Listening In - Matthew Murdock

The four times Matthew listened to your heart, and the first time he listened to his own.

1. When he first met you…

“That’s a big fish to fry, and you know how I feel about bad seafood.” Foggy frowned at the lack of reaction and leaned in close, hoping the heat of his proximity would get his friend’s impressively hard-to-earn attention. “Are you even listening, Matt?”

“Someone’s outside,” he replied coldly, forgetting himself, the moment, and letting the tone he reserved for his nightly, less than lawful activities fall across his tongue.

“What?”

Matt head cocked towards the door and laid his palms flat on the cool tabletop, letting every vibration of sound run up the metal supports and into his skin. Though muffled by the white walls of the office and frosted glass of the front door, the single, strong heartbeat that set him on edge clarified into two. Adrenaline spiked slightly in both bloodstreams and the breaths of the pair grew shallow, like a set of panthers preparing to pounce from the shadows, ready to reap Nelson and Murdock, and Page, like prey. At the thought, Matt quickly stood from his seat and swallowed hard, “two someones.”

“Do you have the Sixth Sense or something?” Foggy asked, craning his to look towards the entrance. “I don’t see anyone but you, and you are sca-“

A knock rang through the office, the waves of it echoing bright red in Matt’s mind. His heart skipped at the sound, skipped at the realization: a criminal wouldn’t knock. Fisk’s goons would have barged right in, ready to break anything and anyone in their path. Despite that truth, the knock alone did not soothe Matt’s worry. It was only when he focused again, listened as one of the beating hearts turned soft but strong; there was no sign of nervousness in it’s rhythm.

The sound was quickly drowned out by Karen’s heel clacking against the hardwood. “Hi, sorry! Come in, come in.”

“Hola,” came a voice, sweet but aged. Matt could hear the croaky twinge of a throat made hoarse by years of use and smell a sweet perfume that mingled with more latent, dulled scents of spices. “Es esto Nelson y Murdock?”

“Sí,” Karen returned, and Matt could so easily detect the smile she wore as she opened the door. “Come in, adelante.”

Then came Foggy, smiling too as his voice joined the greeting fray. “Hola!”

Matt would have laughed at his partner’s attempt at a Spanish accent, but he was far too preoccupied with trying to better attune his senses to detect…

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

There it was again, solid but soft. The beat’s gentleness coaxed Matt into, at last, unclenching his fists and ditching the thought of fight entirely. He focused all his senses towards the sound, towards you. All at once, his senses melted away but pooled together to take your shape. He saw you then, in his own way: your hair like wisps of flame, eyes shining like embers, and your lips a sloping curve of the red you were bathed in. Even in the fire of his strange vision, you were beautiful to Matt; a spark all your own.

“Me llamo Elena Cardenas.”

“And I’m Y/N L/N,” you added, and even your voice held it’s own shine. Matt smiled and tilted his head loosely in your direction as if he could try to see you better. He knew he couldn’t, not in the way he longed to see you. He could only ever have pieces of you: the shape of your mouth when you spoke, your fluttering lashes, your hands as you gestured, emphasized your words. When it came to seeing people, Matt could see best when they talked.

Which was why he asked, “how can we help you?”

A small shift in the air, along with the scent of your shampoo, flooded Matt’s senses as you turned your head to look at him. He heard the lightest and sharpest intakes of breath and the wide-eyed burn of your gaze on his face. Despite your hitch in breath, the soft beating of your heart remained steady and Matt’s smile broadened slightly.

How brave you were, how sure.

“I’m Matt, by the way.”

He held out his hand. You hesitated, and Matt knew you were realizing his blindness in that silent way most did; but instead of questioning it, your hand quickly found his. Your skin was soft against his own, warm, inviting, and he could feel your heartbeat through your flesh. It was solid, unyielding, as if you did not need to collect yourself within the newness of the situation you found yourself in, the newness of Matt himself.

“Matt Nelson or Matt Murdock?”

“Murdock. Matt Murdock.”

He wished he could see the smile on your lips, the smile he knew was there based on the minty hint of toothpaste that slipped out in the breathy edge of your small chuckle.

“Well, Matt Murdock, we hope that you can make sure Hell’s Kitchen remains our home.”

2. After the firm’s big victory…

“I figured you would be smiling more.”

Matt lifted his head at the sound of your voice, the smug smile on your lips evident in how your words tilted into a higher pitch. In the red, he saw you with your shoulder pressed against the doorframe of his office, eyeing him and the files of papers spread out across his desk. At the feeling of your eyes on him, Matt smiled. His shift in expression bought himself a moment of silence as you smiled widely back at him. He reached out with his senses, seeking the strong, warm sound of your heart beating in your chest.

A steady rhythm filled Matt’s ears and his smile widened. You laughed.

“That better?” Matt asked as you stepped inside his office, the padding of your shoes on the hardwood floor overshadowing your heartbeat.

“Much,” you beamed, your voice increasing in volume as you grew closer. Matt could trace the line of your figure as you neared his desk, your warmth cutting through the cool air and burning wisps he had left of his vision. “Though, something is still…missing.”

“Missing? If you’re talking about a drink, we have plans to celebrate at Josie’s later. I’d love you have you come along.”

“Thank you, for the invitation, but,” you said, stopping in front of Matt, leaning against the edge of his desk slightly, “that’s not what I was going to say.”

If he was not so overwhelmed by the heat of your body so wonderfully, terribly close his own, Matt would have followed your dialogue, asked what it was that you were going to say. Yet, his expression dropped as he channeled his first impulse. He needed to keep you close, to ensure your presence near his own. That was why, when he tipped his head up, Matt asked: “You were going to accept the invitation, right?”

You chuckled softly, “yes, I’ll be there…”

“Good.”

Matt leaned back slightly, satisfied enough to let a moment of quiet fall between you. He took the opportunity to reach out again, listen in on your heartbeat. As usual, it was untelling and steady in it’s pace. It made you so hard to read, to see in the way Matt could see people, their intentions and feelings. It, no, you maddened him, made him nervous.

You made him all the more nervous when you reached out. Matt could sense your hand extending towards his face, your palm cutting through the air with warmth. He did not flinch away, which, based on your slight pause, surprised you. Though, it did not stop you from gently pulling his glasses away from his face. The red dulled, but your heartbeat did not.

“You look tired, Matt,” you murmured, just as he heard the small clink of his glasses against his desk as you set them aside.

“I have been missing sleep,” he admitted. Matt was about to continue, make some smartass comment to make you laugh and ease any worry you held for him. Before he could, he felt your fingertips kiss his cheek, brush along his skin to the side of his face. Matt could not help himself but lean into your touch.

“You should rest.” At the mere idea of taking the coming lawyer-days and vigilante-nights easy, Matt scoffed. “Really, you should.”

“And let the lovely residents of Hells Kitchen get lost in the power vacuum Fisk left behind? I can’t..I can’t do that, you know I can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed, your hand falling from his face. “That’s why Elena and I came to you, to you and Foggy, and Karen. Hells Kitchen locals with the same heart.”

With the mention, Matt took another moment to check on your heartbeat: still no change. How strange. There was no slow with the sad mention of your late neighbor killed by Fisk’s goons. There was no slight hike in pace when your hand lifted once more and brushed a strand of brown hair from Matt’s forehead. You were calm, steadfast.

When the quiet stretched on too long, he cleared his throat. “We wouldn’t have been able to put him away without you, Y/N. You and Elena.”

“I think you’re underestimating your law firm.”

“I think you’re underestimating your importance in our law firm-”

“Our? Does that mean…”

“The paperwork was filed this morning,” Matt said, nodding, “you’re officially on the Nelson & Murdock payroll, starting next Tuesday.”

You let out a pleased hum, a sound that sent a shiver down Matt’s spine. “Amazing, I-I…thank you. I don’t know what else to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Matt held out an open palm and you rested your hand upon it. Against his rough skin, the callouses and scars, your skin was soft. “It’s like you said: locals with the same heart. We work together.”

“And we work well together,” you mused with a smile, the scent of your toothpaste hitting Matt’s nose. He nodded and smiled too. Matt was about to pull your hand to his lips, to kiss your knuckles with all the gentleness he had left in his bones, when there was a knock on his half-open, office door. At the sound, he tipped his head up.

“Hey you guys,” Karen’s voice rang out. “Foggy’s outside and is ready for Josie’s. You coming too, Y/N?”

“I am,” you said, letting your hand fall from Matt’s. Though, your head turned to face him, the scent of your shampoo flowing with the movement. “You ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

3. When he thought he almost lost you…

“Are you hurt?”

Without waiting for a reply, Matt darted towards you, his cane falling from his grip. You were on a hospital cot and all the noise of the scene drowned out his scarlet-toned sight of you; yet that did not stop Matt. His hands found your knees first, bent as you sat up, then they moved up to your waist then the sides of your face. You found your voice when his fingers traced the peaks of your cheeks and hairline, feeling for wounds.

“No, I-I, I’m okay, just-”

“You’re bleeding.”

Matt grazed the tips of his middle and fore finger across your temple, gathering drops of warm crimson. You winced at the contact and he pulled away quickly, murmuring a soft apology. Matt felt you shift with your knees rocking slightly against his thighs, as you reached up to feel the cut. You winced once more and a rush of fear ran through Matt as he considered the risk of a concussion or worse: internal damage.

He focused on you, your form, your head, listening to the rushing of your blood. There was no sign of abnormal clotting or deeper wound. And, much to Matt’s surprise, your heartbeat was steady, borderline slow. The gentle rhythm was in stark contrast to those around you who were panicked, still reeling from the mad man’s rampage through the hospital. Even Matt was wired, antsy to chase after the man in black who was after Grotto; but you came first, always.

“Y/N-”

“I’m okay, really. I’m in better shape than,” you paused and Matt knew you were surveying the bullet-hole ridden walls and shocked-faced patients. “Better than most.”

“You’re still hurt,” Matt pressed, his hand reaching up to cup the side of your face, this time careful of the cut. “He’s going to pay for this, he’s going to get caught. Did you see where he went?”

“He was following Karen while she was getting Grotto out, but- Matt,” you grabbed his hand with your own. “We don’t even know who this guy is. Legal action is hard to take against a man with no name. We need to wait until he’s in custody.”

“Someone like this isn’t going to go in quietly. The NYPD is going to need help.”

“Then leave Daredevil to do that,” you whispered. “I’m telling you, there was something in his face…something dark, sad but dangerous. They way he went after them…if we step anymore in the way, we’ll be the ones paying for it.”

Matt took a pause and listened to your heart again, sure this time it would be wild, thunderous as you recounted the shooter. He tipped his chin down, leaned in closer to you to truly focus, tune out the rustling of scrubs and chaos outside the hallway.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

“Matt?”

He came to himself, pulled himself out of your steadying presence. “Sorry, I…I’m just glad you’re okay. But, I can’t let him, I can’t stand back.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, giving his hand a squeeze, “I knew you were gonna say something like that. Just be careful.”

“When am I not?” Matt asked, half-joking as he kicked out in search of his cane. As soon as his foot knocked against it, he reached down to pick it up. He had a facade to keep up, though how he hated keeping it up around you.

“Matt,” you pressed warningly, “please. Especially if the Devil comes. He can handle this guy, leave it to him. Please?”

Matt fought back a smile, and, as if sealing some envelope of a promise, Matt leaned towards you. He wished he could kiss you, really kiss. Wished that he could show his relief, his joy that you were relatively unscathed, that you were still you and unwavering. It took all he had to bite back the urge. And he the Devil’s work to do.

So, instead, Matt pressed his lips to your forehead, let himself linger until he felt he could no longer. He thought of Karen and Grotto, the man that could have killed you. Then he pulled away without giving your heart another listen.

4. After he told you his secret…

Dim light, stained red, shone through the frosted glass and filled Matt’s mind with shadows. Two shadows in particular stood out in is mind, alongside two heartbeats. One was bird-like, swift and slightly panicked; it belonged to Karen. Then, there was you, steadfast and solid as ever. It made Matt’s stomach tighten as he twisted the door knob and stepped inside.

Immediately, the two shadows, you and Karen, clarified. In the limited light, he could not make out the details of your expressions. Though, Matt could see your hair and the slight flow to Karen’s skirt. He could tell that you both turned to look at him, watch at the door shut behind him. Karen’s heels clicked against the floor as she stepped out from behind the front desk. You remained terribly still, focused on him.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Matt said, his voice low as he dropped his folded cane aside. With two hands then, he gripped the paper bag he held, his biggest secret.

“What are we doing here, Matt?” Karen asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I-I, uh, I have-” Matt held up the bag and tilted his head your direction. You did not respond to the gesture and remained leant against the edge of the desk.

Karen began shaking her head and took a step back. “I don’t wanna-”

“I have something,” Matt swallowed and stepped towards the both of you, letting his facade fall completely, “that I need you to see.”

As he moved, Matt reached inside the paper bag. He moved confidently without his cane and, because of that, he heard Karen gasp lightly. Yet, all he heard from you was the still steady beating of your heart as his fingers closed around his mask. Slowly, he pulled it out and, in a breath, said, “I’m Daredevil.”

A heavy silence filled the space. Matt had no choice but to listen to the blood racing through your veins and Karen’s. Hers was a wild rush, propelled into such speed by her heart but yours was slower. As usual, your body told him nothing, no matter how hard he listened and wanted. It was only when you took a step forwards that Matt realized he was holding his breath.

“Does that mean you can see?” Karen asked as you continued to step towards him.

“No, not really, only outlines, like I’m trying to see pictures in flames.” Matt turned his head from Karen to you, “like everything’s on fire.”

There was a pause, in which Matt felt your body heat grow more concentrated, more intensely against his skin. Then he heard your voice, soft and careful, “may I?”

“Y-Yeah,” Matt held out his mask and let you take it.

He saw your shape inspect it, hold it up in the desk lamp light before looking back at him. Your hand quickly cast a shadow as you reached towards Matt again, your finger plucking his glasses from his face. He held out his hand to take them from you and, when his fingers closed around the metal frames, he heard your breath hitch.

“Matt,” you whispered, your fingertips tracing the skin surrounding the cuts on his face. “All those times, the bruises and scrapes were from-”

“You weren’t falling or drunk…Foggy lied for you,” Karen realized out loud. “He knew, of course he knew. That’s why he got so angry.”

“Yeah, he knew, not the entire time. Only recently.”

“How long?” You asked, pulling his attention back to you and away from Karen. He frowned in reply and Karen let out a sound halfway between a scoff and a gasp.

“I don’t know if I want an answer to that question,” Karen admitted, “or any question, right now. I…clearly we’re not all in a place where we can be honest with each other.” The lithe woman grabbed her bag and jacket before she started towards the door.

“Karen,” you murmured, reaching out to stop her. She merely shook her head and continued towards the exit fo the office.

“Karen, wait,” Matt called, turning to face her as she left.

With a slight huff, she paused, hand resting on the knob and ready to turn it at any moment. “What? What it is?”

“I’m being honest when I tell you this,” Matt began, swallowing hard, “I’m done with Daredevil. With Fisk gone, justice is safe and I don’t have to be him anymore.”

“You being him isn’t the problem, Matt,” she glanced over her shoulder at him, he could feel the fire in her eyes. “The problem is that you didn’t tell us, tell me…after everything.”

Without waiting for a reply, Karen opened the door, darted out, and shut it behind her. Matt listened for a moment, to the sound of her steps until she reached the end of the hall. There was no hesitation in her gait, no doubt; only the heaviness of pain. Pain that Matt caused, the same painful ache he felt in his chest as he turned back to you.

“I understand if you want to follow her.”

You did not reply. Instead, you lifted the Devil mask up to Matt’s face, pressed it gently into place. Neither of you dared to make a sound. Though, Matt heard everything he did not want to: he heard the pattering of new rain outside and how your heartbeat faltered at the sight of him obscured. You made no other sound, no other move.

“You’re scared of me,” he murmured.

“No,” you replied, pulling the mask away from his face. “I could never be scared of you. Mad? Yes, but I’m worried because, well, I think Karen’s right.”

“She often is,” Matt said, trying to alleviate the tension that gathered suddenly on his shoulders. You nodded, the air shifting with the movement.

“And I don’t think you’re being honest,” you admitted, stepping closer to him. “I don’t think you’re done with him because you are him, Matt. He’s part of you and you can’t ignore a part of yourself, not forever, not like how you want to.”

“He was a means to an end,” Matt replied curtly, pointing to the mask, “an end to Fisk, an end to the chaos, the injustice he brought to the city.”

You hummed, but said nothing. Matt was waiting for you to say something when he felt your hand on his, the one that did not hold his glasses. You forced his palm open, uncurling his fingers, and placed his mask in his grasp.

“Injustice is never done, Matt, no matter who’s gone and who stays. You know that.” As you spoke, you pressed his fingers closed around the mask. “And you should know that I still, and I will, still feel the same about you when you figure this out.”

You held both of his hands, the glasses and mask, in yours and squeezed. He was too stunned to speak, to breath. All he could do was feel your fingers slip from his and listen as the beat of your steady heart grew softer and softer as you walked away.

1. Then, finally, when things began to get brighter…

“I always thought he was joking.”

“What?”

You gestured to the deli meats hanging from the ceiling and the cheeses on the trays before you both. “Foggy. I thought he was joking about the deli. But there he is, wearing an apron and slicing salami like a pro.”

“Clearly Foggy is nothing but serious,” Matt said, his hands feeling around the table for one of the napkins Foggy wrote on early. He tried to fit all four of your last names on a sketch of a plaque: Nelson, Murdock, Page & L/N. The letters didn’t fit and slipped out of the frame he had drawn. You laughed and Matt smiled.

“Not an artist either,” you quipped.

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

“Well, if I’m going to be judging art for you, I better get some rest.”

“Is it late already?” Matt asked, “I thought it was only five.”

“Karen went home at five,” you corrected, standing from your seat. “It’s nine o'clock now and Foggy’s family looks like they’re ready to recruit us into pickling some peppers.”

Matt chuckled and flicked his head towards the deli counter. He saw the outlines of Foggy and his brother folding cold cuts into packages while their mother chatted away. You were right; it was late and the celebration of Father Lantom’s life and the reopening of Nelson’s Meats ended long ago. With a sigh, Matt leaned back and began to stand.

“Can I walk with you?”

“Of course,” you replied, moving over to his side to help him to his feet.

You grabbed his cane and pressed the handle to his palm. Matt smiled to himself at the act and how chipper you sounded when you bid the Nelsons goodnight. The smile endured as you linked your arm in his as you walked out the door together. It almost felt natural, as if the past week never happened and you and Matt were just there, together.

“I missed this.”

“Walking around the city at night? I thought you did that too often,” you joked.

“I missed walking you home,” Matt clarified, “even when I was trying to…to push you away. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” your arm tightened around his own. Matt wanted to stop you in your tracks, to spill everything he wanted to tell you every day before this one. He wanted to tell you about all those times he almost kissed you, he almost told you; and how each time he held back, listened to your heart to try to read you instead.

Matt leaned into the silence that filled the gap following your words. Only the sounds of the city, sirens in the distance, idle chatter, distracted him. If he focused enough, he could hear the sound, the steady thump thump thumping of your heart. If he focused enough, he could pretend nothing ever happened, that the past week never happened and that you and he were still waltzing around whatever it was you felt. It would be like old times.

But Matt was ready to move forward, after everything. He stopped mid-stride and pulled you into a pause on the sidewalk.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“Do you still feel the same?”

You smiled, Matt knew this despite how he could not see. He could smell the drink on your breath, the fizzing, pink mix Foggy’s mom insisted you try. It must have been cherry-flavored.

“I do,” you replied, slipping your arm from his, “and I’m surprised you remember.”

“I couldn’t forget.”

“Not even with all the hits to the head you’ve taken?”

Matt chuckled and shook his head. “No, I…”

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

Not of your heart in his ears, but his own against his ribcage. He was alive, every part of himself and you were there, alit before him.

“Can I kiss you?”

You did not reply, not with words. Instead, your hands slipped up his chest and rested over his heart. They stilled only for a moment before they rose further to Matt’s jaw. Once there, you pulled him in close, pressed your lips to his.

You smiled, Matt knew this despite how he could not see. He felt the curve of your lips in the kiss, a feeling that made the rest of the world fall silent.

Dance with the Devil- 7

Summary: When a new threat turns into something much bigger, Matt Murdock finds help in the form of a woman with a very different moral code, and struggles to choose between himself and the Devil.

Matt Murdock x Reader //Past!Winter Soldier x Reader

Masterlist

Taglist Open.

Word count: 2694

Matt had been outside for a longtime. Of course, deep down Foggy knew that Matt was more than capable of withstanding the cold- there was a lot Matt could withstand. His best friend had been through a lot, between being beaten until he could hardly stand, being shot and stabbed, and having a buildingcrumble on top of him. Somehow Matt had always made it out alive; sometimes he came out in pieces, but always alive. It stood to reason that of all things, Matt could handle the bitter wind and snow just fine. But that didn’t stop Foggy from worrying.

He’d been tailing Karen, mostly from a distance, all night. She was charming, so much so that it was very clear that she didn’t need any help. She carried around the same glass of champagne, balancing it between two fingers, as she casually asked about the show and its dancers. From what Foggy could tell, they were eager to share: yes, they had put in a lot of work and yes, they did know Y/n. Some of them had worked with her from the very first show, others had only met her this year, but they all had the same things to say. She was a quiet, private person, and didn’t spend a lot of time at the theater or go out to parties or bars with the rest of the cast. But she was funny and kind and charming, like Karen… and she ran her own studio a few blocks away, teaching dance at a ridiculously discounted rate.

Foggy made sure to note the address, and pulled it up on his phone. The other dancers had never been there before, but apparently she alsolived above the studio in a small flat- which was odd, he thought, because the ABT theater was known for paying rather handsomely.

And, as in most workplaces, there were rumors. Expensive alcohol fed into already swelled egos and gossip, both of which ran rampant in circles of artists. Most of the rumors were typical: that she’d slept with half of the ensemble, that she had earned her role as the princess by sleeping with the director. Foggy wished that he was surprised by how many rumors seemed to revolve around who slept with who, but then again… He’d been to college.

And then there were rumors so dark, they were whispers shared only over the rim of an alcoholic beverage.

“Do you believe it?” Karen ducked her head, her shoulder brushing against Foggy’s.

“We’re gonna have to owe Brett some serious favors to pull this one,” he said, smiling at a group of passing women.

“This wasn’t in the papers at the Bulletin,” Karen sipped idly at her champagne glass, watching over the rim. “Which means they either pulled the story, or it wasn’t… juicy enough.”

“Or someone got bribed… Or threatened.” Foggy sat his half-empty glass on a passing tray, using his free hands to smooth out his jacket. “What about Urich? He definitely would’ve—“

A violin screamed, the sharp, sudden screech of it echoing in the cavernous room. Foggy’s hands shot to cover his ears as Karen turned toward the source of the interruption. The crowd had also taken notice, a wave of craned necks all pointed towards the double doors, which had been abruptly shoved open.

It took a moment, just a few precious seconds, to register what was happening. Foggy couldn’t see over the ocean of people between him and the door, but a moment later, the ocean became a panicked wave as the attendees began to push and shove their way through the crowd. Where they were going was unclear, as they moved in opposing directions, and the only goal Foggy could register was away.Shouting began to fill in the emptiness left by the abrupt halt of music, and Foggy felt Karen grab his arm and start pulling him toward the double doors that led to the balcony.

In the ensuing chaos, Foggy caught only a glimpse of the source of panic- a snow white, flowing cape that dragged along the ground behind a massive figure. The beast of a man had not been moving, but the hood that covered the head of the figure had turned, slowly searching the crowd, and then Foggy was forced to turn and follow Karen toward the doors.

Others had started moving that way, too, most of them probably unaware that the balcony was not a safety net. There was no way down, not without falling five stories to the cold, unforgiving ground. But Karen- Karen was not looking for an exit, for a way to escape the caped intruder. She was headed for Matt and Y/n, and Foggy prayed they had time to find another escape.

***

The doors had burst open, a cacophony of screams and stampeding footsteps following in its wake. The crowd had dispersed like a bomb, the frantic silk and wool clad swarm of partygoers rushing toward one of only two sets of doors leading out of the ballroom.

Matt pushed you backwards behind him, his hand still groping your shoulder as he moved you as far back from the rush of people as he could.

“You have to run,” he was saying, his voice almost lost in the sea of horrified screams.

“Runwhere?” The iced over railing pressed into your back and you looked over it, quickly calculating the likelihood of surviving a vault over the side. It was… not ideal.

“When I say go,” he was saying, suddenly turning to grab your arm and pull you sideways, following the railing back around toward but off to the side of the doors. “You go.”

Pursing your lips, you didn’t take the time to ask what it was he was planning on doing- this lawyer, blind and in way over his head, was no match for an assassin capable of killing not just one, but three—

The crowd pressed close, their bodies huddled together. It was indiscernible as to who was who, and if the attacker decided to pick them off one by one…

But it was advantageous. You stayed behind Matt, letting him and the endless sea of frightened people conceal you as you silently toed off your heels, leaving them dangerously close to the edge of the balcony. You’d have to be unbelievably fast to dart past whoever was coming, lithe enough to slip below his grasp if he got too close, and hoped that he didn’t have a gun.Even you couldn’t outrun a bullet.

“Give me your shoes,” Matt said, holding out a hand. You frowned at him, but carefully knelt down to gather them in your hand.

“Matt!Matt!”A familiar female voice screeched among the timulting choir of cries as she pushed her way through the crowd. She had tried, hard, to reach you, but she and the stout man clinging to her back as he tried to keep up had not made it before the slow, heavy footsteps reached the doorway.

Karen’s eyes locked on yours, and Matt let go of your shoulder as she slid alongside you and gripped your hand.

“Get her out,” Matt said, carefully taking your heels in his hand. “Get out and keep running. Get her to the office.”

Karen didn’t respond, but her hold of your hand tightened as the figure slowly turned their head, scanning the crowd.

He was a mountainous man, visible even over the heads of frightened people. The long white cape draped over his back brustled in the wind, sucked back from his form in a dramatic flourish. Beneath it, a navy blue and orange suit pulled tight over his broad chest and the thick muscles of his arms and legs.

He turned his head, revealing the mask settled firmly against his face beneath the hood: a stark white skull, the eyes glowing amber in the darkness of the balcony.

Your heart rose into your throat, pulsing against your trachea and threatening to strangle you. The fear made it hard to breathe, and your mind rushed to warn you that you were failing, but it was overwhelmbed by a strong, solid voice echoing a sentiment you’d clung to for years.

Fight or fly, pretty bird. No time to feel anything else right now.

The slow, calculated movements of the hooded figure mutated as his head stopped turning, scanning the fearful crowd as the glowing eyes landed squarely on your face.

He reached for the belt tightened at his waist, the slick glide of a blade cutting through the unforgiving air. It twirled gracefully over his fingers, the hilt pressing delicately into his palm.

It happened in a moment. His arm raised, crossing over his body, and then the knife was soaring through the air, slicing through the snow and wind with precision. It was fast, so fast that you’d had little time to grab Karen by the back of her head and force her into a crouch beside you- but the knife didn’t come, didn’t bury its way into your abdomen or the arm you’d slung up to protect your head.

“Karen!”

Matt’s voice was further away now, and you shot to your feet, ready to defend against the mammoth that was inevitably stalking toward you. The rest of the crowd had started moving, rushing like a herd of gazelles back into the ballroom, toward the doors that led to safety on the other side of it.

You followed them, squeezing Karen’s hand, dragging her impossibly fast through the crowd. She nearly tripped, and you glanced down long enough to see the knife buried in the side of one of your stilettos.

Matt was nowhere to be seen, not through the rush of people around you, and you slowed your pace, turning frantically to search the crowd for the gleam of red from his glasses. Somewhere, you could hear the dull thud of impacts, flesh beating flesh, and the muted thump of your heart in your throat quickened as you released Karen’s hand.

“Go,” you shouted, stooping to grab the shoe. The knife twisted in your hand as you pulled on it, tearing the plastic of the shoe as you wiggled the blade free. “Karen, go!”

No one else was going to die because of you.

Karen didn’t run. She grabbed at you, flailing as you tossed the shoe back to the ground. She screamed your name as you pushed against the crowd, like wading through too deep water as you fought to reach the fight some distance behind you.

The stout man, no doubt Matt’s partner, had caught up, and grabbed you by the arm as you slid between the people separating you from your attacker. The crowd was thinning as people reached the ballroom and ran for the safety of the doors.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nelson’s fingers slid off your arm as you shrugged him off. You didn’t wait to see if he ran as you broke through the crowd to find the white-clad attacker standing at the edge of the balcony, his arm outstretched beyond the railing. He was gripping a thin strip of fabric, the tail of which snapped in the wind like a red flag. Matt’s tie.

Matt himself was nowhere to be found.

“Hey, asshole!”

His head turned as the knife left your fingers, the tip aimed for the center of his head, and you didn’t wait to see if it met the sleek bone of his mask before you were running at him, cursing the long skirt of your dress as you aimed your foot for his rib.

The knife bounced off of his forearm as he deflected it. In the same fluid motion, his hand wrapped tightly around your foot. You swung your weight up, using his hand and the momentum as a boost to push yourself onto his shoulders. You wrapped your legs around his head, squeezing your thighs on either side as your elbow drove down into the top of his skull.

His arms wrapped around your legs, his hands gripping tightly to your waist. He pulled, moving forward, and yanked your body up. You went over his head, his hands letting you freefall, and slammed into the concrete ground. Pain shot through your back as he stepped around you, tilting his head curiously. The moment of reprieve was not enough, your teeth grinding against the pain as he dipped down, wrapping his thick fingers around your throat.

Lights danced behind your eyes as you gasped for air. Several of your nails snapped as your fingertips tried to pry underneath his grip. His fingers tightened as he lifted you up, pulling you toward him until your face was level with his. The glowing embers of his eyes bore into yours, reflecting back the brazen image of your face as hues of blue flushed over your cheeks.

Your legs swung up, the left wrapping around his arm to keep your weight from pulling down on your throat. The other foot connected with his ribs, as hard as you could manage, and his grip on your throat flinched- just enough to get a swallow of air.

His free hand reached for his belt, sliding another knife free. It caught the gleam of light from the ballroom and your eyes widened. The flat sides of the knife were textured with a familiar feather pattern, and as you aimed another kick toward his hand, he drew back his arm with the tip aimed at your face.

His head snapped abruptly to the side, the sickening sound of a crunchas something blunt hit his temple echoing across the balcony. His hand released your throat and your back hit the concrete once more as the black batton bounced off his temple.

You rolled as he swung the knife down, the blade scraping against the concrete below him, and flipped yourself up onto your feet. Gritting your teeth, you grabbed the bottom of your dress, ripping away the excess silk.

He was moving toward you again, the knife flipping over in his hand. You wrapped the silk around each hand, holding it up in time for the knife to glide through it instead of your face.

You let the fabric go, barely sidestepping the knife as he brought it down once more. There was something familiar in the way he fought, the precise movements following you as you evaded him across the balcony. He turned on his heel as you dove under him, rolling to your feet on the other side, and would have brought the knife down again, except that something- someone- had come between you.

The figure was broad-shouldered but slim, his shoulders tense as he grabbed the knife aimed for your head. The red leather of his glove squeezed the attacker’s hand, and the two pushed against each other as you rolled back to your feet.

As the large, imposing man swept his foot underneath your savior, he jumped backwards, and you got a good look at him in the light spilling out of the ballroom.

He was clad in red, head to toe, his suit molded to a muscular form. The leather was interrupted only seldomly with sleek, black fabric along his vital areas. He was wearing a mask that covered the entire back of his head, and when he turned his face to follow the caped assailant, you could trace the stubble along his jaw. The mask had two horns, short and rounded, above his forehead.

Pushing off the ground, you rocked to the balls of your feet, ready to rush forward again. His hands flexed, gripping onto the second batton in his left hand.

“Go,” he said, voice deep, aimed at you though his face was still trained on the other man. “Go, now. Don’t look back.”

Your weight shifted, and you turned without sparing a second glance. The man in the cape wasn’t here for the other man- it was likely he would chase you down, and the further you were from innocent bystanders and the man in red, the safer they were.

So you ran.

@steve-didnothavea-plan@hotleaf-juice@mcueveryday@eliwinchester-barnes@jurpng@spiderlaufeyson@you-bleed-just-toknowyouarealive@morganaah@jasontoddthezombie@julietweasley@simonsbluee@user897sblog@bimboshaggy@gothicxbarbie@dark-night-sky-99@iknowrocknroll@madwitch7@angelhxneyy@zer0luck@lalalaurastuff@cheeseman @tenacioustyrantpirate @lokisnumber1whore