Chapter 1
The best part of Matt's day comes at three fifteen. He leaves the office precisely on the hour so he's the first thing she sees when she pokes her head out of the school's double doors, hiding behind the legs of a teacher's aide until she spies him. His heart leaps up in his chest with happiness every time he hears her quick little steps running toward him, every time her tiny fingers curl around his.
She's short and her hair smells like the bubblegum shampoo she loves and feels like silk under his fingers when he tucks the errant strands behind her ears. Foggy's told him on many occasions that she has his hair, wavy and dark to match her wide eyes, that no one would ever wonder what their relationship is.
She's a quiet child, painfully shy at times. The only people she really opens up around are Matt's closest and oldest friends, people that have probably talked to her every day of the short six years she's been on the planet. And this is a new school, the first week of first grade. It's been wearing on her. Matt can feel it in the way she makes herself small in the crowd, her already tiny shoulders hunched forward a little bit, hands tucked under her arms until she sees him. She makes herself an island in a sea of children, and it makes his heart hurt.
Today isn't any different. He focuses his supernatural hearing on her faint heartbeat, knowing its cadence better than any sound on earth. The moment she sees him it flutters excitedly. He tries not to flinch as she bounds down the steps toward him, the edge of her hard-soled shoe catching the bottom step unevenly. She rights herself before she falls, making a beeline for him.
He bends down and catches her in a consoling hug. He can tell she isn't happy as she clings to him, whispering in his ear, "Do I have to come back tomorrow?"
He leans back, taking a moment to focus in on the sound waves he needs in order to see her. He makes out the shape of her lips, turned down and on the verge of quivering. She's trying to be brave, to swallow back the tears that are threatening. He sighs, taking her hand in his and holding it gently. "Sweetheart, we've talked about this, haven't we?"
She refuses to answer him, looking down at her feet.
"Maggie." He says her name softly, encouraging her to engage with him.
"Yeah?"
"You like to count right? And to draw? And you like reading?" She nods reluctantly, looking back up at him. "So what's so bad about going to school?"
"There's too many kids. They're loud and mean and…" The dam bursts and tears, already so easily spilled, come cascading down her face. "I miss my old school."
He's never been able to handle her tears, they claw at him from the inside out, and it's all he can do not to scoop her up and carry her home. People might think it's odd if he just abandons the pretense of using his cane. Normally he would simply hold her hand as they walk back to their apartment, listening to her describe all the things they pass, answering her seemingly endless list of questions.
Screw it, he thinks. Let the other parents look at him as strangely as they want, their staring obvious to him by the sudden silence in the chatter. He wonders if anyone realizes they do that, stop talking when they stare at him. He scoops Maggie up, holding her close as she cries, swinging his cane out half heartedly as he carries her away from the school.
He doesn't notice the little piece of paper wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet until they're almost home, her tears subsiding, soft little hiccups echoing in his ear. He fingers the paper curiously. "What's this?"
The hiccups stop, and she pulls back from his shoulder. Pulling her wrist close to her chest, she hesitates. "N-nothing."
He heart rate speeds up, the temperature of her skin rising almost imperceptibly as she tells her little fib.
"Maggie, what does Sister Eunice say about lying?" He almost feels guilty pulling the nun's name out of his back pocket like that whenever Maggie misbehaves, but the little girl adores the older woman, looking for her every time they attend mass.
Taking a deep breath, Maggie sticks her wrist back out to him, surrendering. "It's a note from my teacher… Am I in trouble?"
Matt carefully detaches the paper from his daughter's wrist, slipping it into his pocket. "I don't know, Mags. We'll have to see what the note says first."
"Don't they know to call you about things like this?"
"I haven't had time to meet with her teacher. Things have been so hectic at the office." Matt sighs. It doesn't seem like being a single father is ever something he will settle into. There just aren't enough hours in the day to get everything he needs done. He waves the note in front of him until Karen takes it.
"Looks like Maggie's teacher wants to talk with you privately after school tomorrow. Mags is having trouble adjusting." Looking up, Karen catches the sad look at skitters across Matt's face. "... Which, judging by the look on your face, is something you already know?"
Matt doesn't answer her, instead shuffling over to the couch where the child is snoozing, cartoons playing softly in the background. "Every morning it's a fight, every evening it's a long conversation about why she has to go back. I just don't… Do you know how hard it is not to scoop her up and just bring her to the office with me instead of making her walk through those glass doors?"
There's another sound under the racket from the Tv, under the Karen's soft sigh of understanding. It's so faint, that at first he's not sure what he's hearing. It's like a far away echo of Karen's heart, muffled and hidden away. It's only when he realizes she keeps brushing the palm of her hand against her abdomen that he recognizes the sound.
He cocks his head to the side, looking in Karen's direction, a soft smile on his face. "Have you told him yet?"
"Huh?"
He laughs at her confusion, appreciating the distraction. "Karen… It's been years since I first heard the sound of Maggie's heartbeat, but it's not something I'll ever forget."
A soft curse falls from her lips, hands flying up to her face, heat flooding her skin. "Matt, seriously, that's not fair."
He can't hide the wistfulness in his voice. "Yeah, Milla didn't like it much when I did that to her either." He pushes away the sadness. "So… have you?"
She shakes her head, walking to the window. "I…. I'm afraid to tell him, Matt. It's not like this was the plan."
"Ah, well, you know what they say about best laid plans…" He cracks his knuckles. "If he acts like a dick, I'll kick his ass for you."
This does make her laugh, the breath she was holding escaping out into the dimly lit apartment. "Well, you could try." She turns back to Matt, amusement slowly fading away. "I'm not actually worried about him being mad… I just don't want to cause him any more pain."
Matt glances back at Maggie, the thought of losing her makes his blood run cold, one hand balling into a fist defensively. It's been years since Frank and Matt have been on opposite sides of an imaginary war, and they still aren't close, but Matt has a much clearer understanding of the man's motivations now that he has a daughter of his own.
At least Karen has someone to share all of this with. The fears he has just bubble up inside of him until they spill over into nightmares, waking him up in a cold sweat at night. He'd give anything to have someone beside him when he jerks awake panting with fear. "Don't wait too long, Karen."
"I won't."
Elektra loves the smell of chalk dust, happily taking the last classroom in St. Anthony's Elementary School that still has an old fashioned slate chalkboard. She hoards the little sticks of chalk in her desk, fingers slick with the powdery substance as she erases the rows of carefully drawn letters and numbers. She does it in big sweeping arcs, stretching up on her tiptoes to reach the highest ones.
She's staying late today, waiting for the elusive Mr. Murdock to slip into her classroom. Little Maggie had said her father was going to take her to her aunt's before coming back for their meeting. Elektra has yet to lay eyes on the man, which is odd. Most of the parents here are almost overly involved in their children's schooling, pestering her with inane questions or plying her with food and various gifts.
One of the few teachers at the school who wasn't a nun, she was in a particularly strange position. The mothers of her students eyed her somewhat suspiciously when they saw her less than sensible shoes and her colorful cardigans, and the father's stammered awkwardly during parent teacher conferences. They were harmless though, attached to their wives' hips.
It's the single dads that are a problem. Men caught in messy divorces looking for a distraction, or worse, bachelors who thought themselves charming, laying laughably pathetic one-liners on her. She wrinkles her nose at the memory of the last dad to hit on her. They really love to comment on her 'exotic' accent.
Mostly though, she's able to fend for herself, using one finely arched eyebrow to intimidate these harmless and lonely men into backing off. It's a skill she's honed over years of practice. It also helps that the school strictly forbids teachers from dating parents, a rule she's barely ever been tempted to break.
She dusts her hands off, moving over to a cluster of tables. There are crayons and construction paper scattered everywhere. The kids get a little rowdy in the last twenty minutes of class, anxious to be on their way home. She always lets them have some free-play time to unwind, even if it leaves her with a bit of a mess.
She's sweeping the scattered crayons into a giant box when she hears a sharp rap on the door frame accompanied by a softly spoken, "Anyone in here?"
The odd introduction makes her straighten, tugging at the hem of her blouse. It's only when she looks in the direction of her visitor that she realizes the rapping sound is coming from his cane gently tapping the doorframe.
"Oh, hell."
"Interesting language for a teacher at a Catholic elementary school."
The sentence is chastising, but the tone is amused, one corner of the man's mouth twitching up, his expression otherwise unreadable behind his small round sunglasses.
"I'm so sorry about the note, I didn't realize…" Shit. This is probably the most awkward conversation she's had in years. "I didn't even look at Maggie's file. There's just so much red tape. I figured a note would be easier." She's not used to this, being embarrassed by her tendency to just vault obstacles and do whatever she wants. "You are Mr. Murdock, aren't you? Or am I making an ass out of myself for no reason?"
This time he does laugh, and the sound is like deeply timbered bells, rich and smooth. "Present and accounted for, Mrs…" He trails off, waiting for a formal introduction.
"Miss Natchios." She crosses the space between them, reaching for his hand. His fingers are slender and his grip is firm, a little shiver going through her when he draws his thumb across the back of her knuckles.
"Call me, Matt."
She nods, instinctively pulling him toward a couple of chairs in the corner of the room. When they're seated, she can't help but stare at him. He's bathed in the late afternoon light pouring in the giant windows. His hair is dark, but it's shot through with the occasional lighter strands, the lenses of his glasses glinting at her. And there's a faint stubble along his jaw, barely a day's growth.
On top of everything, he's wearing a fitted gray suit, the lines of his broad shoulders clearly defined in the tailored material. She can't help it but she's a sucker for a well dressed man. She tries to make small talk, to ease into the awkward conversation she needs to have about his daughter. "What do you do for a living, Matt?"
"Defense attorney. My partner and I have a small practice with far too many clients." He lets out a tired sigh. "It runs me ragged. I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to meet before this. How is Maggie doing.. really?"
Sympathy tugs at her, and for the first time she notices the lines of exhaustion and worry on his face. She's reminded of why they're here to begin with. She grabs her notebook from a nearby table, flipping through the notes she takes on all of her students. "First of all, Maggie is entirely too well-behaved."
One of his eyebrows shoots up at the comment. "What?"
"Maybe that's not the right way to put it… She doesn't really push the boundaries of authority at all. She waits for permission to move a muscle, and absolutely never pushes her way into situations with the other children."
"I still don't see how that's a bad thing?"
Elektra sighs, "It's not bad exactly, but it makes me worry that she's incredibly uncomfortable here. I want to her play and ask questions and try new things without fear. She needs to know that she's not going to get in trouble for opening up."
Matt frowns, leaning forward in his seat. "What am I supposed to do? I can't make her like this place. I don't know why she's so uncomfortable."
"What happens when she does things at home she's not supposed to?"
"We talk about it…" He blushes, and Elektra feels a corresponding warmth in her own cheeks, but it's definitely not from embarrassment. It's the first time in years someone has evoked this particular physical response in her. He shifts uncomfortably. "... and sometimes we go talk to Father Lantom or one of the Sisters at the church."
"Well there's your problem right there. Nuns are the worst. Starting the whole catholic guilt thing a little bit early, don't you think?"
His brow furrows, confusion on his features. "What are you talking about? Maggie loves sister Eunice. And isn't this a Catholic school?"
"It sure is, and as someone who was raised by nuns, I can say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that nuns are the absolute worst."
He's distracted by her revelation. "You were raised by nuns?"
She nods, catching herself when the silence drags out awkwardly. "Um, I mean, yes. Poor little orphan Elektra, raised by a revolving door of religious women." She shrugs it off, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "It's how I got this job actually, a bit of good old fashioned nepotism." She brings the conversation back around to the previous topic. "You need to let your daughter misbehave, encourage it even. Trust me, you don't want her having her rebellious phase when she's sixteen."
"This is ridiculous." He's getting a little indignant, rising from his chair. "Do you have any serious suggestions?"
He only waits for half a second before turning to leave, but Elektra reaches out and catches his elbow. "Hey stop, please. I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget not everyone has the same contradictory feelings about these things. All I'm saying is maybe let her know it's okay to get in a little trouble once in a while. The world won't end if she calls some mean boy a name, or if she doesn't want to share occasionally. Let her break some rules."
He does stop, much to her relief, and turns back toward her. Suddenly everything seems impossibly quiet, and she gets the feeling that he's looking at her, really looking at her. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she swallows involuntarily. His hand comes up to rest over hers, the pads of his fingers trailing along her knuckles down to her wrist as if he's etching the shape and texture into his brain. "I appreciate your advice, Miss Natchios, but leave the raising of my daughter to me. Rules aren't meant to be broken. She just needs time to get used to this place."
There's an edge to his words, nostrils flaring to punctuate his sentence. God help her, but she finds this pushback entirely too sexy. Her skin burns where he's touching it, a little thrill of desire going through her as he plucks her hand from his elbow, turning to exit her classroom.
He's all the way out in the hall before she comes back to her senses, running to the door to call out to him. "I assure you, Mr. Murdock. There are quite a few rules that are just absolutely made to be broken!" She can think of one rule in particular that she's going to break. She's going to absolutely shatter it.