overtook her sight. "Whatever. . . You want dirt on Matt Murdock?" Her voice sounded far away. "He has a fucked up relationship with God. And he has a savior complex. Do with that what you will."

Vanessa smiled. "Now was that so hard?"

Ruth rolled her eyes. "If you go near my niece, Vanessa, you're fucking dead." She said before pushing past Vanessa and the guards.

She had to try several times to pull the door open, both hands rendered virtually unusable. When she finally managed to open it, she stumbled out onto the street, heart racing as she tried to figure out where she was going and how she would get there. The sun hadn't even set yet. It was low in the sky, warm and welcoming as it cast a golden glow over the street. Her head pounded as she searched for her cell phone, struggling to hold it up to her ear as her hand protested in pain.

" Hello? "

"What's your address?"

"What?"

"Please just tell me your address."


Ruth walked all the way to Matt's apartment, the adrenaline slowly wearing off throughout the journey. Her entire body exploded with pain with each step, face swollen and hot. She was covered in blood from her nose, the knuckles on her right hand were cut up and dark red, and her left hand was—she couldn't even look at it without feeling sick. Her decision to go to Matt's was out of instinct—not because she wanted his help. No, she was going there for Confession. She had sinned, somehow, and now she needed Absolution.

She pushed her way into the apartment building and dragged herself up the stairs, breathless and dizzy. She tried to knock, but her knuckles were killing her, so she leaned against the molding outside of the door and waited for Matt to open it. He did so relatively quickly—he'd probably heard her coming up the stairs, after all. For some inexplicable reason, the sight of him absolutely destroyed Ruth. He didn't have his glasses on, and for the first time since college, she was seeing his eyes. And they were full of concern, his head tilted as he assessed her.

Tears welled in Ruth's eyes, and she had to bite back a sob as she choked out "I fucked up, Matt."

Matt ran a hand over his face and sighed, stepping back and gesturing for her to enter. She did so rather gracelessly, her skull pounding. "Have a seat on the couch." He instructed, walking towards the closet against the wall.

Ruth dragged herself through the apartment and towards the couch, her head in too much pain to consider looking around the place. Matt joined her by the couch a moment later, holding a wash cloth and a first aid kit. Ruth inched back.

"I don't— I didn't come here for medical assistance." She said, guilt rising in her throat like bile.

"We're not talking about what happened until you aren't covered in your own blood." Matt insisted, lowering himself onto the coffee table in front of her. Ruth distantly wondered if the couch and coffee table were the most ideal place right now.

"It's really not that bad. When my nose bleeds, it bleeds ."

"Believe me, I know." He replied, picking up the cloth. "I don't think Sister Mary Peter ever got the stains out of my bedroom floor."

Ruth's chest went fuzzy at the comment. She hadn't expected him to store. . . any memories from their friendship, in all honesty. The fact that he remembered something as specific as Ruth's nose bleeding all over his room at the orphanage Junior year of high school was heartwarming. At least momentarily.

Matt wiped the drying blood from Ruth's chin. She attempted not to squirm. She really didn't want him doing this—helping her in this way. It was one more thing to feel shitty about.

"Where's Lou?" Matt asked after a lengthy bout of silence.

"Sleeping over a friend's."

"Any update on your sister?"

"Not yet."

Matt sighed, pausing for a moment and tilting his head. He put the cloth down, the pads of his fingers dancing lightly around Ruth's nose and cheeks, where the bodyguard hit her. "Your nose doesn't seem like it's broken."

"Oh, good." Ruth said, wishing she'd just gone home. "So the blood is gone, let's get this over with."

Matt pursed his lips in annoyance. "You have other injuries, Ruth."

"Okay, I'll go to Urgent Care or something on the way home." She could tell Matt was getting more and more frustrated with her.

"I don't understand you." Matt grumbled. "You asked for my help, and now you won't even accept it."

"I asked for your help with Vanessa. I didn't ask you to be my personal physician."

"You wouldn't have gone to the doctor anyway."

Ruth rubbed her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. "Oh my god , Matthew, stop arguing like a ten year old. You're giving me a headache."

Matt went silent after that. "You hit the back of your head."

"Uh, yeah I guess so. I was thrown against a wall and then the floor." Ruth frowned as she realized how hazy and distant the altercation suddenly felt.

Matt shifted to sit next to Ruth on the couch, his hand reaching for the back of her head. Ruth winced as he came across a particularly tender spot. "There's some bruising. You probably have a concussion."

"Shit. I've never been concussed before." Ruth said. Matt didn't reply, instead his hands moved to her back.

"Breathe in for me." He said, and Ruth unthinkingly obeyed. "Your ribs seem fine, but your back is all bruised."

"Lovely."

Matt sat back on the coffee table, gently. "What's the story with your hands?"

Ruth let out a small laugh—more of a scoff, really. "You tell me." She was partly challenging him, the way she might have after finding out about his abilities in high school. But she knew he knew. He just wanted to hear it from her.

He reached for her right hand, thumb gliding along her beat up knuckles. "You got a good hit in. Just like your old coach taught you. You're a bit out of practice, though."

Ruth simultaneously hated and loved that he remembered that too. He hadn't totally wiped their friendship from his memory either. She wondered—but doubted—if he thought about their friendship as often as she did. She also hated the sense of pride that swelled in her gut. She hated that she still loved making him proud.

"This hand, though. . ." Matt said, much more gingerly taking her left hand. All oxygen left Ruth's body as pain shot from her hand, up her arm, and into her skull. " Somebody stomped on it with a high heel."

Ruth sighed. "She kind of. . .dug into it and twisted like she was killing a bug or snuffing out a cigarette."

"Yeah, it's pretty broken."

"Fuck. How am I going to play the organ?" The Panic Volcano was just about ready to erupt. Vesuvius style.

Matt didn't acknowledge her question. "You're going to need a splint. The fracture doesn't seem displaced, but you'll need to ice it. And do hand exercises in about a week."

Ugh. Ruth hadn't broken a bone since first grade. Unless landing on her tailbone during a basketball game in middle school counted. She never went to the doctor for that, but it still hurt sometimes to this day. "Do they have splints at the pharmacy?"

"I have one you can use."

Oh, right. Vigilante.

"Thanks." Ruth replied quietly. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Matt asked, getting up to retrieve—presumably—the splint.

"I fucked up. With Vanessa."

"And what? You want me to clean up the mess?" He asked, and shit did it sting.

"No! God, no. That's not—" Ruth had to take a breath to steady herself. Her voice was coming out shaky. Like a child's. "That's not why I'm here."

Matt had returned to the couch with the splint. "Forgiveness, then."

Ruth didn't reply.

"So you went to Vanessa, even though I said I'd handle it." Matt said. He didn't look angry, but he definitely looked disappointed. Ruth would have preferred anger.

"I was pissed. I wasn't. . . I wasn't thinking straight and it was idiotic of me." Ruth admitted, determined not to cry. Matt shook his head, scoffing bitterly. She knew what he was going to say. "You always let your emotions—your anger—guide you. So don't act like you're the exception."

"Ruth, just because I taught you how to throw a punch doesn't mean we're on the same level, here."

Now he was just being annoying. "I'm not trying to be you . I wasn't trying to save the day. I wasn't trying to do anything. I told you I was being stupid."

"So why do I need to forgive you for going and getting the shit beaten out of you?" He was getting angry now. Ruth was glad he stood up from the coffee table and started pacing. She wanted that distance. An escape route.

"Because, I did what she wanted me to do." Ruth confessed, her voice small. "I told her. . .you had a savior complex. And religious issues."

The betrayal on Matt's face slaughtered Ruth's insides. Her heart dropped with such intensity, the room seemed to tilt on its axis. "Do you realize—" He stopped himself. He was seething.

Ruth glanced toward the door briefly. "I know . The savior complex thing was bad. But how would she even make a connection to Daredevil? You're blind. As far she knows, you're just some guy."

"It's not just Daredevil, Ruth. You just gave her two things she could use against me!"

"I was pinned to the floor by her bodyguard. She was standing on my hand. What was I supposed to do?"

"You weren't supposed to be there , Roo."

Ruth's throat closed at the nickname. When had he last called her that? She couldn't even remember anymore. Ruth stood up, ignoring the way it made her head spin. "I wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you."

"If you had listened to me , you wouldn't be in this mess."

"No, Matthew. She went after me because of you." Oh, she was pissed now. "You haven't changed at all. I'm willing to take responsibility for my mistakes. I know I've fucked up. Several times. But leave it to you to put all of the blame on me and not take an ounce of accountability." He opened his mouth to say something, but Ruth continued. "You did this exact thing to me in grad school. Everything was my fucking fault. And I accepted it. You killed something in me, Matthew." She wondered if this was it. If now was the time to finally say everything she'd been planning to say for six years. But when she opened her mouth to speak again, she couldn't.

"Lives weren't in danger then, Ruth." Was all Matt could say.

"You sure acted like that was the case." She was beginning to feel exhausted, and desperately wanted to go home. "Look, I'll find a way to fix it. And I'm sorry. I really am."

"I think you've done enough."

He had turned away—not that it mattered for him. Ruth stared at him for a moment, baffled by his audacity. Then she turned away, stalking to the door, her gait unsteady. Once in the hallway, she let herself cry, every emotion she'd pent up for over half a decade spilling out. She was halfway down the stairs when somebody ascending called her name.

"Is that you?" It was Foggy Nelson, Matt's Columbia roommate and current law partner. She'd only known Foggy for a few months, when her relationship with Matt was imploding in on itself.

"Um. Yeah."

"Are you okay?" He asked. Not the typical old-friend-from-college greeting. But then again, people aren't usually bruised up and bawling.

"Yup." She said quickly. "It was good to see you again." She added, continuing her descent before he could even reply.

Fuck Matt Murdock.


Matt's door opened again, and in the haze of his stormy rage, he thought Ruth had come back. He hoped she'd come back. He needed to take back what he said, tell her she was right. She was always right. It was rarely ever her fault, he just couldn't help but push her away, even now. Much to his dismay, he realized rapidly that it was Foggy who'd entered. Matt was nursing his hand. He'd hit the wall when Ruth stormed out. Less out of anger toward her, and more as a way to hurt himself. He desperately wished she'd stayed and continued yelling at him. He deserved it. He was an asshole to her, even after all these years.

"Matt, what the hell, man?" Foggy asked upon entering.

"Not now, Foggy." Matt replied mechanically, making his way to the couch in shame. He nearly sat in the spot Ruth just was sitting in, but her scent was still billowing over the sofa. Choking him.

"Oh, no, no, we are discussing who I just saw in the stairwell." Foggy insisted, clearly abandoning the work-related conversation he'd planned on his way to the apartment.

"I can't talk about her right now."

Foggy was gaping, Matt could tell. He could hear the creaking of his jaw hanging from its hinge. "Can't talk— Can't talk about Ruth McGrath?" It began to sound like Foggy was scrambling around the living room in a way that might form some disturbing weather phenomenon. "Matthew Murdock, you never cease to amaze me. Did she get jumped? Did she come here for your help?"

Matt had never found Foggy's voice so grating . His eardrums were hurting, echoing with the sound of Ruth's frustrated, squeaky contentions. "Sort of, and no."

"Why did she leave in tears? What on earth precipitated this reunion? Why are you not leaping with joy that the love of your life is back in. . . your life !"

Foggy's questions were annoying, painful almost, but worst of all they made Matt's heart close in on itself. He hated the way Ruth had become a part of his life again. He'd dreamt of it, yearned for it— for six years— but not like this. Never like this. She had no choice but to request his help, and she was right, it was his fault she ended up in the Vanessa Marianna mess. Life would always be infinitely better if the two of them had never even met. But they did meet, and life was infinitely worse when they weren't together.

"It's really, really complicated, Fog." Matt had let just enough emotion—exasperation—into his voice that Foggy finally stopped pressing. The pair marinated in silence for several moments before Foggy finally introduced the subject he'd come here to discuss in the first place.

Matt did his best to engage, but all he could do, distantly, was swim in the sea of rage brought on by Vanessa and her bodyguards. How dare anyone lay a hand on Ruth—his greatest friend, his first and truest love, his Ruth. He knew then that he was going to get Ruth out of Vanessa's reach, and everyone involved was going to pay for what they were doing to her.

And ultimately, he chuckled within himself, knowing that if Ruth had ever heard him calling her his Ruth, she'd probably beat the shit out of him. And he wished for the way it used to be with them, so he could say something like that. She'd be pissed, but in the end she would smile. He loved her smile, the way it sounded and felt. It was the only thing he sincerely, desperately wished he could see.

God, he loved Ruth McGrath. And the fact that he had killed something in her was enough to kill him, too.