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The evening after his fight against the Defenders, Matt made his way back to the apartment that was supposedly his. He recalled Jessica's words: "Catholic... Resurrection... You talked enough before all this..." He couldn't find a personality in his apartment last time, but now that he had a few hints, maybe he'd find something he missed.
Matt stood at the base of the fire escape, nursing his injured arm while plotting the best one-armed route. Elektra had tightly bandaged his wrist, but it still ached to use. Taking a running leap, he jumped onto a dumpster and pulled himself onto the fire escape with one hand. Listening for potential intruders, he crouched on the roof for a few minutes, eventually creeping down the interior stairs (and once again skipping the bottom step).
Matt padded into the bedroom. The set of drawers next to the bed held a couple of small items: a handkerchief, a folded metallic sleeve, a thick book filled with the familiar raised dots, and a much smaller notebook. He pulled out a scarf that smelled like sweat and dust, and immediately buried his nose into the rough weave. Wrapping the scarf around his neck, he breathed in the scent, slightly giddy. There was something to it – something that he couldn’t let go. Matt tried to remember, concentrating deeper and deeper until his head ached. He pounded the drawers in frustration and an object on top announced "7.34 pm." Matt jumped in fright, paused, then touched the object. "7.35 pm," it said this time. The object was quickly stuffed into his jacket, bulging and distorting the fabric.
Matt was flicking through the small notebook of slightly wonky dots when he heard the voice of the stranger coming up the stairs. Stuffing the notebook into his pocket, he dashed into the living room just as the key turned into the lock. There wasn't time to make it out without being seen, so he flew back into the bedroom and rolled under the bed. His heartbeat was racing to the point where he could feel the floorboards vibrate under him.
"I'm telling you, he'll come back if it really was him,” the stranger said. “I know Matt. He's impossible to kill off."
The stranger was part of it, Matt deduced. They tried to kill me. This was a trap. He analyzed the best way to escape. The windows were a possibility, but not ideal. He could try and fight his way out, but if they had succeeded in murdering him before, they could do it again. Shit. Why had he let his curiosity lead him into such a simple trap?
"Ergh," a woman said. "The bulb's blown."
"Probably the earthquake. There's a lamp over here somewhere."
"Oh good. That billboard makes his apartment super creepy."
"I dunno. It's more like a nightclub, don't you think?"
There was a click and the buzzing of a light bulb. "So are we really cleaning all this up?"
"If he is alive, I'd say he'd probably appreciate it," the stranger replied.
"Jess reckons he's not the same, Foggy. It's hard, but maybe we don't know what he'd like."
Matt shifted in his hiding spot. There was the name again: Foggy.
"Everyone likes an apartment that isn't filled with plaster and broken objects, Karen," the stranger snapped.
Karen, Matt repeated to himself. Foggy, Karen…
"Shhh..." Karen hissed. Matt startled, flattening himself against the ground.
"What?" whispered the stranger – Foggy – no, the stranger. Matt closed his eyes tight, trying to clear his confusion. ‘The stranger’ was a simpler term. Easy. Unambiguous.
"The bedroom,” Karen said, tiptoeing to the door.
"The bedroom wasn't like that when I was here last," the stranger said, a wobble in his voice. "His entire wardrobe's been ripped apart." He ran over to the bedside drawers and wrenched them open. "His father's scarf and his notebook's gone."
"What? Let me see." There was a rustling as she pulled out the metallic sleeve, "he – he kept the monkey balloon?"
"Can we keep on topic, please," the stranger snapped, slamming the drawer shut.
"Well, what should we do? He's obviously collected the two things he cared about the most. That probably means he's not coming back."
"Not the two most," Foggy whispered, hurrying out to the living room again. There was a creak of an old door, and the sound of clips being released. "His dad's robes are here still. He wouldn't have left them. Nope. He's been here, but he'll be back."
The woman stopped picking at her fingers and gave a deep sigh. "Fog-"
"Don't help if you don't want to, Karen."
She replied in a muffled voice, "no, I'll help."
The two of them spent the next couple of hours sweeping up the broken crockery, dust and other broken objects scattered around the apartment. When they moved into the bathroom, Matt used the opportunity to stealth roll out from beneath the bed and leap back up to the roof. He huddled by the access door, unable to tear himself away.
When they eventually left with a small garbage bag of rubble, Matt crept back inside and towards the creaky door. He lifted the lid of the case inside and was rewarded with the same smell that was infused in the scarf. He caressed the soft fabric and held it to his chest, debating whether or not to leave it. After all, its presence seemed significant to the stranger. The thought of leaving the robes hurt, so he stuffed the fabric down his jacket and scrambled back onto the roof.
"Matthew," Elektra whispered, knocking on his bedroom door. Matt quickly stuffed his found objects down the side of his bed before opening the door with a small smile.
She gently pushed him aside and closed the door behind her. "Where did you go tonight?"
"Out," Matt said cryptically.
Elektra reached out and touched his cheek, which was still cold from the night air. He leaned into her touch and they backed back until his knees were against the bed. Matt grabbed Elektra as he fell, nuzzling his face into her chest. Straddling him, she pinned his hands above his head and he grinned, tilting his head back in temporary surrender.
The subsequent sex was as violent as it had always been. Even before their resurrections, they’d barely held back, finding a shared rhythm and style that could never be matched.
“Broken chairs can be replaced,” Elektra murmured into Matt’s side with a small giggle afterwards. The drowsiness softened them, and they curled into each other as they drifted off to sleep.
Elektra found Matt sitting cross-legged on his bed, hunched over some fabric. “What are you doing?” she asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.
“Making a new fighting suit,” he said, pulling the thread taut and knotting it off. He cut the thread with his teeth, before screwing up his face and spitting out a rogue strand.
“What’s wrong with the one I gave you?”
“Nothing. I just want to use this material.”
“It’s shiny and yellow,” she said slowly, as if talking to a child.
Matt shrugged.
“It’s not exactly subtle, Matthew. It’ll be hard to hide in the shadows.”
“Can’t see shadows anyway,” he mumbled. “I’ll just have to be quicker.”
He stripped down to his underwear, earning a snigger from Elektra. Slipping into the new costume, he reached back and pulled the integrated hood over his head. It was a boxy mask that covered his eyes and had two rough seams that stuck out at angles to the top of his head. Elektra stared, trying to work out how he’d returned to horns of all things. It was an unlikely coincidence.
Matt listened for her reaction before prompting, “what do you think?”
She rubbed his stomach and chest where the satin was stretched taut against his skin. “I think it emphasizes your muscles. I like it.”
He grinned and stretched out, testing the seams. “When are we going out again?”
“How’s your wrist?”
Matt rolled his hand experimentally. “Fine.”
“Tonight then.”
Madam Gao watched on critically as Elektra explained to Matt the evening’s plans. Gao had remained scarce during Matt’s training. Now that she was the sole founding leader of the hand, she’d found herself busy with the Hand’s rather banal administrative requirements. However, she kept tabs on his progress. She remained cynical about Matt’s long-term loyalties, occasionally reminding Elektra of the deal they made before his resurrection – reminders that never failed to rile Elektra.
Ignoring Gao’s gaze, Elektra said to Matt, “there will be half a dozen Hand providing security while we unload the cargo. We’re providing special security, specifically targeting the Defenders if they turn up.” Matt nodded in agreement. Elektra continued, “the Iron Fist has been targeting our shipments since the Midlands Circle incident.”
“He is the enemy of the Hand,” Matt said, repeating the man’s declaration from the previous week. He thought back to Danny’s other words, and asked, “what’s K'un-Lun?”
Madam Gao cleared her throat. “It used to be my home,” she said softly. “There was a group of us who enjoyed life, who wanted to preserve our knowledge and skills over generations. There were five of us – the fingers of the Hand. I am the only one left – the only one holding that collective knowledge and experience. The elders of K'un-Lun prefer to pass knowledge through books and stories.” She smiled and added, “rather inefficient in my opinion.”
“But they don’t like your method,” Matt deduced.
“Fools,” Madam Gao said witheringly. “We can’t be complacent though. They fear our power. They want us dead. The Iron Fist will try to kill you. You must kill him first.”
Matt said, “I defend life. I don’t kill.”
Madam Gao looked at Matt then back to Elektra. “He will kill,” Gao said pointedly.
“I won’t,” Matt repeated, more firmly this time. “I don’t belong to anyone.”
“You serve the Hand,” Gao reminded Matt.
“But I don’t kill.”
Madam Gao smiled at Elektra with raised eyebrows. Elektra glared back, angry at the woman’s unspoken threat. It was an exchange that Matt was entirely unaware of, and yet he still shifted uneasily in the silence.
Keen to escape Madam Gao’s enigmatic gaze, Elektra grabbed Matt’s elbow and gave him a tug. “Come on Matthew. Let’s select tonight’s weapons.”
“No,” Elektra said firmly.
Matt flipped the pair of billy clubs in the air before twirling them in his hand at a dizzying speed. “Why not?”
“What are you going to do with blunt sticks?” she spat.
“Plenty.”
She jabbed at his hand, kicking the billy clubs away while he was distracted. Grabbing a hefty sword from the rack, she placed it in his hands. “What about this one?”
“Too heavy,” he said.
She chose a smaller sword, and he screwed up his face.
“What’s wrong with this one?”
“It’s uneven.”
“Two then,” she said, handing him a pair of swords.
He walked over to the rack and replaced the swords loudly and deliberately.
“Okay, at least take this.” Elektra handed him a large knife.
Matt weighed it in his hands, turning it over and assessing the weight. He nodded and slipped it into the holster attached to his leg alongside his beloved billy clubs.
The two of them crouched on the top of a pile of shipping containers, waiting for Iron Fist to show up. A mixture of anticipation and cold had Matt more jittery than usual, particularly as his new outfit with its thin fabric was proving less than suitable for the New York winter.
Elektra looked down at his scrunched-up toes that were white with cold. “I told you to wear shoes.”
He put his hand out to tell her to be quiet. “Iron Fist,” Matt whispered to Elektra.
“Where?”
Matt pointed to his left. “Beyond the fence.”
“Let’s go,” Elektra said, jumping from their vantage point down to the single adjacent crate. Matt followed, but stopped at the first jump, head down in concentration. Satisfied that it wasn’t a diversion, Matt leaped from crate to crate with utmost elegance.
Elektra was waiting for him at the perimeter fence and gave a huff of annoyance as he drew near. “Slow poke,” she whispered.
“He’s waiting,” Matt whispered back.
“What for? Are the other two around?”
Matt listened again. “No.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” Elektra ran to the fence and slid through a narrow gap.
“Elektra, wait!” Matt called, running after her. He struggled to get through the gap. His costume snagged on a stray wire and he swore, unpicking the fabric before slithering through the wires with a grunt. He got to the duo just as Danny unleashed the full force of his fist on Elektra. She flew across the empty lot and skidded over the gravel until she met with the fence, slumping unconscious amongst the perimeter weeds.
“No!” Matt roared, running full pelt at Danny. He could sense Danny’s energy concentrating, moving towards his fist once more, but at Matt’s yells, the energy dissipated and Danny took a single step back and raised his fists in a regular defensive pose.
Matt could hear another heartbeat approach and he briefly stopped his run at Danny, assessing the threat. Female, carrying a sword, young… a little nervous. He’d deal with the Iron Fist first. He smiled and met Danny head on, punching him with such force that Danny skittered across the broken ground. Matt caught the scent of blood and his smile broadened as he crunched his way slowly and confidently towards his foe.
“Matt,” Danny moaned, “what the fuck are you doing?”
Matt came to a stop and bunched his fists.
“Seriously dude, this isn’t you.”
Matt threw himself at Danny, pinning him to the ground. “What would you know about who I am?” he growled.
“Because we’re friends. You told me to take care of your city. That’s why I’m here.”
Matt could hear Elektra struggle to her feet and the other woman’s heartbeat dangerously close. He didn’t have time for conversation, and yet he yearned to know more.
Elektra called, “Matthew, you know what to do.” At the prompt, Matt whipped out his knife, and held it above Danny’s head. To his surprise, Danny didn’t struggle. It was enough to make Matt hesitate.
“You don’t want to do this,” Danny said, his voice absurdly calm. “You need to protect the city… like you used to.”
“No,” Matt said, steeling himself.
“Matthew, it’s a trick. Don’t listen to him,” Elektra said, and Matt parroted “it’s a trick” under his breath.
“It’s not a trick,” Danny whispered. “You’re a good man, Matt-”
Matt gave a roar of frustration and flipped the knife, bringing the blunt end down on Danny’s forehead. He went limp and Matt momentarily lost himself in his confusion, breaking out of it only when Elektra yelled, “Matthew, watch your right.” He ducked sideways, narrowly missing the mystery woman’s sword. Distracted by his attempt to assess Elektra’s state of health, Matt avoided another swipe by a hair’s breath.
“Concentrate. Every move must have a purpose,” Matt whispered to himself. He couldn’t afford to be complacent. The mystery woman was disciplined and skilled, and her style familiar. Matt drew his billy clubs and growled, “you were trained by the Hand.”
“I’m not the Hand,” she said, lithely avoiding a kick. “That’s not who I am.”
“You fight like the Hand,” he replied, blocking her sword and kicking her away with enough force that she doubled up in pain.
“You’re right,” she gasped, catching her breath. “I was trained by them, but they don’t own me – just like they don’t own you and they don’t get to tell you what to do. Danny knows it, I know it, the only one who doesn’t, is you.”
Matt paused for a moment and turned his attention back to Elektra, who was limping towards the fight. Matt could hear the creak of her fractured bone, and hissed, “Elektra, I’ve got this.”
The lapse in concentration was all it took. The mystery woman took a flying leap and slashed across Matt’s chest and arm. He gasped and stumbled back, tripping over a broken bottle and falling to the ground with a heavy thud. The ground seemed to tilt sideways, threatening to toss him into whirling oblivion. There was a clash of swords and he tried to get up, pushing his feet weakly against the loose gravel. He opened his mouth to call Elektra’s name, but before he could try she was there, cradling his head. “Don’t,” she whispered, “don’t speak.” As Elektra murmured a tortured, “I’m your distraction. I’m sorry,” Matt struggled once more to get up, to console her, but the world finally spun out from beneath him, and he slumped into her arms.