Hells Messenger

Fiona was curled up on her couch, wrapped in a blanket, half-watching the movie playing on her TV. It had been a long day, and she was finally allowing herself to unwind when a sudden knock at the door made her tense. She glanced toward it, her heart picking up speed.

Then a familiar voice called out.

"Fi, it’s me," Matt said.

A relieved smile spread across her face as she tossed the blanket aside and padded over to the door, unlocking it before pulling it open. "Matty, hey. What are you doing here?"

"Hey, angel," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course." She stepped aside, letting him in before locking the door behind him. His posture was heavy, his shoulders tense, like he’d been carrying something all night.

"You okay?" she asked, leading him toward the couch.

He let out a slow breath. "Today, after you left, I went to see that woman, Vanessa. The one who was with Fisk during his speech."

Fiona furrowed her brows, curling her legs beneath her as she turned to face him. "What do you mean? Saw her where?"

"At the art gallery she works at."

Her eyes widened. "Wait—you went to her job to dig up intel on her boyfriend?"

"Yeah," he admitted, lips quirking slightly. "Guess you’re rubbing off on me."

Fiona let out a small laugh, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead. "I’m very proud of you." Her fingers lingered, trailing down to the nape of his neck, playing with the strands there. "Did something else happen?"

Matt exhaled, the tension in his jaw tightening. "Fisk showed up."

Her hand stilled. "What? Oh my god. Did you talk to him? What happened?"

"Yeah. We talked. Briefly. Told me how he wants to make the city better."

Fiona sighed, her fingers resuming their gentle movement at the back of his neck. "Matty—"

"I don’t really wanna talk about it anymore," he murmured. He shifted slightly, tilting his head toward the TV. "What are you watching?"

"13 Going on 30. I don’t really think you’d like it," she admitted.

"Why not? Play it from the beginning."

She shook her head. "No, it’s okay. We can do something else."

"What, you don’t wanna watch it anymore?" he asked, a teasing note in his voice.

Fiona groaned, pulling the blanket up to her face. "I can’t tell you. It’s embarrassing."

Matt smirked. "Now you have to tell me."

She peeked at him from behind the blanket. "It’s my favorite rom-com," she muttered.

"Okay," he said with a chuckle. "Why is that embarrassing?"

"Because," she sighed, "the guy’s name is Matt."

His laugh was immediate, warm. 

"But that’s not why I like it!" she quickly defended. "Jennifer Garner is really good in it!"

"Now we have to watch it," he said, feeling around for the remote.

Fiona’s eyes widened, and she lunged forward, snatching it off the coffee table before he could reach it. "No!"

Matt smirked at the sound of Fiona’s panicked no, tilting his head slightly as if considering his next move. "You know, I could just take it from you," he teased, reaching in her direction.

Fiona clutched the remote tighter to her chest, narrowing her eyes. "I will bite you, Murdock."

He grinned. "You could, but then I’d have to retaliate."

Before she could react, his hands moved swiftly to her sides, fingers pressing into her ribs.

Fiona shrieked, twisting away as laughter bubbled out of her. "Matt! No! Stop!" she gasped, trying to curl into herself while still holding the remote.

He didn’t stop. His fingers skimmed along her waist, pressing into the spots he quickly figured out were her weakest. "Just give me the remote," he bargained, his voice low and amused as she wriggled beneath his touch.

"Never!" she declared through breathless laughter, kicking her legs out in a failed attempt to escape.

Matt’s smirk grew. "Wrong answer."

He doubled down, hands relentless as he tickled her sides, her stomach, anywhere she tried to protect. Fiona was laughing so hard she could barely breathe, tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

"Okay! Okay! I surrender!" she gasped, shoving the remote toward him. "Just stop!"

Matt took the remote from her hand but didn’t move away. His weight was still pressed close, his breath warm against her cheek.

Fiona stilled, her laughter fading into something softer as she gazed up at him, her chest still rising and falling from the exertion.

"That was evil," she mumbled, her lips curling into a smile.

Matt smirked. "I prefer effective."

And whatever she was going to say was lost as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

She melted into it immediately, her hands slipping around his neck, pulling him closer. The playful energy from before had vanished, replaced with something softer, something warm and unspoken between them.

Matt’s fingers found her waist again, but this time there was no teasing—just the gentle press of his hands as he deepened the kiss, like he was memorizing the way she fit against him.

Matt wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that—lost in the slow, unhurried press of her lips against his. He didn’t care. There was something about Fiona that made everything else fade into the background.

She was warm, soft, and smelled good—a mix of something sweet, like vanilla, and something lighter, fresh, like the lingering scent of her shampoo. Her entire apartment carried that scent, wrapping around him the second he stepped inside, making everything feel… safe. Like home.

His hands skimmed her waist, the curve of her back, committing every part of her to memory the way he always did. But it wasn’t just this moment. He’d been memorizing her since the first time they met, ever since she showed up to visit Foggy back in law school with that sunny, unshakable warmth of hers.

She’d always been this way. Always smiling, always kind, always caring. She took care of people without hesitation, even when she was overwhelmed or exhausted. And him—she always took care of him. It was in the little things. The way she checked his tie before a case. The way she always made sure he had coffee just how he liked it, without him ever asking. The way she worried about him, even when he brushed it off.

Fiona was good. So effortlessly good it made something ache deep in his chest.

He exhaled softly, forehead resting against hers as he let his hands settle against her waist. "Fiona," he murmured.

She hummed in acknowledgment, her fingers still playing with the short hairs at the back of his neck. "Hmm?"

"I love you."

It was quiet. Just a breath of a confession, but it was the only thing in the world that felt true in that moment.

Fiona froze, her breath catching as she pulled back just enough to look at him, wide-eyed and searching. "Matt…"

His fingers tightened slightly at her waist, grounding himself. He hadn’t meant to say it like that—so simple, so unguarded. But it wasn’t something he could take back, nor did he want to.

"I love you," he said again, firmer this time, like a truth he was finally ready to give a voice to.

Her lips parted, her hands still cradling his face like she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming. Then, after a heartbeat of silence, she smiled—soft and bright, just for him.

"You love me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, like she needed to hear it one more time just to be sure.

Matt let out a quiet, breathy laugh, shaking his head at her in amusement before leaning in to press his lips to hers again. "Yeah," he murmured against her mouth. "I really do."

Fiona let out a breathless laugh, her fingers still curled against the nape of his neck. She looked at him like she was trying to memorize him now, like she wanted to make sure this moment was real.

Then she smiled, soft and sure. "I love you too, Matty."

Matt felt something in his chest loosen, something he hadn't even realized he'd been holding onto. He exhaled, his lips twitching up into the kind of smile he rarely let himself have—one that wasn't weighed down by the weight of the city, by the things he carried on his back every night. This was just for her.

Fiona laughed again, shaking her head like she couldn't believe they were even having this conversation. "You know, I was so mad at you earlier," she said, her fingers sliding down to rest over his heart. "And now here you are, saying that, and what am I supposed to do with that, huh?"

Matt chuckled, dipping his head so his nose brushed against hers. "Just say it again."

She rolled her eyes, but her hands slid up his chest, fisting the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him in closer. "I love you," she whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

He silenced her with another kiss, slow and deep, stealing the words straight from her lips. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her fully into his lap, like he needed her closer, like he never wanted to let her go.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Matt allowed himself to be happy, for now.

• • • • • • •

Fiona had learned the hard way that things never stayed good for long. Not for them.

She had been at home, editing a smaller article for her page while juggling the massive weight of the Fisk story, when her phone rang. As soon as she answered, she knew something was wrong. Foggy was crying. Their client, Elena, had been found stabbed to death outside her apartment. She had no family, no one to claim her, so Brett had reached out to them to identify her remains.

Now, she sat with Foggy, Karen, and Matt at Josie’s, the weight of the night pressing down on them. Josie wordlessly set another round of drinks on the table, along with a fresh bottle. “I’ll keep ‘em coming, love,” she said softly before stepping away.

Foggy barely nodded in acknowledgment, staring down at the table, the glass in front of him untouched. Fiona sat close to him, her head resting against his shoulder as she ran a hand up and down his arm, grounding him the only way she could.

“When we first took the case, Karen and I went to Landman and Zack,” Foggy said finally, voice raw. “Marci mentioned a criminal element in Elena’s building. Said that’s why the workmen left without finishing the repairs.”

“‘Cause they feared for their safety,’” Karen added, repeating Marci’s words exactly.

“I thought it was bullshit,” Foggy admitted, shaking his head.

“Maybe it was,” Matt said.

“Tell that to Elena,” Foggy muttered, his jaw tight.

Fiona lifted her head, looking across the table at Matt. “What do you mean?”

Matt exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right, does it?”

“I’ll drink to that,” Foggy said, reaching for his glass at last.

Matt leaned forward slightly. “You think it was a coincidence? Elena decides to stay and fight, to rally what’s left of her neighbors, and then this happens.”

Karen set her glass down, brows furrowing. “Do you think Fisk had something to do with this?”

Before Matt could respond, Foggy gestured toward the TV mounted in the corner. “Speak of the devil.”

Fiona and Karen both turned just in time to see Wilson Fisk’s face filling the screen.

“Ugh,” Karen groaned. “He’s on TV again.”

“Hey, Josie, turn that up?” Matt called out.

Josie grabbed the remote, cranking up the volume. Fisk’s deep, deliberate voice rang through the bar.

“No, I never had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Cardenas. I only recently took possession of her building.”

The reporters threw more questions at him, their voices overlapping until one was clearly heard:

“How do you respond to reports that you knew the tenement was unsafe?”

Fisk nodded solemnly, his face a mask of regret.

“That is accurate. That’s why we offered a substantial sum to Ms. Cardenas and her neighbors to help them relocate. We should never let good people get swallowed up by this city. I mourn this woman’s death. It didn’t have to happen. Her passing is a symptom of a larger disease, infecting all of us—”

Before he could continue, Foggy’s phone rang. He sighed heavily and stood up. “Funeral home,” he muttered before stepping away to answer.

Fiona watched him walk off before turning her attention back to tv.

“Fear of masked psychopaths,” Fisk continued, his voice carrying an air of righteous indignation. “We shouldn’t let people like that take our city from us. We need to stand together. Let them know they will fail… because we believe we can make a difference. Because they are cowards—afraid of stepping out of the shadows, afraid of standing up for people like Mrs. Cardenas.”

Karen scoffed, shaking her head in disgust. “Jesus, he almost sounds like he means it.”

“I think he does,” Matt said quietly.

Fiona huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, he has a really weird way of showing it.”

“I hope they trace what happened to Elena right to his doorstep,” Karen muttered.

Matt shook his head. “He’d never expose himself like that. Plus, half the force is probably in his pocket.”

“Then let’s hope the guy in the mask gets to him first,” Karen said bitterly. “Knocks his goddamn head off.”

Matt exhaled sharply and pushed his chair back. “I think I’ve had enough,” he said, standing up.

Fiona sat up straighter. “You want me to walk you home?” she asked, already about to rise.

He shook his head. “No, I’m okay. Tell Foggy I’ll see him in the morning.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. Then, before she could say anything else, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips. It felt different this time. Like he was saying something he couldn’t put into words. Like he wasn’t sure when he’d get to kiss her again.

His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “I love you.”

Fiona barely had time to catch her breath before she whispered back, “I love you too.”

He pulled away, his fingers grazing hers for just a second longer before he stepped back. “Night, Karen,” he said before walking away.

• • • • • • •

Fiona, Foggy, and Karen lingered at Josie’s long after Matt had left. The drinks kept coming, and at some point, Foggy nearly nodded off, knocking over the bottle on the table.

“Shit, sorry,” he mumbled, fumbling to grab it. In his drunken haze, he only managed to spill more. Fiona quickly reached over, steadying the bottle upright with him.

“Hey, can I get another bottle over here?” Foggy slurred, turning toward Josie.

“No, no more bottles,” Fiona interjected, pulling her brother back down into his seat. “I think we’ve all had way more than enough.”

“It’s a wake, Fi. People drink at wakes,” he muttered. “You know why? ‘Cause it sucks.”

“I know,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him from behind, holding him close.

Foggy exhaled shakily, his voice thick with emotion. “Karen, you speak Spanish…what’s a good toast for the people that should… that should still—” His voice cracked, and he trailed off as the tears started falling.

“Oh, Foggy,” Fiona whispered, tightening her hold on him.

Karen’s face softened. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“I should’ve told her to take the money,” he choked out. “Like Matt said.”

“No, no, no,” Karen said firmly. “This isn’t your fault.”

Fiona rested her chin against his shoulder. “She made her choice, Foggy. You were trying to help her.”

Foggy let out a shaky breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “The Hell’s Kitchen we grew up in was a real shithole. But it had a heart, you know? Me and Matt… we learned the law, how to play by the rules. We were gonna help the people we grew up with. Give ‘em the same shot as the big boys like Fisk.” He let out a bitter laugh. “It’s all bullshit. It’s all just lies we tell ourselves to make it through one more day.”

“That’s not true,” Fiona said softly.

Foggy shook his head. “What the hell are we supposed to do… against somebody that owns everything? Everyone? What can we do to somebody like that?”

Karen stared at him, then at Fiona, determination burning in her eyes.

“The only thing you can do,” she said quietly. “You make them pay.”

• • • • • • •

The next morning, Fiona had no idea that everything had changed.

After leaving Josie’s, Foggy had gone to Matt’s apartment, worried about him. When he heard a noise from inside, his heart lurched. Thinking Matt might be hurt, he stumbled in—only to find something that shocked him sober.

Matt was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

He was lying on the floor, covered in cuts and bruises, looking like he’d barely made it out of whatever fight he’d been in. Now, patched up by his secret nurse friend Claire, Matt was alive—but that didn’t stop Foggy from making his fury known.

“What are you doing, Matt?” Foggy demanded, pacing the small space. “You’re a lawyer. You’re supposed to be helping people.”

“I am,” Matt said, his voice raw. He was lying on his couch, too sore to move.

“In a mask!” Foggy snapped. “Do you know what they call that? A vigilante. Someone who acts outside the law.”

Before Matt could respond, his phone buzzed on the floor. The automated voice called out the name over and over.

Fiona. Fiona. Fiona. Fiona.

Matt reached for it, but Foggy grabbed it first.

“Foggy,” Matt said quickly, his voice strained with urgency. “She doesn’t know, okay? She doesn’t know.”

Foggy clenched his jaw. “She deserves to.”

“You can’t tell her,” Matt pleaded. “Please.”

Foggy stared at him, barely believing what he was hearing. “Is that what you do? When we call, trying to get you to come out for drinks? When bombs are going off and we’re worried sick? You just hit ignore?” He tightened his grip on the phone. “This is my sister, Matt! She worries about you.”

The call went to voicemail.

“No,” Matt whispered.

And then Foggy’s own phone started ringing. He pulled it out, and there it was—Fiona’s name.

“She’s calling me now,” Foggy muttered.

“Foggy, please,” Matt begged.

Foggy ignored him and answered. “Hey,” he mumbled.

“Hey!” Fiona’s voice was bright, oblivious. “Karen told me she couldn’t reach you or Matt. Where are you guys? Is everything okay?”

Foggy hesitated, then exhaled. “We’re at his place.”

“Oh. Did something happen?” she asked.

Foggy glanced at Matt, who was staring at the ceiling, his brown eyes unfocused. His body was battered, wrapped in bandages, barely able to move.

“Matt was… Matt was in an accident,” Foggy said carefully.

“What?!” Fiona’s voice sharpened. “What kind of accident?”

“He was in a car accident,” Foggy lied, his throat tight.

“What?! Like a taxi or something? Is he okay? Don’t move, okay? I’m halfway out the door.”

“No!” Foggy said quickly. “Just… go help Karen at the office.”

“No! What? Foggy, I’m coming,” Fiona insisted.

“No, Fiona! There’s nothing you can do here,” he snapped.

“He was in an accident, Foggy! I have to make sure he’s okay!” she argued.

“I got this, okay?” Foggy forced the words out. “He’s fine. He needs to rest. I’ll call you if we need anything.”

“Foggy—”

But he hung up before she could say anything else.

There was a heavy silence.

Matt exhaled, exhausted. “Thank you.”

Foggy turned on him with fire in his eyes. “Screw you! I just lied to my own sister for you!” He took a deep breath, his hands shaking with frustration. “I want to know everything, Matt. And don’t you leave a damn thing out.”