The door behind him slid open, letting the noise from inside break through the blanket the night-time Hell's Kitchen had offered to his ears. His other senses picked it up as well – smell of sweat and alcohol, too many perfumes and colognes, mingled together with the smell of expensive snacks the master chefs had prepared. The heat cutting through the cold night air. Too much. Almost too much for Matt to recognize who was the person joining him on the balcony.
"Too much partying?" she asked gently and Matt squeezed his eyes shut, gulping.
In a presence of any other woman, he would be unfazed, being his usual charming himself as Foggy always said. He would say something smooth, flash her a smile, maybe even try and kiss the back of her hand or something like that. But not her. He should get over it and be able to do those things, but he couldn't. He didn't know why.
Lie.
"I just thought the night deserved a little appreciation too, miss Peters," he lied through his teeth, not turning around. Her heart jumped at his words. She was surprised.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to… disturb you. And it was rude of me not to even introduce myself at first. I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock. How— how did you know it was me?"
"I recognized your voice," he admitted.
I can still hear it in my nightmares sometimes. Your scream when they broke your first finger. Another one when they continued. By the fourth, you were only sobbing.
A beat missing. "Oh. Still sorry."
"I'll live."
This wasn't right. It wasn't just him struggling with his words, it was her too. She had been raised to be charming, no doubt; her father was a rich dickhead, Matt had a clear opinion about him, a typical corporate law beast, no heart, no soul, money reflecting in his glasses. His daughter was just another of his great successes; an extremely talented pianist. Now also with the reputation of an extremely tenacious woman who followed her dream against all odds; that she had in common with Matt. Whatever had met her, she fought it off.
You met her, Matthew. You were the bump on her road. You were the obstacle, you were what she had to fought off.
"I'm— uhm. I just wanted to talk to you. Or well- tell you how I admire your work," she explained hesitantly, wavering at the door as if she half expected him to send her away.
It was Matt's turn to be surprised. His work?
"I'm not sure I-"
She waited patiently for him to finish the sentence, but he couldn't even make himself to do it. Her presence was getting him on edge. They should have never met again – but Matt had felt obligated to accept the invitation, because Foggy had asked him to come with him. They had separated within minutes, one of Foggy's new partners demanding Mr. Nelson's attention. Matt had known there was a thick chance he would bump into her during the evening, but he honestly hoped they wouldn't have to talk together.
And here they were.
"The work you do, defending only people who are innocent, listening to the men no one else bothers to even look at and fighting for their rights."
The exact opposite of what your father does.
"I worked against your father, Ms. Peters. More than once," he reminded her instead.
She didn't seem surprised at that; she must have already known. She might have actually known who she was talking to.
Barely.
"No one is perfect."
Matt chuckled darkly, bouncing off the railing. Yeah, he was well-aware. Some flaws were obvious, some were not.
Obvious ones: he was blind. She had the pinkie and ring finger of her left hand only for a show, not working at all.
Hidden ones: he was full of rage, violent and heartless. She… he didn't know. Matt knew only a little about her, what he could have read in the papers, what he could have heard when people talked about her.
"These days, there aren't many people caring for justice, only for the law."
Matt tilted his head, curious. That was an interesting thought – he believed the same, but he wouldn't expect someone like her to feel that way.
"Aren't they the same thing?" he questioned.
She slowly slid the door behind her close, walking to his side, leaning onto the railing right next to the place he had been. She breathed in the city, possibly enjoying the view of thousands of lights.
Matt knew she was beautiful – rather tall and lean, well-fitting flowing dress, bouncy hair, expensive jewellery. The adornment of the evening, another great success, Matt reminded himself.
"They are. In a perfect world," she hummed, turning her head to him, smile in her voice. "Too bad we live in this one."
There was a sad note in her voice now; she sounded like she genuinely regretted it. Was she feeling sorry for herself? For him? A kid blinded at the age nine; if she knew about his work, she had probably done her homework. He didn't want pity. Then again, she didn't seem to pity him. She should understand, after all.
"Too bad," he agreed after a while, hearing her shift when he did.
"It's nice to know that there are still people in this world who care. Good people, good things."
Her words were bitter at his tongue when he let himself to taste them. It wasn't anything about her, there was no malicious note in what she had said; it was all him. He knew she was wrong. The living prove of what he had caused was standing right next to him.
"That's why I love music," she admitted shyly, her heart suddenly speeding up. Nervous? Matt didn't care. This stung. He had tried his best to take this love of hers away from her. Or, he hadn't done anything to prevent someone else from taking it away. And she was still there, fighting her way through.
Matt closed his eyes again, clenching his hands into fists.
Plain room. Probably dark, only an old lamp with a metallic shade over his head. Cold, wetness and mould.
A heartbeat. Young, scared, female; couldn't be older than eighteen. Salt in the air; she had been crying, sweaty and shivering from the cold. Ropes cutting through her wrists as she had been trying to free herself. Vainly. She was still tied to a chair. Just like Matt was.
Matt's fingers twitched, the first part of his body he could make move. Her heartbeat faltered, her breathing hitching – she must have been watching him.
"Sir?"
Did she just call him sir? He was still wearing his mask. That was good. At least one good thing.
"Sir, are you alright?"
Matt gritted his teeth, trying to break free from the cuffs. They were on both, his wrists and ankles, it was irritating and he was very much not alright. His ribs were still broken, he was aware of his concussion and he was confident some of the cuts Claire had stitched up just few hours ago were ripped. Well, so much for getting to her once he would deal with this. The boy Russians had gotten was still in danger, Matt was fucking cuffed to a chair and there was some rich girl cuffed to a chair opposite to him.
Matt wasn't sure why he knew she was rich, but he just knew. Maybe it was the clothes or her perfume or his instinct, whatever. That was the least of his concerns right now.
Her gulp was loud in the wide empty space, but she didn't ask again. She started working on her own restraints, the ropes cutting her skin – he could taste fresh blood as she did so.
"Unless you believe they aren't tight enough – and I think they are – I suggest you stop."
Her movements stopped indeed and Matt could feel her gaze burning through him. Yet, she didn't say a word, new tears appearing on her cheeks.
Matt could hear few more heartbeats in the building – seven – no, eight, nine, one of them was the kid. Good. He just needed to get out of this thing then. He twisted his wrist several times, trying to pull his hand out with absolutely no effect. He let out a frustrated growl. It seemed he would have to dislocate his thumbs. He really did not miss that feeling, still remembering it too well from his times with Stick though.
'Don't be a pussy,' his mentor's voice mocked him and Matt mentally kicked him to shut his smart mouth.
He almost missed the men approaching . He managed another few attempts, gritting his teeth together when hearing and feeling the pop in his joint capsulas. The cuffs were too tight though, almost blocking the blood flow. Great. Dislocated thumbs for nothing. Bravo, Murdock.
'Dumbass,' Stick added and Matt growled in frustration, trying to make the wood of the armrest yield.
The door crook open, four men approaching them. It was immediately clear who was in charge. A rather large man, smelling of cheap cigars and unpleasant cologne – Matt almost started believing it was their tell-tale sign.
To Matt's surprise, the leader headed to the girl.
"I see our guests have met. Were you lucky enough, Ms. Peters? Did you happen to catch his name?"
Matt tasted her fear as the man walked to her, leaning into her space. He shielded her reaction a little, but Matt could still tell she shook her head furiously, wild brush of her hair.
"Hm. Shame. I guess we'll just have to ask him, then."
Matt straightened, leaning forward, his mind racing. Could he take them down even when attached to the chair? It felt too heavy, restricting his movements too much.
He was pissed. Pissed at the Russians for taking the boy just to get to him and even more pissed at himself for letting them.
'You've gone soft, kid. That's your problem…' SHUT UP.
"So…" The first blow came, the man's fist colliding with Matt's cheekbone. Matt barely winced, trying to ignore the burning pain; this would definitely bruise. Not that it mattered. Also, the ring the man was wearing cut his skin, just beneath the hem of Matt's mask. Not important.
"We got you good, didn't we? And you still crawled back. Terrible pain in the ass, I'll give you that…"
Punch right to Matt gut, making him hiss as the broken ribs protested painfully. Few more blows like this and the fracture would become severe enough that some of the bone fragments would penetrate something vital inside.
"Are you enhanced? Extreme pain tolerance? Is that it? So you think you can just screw- with- us?" the man demanded, each of the word followed by another hit. In the back of his mind, Matt registered the girl crying harder, silent shrieks of terror escaping her. Yeah, he didn't like it either.
"But taking the boy, that really pissed you off, didn't it? Well, let's find out if it's just him or other people in general…" the Cigarettes-cologne (Cc-man) wondered, turning around to the girl. Matt's breath hitched. "You've met Ms. Peters. Daughter of Mr. Peters from 'Peters & partners."
Matt had a moment of recognition, remembering why the name sounded familiar; her father was a lawyer – fig fish kind of lawyer. At the same time, the girl curled up in the chair as much as the ropes allowed her, trying to merge with it – Cc-man enjoyed every single step he made towards her, drinking in her fear. Her heart started racing, even faster than it had been since the men entered and started hitting Matt.
"The money is a bit short since you started interfering with our business, maska. Some nice ransom might help to start it up again. However, since she honoured us by her presence, she could… serve another purpose-"
"Please, please don't hurt me-" she sobbed, fear soaking through her pores. Matt set his jaw tight.
"Oh, I won't. Unless I have to," the man reassured her, voice sickeningly sweet. She panted as he inclined to her, beckoning to one of his friends, who immediately appeared by her side, catching the girl's wrist firmer than the ropes.
"Please, please, my dad will give you as much money as you'll ask-"
"But we don't want just the money. We need some information too. So, priyatel', why don't you tell me who do you work for?"
"No one," Matt answered truthfully, a pathetic gesture, because he knew this kind of answer wouldn't satisfy them.
The man hummed, running his fingers alongside hers. She let out choked noise, her heart sounding like she was going to a cardiac arrest.
Don't let him provoke you, he's just threatening her-
As if the cc-man could hear Matt's thought, he retreated from the girl, walking back to him. He beckoned to another of the thugs though and he replaced him at her side.
"Did you know Ms. Peters here is very talented? Her father is so proud of her, proud of his extraordinary little girl… a prodigy, they call her. Odarennyy chelovek. A pianist. Now…"
Before Matt could register what was happening, sickening crack echoed in the room, instantly followed by a deafening scream that cut through the marrow of Matt's bones. Her left pinkie. Broken and dislocated. Matt gasped.
The scream faded, only quiet sobbing remaining.
"Oy, that sounded like it hurt. Do you think there will be any permanent damage?" One of the thugs flicked the broken finger, making the girl cry out.
"Perhaps you would like to reconsider?" Cc-man offered generously, her sobs providing a perfect background. Matt felt a wave of nausea.
"I don't work for any-"
Another scream cut the air, another crack as her ring finger followed her pinkie.
"I only work for myself!" Matt burst out, his cuffs protesting as he lunged forward.
The Cc-man considered his words. "Huh. That's disappointing."
"It's the truth," Matt continued, the girl's pain being his own, as it kept attacking his senses.
"Well, you're pissing me off."
He nodded to his friends and Matt only managed to yell no, before they broke another finger. Another ear-tearing sound of pain, followed by silent pleas to stop.
Matt's mind raced. How the fuck he was supposed to stop that? They were just doing it for fun.
"Tell me then, maska, how much do you know about us? And who else does?"
Matt helplessly shook his head, trying to figure out an answer. He realized too late that they took that as an answer and they didn't like it. Fourth finger.
She kept pleading. Her exhausted whispers were dripping with desperation as the men caught her other hand and started on it as well.
It took Matt agonizingly long to figure out that falling backwards might broke the chair or at least damage it enough to restrain his movements less. It took him eight of her fingers to get there, several well and several poorly aimed blows to his own body before he knocked the four men down.
He found a knife at one of them, cutting the ropes she was tied with. Adrenalin was pumping in his veins instead of blood when he hissed 'stay here' at her, rewarded by another of her sobs.
The rest of their men didn't come down easily. By the time he took the boy he had come for into his arms, he was barely standing, his body one big neon sign of pain. He wanted to take him to the girl and call the police, but the girl was already gone.
"Mr. Murdock? Are you alright?"
The deja-vu hit him hard – her voice, asking him if he was alright. Today, she addressed him with his name though and her hand rested carefully on his forearm. He realized he was gripping the railing, so he forced his muscles to relax, brought back to the present.
Matt cleared his throat. "Yes. I'm— I just got lost in thoughts."
"That must have been a very ugly thought… sorry, that was inappropriate."
"Don't be."
It wasn't like it was her fault, even though she had played a role in the memory.
"So… otherwise you're enjoying the evening?" she asked hesitantly, for some reason trying to keep the conversation somewhat going. Matt wasn't sure why – he wasn't a potential partner with money in the bank to provide.
He dismissed the thought quickly; Elizabeth Peters was nothing but kind to him, sincere, obviously with no hidden agenda. Her heart wasn't lying.
Her hand left his forearm. "Stupid question, I guess. You left to get some air…"
Matt couldn't help but smile at her hastiness. It looked like she had forgotten everything she had ever been taught, no polite phrases and masks. Matt kinda liked it.
"It's not that bad," he reassured her. "The piano concert was nice."
Why the hell did he say that? To pour gasoline into the fire inside of him? Or was he trying to find an absolution? To ease up the guilt that kept knotting his stomach? That she had made it through? Determined woman who had managed to get in a prestige academy with only eight functioning fingers, finding a way?
Her heart made a funny noise at the compliment, which took him by surprise again. He would think she was used to it. Was it because it was him saying it? Matt hadn't even have time to search for signs of attraction which would explain why she had followed him to the balcony in the first place, but when he quickly scanned her now, he sensed nothing.
Admiration? Maybe. She had admitted that. Attraction? No.
"You— you liked it?" she asked, nervously. "All- uhm… all of it?"
Matt tilted his head, wondering. Why would she be asking that? Had there been any mistake he had missed? He had been listening very closely, even when he hadn't really intended to. But the way she had made the keys work as she had wanted – flawless. No hesitation. The perfection had been what had made his chest so tight he had needed to excuse himself for a moment; to wonder how much it had taken to achieve that after what had happened to her. What he had let happen to her.
"Yes. All of them nice pieces."
Matt was no expert. But he could tell if he had heard something before, and he was certain he had heard them already, some of them he had even tried to learn; vainly, because he hadn't been spending enough time with it and the pieces she had played were very difficult.
"Even the last one?"
Now, when she said it, he realized the last one hadn't felt familiar at all – it had been beautiful though. Elizabeth had hesitated before playing that one. Perhaps it was because it hadn't been any of the famous authors who had written it? Matt almost thought it was a shame; the one particular piece had felt very emotional, heavy, but with hopeful ending.
"Yes, even the last one. I don't believe I've heard that one before. Enlighten me?" he asked politely, for the first time facing her. Not that it changed anything for him, he could perceive her just the same; but her pulse made a significant leap before it fluttered, possibly happily.
"It's— uhm… I was waiting for the right occasion to play it. It's… it's mine," she breathed hesitantly and Matt froze.
"Oh," he let out intelligently. Brilliant, Murdock. A+ for human skills. "That's… admirable. It was indeed very nice. Rather dark, but the ending felt hopeful."
She beamed. Matt was at least pretty she did, it felt like she did.
"Thank you. I was… afraid you wouldn't like it." Her voice was quiet, barely a whisper. Matt was puzzled – the way she said it, it felt too personal. Why would it matter if he liked it? "It was a way of venting some feelings I had in my chest for a while."
Matt was utterly confused, sensing a light tone of salt in the air. It brought him back to the warehouse, back to the cold and screaming. He had no idea how to react.
"I… uhm. I wanted to be a pianist as long as I remember," she chuckled nervously, bouncing off the railing, taking a step back. "Prodigy, they called me. Dad loved me for being the miraculous child. It took me a while to decide whether I was fulfilling his dream or mine. During high school, I got pretty sure. I loved the piano. So much."
Matt winced at the fondness in her voice. Jesus, this hurt. She had made it, he reminded himself. She had made it even when you had almost thwarted it…
"Uh… and then I got kidnapped. It was… I guess 'terrible' is one word for it. And they broke my fingers, one after another…"
Matt could recall the cracks very vividly. His own fingers twitched. Why? Was he going to stop her? Put a hand over her mouth so she couldn't talk about it? Because that way it would be like it had never happened?
Coward.
"So, I guess that's why the dark part. Then there's the part which sounds pretty angry, or at least it should have…"
"It did," Matt rasped, realizing it was the truth. For him, it was all part of the dark. Anger, pain, envy – it didn't matter anymore. Not to him. It blended together too much.
"Oh. Good. Because I was so angry. I wasn't alone where they took me. There was a man too," she explained quietly and Matt honestly wanted to jump over the railing and disappear into the night.
Yeah, he knew. He had lived it. Why tell was she telling him this? And why the hell he couldn't make himself to stop her?
"And the men who took me, they were asking him questions. So many questions. And for every silence he offered them, for each wrong answer, they broke one of my fingers. Just like that. I hated them all – the one who broke them, the masked man for allowing him to do it, even when he knew he was ruining my future with it…"
Matt squeezed his eyes shut, setting his jaw tight.
Just shut up, please, shut up.
"I was so angry. I didn't understand why couldn't he have just told them. He heard me scream, he heard the others telling him what I wanted to do one day and— of course, it was stupid. Even then I distantly sensed it was the right thing to do, but it hurt so bad…" she continued and Matt felt like she had slapped him.
I'm sorry, what? Come again?! Matt wanted to blurt out, because what the actual hell?
"What was my dream in comparison to someone's life? Because I have no doubt he saved lives that night, by not telling them anything. Hell, he probably saved mine in the end. And he continued to do it. For years. I was fighting my petty fight, recovering and making my dream come true and he was saving lives. He still is. And somehow, I'm sure he was giving a damn about what was happening to me that night. About what consequences his actions had."
Where did his eyes start stinging? He only registered the tears were about to leave his eyes. Goddammit shit. He clenched his hands to fists to stop them from trembling.
What was this? A forgiveness? An absolution? Was she telling him the story, hoping him to deliver the message to Daredevil? Had she learned along the way that he once had worked with the vigilante? Or was she talking to Matt outside, hoping the man, who was supposedly hearing cries all over the neighbourhood, was listening?
"The song I've written… it's a poor attempt of a tribute to him. It should tell a story and it should be a thank you. So… yeah. Sorry to bother you with that," she hummed, smile in her voice.
There was something knowing in her voice. But that couldn't be—there was no way she could know. No one associated a blind lawyer and the vigilante.
"That's… okay," he choked out, failing to control his vocal cords. "I'm sure he… received the message." No matter how surreal it is.
"Great! I mean, I know it's nothing, but… I actually heard someone talking about buying him coffee for saving them, which is also too little, but at least it was something he could actually have. He got music from me. Well, everyone can only give what they have. I could send him money if I had his account number, but it would be mostly my father's, so… yeah, music. He deserves a thank you if nothing else. Anyway. if you liked it, I'm sure he did to."
Matt wondered if he had too much alcohol and was hallucinating. It kinda felt like it. This was impossible. Pretty scary, considering she kept implying—
"There's one thing bothering me though. I just can't figure out a name for the piece," Elizabeth wondered, cocking her head to side. "What do you think, Mr. Murdock? You suffered through my narrating, so you even know the story behind the notes. Any ideas?"
Matt gulped, completely lost. She totally knew who he was. Yet, she sounded genuinely curious about his opinion, no accusations, no threatening, nothing. What did it mean?
She made her peace with what had happened. The song she had written, it was her way of making her peace.
"…reconciliation?" he offered, clueless.
Matt had no experience in naming masterpieces (and he was quite confident it was one). Yet alone a masterpiece which was supposedly a tribute to him. Jesus, when did that happen? He kept hearing her scream in his nightmares and she had written a song to express her forgiveness? When did the Earth start spinning the other direction?
"Reconciliation. I like that. Not too dramatic, pretty descriptive, simple. Good. It's not the name that should impress people. Thank you, Mr. Murdock. Sorry for disturbing your peace. I'll go now—I believe your friend is looking for you anyway," she shied away as if she realized for the first time what she had done here.
Matt was very well-aware of what she had done. "Thank you," he blurted out, making her freeze in the doorway.
"For what?" she asked curiously, no doubt smiling cockily, because goddammit she knew.
"For… for considering. You know… the… the name for your piece I offered," he babbled, mentally counting to ten. Could she read between the lines? Could she read this as a confirmation of her theory of him leading a double life? Could she understand he was grateful for her forgiveness?
"Oh. Of course. Like I said, I was hoping you would like it, your opinion was important. There are too little people caring for justice and not for law, don't you think? Maybe this kind of people has similar taste…" she offered playfully and if that wasn't a yes to his unspoken questions, then he didn't know what would be.
She didn't even manage to slide the door closed before she bumped into Foggy.
"Mr. Nelson, hope you're having a pleasant evening. Mr. Murdock."
Matt just stood there, still awe-struck, not reacting to Foggy's presence until he put a hand on Matt's shoulder.
"Man, you're okay there? Was she making out with you or something? 'Cause I'm sure Peters would love that, you would be a little like Romeo and Juliet…"
Close enough. Making up, maybe.
Matt let one corner of his lips rise. "Yeah. Or something."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
So… let me know what you think? Any feedback is appreciated.