Whispers of Doubt
Matt Murdock was losing his edge.
He knew it, felt it in every misstep, every delayed reaction. The double dose of suppressants had stabilized him, masked the worst of his omega traits, but they had also dulled his senses, slowed his reflexes. He was fighting at half-strength, and the city was paying the price.
"Anything?" He asked, his voice tight.
Foggy sighed on the other end of the phone. "Still nothing concrete, Matty. The real estate transfers are cleaner than I thought. All shell corporations, offshore accounts... it's like Fisk is a ghost."
"He's not a ghost." Matt gripped the phone tighter, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head. "He's using someone on the inside. Someone who knows how to cover his tracks."
"The FBI?" Foggy's voice was incredulous. "You really think Fisk has someone inside the Bureau?"
"I know it." Matt closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds of the city outside his window. "The information he's getting, the way he's moving his assets... it's too precise. He's one step ahead of us."
"Well, if he does have someone on the inside, they're doing a damn good job. I've checked every lead, every connection, and I'm coming up empty." Foggy paused. "Maybe you're pushing too hard, Matt. You're not exactly a hundred percent yourself."
"I'm fine," Matt snapped, then immediately regretted it. "Sorry, Foggy. It's just... I can feel him, Foggy. He's building something, and I can't figure out what it is."
"Then maybe you need to slow down, take a breath. Let me handle this for a while."
"No." The word was automatic. "I can't."
"Why not?" Foggy's voice was laced with concern. "What's going on, Matt? You're acting like-"
"I have to stop him, Foggy. Before he hurts anyone else." Matt cut him off, his voice low and urgent. "I have to."
He hung up before Foggy could argue, his hand shaking. He hated lying to his friend, hated pushing him away, but he couldn't risk letting anyone get too close. Not until he had this under control.
The problem was, he didn't have it under control. Every lead he chased turned cold, every connection dissolved into nothing. It was like Fisk was anticipating his every move, deflecting his investigation with ease.
He knew Fisk had someone on the inside, feeding him information, but he couldn't figure out who. He'd spent hours poring over FBI files, interviewing informants, trying to find a pattern, a connection, anything that would point him in the right direction. But it was like searching for a ghost in a graveyard.
What he didn't know was that Fisk had called Donovan after Matt hung up with Foggy.
"Murdock spoke with Nelson," Donovan said. "Nelson is getting suspicious. He said Murdock is acting like himself."
"Nelson is a good friend," Fisk said. "But his friendship is clouding his judgement."
"Do you want me to do something?" Donovan asked.
"No," Fisk replied. "Let it be. I want Murdock to know that he has friends who care about him."
He was sitting alone in the church basement, surrounded by files and maps and half-empty pill bottles. The air was thick with the stale scent of incense and desperation. He needed to clear his head, needed to find a new angle, but his thoughts kept circling back to the same dead ends.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Sister Maggie. He hadn't seen her in days, hadn't been able to face her knowing she suspected something was wrong.
"Matthew?" Her voice was gentle. "Can I come in?"
He hesitated, then sighed. "It's open."
She entered cautiously, her eyes scanning the room with a mixture of concern and disapproval. "You're not sleeping, are you?"
"I'm working." He gestured vaguely at the files surrounding him. "Trying to protect the city."
"By destroying yourself?" She crossed the room and closed the window, blocking out the noise of the city. "You can't save anyone if you're not healthy, Matthew."
"I'm fine, Maggie." He repeated the lie automatically, but even he didn't believe it anymore.
"No, you're not." She sat on the edge of the bed, her expression softening. "You're pushing yourself too hard, Matthew. You're isolating yourself. And you're..." She paused, searching for the right words. "You're different."
He tensed, his heart pounding in his chest. "Different how?"
"More... guarded. More closed off. Like you're afraid of something."
He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "I'm not afraid of anything."
"Then what are you running from?" She reached out and took his hand, her touch surprisingly strong. "You can tell me, Matthew. Whatever it is, I'm here for you."
He wanted to tell her. God, how he wanted to tell her everything - about the suppressants, about Fisk, about the crushing weight of his secrets. But he couldn't. He couldn't risk letting anyone know the truth.
"There's nothing to tell," he said finally, pulling his hand away. "I just need to focus. I need to stop Fisk."
She sighed, her disappointment evident. "He's getting to you, isn't he? He's in your head."
"He's a threat to this city." Matt stood abruptly, pacing the small room. "I have to stop him, no matter what it takes."
"Even if it means destroying yourself?" She stood too, her voice rising slightly. "Is that what God wants, Matthew? For you to sacrifice everything for a city that doesn't even know you exist?"
"It's what I have to do." He turned away, unable to face her. "It's who I am."
"No, it's not." Her voice softened again, and he could feel her moving closer. "You're more than just a vigilante, Matthew. You're a man. A son. A friend. And you deserve to be happy."
"Happy?" He laughed bitterly. "I don't deserve to be happy."
"Everyone deserves to be happy." She reached out and touched his face, her fingers gentle against his skin. "Even you, Matthew. Especially you."
He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, allowing himself a moment of comfort. But it couldn't last. He had to stay strong, had to stay focused. He had to stop Fisk.
"I have to go," he said, pulling away. "I have to find something, anything that will lead me to him."
"Where are you going?" Her voice was laced with concern. "It's late."
"I don't know." He grabbed his cane and headed for the door. "But I have to do something. I can't just sit here and wait for him to make his move."
He left her standing in the basement, her expression a mixture of worry and resignation. He knew he was hurting her, pushing her away, but he couldn't stop himself. He had to protect her, had to keep her safe from the darkness that surrounded him.
As he slipped out into the night, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into a trap. But he didn't have a choice. He had to keep fighting, even if it meant fighting alone.
What Matt didn't know was that the trap had already been sprung, and he was walking right into it.
Dex was on a rooftop a block away, watching Matt leave the church. He had been watching Matt for days, cataloging his movements, his habits, his weaknesses. He knew that Matt was losing his control, that his investigation was floundering.
He also knew that Fisk had changed his orders. He was no longer supposed to harm Matt, but to protect him. To identify anyone who might pose a threat.
Dex didn't understand it. He didn't understand why Fisk would want to protect the man who had put him in prison. But he followed orders. That's what he did.
When Matt turned down a dark alley, Dex moved to follow. He was careful to stay out of sight, using his skills to blend into the shadows. He didn't want Matt to know he was being watched.
He saw Matt pause, listening intently, his head cocked to one side. Dex knew that Matt's senses were heightened, that he could hear things that other people couldn't. He had to be careful.
Matt continued down the alley, his pace quickening. Dex followed, his movements silent and fluid. He saw Matt stop in front of a rundown building, his expression grim.
Dex knew that building. It was a known hangout for drug dealers and lowlifes. What was Matt doing here?
He watched as Matt entered the building, his hand resting on his cane. Dex tensed, his instincts screaming that something was wrong. He wanted to follow Matt inside, but he knew that would be a mistake. He had to stay back, observe, and wait for Fisk to tell him what to do.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Fisk's number, his hand shaking slightly. He hated waiting. He wanted to act, to protect, to eliminate any threat to Fisk.
"What is it, Dex?" Fisk's voice was calm, controlled.
"Murdock just entered a known drug den," Dex said, his voice tight. "I think he's in danger."
There was a moment of silence, then: "Protect him, Dex. But do not reveal yourself. I want to know who he's meeting, what he's after. And if anyone tries to harm him..."
"They won't," Dex said, his voice flat. "I guarantee it."
He hung up the phone and stared at the building, his body tense, ready to react. He didn't know what Matt was doing inside, but he knew that he had to protect him.
Even if it meant disobeying his orders.