The premiere of Daredevil Born Again inspired me to write again, so here I am. I want to continue this story that I started a while back, but I also want to change it because I came up with things I hadn't thought of before. Most of what I had in mind for this story will stay the same but some things will be different.

This story will follow, in order, season1 of Daredevil, season1 of Jessica Jones, season2 of Daredevil, season1 of Iron Fist (some elements of season2 and season 3 of Jessica Jones and of Luke Cage season 1) then the Defenders events, and, finally season3 of Daredevil.

Also, the events of the second episode 'Cut Man' happen before the events of the pilot episode 'Into the Ring', except for the scene at the dock which happens first, but then all the 'man in the mask' scenes from episode 2 (the kidnapped boy, Matt ending up in a dumpster, the Russians etc) happen before the law firm scenes from episode 1.

In this story, there's no 'FemHarry ends up in another world' thing – the HP characters are already in the Daredevil/Defenders world, in a true crossover. But there's no wizarding world here, no HP-magic. But characters (or 'variants' of HP characters, I should say) will appear in this story (not the entire cast though, obviously – lots of familiar faces though). The character from Harry Potter will replace characters from the Daredevil universe. I have a specific vision for this story and in order to achieve that vision, I have to replace some characters.

FemHarry will replace Jessica Jones (Jessica's parents never died in a car accident, she never was experimented on by IGH and she was never 'adopted' by Trish's mother, though they both exist in this world, just not in the 'roles' we know them as; Trish and Jessica don't know each other and Trish kept being an actress, she doesn't have a talk show) and Claire Temple in a way as well (but not really; FemHarry will have the role that Claire has in season 1 of Daredevil when it comes to Matt, but for the rest Claire Temple will actually be replaced by Hermione in this story); also, Elektra Natchios will appear in the story but someone else will have the role of the Black Sky – not FemHarry though; FemHarry will also replace Karen's role as well in a way, as the investigator for Nelson & Murdock but Karen will still be the secretary/paralegal at the law firm. (I love all these characters by the way, but it's necessary for the story I want to tell).

In fact, lots of HP characters will replace Marvel canon characters of the shows, in some form or another.

Also, in this story Narcissa and Sirius are siblings, not cousins. Sirius adopted FemHarry when she was 11. He was James' best friend and FemHarry's godfather, like in canon. James and Lily died when FemHarry was 1 and she grew up with the Dursleys until they died when she was 11, in a car accident, and then Sirius found her and recognized her legally as his daughter. But then he died too, in 2001.

FemHarry is born the 31st of July, 1985 instead of 1980. FemHP is almost 30 when the story starts. So she and Matt are the same age.

Moreover, FemHarry will have similar powers to what Trish gained in the show: enhanced agility, balance, durability, reflexes and night vision, plus enhanced acrobatics and martial arts. She'll also be stronger than normal, but nowhere near strong like Jessica Jones is in canon and with slightly accelerated healing and accelerated metabolism. Something close to Buffy Summers' powers basically, with no heightened senses.

Also, warning, MENTIONS OF PAST RAPE/NON-CON (mind-control stuff, you know, like in canon with Kilgrave – but with Tom Riddle/Voldemort instead), PTSD and child abuse (Dursleys stuff like in canon) but nothing graphic. Also mention of human experimentation.

Anyway, read and review! Tell me what you think!

Chapter 1

4th January 2015, The Docks – Hell's Kitchen, NYC

Rose observed from her position, lying flat on top of a shipping container—the darkness of the night and her black outfit hiding her presence—two Russian men dragging four girls, one for each arm, towards another container. There were two other men there, one black man standing in front of the open container that she recognized as Turk Barrett—usually a petty criminal but he was rising in the world, it seemed—while the other sat on a chair, eating a sandwich.

If only she had known her latest case involved the Russian mob, she wouldn't have taken it.

But she knew she was only lying to herself. Of course, she would have taken it, her reckless nature and her damn need to play the hero, wouldn't have allowed for anything else.

Not even him had been able to squash it out.

It all started that morning when a young woman, Martha Nielsen, had showed up at her door. She had wanted to hire Rose to find her missing friend and roommate Sasha Kirova, a young Belarusian woman who had moved to the USA two years ago. Sasha Kirova had been denied the renewal of her Visa so she was technically in the USA illegally. This meant Martha couldn't go to the police for help in finding her friend. Hence why she had chosen to hire a P.I. instead.

Sasha worked as a waitress in the same place as Martha—in fact, Martha had been the one to help her find the job—but yesterday morning she hadn't shown up at work, though she had left her house at her usual hour. And she hadn't returned home that night either. A whole day and night she had been missing. No phone calls, no texts—her phone went straight to voicemail every time Martha had tried to call her.

Through some investigative footwork and several bribes in the right places, Rose had managed to discover that Sasha had been seen being forcefully dragged into a black van near her bus stop. The van's license plate had been partially captured by a traffic camera nearby. Using some less-than-legal hacking skills, Rose had tracked the van's movements across the city until it had stopped at the docks.

So, here she was now, donning a cotton spandex catsuit, leather gloves, combat boots and ski mask to cover her face, leaving only her eyes uncovered—she was wearing dark contact lenses to hide the distinctive color of her eyes—her hair styled into space buns, left uncovered by two additional holes in the ski mask, on top of her head. Comfortable, practical, easy to move in. And able to hide her identity.

"Help! Help! Help me! Help! Help me!" one of the girls screamed.

"Hey! Hey! Man, shut up. I'm getting $1,000 a head for y'all. So, you be quiet I let you have a bucket," Turk said, a bucket in his left hand. "You don't..." he held a taser stick up with the other.

"No. Please, no," the woman kept pleading.

Turk used the taser on the woman to shut her up. The Russians threw the women inside the container and Turk laughed. "Scream all you want. Come on, let me hear you scream. Scream loud. Nobody gives a shit down here."

Rose was just about to intervene when a man dressed all in black with a black mask covering his eyes jumped from one of the other containers—how did she miss his presence there?—and punched Turk in the mouth. Turk fell down and lost his taser.

"The hell...?" Rose muttered to herself. Shaking her head, she decided it was time for her to join the fight. She had remained watching long enough.

The man in the mask was fighting one of the Russians so Rose took on the other.

After a quick exchange of kicks and punches, the man fell on his knees. One final kick to the head brought him down, unconscious.

The man in the mask knocked down his opponent as well, breaking his leg. He turned around and tilted his head in her direction, mouth now open but before he could say anything, Turk retrieved his gun. He pointed it alternatively at both of them, seeming undecided on whom to shoot. He decided on the man in the mask—probably considering him the bigger threat—and Rose heard him pull the trigger.

"Watch out!" she shouted but there was no need. The man leapt out of the way of the bullet with an impressive somersault before jumping between containers with an agility that Rose was convinced was superhuman like hers.

Rose knocked the gun out of Turk's hand with an axe kick. Before she could hit him again the man in the mask—who had retrieved the taser Turk had lost—used it as a baton; it bounced with incredible precision from container to container, until it finally struck Turk, knocking him down again.

The man in the mask retrieved the stun baton from the ground and used it to hit the man in the chair, making him fall into the water.

Rose approached the container. "Who among you is Sasha Kirova?" She asked in Russian.

A girl with long, blonde hair and vivid, blue eyes, raised her hand as if she were in class.

"Your friend sent me to look for you," she explained, still in Russian, before switching back to English though her voice was lower and huskier than her usual voice to disguise her identity, her words directed at all four girls. "You can go now. You're free."

The girls just looked at her, still frozen in fright.

"Head towards 48th. Stay in the lights," the masked man, now standing next to her, told the girls. "Flag down the first officer you see."

When the girls still didn't move, the masked man smacked the side of the container, shouting, "Now!"

The girls scattered away immediately.

"Who the hell are you?" Rose asked.

He flashed her a crooked grin. "You don't really think I'm going to answer that, do you?"

And to be fair, he was right. A man who went around beating criminals, using a black mask to cover half his face, wanted to keep his identity a secret, especially to someone he had barely met.

His voice was raspy but warm—a rather sexy voice, Rose couldn't help but think. The rest of him wasn't any less attractive: well-defined jawline, slight stubble on his cheeks, full mouth, straight, white teeth, and lean but muscled body underneath his black outfit. And the air of danger and confidence that he exuded only served to make him more attractive.

While they were distracted by each other, Turk retrieved his gun. Before he could fire it, Rose jumped on him in an inhumanly fast movement, like a cat on a prey. Her left foot landed hard on the wrist that held the gun. She knocked him unconscious with a well-placed kick to the face.

"Who are you?" He sounded impressed.

"You don't really think I'm going to answer that, do you?" Rose threw his words back at him.

He sent her a smirk in answer. "Touché."

"This was fun and all, but let's not do it again, yeah?"

The man kept smirking, clearly amused. He tilted his head again—a gesture she was starting to recognize as something he did when he was listening for something. He nodded in farewell at her, before hopping over one of the containers. He started running and, in a few moments, he was gone.

Rose shook her head, puzzled and intrigued at the same time. Then, with a shrug, she slipped away into the night.

7th January 2015, Rose's House – Hell's Kitchen, NYC

Rose wasn't new to dealing with emergencies. Not with her current profession, and not even with her former one as a nurse, working in the ER. She also lived in New York—the same city that was attacked by aliens three years ago. But even by her standards, finding bleeding men in a dumpster wasn't a common occurrence.

She recognized him immediately. The masked man from the docks. He was still in the same black outfit from three nights ago.

Rose went immediately into action, checking if he was still alive. His pulse was weak but steady. She looked around to make sure no one was watching, then carefully pulled him out of the dumpster. The irony wasn't lost on her: the other night they were fighting human traffickers together, and now she was finding him half-dead in her garbage bin.

Using the fire escape was her best option—less chance of running into neighbors in the hallway. As she struggled to carry him up the metal stairs, she noticed the light flick on in Ron's apartment. Her neighbor's face appeared briefly at his window, bleary-eyed and confused, before disappearing behind his curtain. Rose wasn't too concerned; Ron was high ninety-nine percent of the time. By tomorrow, he'd either have forgotten completely or convinced himself he'd dreamed the whole thing.

It took some maneuvering to get the bleeding man through her window, but she managed, laying him carefully on the floor.

She ran to retrieve her medical bag, kneeling at the man's side. She quickly put on a pair of latex gloves and checked on his injuries. He had various stab wounds, a head injury that was bleeding profusely and that would probably cause him a concussion and his pupils were unresponsive to light.

He stirred as she examined him, his eyes fluttering open. His gaze bounced from place to place, never fixing on a single point.

"It's okay. I'm just trying to help." She reassured him, putting a hand on his bicep to calm him down, but making sure she wasn't touching any injuries.

"The men who did this...they'll find me," he said with a grunt, trying to get up from the floor.

"Whoa. What are you doing?" Rose asked rhetorically, trying to stop him from getting up. "You can't...You've lost a lot of blood. I think you might have been stabbed."

"I have to leave." He said, ignoring her pleas and getting up on shaky legs. He took three stumbling steps, impressive given his numerous injuries but still very stupid. Rose shook her head. She had come in contact with stubborn patients every day when she was a nurse, the best way to deal with them was to make them realize their limits on their own.

"You want to leave? Door's that way." She pointed in the opposite direction from the one he was heading. The man groaned in pain and turned around slowly and with clear difficulty. He barely managed a step forward before he fell to the floor, heavy as a bag of rocks, unconscious.

Matt startled awake, the sound of the ambulance sirens blaring outside and booming in his ears. He didn't recognize where he was. His heightened senses were assaulted by smells, sounds and sensations that let him know he wasn't in his own apartment. He was lying on a couch, the rough fabric uncomfortable on his sensitive skin.

He heard a heartbeat close to him, slow and steady, the rhythmic inhale and exhale, the heat radiating from their skin, the smell of rubber gloves and disinfectant, the swish of long hair on cotton fabric, the pleasant scent of honey, lemon and lilies—a natural scent, not the one that came from chemicals.

That heartbeat. That scent. He recognized them immediately. The woman from the docks, the one who fought alongside him against the Russians. Her heartbeat had been just as steady then, even in the midst of combat.

Her feet were bare, as were her legs. She was wearing a pair of shorts that brushed against the smooth skin of her thighs.

"Are you gonna listen to me this time?" She asked him. She had a pleasant voice—warm, low, husky. The same voice that had warned him about Turk's gun and thrown his own words back at him.

"Where am I?"

"You're in my apartment."

"Who are you?"

"I'm the lucky girl who pulled you out of the dumpster."

Matt realized a little too late that there was something missing from his face. He didn't need to touch it to realize that his mask wasn't there anymore but he did it anyway.

"You've seen my face."

Matt heard her shrug in apology. That was confirmation enough though she responded verbally as well. "Yeah."

"Great." Just what he needed, someone who not only knew about his nighttime activities but had now seen his face too.

"Your outfit kind of sucks, by the way."

She seemed completely unfazed by the fact that there was a man bleeding on her couch. Clearly, it wasn't the first time she had to deal with an injured stranger.

"Yeah, it's a work in progress." He tried to get up but pain coursed remorselessly through his body. The woman's hands settled on his shoulders and even with gloves and his shirt separating their skin, he could feel their warmth. They were small and delicate, but with long fingers. Her wrists were thin and seemingly fragile, but he knew their true strength—he'd witnessed it firsthand at the docks when she'd taken down armed Russians with precise, powerful movements. Now she was using that same strength but with careful restraint, pushing him back toward the couch while avoiding his wounds.

"Okay, I really wouldn't try to move too much. You've got two or three broken ribs, probable concussion, some kind of puncture wound, and that's just the stuff that I know about. And your eyes, they're nonresponsive to light, which isn't freaking you the hell out, so either you're blind or in way worse shape than I thought."

Matt's lips curved in a wry smile. "Do I have to pick one?"

The woman shook her head and bit her lips. "Do you mind telling me how a blind man in a mask ends up beaten half to death in my dumpster?"

"The less you know about me, the better."

He heard her sigh in clear resignation before focusing on his injuries again. "The wound on your side... knife?" She raised his shirt to see the covered wound.

He could feel dry blood glued to the wound but no fresh one. "Probably. Ah!" He tried to move away on instinct, a stab of pain radiating from the wound on his side.

"I think I got the bleeding stopped, but I can't tell how bad it is internally without a full series of X-rays, so..." She hesitated. "I know someone at Metro-General who could help. She's an old friend. She'd be discreet, wouldn't ask questions."

Matt shook his head. "No. No hospitals."

She sighed again and he could almost hear her rolling her eyes. "I'm really not looking for some guy to die on my couch."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No. But I used to be a nurse." There was a hint of bitterness in her tone. "In another life."

"Most people, they find a bleeding masked man in the garbage...they call the police."

She chuckled. It was a charming sound, like tinkling bells. "You know a lot of people who found bleeding masked men in the garbage?"

"Why are you helping me?" Matt pressed, knowing she was trying to avoid the question.

She shrugged. He heard her fidgeting, playing with her gloved fingers in nervousness. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

She still hadn't mentioned the fact that they had met three nights ago. It was impossible that she hadn't recognized him. But perhaps she wasn't sure whether he had recognized her.

"You got a name at least?"

He felt her hesitate, unsure if she should answer or not. Matt couldn't blame her.

"Rose." She said in the end. Her heart didn't skip. She had given him her real name. "Don't suppose I get to know yours?"

She wasn't really expecting an answer, he knew. Matt shook his head again and kept silent.

He heard her raise her arms, feeling the air shifting. "All right, I'll call you Mike."

"Mike?"

"Ex-boyfriend. He kept a lot of secrets too."

He rolled his eyes at her dig but then stopped when even that small movement caused him pain.

"Well then, Mike. Rest. Make sure you're stabilized. We'll figure the other stuff out later." He heard her moving things around, the sound of a zip, then she slipped the gloves off her hands.

Matt reached for her naked hand, feeling her soft skin even through his gloves. He noticed she startled a little, not expecting the gesture. "Thank you, Rose." He said sincerely, looking in her general direction.

Her lips rose in a smile, small and shy, hesitant. "You're welcome."

She heard him gasping and ran to his side. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I can't breathe." He sounded panicked. Rose used the stethoscope to feel his chest and realized immediately what was wrong. "You've got air in your chest. It's collapsing your lung." She quickly put on a new pair of gloves. "I'm gonna relieve the pressure, but I'm gonna need you to hold still, okay?"

She disinfected the area below the collarbone then took the needle from her bag. "Here we go. This is going to hurt." She warned, inserting the needle between the second and third rib. The hissing sound it released let her know the air had left his right lung. Mike took a deep breath and Rose mimicked him, relieved. "Good. Just breathe normally."

After a few gasping pants, his breath returned to normal.

"Okay, look...don't want to tell me your name? Fine. I can understand that. But, can you at least tell me what the hell happened to you and why?"

"They kidnapped a boy." Mike said, sounding more tired than he looked, and that was saying something.

"Who did?"

"The Russians." He explained. "They've been running a human trafficking ring out of Hell's Kitchen. Took over when the Italians folded up. Two days ago, they pulled a kid out of the back of a van. Beat his father while he watched."

Rose's hands tightened into fists without her conscious will. Cowards. "So, you went after them..."

Mike nodded. "I knew the kid would still be alive. At least until they took him out of the city. I tracked the Russians to a warehouse not far from here. Thought I was being smart, how fast I found them." His voice took on a bitter tone. "Turns out, I wasn't."

"They were waiting for you."

Mike nodded again. "And I walked right into it."

"They took this kid just to get to you?"

"Yeah, I've been making their lives...difficult lately."

But you're blind, Rose wanted to say. She didn't though. Clearly it didn't matter that he was blind—she witnessed with her own eyes the way he fought. And it wasn't just the Russians. She'd heard about others as well—thieves, rapists. How he could fight against them she didn't know but he clearly could. "This is what you do?" She asked instead, perhaps a little flippantly. "You make life difficult for bad men?"

"It's one way of putting it." Mike answered with a small laugh.

"No offense, but you don't seem to be very good at it." She said, half-teasing, half-serious.

He laughed again, immediately after gasping in pain. "Yeah, well, you're catching me on an off night."

She licked her lips, turning serious, needing to know. "Did you at least find the kid?"

Mike shook his head. "No, he wasn't there. I barely made it out myself. I was careless. Stupid."

Rose sighed. She was doing a lot of that tonight. "And I presume that these same men who took the boy, they're out here now, searching for you...?"

She looked at him when she didn't receive an answer and noticed that he seemed like he was listening to something. "Mike?"

"Someone's coming."

Rose frowned. "Wait, what?"

"There's someone in the building, a man, going from door to door." He explained, still listening intently to whatever he could hear outside. "He's on the third floor already. Smells like Prima cigarettes and discount cologne."

Heightened senses. Of course. That explained how a blind man could fight the Russian mob. "You can smell a man on the third floor?" She asked him, helping him sitting up on the couch.

She could feel, now that she was so close to him, how strong he really was, his body honed to be a fighter. She could smell the sweat on his skin, mixed in with the strong scent of blood. It wasn't unpleasant.

"You'll smell him soon enough." He said with a small chuckle, warm puff of breaths hitting the shell of her ear. "He really likes that cologne."

She hummed in response, stepping away from the couch and putting some distance between them.

"You're looking at me like I'm crazy, right?"

"Maybe a little." She grinned, unable to deny it.

"There are some things I haven't told you about me, Rose."

Rose raised her right eyebrow. "Technically you haven't told me anything about you. All I know is that you're very good at taking a beating."

"That part I got from my dad." Rose recognized the look he was sporting in that moment, that sad, faraway look of someone who had lost their parents way too soon. The look of an orphan.

Mike paused for a moment and licked his lips. "I know it was you, the other night."

"What?"

"At the docks. I know you recognized me. And I recognized you too."

"How? How did you know it was me?"

"Your voice. Your smell…your heartbeat…"

"Wait…what? You can hear heartbeats?" She ran a hand through her hair. "That's insane."

"I'm not the only one keeping secrets, the only one not exactly normal," Mike said. "You moved incredibly fast. The way you fought... those aren't normal human abilities." His voice lowered. "What's your story, Rose?"

Rose tensed, her breathing pattern changing slightly. "We all have our secrets, Mike. I help people my way, you help them yours. Let's leave it at that for now."

Mike nodded slowly, a small smile forming on his lips. "Fair enough."

"Wait…what did you mean, my smell? Do I smell?" She sniffed herself discreetly but she couldn't smell anything more than her shampoo and body wash.

Mike chuckled—a low, warm sound that did strange things to her. "Don't worry." He sent her another crooked grin. "You don't smell bad…"

Her cheeks warmed. Was he flirting with her?

Matt stumbled to the kitchen and browsed through the first drawer in search of something sharp. "This all you got?" He showed Rose the small kitchen knife he was holding.

Rose scoffed. "Yeah, it's for vegetables, not a knife fight."

"He's at your neighbor's door." He took two steps towards the front door before Rose stopped him.

"You kidding me? Hey!" Rose said, putting a hand on his chest to stop him in his tracks. "You can barely stand up. Where do you think you're going?"

"That's what the knife's for."

Rose scoffed again. "Like you pointed out, it's not exactly a machete. No, let me deal with this."

"How exactly do you plan on dealing with this?"

"I don't know, by talking to him? Nobody has to get hurt, okay? Not in my home. Just stand over there on the side. Be quiet and I'll get rid of him. Please."

Matt nodded and went to stand on a corner, close enough to the door to intervene if things went sideways but far enough away that the man on the other side would not be able to see him.

Rose quickly got rid of the evidence that another—injured—person had been there. They heard a knock at the door a moment later.

Rose waited a few moments. She shuffled her feet noisily, making sure the person on the other side could hear her. "Who is it?" She called out, voice taking on a scratchier edge, like she had just gotten out of bed.

"NYPD, ma'am. Please open the door." The muffled voice of the man on the other side said.

"Okay." She answered. "I'm coming." She brushed his arm while passing, then squeezed his bicep in warning. Her heart was slow and steady, like it had been all night. How was she always so calm? Was it because she was just used to deal with stressful situations or was there more to it?

"Sorry to bother you so late, ma'am." The fake policeman said once Rose had opened the door. Matt heard the man swallowing, his heartbeat accelerating, his palms getting clammy, his breath shortening. For a moment he was confused at the man's reaction. It didn't take long for him to understand that the man was responding to Rose's appearance and he grinned.

She was beautiful. Of course. Foggy would tease him relentlessly if he knew.

"My name is Detective Foster, with the 65th Precinct."

"What can I do for you officer?" Rose's tone changed, taking on a sweet, flirty quality. He heard her playing with a lock of her hair, hips leaning against the open door in an obvious provocative pose. Matt suppressed a chuckle.

"We had a bit of a disturbance a few blocks from here," the man answered. Matt heard his heavy boots coming forward, closer to her, and he tensed, ready to intervene if there was any need. "We're asking everyone if they've seen or heard anything unusual in the past few hours."

"Oh. What kind of disturbance?"

"Armed robbery. Some dickhead in a black mask shot up a bodega on 38th. Owner put up a fight. Perp fled on foot, leaving a trail of blood in this direction."

"Oh, my God. It's terrible."

"Probably long gone by now, but just in case, you know."

Matt heard the movement of her head going up and down in a nod. "Of course."

"You see anything, hear anything tonight?"

"No, I'm sorry. I was sleeping. Only the banging on my door woke me up."

"Just being thorough," the man said. "You have a good night, ma'am."

"Thanks. You, too," Rose dismissed him but the man lingered. "Is there something else you needed?"

"No. Hum...no. Goodnight." He finally left and Rose closed the door with a sigh.

"See? No reason to get all stabby." Her voice was back to normal.

Matt nodded, knowing the real reason why the fake policeman had believed her was that he was too distracted by her appearance and her (fake) flirting to really pay attention to her words. Though, even Matt himself would have found it difficult to notice that she was, in fact, lying. She didn't betray any sign of nervousness—no stuttering, no flushing skin, no fluttering heartbeat, no nervous tick.

"You weren't kidding about that cologne." Rose shook her head in disgust. "Does he bathe in it?"

But Matt wasn't really listening anymore, distracted by a conversation happening a few doors away. Her neighbor had opened his door and was answering the fake cop's questions. Unfortunately, he wasn't having as much luck as Rose with convincing the cop that he knew nothing. He was stuttering and he was clearly afraid, his heart beating like a rabbit's.

As soon as the neighbor had closed his door, Matt heard the fake cop picking up his phone to call someone.

He was out Rose's apartment before Rose had even finished talking.

"Mike, what are you doing?"

"Your neighbor. He talked with him. The fake cop didn't believe him. How did he know about me?" He asked her in a low voice.

"Ron. Shit. He saw us, while I was bringing you up the fire escape."

"Has he seen my face too?"

Rose shook her head. "No, don't worry. You still had your mask on when I brought you inside my apartment."

Matt nodded. Small mercies.

He took a fire-extinguisher from the wall and followed the man's voice and his steps down the stairs.

"What are you doing?" She asked him when she noticed he was holding the extinguisher suspended over the banister, waiting. At the right moment he let it go and hit the man over the head, rendering him unconscious.

"Well, at least he's out. What do we do now?"

"We're going to carry Detective Foster to the roof."

"What the hell are we going to the roof for?"

Matt gave her a sharp grin in return. "Less chance of someone in the building hearing him scream."

Rose scoffed. "Of course, you were going to say that. Why did I even ask?"