Uh huh.

“Sorry.” He says through thin lips, accompanied by a gentle nod of his head. “Matt Murdock.” Matt extends a hand out to them, aimed just somewhere in the middle. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Late to a meeting. Bruise under his left eye. Hopefully the glasses cover most of it. Stings like hell.

I’m sure it’ll work itself out.

Unfortunately no, blindness does not lead to mind reading. But I can hear real well. And I hear a crack in your voice that sounds like Foggy when The Mets are losing. You need to do what’s best for you.

Spider-Man. -sigh-. As your sometimes Lawyer and friend, I advise against suing the citizens of New York for wearing your face on a shirt. I also advise against being our mascot. I advise, more than anything, for you to take a break.

That seems unlike you, Spidey.

Spider-Man. No lawsuits? Right?

New York. So busy when the holidays come lurking.

The teen walked with an unsteady, somewhat lurchy gait back into the cell, which she promptly collapsed into, sinking directly into her knees and then onto her side, her pink hair draping over her face.

Waking up - - sore. Of course sore. Didn’t see the baseball bat coming to his side until it hit - - The Kitchen Irish refuse to unsettle.

He can smell her now - - 𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙡 he can practically 𝙨𝙚𝙚 her now. She laid in his bed, his hand runs over the covers, they’re still warm. She must’ve just left - - suddenly his a college kid again, she’s making him 𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙨. “Elektra.” Again her name sweeps his from his feet. Where is she?

He can smell her. Taste her almost. Greek sands and high tides - - cobblestone and worn leather. Memories, love - - no. Not anymore. “Elektra.” The words fall from his lips like pattering rain. So long ago - - they were nothing but a flame. Now - - she’s 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠.

*Matt gives him a confused but slightly scared look - - taking a step away from the other. Okay. .Spider-Man. .same time tomorrow?

. . .

Spider-Man are you telling me, you’re lawyer, that there is a man with a gun pointed at us?

*Searching wallet. *Finding not much. Does five work?

That’s not how that works.

Nelson & Murdock. Now accepting all clients, Meta - Human or not.

Lot of poking the bear going on.

Nelson & Murdock is somber. Word of Ms. Cardenas apartment fire spreads like a cautionary tale - - the people of Hell’s Kitchen now fear a gang they can’t see. And a Man in a Black Mask is no longer a myth - - but seen by the public eye.

“Oh - - Oh Peter. Yes, I’m following now.” He said between a nod, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Yes, same place. If you could.”

Somewhere, Hell’s Kitchen. Nelson & Murdock. “That guy, something about that guy, Matt.” “Who?” “Fisk. I don’t like ‘em.” “Foggy, I’m blind. Who is it?” “Big bald guy on TV, wants to be Mayor.” “Never heard of him.”

“I. .do we know each other?” He says, slightly letting go of her.

Shaved. Haircut. It won’t hide the bruises and cuts any better, but it will keep clients from thinking he’s some mess.

“Hell - - Foggy. Foggy I hear you I, yes. Yes I’m on the way, tell her I’m sorry I was. .” Stalking her apartment last night to see if she really was being trailed. “Out late. No. No not a girl. .I just - - I’ll be there in 30.”

Morning comes too soon. A bruise on his right rib feels like someone’s putting a torch to his side - - missed call from Foggy, they were suppose to meet with Ms. Cardenas this morning. He’s missed it by an hour.

Rooftop - - daylight soon, need to get back. But he’s on the trail of something - - 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚. Smell of gasoline, metallic taste of a firearm in the air.

Rain slicks the rooftops as the city exhales into darkness. Steam rises from the grates. A figure in black melts into the alleys, moving with the patience of a predator. The Man in Black is listening.

He visited Ms. Cardenas during lunch - - it brings him to a part of New York that seems almost forgotten. The smell, the taste, it feels like ignorance weighs onto him. She tells him the men haven’t stalked her apartment in days. He tells her not to worry. If only she could hear his heart.

Whichever one sounds louder.

Who’s that guy?

“Yea - -“ He called over the noice. His long brown coat whipped behind them as she drove. “- -Trying to!”

I will 𝖲𝖠𝖵𝖤 her instead.

𝘿𝘼𝙍𝙀𝘿𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙇. Season One.

A cut on his lips. Need to make it look better before their next meeting - - he’ll tell Foggy he got dinged by a door.

He flinches some to the sudden jolt forward, playing up the routine. Holding tightly - - he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t fun. It reminded him of his party trick on Foggy, where Matt would park a car just to hear him scream.

The Devil of Hells Kitchen. (Solos/Arcs.)

He folded his cane under his arm - - allowing himself to get ‘comfortable’ however that may be. “No, no. You’re good. Just, heh, not too fast.”

“As long you’re okay with a tight grip.” He says through a flat smile, accompanied by a minor head tilt forward.

Waiting for a taxi. Simple hand held high.

Worse than.

It’s nauseating.

There’s something building in this city that reeks of destruction and corruption. Hell’s Kitchen feels like it’s on the edge - - a powder keg waiting for the match.

𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙪𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙥 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙.

Bruised knuckles - - placing ice over their rough edges. Phone to his right, sitting idly by the nightstand. It calls to him like a needy child. *EIGHT MISSED CALLS.*