Born again

Elektra’s head pulsed with pain as she braced herself to take Matt’s weight. His muscles might have been appealing to the eye, but carrying them was a whole different kettle of fish. With Matt limp over her shoulder, she stood up from a crouch. Her vision blurred and she stumbled sideways before breathing out through narrowed lips and gathering herself. Every couple of blocks she paused and leaned against a wall or a fence, her teeth clenched against her headache. But she didn’t dare put Matt down, fearing she’d never be able to pick him up again. She was half-way back to the warehouse when it dawned on her that if the Hand’s ninjas had seen Matt’s reaction to Iron Fist, he’d be dead before morning. Madam Gao’s conditions to Matt’s resurrection were clear, and there was no doubt that the old woman was biding her time before the near inevitable (re-)attempt on his life. No, she had to find an alternative.

Stumbling past a church, she saw the faded sign: “St Agnes Mission.” She stopped and leaned against the crumbling stone. In the many months since her own resurrection, memories had been slowly returning – most of them trivial, but some were issues of concern in her past life. She remembered that Matt had paradoxical Catholic beliefs – beliefs that seemed contrary to the man she knew. After all, he wouldn’t hesitate before beating a thief or a crooked cop to a bloody pulp, and he dressed as a devil for goodness sake. The Catholicism had got in the way of their relationship before, she knew that much. She couldn’t remember how, but there was something there – a memory, niggling, painful even. If she had an ounce of strength left, Elektra would have left then and there, but as it was, she was flaking. Pursing her lips, she stumbled down the narrow path, lowered him to the ground, and stumbled against the door in lieu of knocking.

The woman who answered the door whispered through a hatch, “it’s after midnight. We’re closed.”

Before Elektra could answer, the hatch slid closed. She knocked again. Nothing. She tried yet again and the hatch reopened. “Please leave or I’m going to have to call the police,” the woman said in a low voice that was more apologetic than threatening.

“He needs help,” Elektra whispered. “He’s unconscious and he’s going to bleed out if you don’t help.”

The woman was joined by another and they debated the matter in hushed tones. “Sister Angelica, we should at least consider it,” the second woman said.

“The rules are clear, Sister Margaret. An exception to the rule means that it’s no longer a rule. Do you remember the last time you-”

“That was one time. Think of all the people who didn’t resort to violence.”

The first woman, Sister Angelica, cut the conversation short and called to Elektra, “I’ll call you an ambulance.”

“It’s not safe,” Elektra said in hushed tones, now holding her throbbing arm. “He’ll be killed. There are people who want to harm him.”

“That’s not what we do,” Angelica replied.

“He’s not a criminal. He’s a good man. Too good. He…” Elektra paused, trying to figure out how to get them to believe her. “His name is Matthew – Matthew Murdock. He’s Catholic.”

“I’ll call you an ambulance,” the first woman repeated.

She was quickly interrupted by Sister Margaret, who said hurriedly, “no, no, we can help.”

The hatch slid closed and there was another frenzy of conversation between the two women. Eventually, the door creaked open. Elektra squinted into the light, before ducking her head. She crouched next the bloody man at her feet, weakly tugging at his arm.

“You’re hurt yourself,” said Sister Angelica to Elektra, as Sister Margaret bent over Matt, lightly touching Matt’s cheek and then the makeshift bandages Elektra made by ripping up his new suit. “What are his injuries?”

“He was cut… a heavy blade… his upper arm and chest. He’s lost a lot of blood… and he fell…” Elektra put her hand over her forehead, desperate to lie down. “Look, I need to – please look after him. No one must know he’s here. He’s in danger and I can’t protect him.”

Elektra darted down the path, and Sister Angelica called, “come back, we can’t-”

“Yes, we can,” Margaret interrupted. “Help me get him inside. If he doesn’t bleed to death, he’ll die from hypothermia. It’s freezing out here.”

Sister Angelica pursed her lips. In silence, she bent down to take Matt’s legs, allowing Sister Margaret to take his significantly more solid upper half.

Elektra stood around the corner, listening to the Sisters struggle with Matt until she was satisfied they’d taken him in. After limping across Hell’s Kitchen, she was two blocks away from the Hand compound when she realized she had no believable explanation for Matt’s disappearance. She couldn’t make a mistake with this one. She stood in the street for a good couple of minutes before doubling back to Matt’s apartment.

The first thing she did was raid Matt’s thankfully well-stocked first aid kit. She wrapped her aching wrist and cleaned out the gravel that was embedded in her left hand. Elektra didn’t want to admit it, but if Matt hadn’t been at the docks tonight, she’d be injury free. He was her distraction, just as much as she was his. Yet, she wouldn’t change things for the world. A few weeks back, he’d asked her to run away with him, away from the Hand. He was ahead of her there. Elektra knew what they had to do next.

After cleaning her wounds, Elektra stood in the living room and took in the sparse apartment. It had been cleaned since she last visited. She thought back to those confusing days when memories of her past life had started to emerge. This apartment had been the start of the slow process. It was Matt that forced her to remember him, to remember their love. As she lay down on his neatly made bed, breathing in the smell of the man she loved, more slivers of memory came into focus, small and fleeting. Gao had said the resurrection process was designed to retain the Hand’s ancient collective knowledge, but it seemed ridiculously slow. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine Matt was next to her, rather than bleeding out in the hands of the Catholic Church.

The headache came first, then the pain across his chest. His arms and legs tingled and he experimentally moved his fingers before realizing it was a painful mistake. “Get Maggie,” a voice said in a hurried, but hushed tone.

“Sister Margaret,” an imperious voice corrected.

“Sister Margaret,” the first woman repeated, a hint of irritation in her voice.

Matt made to lift his head, but a wave of nausea washed over him and he sunk back into the pillow.

“Stay still,” someone said, her hand light against his shoulder.

No, no, no…. Matt tried to get up again to no avail. He tried to form words, call out for Elektra, but he only managed a croak.

There was a rush of footsteps and someone grasped his hand. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the woman whispered, barely audible.

Thank you? Matt screwed up his face, confused.

“We should get him to drink something,” the first woman said.

“Good idea. Matthew, we have some water here-”

“You lift his head.”

Hands cupped the back of his head and slowly lifted him up. A cup was placed against his lips and he coughed as his mouth couldn’t quite cope with the quantity of water flooding in.

“Lie him down again.”

“No don’t. He might inhale it.”

“Where’s a pillow? We’ll prop him up.”

“Careful of his chest.”

After many more attempts, he finally managed to swallow enough water to satisfy the sisters. One by one they departed until only one remained. She picked up his hand and pressed a string of beads into his palm. He slowly felt along the strand until he came to a metal cross. He ran his finger up and down over the rough metal, soothed by the repetition.

“Go to sleep,” she said. “I’ll be here. You’re safe.”

Matt had no reason to trust this woman. He had no idea who she was or where he was, and yet her voice settled him. Feeling the weight of fatigue behind his eyes, he let himself drift away into sleep.

“His apartment’s no problem,” Danny said. “I’m happy to pay the rent indefinitely.”

“Can you pay mine too,” Jessica muttered sarcastically.

“Sure.”

Jessica raised one eyebrow and looked at Danny like he was mad.

“Guys, can we get back to the matter at hand,” Luke interrupted. He was leaning against Danny’s kitchen bench. Claire, who was perched on top of the bench, leaned over and gave him a supportive touch.

“Nelson, what do you think?”

“I think he’s taken his father’s boxing robes and we haven’t seen him since.”

“But the bed. It was slept in.”

“For all we know, it was the same night he returned for the robes.” Foggy pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what to do. This whole affair – I just – I just don’t know what to think.”

“If he is a zombie, should we even be paying for a zombie apartment?” Luke said.

“He’s not a zombie, Luke. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I’m not writing him off.”

Jessica took a swig of beer. “I hate to say it, but Danny’s right. People change. Even if he is under the control of the Hand right now, he might not be next week.”

They sat there in silence. There was no arguing with Jessica on that point, not after her experience.

“Look, discussing his apartment isn’t really the priority here,” Danny finally said. “I told you, I’ve covered that. It’s a non-issue. What I am concerned about is finding him. If he’s alive and well and with the Hand, then we need to bring him back into the fold. If he’s – if he’s not alive… then we need to find him… you know, for closure.”

Foggy looked down at the ground, willing away the tears. It was hard enough the first time around, not knowing if Matt was dead or not. This second time it was even worse, particularly with all the tales about Matt not being Matt and all. He had no doubt that Matt was in there somewhere… if he was still alive.

Karen had been unusually silent throughout the entire meeting. She finally piped up, “I have a-a friend. He’s found Daredevil in the past when no one else could. He could do it again.”

Foggy flashed her a look, and she deliberately turned away, staring at a point on the opposite wall.

“Yeah, do that,” Claire said. There was a silence. No one had any other suggestions beyond just looking for him. Jessica had going out every night in search of Matt to no avail. Danny spent his nights roaming Hell’s Kitchen, keeping his promise to Matt to protect the city, while also hoping Matt would show up again, knife or not. Luke had tapped into his network of mentees, and Claire kept an eye on the hospitals, just in case he’d been taken in.

After the meeting, Foggy pulled Karen aside. “A friend? Please tell me you’re not talking about Castle.”

Karen gave a nervous laugh. “Frank? No, of course not.” She was thankful that only Matt could hear her lies.

But then again, Foggy didn’t seem all that convinced either. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “who’s this friend then?”

“Just someone who I use for stories, you know. I have to protect my sources, Foggy.”

“That’s convenient,” Foggy grumbled.

“Maybe we should stay at Matt’s apartment for a bit. You know, just in case he comes home.”

“You heard the others,” Foggy hissed. “Matt might be dangerous.”

“I don’t think he’d hurt you, Foggy.”

Foggy sighed. “I don’t think he would either.” He massaged his chin, digging his fingers deep into his bone. “The bastard. Nothing is simple with Matt.”

Karen pulled Foggy’s hand away from his chin to stop him from drawing bruises. She said softly, “but that’s why we love him, is it not?”

Matt woke up to someone pulling at his chest. Without thinking, he swung at them. There was a shriek then a bang as the woman fell to the floor. Matt froze, too shocked to move.

He heard the sound of running across the creaky floorboards and a gasped, “Sister Margaret, are you alright?”

Sister Margaret stumbled to her feet. “Yes, yes, I’m fine, Sister Maria” she said, patting down her apron. “I was cleaning his wound and he just got a fright, that’s all.”

“Matthew’s bleeding,” Maria said.

They both leapt into action, pressing down on his oozing wound. “Shall I call the doctor?”

“No, no it’s fine,” Sister Margaret said. “The stitches are intact. The sudden movement just caused it to bleed. Go, I can handle it.”

As soon as Maria had left, Margaret sat next to Matt’s hip and continued cleaning the wound. She said softly, “you have a killer left hook – j-just like your father.”

“I – I don’t remember. I don’t know – I’m having a bit of trouble…”

“Shhh shhh… it’s fine, Matty. You hit your head last night. It’s probably a bit of concussion.”

Somewhere in the depths of Matt’s murky memory, something pinged at the mention of ‘Matty’. He gave a small moan and Margaret pulled away, think she’d hurt him. “Sorry.”

She dabbed at the oozing blood with gentle fingers. “Do you want me to tell you about him?”

Matt silently opened and closed his mouth before stuttering, “my-my father? You knew him?”

“I did,” she said, binning the blood-soaked gauze and opening a fresh packet. “He was a kind man. He raised you on his own and made you work hard – harder than you probably should have at that age.”

“Oh.”

“It got you into college though. He would be proud of you.”

Matt frowned. “Would?”

“He passed away… many years ago now.”

“Oh.” Matt found it hard to connect with these facts. He listened as if she were reading a biography about someone else. He couldn’t cry for someone he couldn’t remember.

“It’s not often that a boxer’s son becomes a lawyer.”

Matt bit his bottom lip. Small glimpses of memory, tiny slivers flitted in and out again before he could fully grasp the whole picture.

In the absence of a response, Sister Margaret continued, “your father - he was a solid man, but light on his feet. When he made up his mind to do something, he did it. Nothing could get in his way.”

Matt’s lip trembled and Margaret retreated to the sink, covering up the sound of her quickening heartbeat with the running tap. As she wrung out a cloth, she continued, “when you were born, he-”

“Please, no more,” Matt said, confused and overwhelmed. “I can’t – I don’t want- not now-”

“Of course, I’m sorry. I’ll re-dress your wound and let you rest.”

Matt lay in the tiny room alone, listening to the dozens of people in adjacent rooms. From what he could tell, he wasn’t the only one with injuries to tend to, and yet for some reason he was segregated from the other patients. He tried to sit up, but the combination of dizziness and restricted movement from the row of stitches across his chest meant that going anywhere was out of the question. He lay there, tapping his right fingers as a distraction.

He had no idea what to do next. Elektra had pretty much done everything for him since he’d been resurrected. She’d organized meals, dressed him, ordered him to sparring practice, not to mention teaching him things that he’d forgotten following his rebirth. This was not to say that he wasn’t capable. He just hadn’t needed to be. But now, Elektra was gone (where?), he was in a foreign building (what?), with strangers who seemed far from threatening and at least one who even knew his father (who?).

When the woman returned, he stuttered out a few questions, starting with “where am I?”

“St Agnes mission,” the woman replied, bowing her head briefly.

“H-how?”

“You were brought in by a woman-”

Matt struggled half-upright. “Where is she?”

“She left," Sister Margaret replied, a hint of reluctance in her voice. "She said you were in danger and we had to look after you.”

“But-but- did she – did she say she was coming back?”

“No, dear, but-”

“I don’t understand." Matt rubbed his forehead. "In danger from whom?”

“She didn’t say. The other sisters – they weren’t so keen-”

Matt bunched his fists around the coarse sheets. “I need to find her. Get back-”

“We can help you get home, Matthew. I’ll help you. Or you can stay here as long as you need.”

“Sister – Sister Mar…”

“Sister Margaret,” she confirmed.

“I don’t understand.” Matt was getting increasingly distressed.

Sister Margaret touched his temple near where he'd cracked his head against the asphalt. “You hit your head. Do you have a friend I can call?”

Matt squirmed sideways off the bed and landed with a heavy thud on the cold tiled floor. He groaned with pain as a couple of his stitches popped open. He wasn’t going anywhere just yet.

“Psst! Matthew. Wake up.”

“Elektra! I tried to leave, but – but-”

“It doesn’t matter. You need to stay here for another two days. But first, I need to take your photo.”

“My what?”

“Shhh. You need to sit up. White background, let me see…. Can you sit up over here?”

With Elektra pretty much wholly taking his weight, Matt shuffled over to the far wall and sat heavily on the chair.

“Good,” Elektra whispered. “Your hair! You look like shit, Matthew.”

“I feel like shit,” Matt replied earnestly.

“Fair enough. Now, I need you to pretend to look into a camera. Can you do that? Straight ahead. Eyes… no… chin up… like this,” Elektra tilted his chin up and towards her. “Shit. Maybe if I… yeah, straight at my voice.” Elektra ducked down so that her mouth was directly behind the lens. “Good. There should be something useable here.”

“Elektra, what are you doing?”

“Planning ahead.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’re going back to bed.” Elektra helped Matt onto the cot.

“I’ll be back in two days time,” she whispered, ignoring Matt’s protests as she slipped out the door.

Two days later, Matt was sitting anxiously on a chair in his tiny room, fully dressed in a second-hand shirt, jumper and jeans.

"Good news," Sister Margaret said, bustling into the room.

Matt sat up straight. "Is she here?"

"Oh, no – not that. I found you a cane."

Matt looked puzzled.

“For navigation,” she added, perplexed by Matt’s continued memory issues. “Are you okay?”

"Mmm yes," Matt said taking the stick and running his hand along it curiously. It obviously meant a lot to her, so he said, "thank you."

"You're welcome. Um, I could find you some glasses if you'd like, but we don't have anything quite like your old ones as you can probably imagine."

Matt nodded, again, not quite understanding what she was talking about. He had a faint memory of glasses, but he felt anxious every time he tried to remember their significance, so he tried to put it out of his mind.

"Are you sure you want to leave so soon? Your wound is still quite red. It'd be better for you to rest. Even if it’s only a couple more days."

“I’m sure. Elektra will look after me.”

Sister Margaret looked at him with pity. He was convinced this mystery woman was coming for him, and yet she'd made it quite clear to the Sisters that she couldn't care or protect him.

"If- if she doesn't, maybe I could call your friend, Foggy," Margaret suggested.

"No!" Matt yelped. "I mean, no thanks." He twisted the cane in his hands. "How-how do you know about F-Foggy?"

"You two famously took down Wilson Fisk. Everyone in Hell's Kitchen knows about your partnership."

Matt nodded again, trying to deal with this extra information: he and Foggy were partners, not just friends. Matt puzzled. If they were so close, why did Foggy want to kill him?

Over the course of the day, Matt grew increasingly tired. He eventually capitulated and lay down, although he stayed fully dressed and ready to go. The Sisters had retired for the night by the time Elektra crept into Matt’s tiny room. Despite his best efforts, he’d had drifted off to sleep and he awoke with a panicked huff.

"Shhh... come on, we have to go," Elektra whispered.

"I-I should say goodbye."

"No time for that. Come on, Matthew."

Matt shook his head. "I should-"

"Fine. Write them a note."

"Write them?"

"Yeah." Elektra searched the room for a pencil and paper and put the pencil in Matt's right hand. Matt seemed confused, and Elektra snapped her fingers. "I forgot, left hand," and tugged the pencil from Matt's right hand. "Here, you remember how to fight. Surely you can remember how to write as well."

Matt concentrated hard, and eventually scribbled out something approximating a thank you note.

"It's the thought that counts," Elektra muttered. "Anyway, come on."

They padded down the hallway and Elektra helped Matt climb through a slim window, giving him the occasional "shush" as his pained panting grew louder.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see," Elektra said, gesturing him towards a waiting car. "Get in."

Gritting his teeth, Matt slid into the back seat. "Where-"

"The airport," Elektra said to the driver before turning back to Matt. "Are you intent on carrying that cane around?"

"I-I don't know. They gave it-"

"Stick it in here," Elektra said, unzipping the tiny case waiting for them on the back seat. "I see the nuns managed to get you into shoes," she said. "Can I convince you to swap them for something that doesn't smell like rancid foot?"

Matt wasn't listening. As soon as Elektra opened the case, the familiar smell of the scarf and notebook floated out. Matt put his hand into the case and touched the scarf, and notebook before running his hands over the pyramidal talking clock. "How-"

"With difficulty. But I had to get a few of my things, so I figured two birds, one stone et cetera."

"No, I mean how did you know-"

"There had to be a reason you were hoarding a tatty scarf, notebook and bashed up clock."

Matt blushed and mumbled a "thank you."

After a complete change, Elektra looked him up and down and said, "much better." The pace at which Matt was able to change clothes with his limited mobility meant that by the time his shoelaces were tied, they were just pulling up at JFK airport.

Elektra passed the driver a wad of cash as they got out of the car, and took Matt's hand with a bounce in her step. "You said you wanted us to run away, and I took your request seriously, Matthew."

"Why all the secrecy?"

"The Hand wanted you to kill. I don't understand your reluctance to be honest, but it's your choice. Unfortunately, it also marks you as a target. They know, Matthew. They know you had the opportunity to kill the Iron Fist and didn't. That puts you at risk and I can't have it."

"It's my fight."

"Yes, but not in your condition. In case you hadn't noticed, your chest is being held together by some flimsy thread."

"So we're coming back?"

"We're free to do whatever we wish." She put on a posh accent, and said with a giggle, "now, Mr and Mrs Martin have to check in and then proceed directly to the first class lounge." She nudged his passport against his hand. "Your passport, Mr Michael Martin."

"Michael Martin?"

"Yeah, as long as you're holding that passport it is. Remember, when we go through immigration pretend to look directly where they tell you."

"Mmm hmm." Matt hooked his hand around Elektra's elbow – a habit more than anything – and tried to act like a rich boy of leisure as he'd been instructed. He couldn't help breaking into a smile every few minutes. He had Elektra all to himself, they were running away from all the confusion, all the strangeness, all the interactions with his past acquaintances and/or foes. He pushed out the growing unease about his supposed friendship with the Foggy guy, and with his head down, whispered with a broad grin, "Mr and Mrs Martin."

"Matthew, slow down," Elektra hissed as Matt mowed into the smoked salmon and cheese provided in the first class lounge. He'd barely eaten over the last few days, repelled by the overcooked meals provided to him at the shelter, and now he was starving. As a distraction, Elektra nudged a thin stemmed glass into his hand. "Here, champagne. Actual champagne." Matt was about to take a sip when Elektra purred, "à ta santé" and clinked his glass. "Oh, uh, a ta..."

"Santé. A ta santé. Cheers, or literally, to your health."

"I think I remember that," he said.

"You used to speak French – to an extent. It'll come back once we're in Lyon."

Matt smiled and leaned into her. "Lyon?"

"You'll enjoy the food."

Matt grasped Elektra's hand and said excitedly, "what else will we do?"

"Well, we'll drink wine and eat cheese for a start. Then – well, I don't really know. We can do whatever we like."

"Like sex." Matt nuzzled into her neck and breathed, "I'd like that." He stopped with a sudden pained, "oh."

"What is it?"

"My stitches just pulled. I'm fine." He touched the brace around her wrist from the minor break a few nights prior. "Are you okay?"

"I am now - with you. I don't know how you do it, Matthew. The light inside you – it's infectious."