Hells Messenger

Foggy had barely turned the lock before Fiona pushed the door open, stepping inside his apartment with a bright, almost-too-cheery smile.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “I come in peace.”

Foggy raised an eyebrow but stepped aside to let her in. “Yeah? You’re not here to tell me off for being a jackass?”

“Nope,” she said, popping the “p” as she walked past him and flopped onto his couch. “I’m here to apologize.”

Foggy frowned, following her into the living room. “Fi, you don’t have to—”

“No, I do,” she interrupted, turning to face him. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I really wasn’t feeling well, and I just… needed space. But that doesn’t mean I wanted to shut you out completely.”

Foggy sighed, running a hand through his hair before sinking onto the couch beside her. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. The way I talked to you… it wasn’t fair.”

Fiona shook her head. “You were upset.”

“So were you,” he pointed out. “Karen said you called her, crying. She was really worried.”

Fiona hesitated, but then she shrugged like it was nothing. “It was just… everything with Fisk, you know? It’s a lot. And I hadn’t been sleeping much, so I guess it all just caught up with me.”

Foggy studied her for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he believed her. But then he sighed and nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a hell of a week.”

Fiona forced a small smile. “Tell me about it.”

He nudged her shoulder. “Well, if you ever wanna take a break from being a badass reporter and just binge dumb reality TV with your brother, I’m always here.”

Fiona let out a real laugh at that, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You know what? That actually sounds kinda nice.”

“Damn right it does.”

• • • • • • •

Fiona nearly spilled her tea at the sudden knock against her window. Her heart pounded as she froze, staring at the sheer curtains. The vague outline of a figure stood on the fire escape, and every muscle in her body tensed.

She was still on edge after Wesley. After what she’d done. After what Fisk would undoubtedly do in return. It was only a matter of time before he came for her. She had been extra careful since that night, keeping every door and window locked.

But if this was someone Fisk sent, why would they knock?

Slowly, cautiously, she set her mug down and walked over to the window. Holding her breath, she reached out and pulled the curtain aside.

A sharp exhale of relief escaped her when she saw the familiar masked figure.

Without hesitation, she unlatched the window and pulled it open, stepping back as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen climbed inside.

“You’re keeping your windows locked now,” he noted. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, well, there’s this crazy guy in a mask running around, so you can’t be too careful,” she quipped, closing the window behind him. “I assume you’re here to complain about Fisk getting his story out before I could.”

“No.” His voice was low, firm. “I’m here for information.”

As he stepped closer, she noticed the stiffness in his movements, the way he carried his weight like it hurt to even stand.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, eyes scanning over him.

“I’m okay,” he brushed off, reaching into his pocket. “This is why I’m here.”

He held out a small, tightly wrapped white square with a red question mark stamped on the front. Fiona took it, turning it over in her palm.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked.

“Do you?” he countered.

“It’s heroin,” she said after a beat, handing it back to him. “From what I’ve heard, top shelf. Steel Serpent, that’s what people call it.”

“The man I took that from murdered Elena Cardenas,” he told her. “He was working for Fisk. Before he died, Vladimir Ranskahov said Fisk had arranged access to the Chinese and their drug trade.”

“But the Russians are gone,” she pointed out.

“I’m not interested in the Russians.”

“So you’re fighting the Triads now?”

“Russians were in charge of distribution, right?” he asked.

“As far as I know.”

“With them out of the way, there’s a lot of money lying on the table.”

“So maybe Fisk picked up distribution,” she mused.

“Like I said,” he nodded, “a lot of money. And I’m guessing tearing down Hell’s Kitchen isn’t cheap.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Okay, but he’s still getting money from other places. This might slow him down, but it won’t stop him.”

“No, but it might knock him off balance. Get him mad—mad enough to make a mistake.”

Fiona tilted her head. “I might actually have something for that. Some new information—”

“No.” His voice was sharp, cutting her off. “I want you to keep your head down until this is over.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, we both know I’m definitely not gonna do that.”

He sighed, like he already knew that answer. Like he was bracing himself for it.

“The Chinese,” he said after a pause. “Who’s the man at the top?”

She smirked. “That’s very sexist of you.”

“What?”

“There is no man at the top,” she said, enjoying the way he hesitated. “It’s a woman. But I don’t know her name.”

“Do you know where I can find her?”

“If I did, I’d be living in a penthouse with better security,” she muttered.

“The Russian that Blake shot in interrogation—there was a Chinese man in the back of his cab in an alley. Blind, carried a backpack.”

She frowned, rifling through the papers on her desk. “Yeah… I’ve seen them before. 51st and 10th. But this research is from months ago.”

“I’ll see what I can find.”

“Well, it was during the day. I don’t think they move a lot at night.” She smirked. “Might interfere with your whole ‘stick to the shadows’ thing.”

“I’ll dress down.” He moved toward the window, ready to climb out.

“You know,” she called after him, “you should probably get a better outfit. No wonder you’re hurt—you’re wearing a t-shirt.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “I’m working on it.” Halfway out the window, he turned back to her, his voice softer. “Be careful, Fiona. Fisk is an animal… and we’re backing him into a corner.”

• • • • • • •

Fiona paced back and forth across the office, arms crossed tightly over her chest as Karen sat at one of the desks, eyes scanning the draft on her computer screen. The room was quiet, save for the occasional click of Karen scrolling through the document.

Neither Matt nor Foggy had been in the office for days. They still weren’t talking, which left just Fiona and Karen trying to keep things moving. But with everything happening, things felt... off.

Karen finally leaned back in her chair, exhaling. “Fiona, this is amazing.”

Fiona stopped pacing, turning to face her. “You really think so?”

Karen nodded. “Yeah. It’s solid. It’s compelling. And it’s damning.” She hesitated for a second before looking up at her. “Are you sure you want to post this?”

Fiona let out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over her face. “No. I’m not sure at all.” She sighed, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This could be really dangerous. For both of us.”

“I know,” Karen said, watching her carefully.

“I didn’t include your name,” Fiona admitted. “If Fisk comes after me, I don’t want him coming after you too.”

Karen shook her head. “I don’t want you doing this alone. I was there too. If we’re putting this out there, we do it together.”

Fiona studied her for a moment before nodding, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “It still needs some work,” she said, motioning toward the screen. “More editing, refining. And I’m still waiting to hear back from a few sources. People who may have known Fisk or his mother back in the day.”

Karen gestured toward the empty offices. “You can work in Matt or Foggy’s office. Neither of them are here, so you might as well use the space.”

Fiona let out a breath, pushing off the desk. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

• • • • • • •

The office was eerily quiet, the only sounds coming from the occasional hum of passing cars outside. Fiona sat at one of the desks, her laptop screen glowing in the dim room. The article was nearly done, staring back at her, waiting for her to hit publish. But she couldn’t—not yet.

She knew what would happen once she did. The weight of it sat heavy on her chest. Was she ready for that? Was she selfless enough to throw herself into the fire, knowing exactly what it would cost?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard when the front door rattled. The unexpected noise sent a jolt of panic through her, her breath hitching. She froze, listening as someone outside tested the handle.

Her mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario. Fisk. His men. They’d found her.

She was already planning the fastest way to the back exit when a familiar voice called through the door.

“Karen? Are you in there?”

Fiona exhaled sharply, relief crashing over her like a wave. “Um, no, it’s me,” she called back, already moving to unlock the door. She pulled it open to find Matt standing there, his head slightly tilted in that way that told her he was assessing her.

“Sorry,” she said, stepping back to let him in. “Karen said I could stay here to work.”

Matt hesitated before stepping inside, closing the door behind him. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Fiona forced a small smile. “Yeah. I just… didn’t want to be at home, I guess.” She shrugged, hoping it was convincing.

Matt lingered near the door, his gaze fixed on her in that quiet, unreadable way of his. “What are you working on?”

Fiona’s fingers twitched against the desk. “It’s nothing,” she said too quickly, shutting her laptop with a soft click.

Matt didn’t call her out on it, but she could tell he knew she was lying.

Instead, she shifted the focus to him, tilting her head as she studied his face. “The swelling around your eye went down,” she noted, stepping a little closer.

Matt huffed out a small, tired laugh. “Yeah, well… it was never that bad.”

Fiona raised a skeptical brow. “It looked bad.”

Her teasing faded as she took him in fully. He looked… exhausted. Not just in the way that meant he hadn’t been sleeping, but the kind of exhaustion that settled deep in the bones. The weight of everything—Fisk, Foggy, whatever else he wasn’t telling her—it was pressing down on him.

She softened. “Matty… if something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

Matt let out a slow breath, dragging a hand down his face before leaning against the doorway to his office. His posture sagged, like standing up straight was just too much effort.

“I knew this guy,” he said finally, his voice rough with exhaustion. “We were close once. He told me that if I… if I really wanted to be effective at what I do, I’d have to push the people I care about away.”

Fiona frowned, stepping closer. “Don’t tell me you think he’s right.”

Matt shook his head. “I didn’t. At least, I didn’t think I was listening to him. But this guy, he has a way of getting in your head, you know?” He sighed, the weight of something unspoken pressing down on him. “And here’s the thing… I had a really shitty night. The kind where you think you’ve seen the bottom of humanity, and then the pit just keeps getting deeper.”

Fiona’s breath hitched at the rawness in his voice. Tears burned at the back of her eyes as she watched him, his expression unraveling in front of her.

“I…” His voice broke. “I can’t… I can’t do this alone. I can’t—” His bottom lip trembled like he was seconds away from falling apart completely. “I can’t take another step.”

Fiona didn’t hesitate. “Matty,” she whispered, rushing forward. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He didn’t resist. If anything, he melted into her, his arms locking around her waist as he clung to her, like he needed something—someone—to hold onto just to keep from collapsing.

Fiona tightened her arms around him, running a soothing hand up and down his back. “You can always tell me anything, Matty,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady. “No matter what it is. No matter how bad it feels. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

Matt exhaled shakily against her shoulder, like the weight of the world was finally catching up to him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled.

She huffed, pulling back just enough to cup his face in her hands. Her thumbs brushed over the rough stubble along his jaw, her gaze searching his tired features. “Well, too bad,” she teased, offering him a small, teasing smile. “You’re stuck with me.”

His lips twitched, just slightly, like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it yet. Still, he leaned into her touch, his forehead resting against hers for a moment.

She let him stay there, just breathing, grounding himself. Then, finally, she sighed. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s call it a night.”

Matt hesitated. “Fiona—”

“No, I mean it,” she said, slipping her fingers through his. “You need to rest. I need to rest. We’ll deal with everything tomorrow.”

He nodded slowly, squeezing her hand. “Okay.”

They walked out of the office together, fingers still loosely intertwined. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Fiona didn’t feel completely alone.

• • • • • • •

The morning light filtered softly through Matt’s apartment, casting a warm glow over the bed where Fiona lay, curled against his side. The sheets were tangled between them, the slow rise and fall of Matt’s breathing steady beneath her cheek. His arm was draped lazily around her waist, fingers absently tracing circles against her back.

She blinked against the morning light, tilting her head slightly to look up at him. His expression was relaxed, peaceful in a way she didn’t see often. His dark lashes rested against his bruised cheek, his lips parted just slightly as he slept. For a moment, she just let herself exist there, safe and warm beside him.

Matt stirred, humming softly as his grip on her tightened. “You’re staring,” he mumbled sleepily, voice still heavy with sleep.

Fiona grinned. “How would you know?”

“I always know when you’re staring,” he teased, shifting onto his back with a quiet sigh. His free hand came up, brushing through her hair as she propped herself up on one elbow.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be so nice to look at,” she countered, poking him lightly in the chest.

Matt chuckled, the sound low and warm in the morning quiet. “Not sure I’d call myself nice to look at right now.”

Fiona made a face, reaching up to trace a finger gently over the fading bruise on his cheekbone. “I don’t know… I’ve always thought you were kinda cute.”

Matt let out a soft laugh, reaching for her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. “I think you’re biased.”

“I think I’m right.”

He smirked, tugging her down until she was pressed against his chest again. She melted into him easily, soaking up his warmth, letting the morning stretch on.

But the moment of peace only lasted so long before reality began creeping back in. Fiona sighed against his skin, tracing absent patterns along his collarbone. “Matt… I have to tell you something.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, his hand still stroking slow, soothing circles against her back. “What is it?”

Fiona sat up, pulling the blanket with her as she faced him. “The story. About Fisk’s mother. It’s ready to be published.”

Matt’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “You’re sure?”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “It took a while to piece everything together, but yeah. It’s solid. Karen and I double-checked everything. If we put this out there, it’ll expose him. It proves he’s been controlling his own story, covering up his past.”

Matt was silent for a beat, his brows furrowing in thought. “You know what’s going to happen once it’s out.”

She nodded. “I do.”

His fingers found hers, squeezing gently. “It won’t just be Fisk coming after you.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“You don’t have to do this, Fi,” he said, his voice softer now. “You can walk away.”

She scoffed. “Would you?”

Matt let out a short breath, shaking his head. “No.”

“Then neither can I.” She held his gaze, determination settling in her chest. “I’m not going to let him win.”

Matt studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Then publish it.”

Fiona blinked. “You really think I should?”

His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “It’s the truth. And the people in this city deserve to hear it.”

She exhaled slowly, leaning into him. “Okay,” she whispered.

Matt pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her as he rested his chin against the top of her head. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he murmured, his voice steady with quiet determination.