3859/Turnabout is Fairplay

Turnabout is Fairplay
Date of Scene:	11 February 2018
Location:	New York City
Synopsis:	Matt seeks out Elektra to ask a favour. They have drinks, return to old arguments then go separately into the night to do violence.
Cast of Characters:	Daredevil, Elektra

---

Daredevil has posed:
On a normal week, Matt Murdock's life was an endless slog between his cases and court time during the day and his patrols as Daredevil at night.

This week though, had been no ordinary week.

It had been hell.

The Rising Tide had taken out the world's internet and without it the world seemed on the verge of tearing itself apart. The courts had ground to a halt, stopping cases, leaving people yet to be arraigned still in jail and beginning the endless struggle of getting the ones who were Matt's clients out of their current predicament.

As Daredevil, he almost missed the bureaucratic grid lock of his day. The street lights were out and with no light to illuminate them and police response spotty at best, it hadn't taken long for the Kitchen to run wild and Matt to find himself in the middle of it.

He bore the marks of his nightly struggles even as he rode the cab through the Gotham city streets, a bruise on his chin, a split lip, a shallow cut, freshly bandaged under his shirt. Normally, he'd have done what he could at the courthouse and then gone home to rest before going out to try and hold back the night, but not today, today he had other troubles related to the Rising Tide, and when his own fatigued attempts to solved them failed, it left him with only one other recourse. One he'd hoped to avoid.

Elektra.

He gets out of the cab a block from her soon-to-be rec centre and follows the sound of construction, getting a feel for the place that she's chosen for it as he does. The patterns of sounds and sensations here felt very close to the Kitchen here and he wondered if that was on purpose. Waving his cane in front of him, he navigates through the streets towards the sounds that fill his ears, growing louder with each step. When he's on the curb out front, he focuses inwards, untangling the knot of sensations for signs of the familiar, a smell, the too steady beat of her heart within. He finds both.

He walks forward, going through the motions of finding the door only to be confronted by one of the workers, "Hey buddy, are you blind or something-" he stops short when he sees the cane and Matt can feel the man's cheeks warm.

Matt's smile somehow manages to be at once cheeky and disarming, "Yes actually, but maybe you can help me. I'm here to see Miss Nachios, is she in?"

Elektra has posed:
He can hear her before he sees her.

Clipped tones insist, "No. You will get this done. If extra security is needed, give me the numbers. This is not an insurmountable problem, gentlemen, but it will become one if you insist upon giving me excuses."

To his ears, Matt might notice the lines of tension in her tones. The edge of tired that she can't banish.

"Now, if we're done, I've had a long day. I trust this has been resolved."

Without waiting for an answer, she leaves the room where all her important meetings have been held - what will become the main breakroom for staff when the building goes up.

He'd notice the tension in her. Where he's had part of his life decline and the other escalate, she's had all aspects of her life explode. The project insisted upon problem after problem: a byproduct have having so many contracting groups working in tandem in order to push up the opening date. Rising Tide's little game had only increased those problems. The Hand were taking full advantage of the chaos - offering protection services (for money, of course!), even as they took to the streets, creating the very things they were protecting businesses from..

More than that, she'd taken to the streets at night as well, doing what small acts of goodness she could outside the purview of her role as the Fist that controlled The Hand. She told herself it balanced things. Made her a decent person. Left it so that she didn't face her reflection in the mirror each day with a growing sense of loathing.

The lies she told herself to keep herself sane.

She saw him within seconds. Sensed him, even. It had always been like that with her. The worker Matt was talking to barely having had time to open his mouth to provide an answer for the man, and there she was in the hallway, taking care of matters herself.

"It's already. I'll see to him." When the worker nodded, and immediately went back to his job, she closed her eyes and took a long, steadying breath before offering Matt a soft, but weary, "Matthew."

Daredevil has posed:
When Matt had heard of this project of Elektra's he'd assumed it was vanity project, or some elaborate attempt at penance, like how kings of old would have abbeys built to assuage their sins. Hearing her voice and the thread of tension that ran through it, he was taken aback. It sounded like she cared. Elsewise why would she come here and why would these people be working? All across the world similar projects had ground to a halt, but Elektra's still ran.

He blinks behind the red tinted lenses of his glasses, and his mind turns over these new facts. It's possible this is some elaborate ruse, that she'd seen him coming, but down that road lay madness. He would wait and see rather than spin wild speculation.

He could hear the moment that she sensed him, the slight flutter in the steady beating of her heart, the intake of breath. The echoing of her footsteps brought her closer, bringing the myriad of sensations that combined made Elektra into sharper focus. When the worker departs, Matt turns for courtesy's sake, hands resting on the pommel of his cane; he was still dressed as he would for work, the cheap (by Elektra's standards) suit and tie. "Elektra," he returns, the word lacking the iciness it had in their previous encounters even if there was still some distance to it. "Sounds like you're day's going well," he observes wryly. It was a deflection, a moment to gather his thoughts.

Elektra has posed:
By the time her eyes are open again, she's merely the Elektra he always knew, but for those small telltale things, things she really can't hide from him, even if others would miss them. In some ways she wondered if that had been the allure of him all along: that he could see her when others didn't.

Of course she didn't know his secret then, either. And that was before he knew hers..

Her footsteps carry her along the hallway, echoing bluntly in the half-finished place, coming to rest several feet away from him. "What can I do for you, Matthew?" Matthew, not Matt - her singularly pointed way of distancing herself from him. Matt was someone she'd opened up to. Matthew... was just a man she once knew. The name hiding a whole litany of hurts. Quietly avoiding answering him while waiting for his answer as to why he'd come. No real effort made to hide her wearyness now. It was really a pointless facade against him.

Daredevil has posed:
Outwardly, Elektra was still Elektra. The steady heart beat, the words carefully chosen, the way the expensive clothing and jewelry she wore shifted as she moved, the faint smell of blood under the subtle scent of her perfume. Still, Matt puzzled at the work she was putting into this project of hers. It didn't track, and yet at the same time it did. She had always been determined, especially when it came to getting what she wanted but what he couldn't figure was why she wanted /this/.

A her foot steps draw nearer, he rings his cane against the leg of one of the scaffolds, letting the echo give him a better sense of his surroundings, to perceive the nooks and crannies that his eyes, had they worked, might have missed. In short he was looking for the reason for why this place of all her works of charity held her interest so firmly.

When her steps come to a stop near him, Matt, notes the name she calls him and takes its meaning. She was keeping her distance, good, that was good, he was here with a purpose.

He lets out a breath before he forms the words, "Elektra, I need your help."

Elektra has posed:
It had been on her lips to dismiss him. To tell him that she was too tired for these mindgames. That they'd said all they had to say already, and he'd made his position clear. Only his words forestall that, creating a confusion for her.

Matt? Needing her help?

Her attention was suddenly back in hyper focus. Narrowed down on him as though she could read his intent through his posture. Lies, yes, those she could suss out, but his need and his meaning were mysteries to her.

It left her guarded. Offering only carefully couched words of, "Oh? And what is it you suddenly think you need me for, Matthew? You don't like the way I do business. We've been over this before. I won't be the irony in your life."

Daredevil has posed:
The cost of those words show on Matt's face, would have been happier saying just about any others, but those were the words he spoke. He can feel her surprise almost like it was his own, present, but terribly muted. As for what she see's there's no lie in those words, no purpose hidden except by the vagueness of his entreaty.

He takes in her words, turning them over in his mind a few times before he considers his reply. "None of that's changed," he says, his voice quiet and intense. "And I wouldn't be here if this was just for me, but other people could get hurt," even her. "And I'm out of options." He knew those words would sting, deep down in the parts that Elektra didn't like to show, but they knew each other too well for pretty lies. Even so, it was hard going forward so, Matt diverts briefly, asking, "Can we go for a drink?" alcohol, that would make this easier.

Elektra has posed:
"Pretty lies," Elektra echoes, letting the words drawl from her lips. "Yes. I suppose that's all we ever were to one another. But it was beautiful while it lasted."

There's something of a mental shrug to go along with her subtle change in stance. "A drink. Of course. And you can tell me all the ways that I can make myself a better human being and live up to your impossible standards."

A pause.

"Where do you suggest?"

Daredevil has posed:
Matt grimaces, but answers honestly. "It was," he admits. There was more he wanted to say, the hurt part of him wanting to shout he might have broken it off, but she'd been the one to end things when she chose to kill. He doesn't say it though, but the old hurts show through on his face for her to see.

He tries to soften things slightly with a joke, "Well, I come by the lecturing honestly, after all I'm Catholic," he says smiling faintly. "But let's call a truce, nobody lectures anybody and we try to get through things civilly?"

"Your town, you pick the spot and I'll pick up the tab," he says before adding. "Just try not to make me regret that last part too much."

Elektra has posed:
"Ah, yes. The inevitable forgiving curtain of Catholicism. All things can be forgiven as long as you kowtow to our regards and repent." She arches a brow delicately. "Though I suppose not even confession would earn me points in your book. I suppose I should applaud your ethics. Even if I beg to differ."

She steps forward again, a cool smile settling over her lips. One that doesn't even approach her eyes. They'd said it all before. There was only madness in the path of thinking there could be anything else between them. If she'd learned noting by her past, it had been: guard your emotions well. They will betray you.

"Actually, this isn't my neighbourhood at all. It's merely where I calculated would be the most expedient and helpful placement of this project. I'd be happy to return to Josies, if you wish. I have a car."

Daredevil has posed:
The jibes at his religion rankled, though anyone but Elektra might miss the signs as he dismisses them with a lift of his shoulder, "And show up on Sunday mornings," he adds to her list, before following up with, "And confession without contrition is meaningless. We both know you'd do it all again."

His grip on his cane tightens until his knuckles turn white, whatever hopes her concern over this project had given him were fast guttering out.

"Josie's works," he says. "Think we can survive the car ride?" he asks her, already releasing his cane in preparation to leave.

Elektra has posed:
It's with a negligence that Elektra shrugs and begins the walk towards the doorway, pausing only at the last minute to offer him her arm, as might be expected if they were being observed. "I don't happen to see my ridding the world of mistakes as a personal failing, Matthew." Even if she knows that she's killed for both pleasure and pay, and not merely in the pursuit of justice.

"I'm fairly certain that we'll survive the ride. Though, if you're worried, I'd suggest saying your goodbyes now. I doubt we'll be residing in the same place post this moral coil."

Another jibe, for certain, as she shares no belief in heaven or hell. At least not as he'd understand them.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt follows along, swinging his cane ahead of him at first until the arm is offered and he folds it up with a smooth flick of his wrist and tucks it under his arm. He understands not to read too much into the gesture, it was just a part of the act, like the cane, to make the truth of his blindness seem more than it was. "People are not mistakes, Elektra," he says, before he remembered no lectures. "They're people," he says his voice tapering off, before taking on a hopeful note, "They can change."

There is a faint hint of a smile on Matt's lips at that, "Heh. We're not that lucky, we'll likely end up in purgatory together," he says, both being honest and joking all at once. "So, if that's hell or not depends on your take on Sarte," he say, you know, 'Hell is other people'.

"Anyhow, been keeping up on this Rising Tide business?" he asks.

Elektra has posed:
There's a soft, derisive laugh, her steps falling into place with his, as he says people can change. "And yet, you choose to continue to believe the worst of me. I don't know if that makes you a liar, Matt Murdock, or a hypocrit. Perhaps both. Spare me the platitudes, especially when we both know you don't believe them. Though I will give you it allows you to sleep at night."

As though her own life weren't populated with lies that allowed her the same luxury. Or attempted to. She slept poorly, and not for any length of time. She hadn't in so many years she regarded that status quo. It wasn't even a byproduct of the life she lived any more. It merely was.

Outside she pauses, much as if looking around. Only, it seems most likely that she's meerely waiting to be noticed. And certainly within minutes, a car pulls up and with its fourways on, the driver gets out and comes around to open up the car door for them. "Ms. Natchios. Mr. Murdock." A nod for each. Matt known enough to earn his own personalized greeting, and not merely a generic nod.

Her directions are murmured to the driver before entering the car, and once safely ensconsed inside she answers him. "I've kept up on enough of it. And I repeat, I won't do your dirty work for you, Matthew. You can't expect me to do the things you won't, merely because you've suddenly come to appreciate the expediency of getting rid of a problem. However annoying it is. You chose this bed, I would suggest you lie in it."

Emphasis on the "lie", clearly stressing, again, that she thinks he lies to himself about too many things.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt arm tenses under hers when she jibes at him further. His tone is hurt and defensive as he says, "I want to believe you can change, Elektra" Matt says, "But the evidence says otherwise. So don't put this on me," he says. "And I can sleep fine without the lies," he says though that statement itself was a lie. One that couldn't be easier to read if it had been printed in black and white.

The truth was even lies couldn't help his own troubled sleep, it wasn't what he did or what he believed that bothered him, it was what he didn't do, the people he couldn't save. The guilt of that ate at him at night even as it drove him in the streets as Daredevil.

He's not surprised to find the car Elektra mentions has driver, or that the man remembers his name. He slips into the seat, shifting a touch uncomfortably as he often did in such lavish surroundings, feeling his roots as a poor kid from Hell's Kitchen all the more keenly in them.

When the car begins to move, that's when Matt speaks, he doesn't turn his head, he knows with Elektra that show is not needed, she knows his attention isn't determined by which way his head is pointed, "You know me better than that," he says sharply. "I'm not asking you to kill anyone. But they've released information about a friend of mine, and SHIELD was watching her, I am worried that SHIELD has one of those files on me as well and that the Riising Tide has it. I tried all my contacts, but none of them panned out," he takes a breath. "So, I'm coming to you."

Elektra has posed:
Again she laughs, the sound a rich, throaty alto filling the space between them. "So you're coming to me for help. I suppose I should be flattered. Even if part of me still thinks I should throw you out on your shapely behind and tell you to deal with the problem on your own."

Of course, she wouldn't do that. She might want to, but she wouldn't. Despite it all, she still cared. He still tugged all the strings of her heart, much as the tried to ice them. Even now, she longed to soften, to reach over and comfort him and his tired lines, to kiss those bruised lips, and tell him it would be okay.

The car keeps to back roads as much as possible, weaving through residental neighbourhoods with surprising ease and efficiency.

"So. This friend of yours, you wish protection for her?" The question is delivered with detachment. "I presume it's a her knowing you. If that's all you wish, then consider it done. Though I would ask that you don't question my sources."

Daredevil has posed:
"You noticed," Matt quips dryly about his behind. "And if you're going to toss me out, I'd rather you wait until the car stops first," he knew she wouldn't though and behind all the dry quips and hurt feelings he was glad of it. He was asking a lot of her here. He could feel the fatigue in her voice, sense the strain of it on her body. "And you'd be right to tell me to handle things on my own. It's not like I haven't told you pretty much the same thing. But I'm at my wits end, Elektra, I think you're just about the only person I can turn to for this."

Elektra was in his heart, there was never any question of that. What kept them apart was her choices, what she did, who she killed, he couldn't put that aside, he couldn't let it go, not unless she did and he knew that wasn't going to happen. Still, he didn't want to cause her more pain than he had to, which is why he waited until all his other options had been exhausted before coming to her.

Matt can't help but smile when Elektra guesses his friend was a she, even if things between him and Jessica weren't anything like that. Indeed, he could imagine, Jessica's reaction to the thought, the barked laugh, the clink of ice on glass as she knocked back cheap whiskey and muttered 'in your dreams, Murdoch'. "No, she's just my friend and she can handle her own protection, what I need to find is the Rising Tide themselves, or at the very least the rest of their Index Files. I need to know if they've got a file on me. If it gets out, my enemies would come at me through my friends, I can't let that happen," he says, his voice determined and thick with emotion. He would go after this information with or without her help, that much was clear.

"Foggy says hi, by the way," he adds, it was a low blow meant to bring the crisis home, to make clear it wasn't just his friends at stake but /their/ friends.

Elektra has posed:
What Matt didn't know was how truly low a blow that was. Foggy Nelson could possibly be called Elektra's only true friend in the world. Even if she were cultivating something of a relationship with that Lewis girl. Elektra wasn't quite sure what that was, though her mind happily supplied: a diversion. Which, on the face of things wasn't too horrible a thing to be. Thhough Ms. Lewis might differ. Or, more to the point, her friends, including one Agent May, would beg to pointedly differ. The senior agent had already made it quite clear she'd do bodily harm to Elektra if Elektra hurt Darcy. Or, as Elektra prefered to muse, May would like to think that she could. It could be a fight of epic proportions if it ever came to pass.

Still, Matt's salvo had worked. If he'd wanted to tug her into his mess, Foggy Nelson was the key.

"You're a bastard Matt Murdock, and I hate you for this," her head shaken in some disgust before she schools her features to a tight nuetrality, "but you have my help."

And, as it happens, then is when they pull up outside Josie's - well, the back of Josie's. Sidestreets and all that.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt felt a pang of guilt using Foggy's name like that. He knew they'd become close, and that Elektra had few true friends making the ones she did have all the more precious. Still, he needed her help and if using Foggy's name in vain like this ensured that Foggy himself was still around, then, considered it well used. Even if it hurt Elektra.

He didn't know about Darcy or May, but if he did, he might be curious to witness the two of them fighting.

Still despite acknowledging all of that in his head, Elektra's words sting and he flinches to hear them. "I know, but, you see what I mean, right? This is serious." When she gives him the help he asked for, he says, "Thank you," as he makes his way out of the car, shifting effortlessly from the Matt he was in private to the one he showed the public, the blind man, he gets out of the car, and waits for her, arm already outstretched.

Elektra has posed:
It's with pretenatural ease that Elektra slips from the car, nodding to the driver. "We won't be needing you further this evening," dismissing him. Matt lived near enough by, even if she didn't know that he wouldn't be heading home after. And she? Well, she often saw her own way home from matters. It was the way she operated, and left her able to tend to her own business once the streets were dark. Fewer questions were asked that way, even if incorrect assumptions about why she wouldn't need a ride were often made.

She paid her drivers to be discreet.

Her arm is held, elbow crooked to offer to him. "Six o'clock on your right," she murmurs, waiting for him to orient himself, much as she would if he truly could not see by any means. And once he has, she leads on around the building, pausing to open the door to Josie's for him, knowing once inside nobody would expect him to take an arm: he was a regular there. He knew it like the back of his own hand. She would be superfluous there.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt takes a second to appreciate the ease of Elektra's movements. The way he could feel her body moving through the air, it had a smoothness too it that spoke of an ease of movement dancers would envy. Not that Elektra wasn't one of those herself.

The dismissal of the driver is met with a raised brow and a touch of a smirk. If he hadn't struck with a low blow just before he might have said something about her having high hopes for the evening, but he could guess her real intentions. Time in the city, unencumbered by her hirelings. Nobody to explain her absence to. It would almost be better if she had been planning to sleep with him, it would certainly be safer for the city.

All of this remains unspoken but written on his face for her to see, even as he schools that smirk to a smile and walks into the bar with her, pretending to heed her directions. Inside, he orders them each a beer and a shot of whiskey each and playing his role let Josie bring them to his regular booth where he sits down across from Elektra. "Don't worry, I'll drink the rest of yours," he knew she didn't let herself get drunk. He'd learned to be disciplined with his drinking from her, but with the week he's had, he needs it.

He calms himself and the clear, regular beat of her heart as he asks, "So, this community centre of yours, what's the deal?" he asks.

Elektra has posed:
If she only knew his thoughts.. though she could glean some by his amusement. It allowed her a moment of amusement herself. There had been days where that would have been the case. Only she was a different person then. That's what she told herself. That she'd been a lie then, and that this was the real her.

Just as she told herself that if he offered she'd turn him down.

Like all her other lies, it was one she needed to believe.

The regular booth is noted. She'd sat there often enough in the past, and as it happened, the present as well. Not that she'd admit it, but part of that was sheer contraryness, as if daring Matt to walk in off the street and find her there.

He hadn't, though. Not once.

The drink order is nodded to, and of the drink brought, it's the whiskey she takes, letting her elegant finngers hold the small shotglass between the pad of thumb and index, tilting so that the amber liquid within threatened to spill, but never quite managed it. The smell of it was peaten and earthy; deep and heady. Much like the woman herself. Her gaze drifts over to him, no sip taken yet, "My deal? I'm not sure I follow, Matthew."

Oh, she followed, and she followed well, but she wasn't going to help him. If he wanted this dance, he would lead it.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt told himself much the same lies, that if she'd offered, he would say no. And even if he did say yes, he'd just have told himself he was keeping her from more dangerous pursuits, that what he was doing wasn't weakness but saving lives.

He was a good liar, it came with the double life, but the best lies were the ones he told himself.

He sits in the booth across from her not mentioning her other visits, the time she'd sat here playing some defiant game waiting for him to walk in and see him in their spot. He almost did one time, but he'd heard he heartbeat before he walked in and turned around and walked the other way. It had confirmed a suspicion he'd had when he visited the bar with Foggy and Karen, there had been times when he could swear he could smell her scent. A time or two when the door opened and caught it just right, he'd found himself checking his sense to see if it was her.

Those past moments drove the choice to sit where he did, and while he says nothing of it, he gives her a brief but significant look as he sits down.

Matt takes his shooter and knocks the whole thing back in one go, then sets it down on the table upside down, like he was doing shots on a Friday night with Foggy and Karen. He did it as much for the contrast with her elegant feigned sips as anything, "You know what I mean Elektra," he chides quietly. "The place matters to you, I just don't get why."

Elektra has posed:
As far as liars went, they were in good company. Perhaps that was a reason they'd connected in the first place. It had been so long ago now, she wasn't sure.

She sips her whiskey now, neat as it is, and without the usual grimace or cough often attributed to the fairer sex. She'd learned long ago to meet any man on equal grounds, and that had included in this forum. Not that she drank to any excess. Inebriated people made mistakes, and in her line of business, mistakes got you dead. Elektra had a fondness for living. The only times she allowed herself to imbibe without care were when she was completely and assuredly safe.

She hadn't been that for a long time now. Even less since taking over The Hand. She doubted he knew about that.

"I told you when I approached you about the pro-bono fund, I want to what good I can. I have an excess of money, and the ability to use it to proper ends." She shrugs, takes a second sip - a measure of her agitation at being confronted with him - and puts her glass down, fingertips remaining on the base of the squat little glass. "When you refused to return my information, I went on with a project that didn't need your approval. And, in case you're wondering, no, I have nothing to do with the running of it. Once it's built and the legal is firmly in place, The Wayne Foundation will be overseeing its administration. The housing complex, the finances of the community centre, the scholarships. All of it, out of my hands, but for providing the cash."

Daredevil has posed:
It could have been the lying, or the drinking, it'd always impressed him for all her manners and charm school polish she could in those moments she felt safe toss it aside and be herself. The drinking was part of that, part of the Elektra that didn't back down or let others dictate who she was. He'd admired that boldness then, and the control she kept herself in the rest of the time and how she managed to find a balance between the two. For his part, as much as he had so far kept his two lives separate, he felt he wasn't quite managing to keep the parts of him separate like she could.

He was going to keep trying though.

As for the Hand, he had no idea about that, he'd heard the whispers of a shake up in the leadership, and Stick had come by in what had become his all too regular attempts to recruit him for the war, talking about some 'Fist' person who was apparently in charge, but he had no idea he was sitting across from her. Hell, he'd been fighting the Hand just a few months before.

Matt moves onto his beer when she brings up the pro-bono fund, he takes a sip, then eyes staring sightlessly ahead he rubs a thumb around the edges of the label. "About the fund, I didn't handle that well, I can admit that. It was a surprise," he turns his head as he grimaces. "And yeah," he takes a sip of his beer, unable to get the words out, to express properly how ultimately pig headed he'd been to reject the proposal out of hand. He was still wary about it, as he was with the Community Centre, but still, he wasn't without regrets.

"I heard you talking to your people about the place, you care about it don't you? About giving back?"

Elektra has posed:
Did she care? That was the qustion, wasn't it?

Elektra releases the shot glass and rubs index and middle fingers along her temples before answering him. The entire project had become... what? She wasn't sure anymore.

"I suppose I do care," she answers finally, noting his move to the beer. "Don't ask me questions I can't answer, Matt. Can't it just be enough that I do care? You used to think good things about me once, can't this just be one of them?"

For a moment glimmers of the woman she'd been with him come through.

"As for the fund, I got your message when there was no reply on the package I send through the lawyers. I.." She shrugs, dismissing the matter. "I'm trying to understand."

Trying. The word she hadn't meant to let slip. The word that has her guard bacck up again. The word that has her taking a third bold sip of her whiskey, and then a fourth, emptying the thing before putting it back down. It wouldn't dull or numb her senses, but it gave her the illusion of bravado she didn't feel.

Daredevil has posed:
Even though he can't see her face, he can read Elektra's puzzlement in how she toys with the glass, and the shift in her heart beat. So, he wasn't alone in being puzzled by her concern for the project. That wasn't something he expected. Elektra always seemed to know what she was doing and why she was doing it, even if the answer was, because she was bored. What confused her about this? Answers sprung to mind born out of his own wants, seeing it as signs of change, but he'd been down this road before and knew them for the mirages they likely were.

Still, deep down he had a little hope it was more than that.

Elektra's words, her calling him Matt, it took him back to college, to times spent in this booth blowing off classes to drink cheap beer before sneaking off somewhere to cause trouble or make love. Often both. Still the words that came with those memories stung.

"Elektra, I" he trails off, part of him wondering if he crossed a line or if this was just some elaborate deflection. Perhaps, spurred on by the memories of happier times, he picks the first, "That's fair," he concedes. "And for what it's worth I'm happy you found something that matters to you."

"Right," he says about the fund and how that ended. "Well, I could say all the usual stuff, like how I didn't want the firm to be associated with what you do, even tangentially, your lawyers did a good job making us protected legally, and I know it wasn't your money, but, if people found out, it'd hurt us, hurt the work we're doing," he says. "All of that's true, but that's not the whole answer," Matt explains, taking the effort to turn towards her giving the illusion of looking at her. "I guess, I felt by taking a hard line, it might make you change your mind about things, that if I cut things off, stepped away, you might realize what you do wasn't worth it."

Then like her, he feels exposed, having revealed the inner workings of his actions and like her he meets that feeling with a drink, he downs the beer, then waving a hand to catch Josie's eye, he calls, "Another round here." Eager for something to distract them from them.

Elektra has posed:
"The offer is still open," Elektra says calmly.

Now that she's pushed past her self-reflection, it's back to the controlled, reserved Elektra she almost always was. The Elektra she needed to be. The fun had mattered to her. She'd thought it had mattered to her to find an in with Matt, to perhaps show him that she wasn't what he thought, or convince him that she wasn't; make him regret what he'd thrown away. Only, when all was said and done, even when she knew there wasn't a them to be fought for anymore, she'd felt bereft when he'd said no. Enough so that her initial plans to offer it elsewhere, spitefully so, hadn't come to fruition.

It was truly one of the few times in her life she hadn't known what to do. So, like so many things, she'd pretended it didn't exist. That it hadn't happened.

When he orders another round, there's a delicate arch of brow. "Have you decided not to finish mine?"

She'd not yet decided if she'd push for for the inevitable fight over who paid. Ultimately, whoever won, still lost. She wasn't sure it was a point she had to make, even if she knew - intimately so, because she'd had Nelson and Murdock's finances looked into heavily before crafting her offer - how much money Matt didn't have.

Daredevil has posed:
Those words hit him like a splash of ice cold water, regretting refusing the offer was one thing but to find it suddenly open again with all the questions that came with it, that was something else. He doesn't answer right away, but the surprise of the offer registers on his face. He understood something of how deeply she'd been hurt by his refusal when she said she was trying to understand it so, it was unexpected to find it still there to take. "Those other firms refuse too?" he asks, but truthfully, he didn't care he was just stalling for time.

What he'd said before was true, as far as reputation went if the ties between Elektra and the fund were discovered, no about of legal wrangling would matter and it's not exactly like Nelson and Murdock could take even a light hit to their business without needing to shutter their doors. On the other hand, Matt subjected the firm to the same risks each time he put on the red suit and mask and pummeled criminals on the streets of Hell Kitchen. The law saw his crimes and Elektra as different, would the court of public opinion say the same? Matt doubted it.

"Actually, never mind, I'm game. Just need to talk it over with Foggy, assuming there's a world left, we can talk it over next week?" he suggests.

As for the drinks, he smiles, "Heh, forgot about that, well," he nods in the direction of some of the down on their luck and thirsty patrons. "We can always share," he suggests before the drinks arrive.

Elektra has posed:
"Other firms," Elektra asks with a lift of brow. "I think you're mistaken, Matthew. There were no other firms." She makes it sound like she'd never intended to offer to others. That others were never in the running. She tries to make it sound like she's covering the fact that they had, indeed, turned her down and is merely saving face.

She didn't want him to guess she couldn't bear to offer anyone else when all was said and done. And perhaps that was a mistake. Maybe that might have saved her - but she'd already allowed him to see too deeply this evening, and she didn't want to give him yet another nail to lay in her coffin. Yet another weapon to use against him. Even if he could see through her where no others could. Beyond his ability with his uncanny senses - she was too masterful a scholar in her own body to betray quite that much of herself - but beyond that, he'd always known.

As for his crimes. In the eyes of the law, his were only different in that there were no bodies to bury at the end of the day. It was a fine point where crime was concerned. One she never understood how he could justify to himself - even if she knew that even /if/ he accepted her killing criminals, she'd killed for money. For no other reason than boredom and the thrill. And those deaths she knew he could never accept away.

Sometimes, only sometimes, she wondered what it might have been like if she'd remained the woman he thought she was. If he could believe that she were able to change. Had changed. If she could accept following his ethos on crime: hurt, maim, capture, destroy... but never kill.

In the end, though, it kept coming down to what she was now: The Fist that ruled The Hand. Where her fingers curled around her palm, they listened. And without her, things would be worse. Much worse.

Matt might never forgive her for what she was, but she could accept the cost for the consequences: Better the few than the many.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt smiles, one of those smiles that's somehow both self-effacing and smug all at once. "Hm, must have misheard you," he says about the other firms. He knew she'd mentioned it, and that she hadn't found another firm yet spoke volumes. He didn't know the whole of it, but at the very least he assumed that she had dragged her feet on the matter.

For his part Matt saw what they did as very different things, he might send someone to the hospital, break some bones, or even put them in the coma, but when they woke up they were still living and could still change. The little spark of good in them was snuffed out rather than being given a chance to catch into a brighter flame. There was no opportunity for redemption.

Beyond that, he could understand the impulse to kill in the heat of the moment, or when faced with the vilest parts of humanity. However that was not the only time she'd killed, he knew she killed for money, and sometimes because she could those were impulses he'd never had and feared he would never understand. It made a gulf between them, one Matt feared they would never bridge. Yet, despite that he hoped.

"So, where does that leave us then?" he asks intending to mean the contract, but the question could be taken to mean them as well. In fact, he might have even meant it that way.

Elektra has posed:
"Where have we ever been, Matt?" The waitress comes and goes with his second order of drinks. It's a measure of how he affects her that she reaches for the second shot of whiskey, toying with the shotglass before lifting it to her lips for the smallest of sips, and then, in a fluid motion, downs the remains, setting the thing back upon the table, lip edge down, spilling small ring of the remaining fluid on the table as it crawled down the inside of the glass instead of pooling in the bottom.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt turns towards the waitress nodding thanks vaguely in her direction. "Thank you," he says, making a show of feeling about on the table to find his shot. He lifts his shot to his lips and knocks it back, it was the cheap stuff, but what else do you get at Josie's but it still burned sharply. He needed that right now. He could hear her sip her whiskey, and he sets down his empty glass and answers her question. "Lost," he answers, his lips curling downwards with a frown.

Elektra has posed:
Elektra's glance strays to the remaining drinks. Four beer sitting between them. Four empty shotglasses. Two miserable people.

"I wish things had been different between us. I really loved you, you know."

"Tell me what you want me to do." Her voice drifts into soft registers without the clipped tones. A concession to his care for others. To what they once shared. To the fact that she doesn't want to hurt him.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt's focus rests on Elektra, he can sense the beat of her heart, the warmth of her skin, the smell of her, he couldn't see her face, but he could feel her misery all the same.

His eyes soften behind the red hued shades.

His voice is rough and quiet as he answers, "Me too," he says two words speaking to both of her points.

"In what way?" he asks her. "In general, with this contract, or..." he lets that trail off, as he reaches for his beer.

Elektra has posed:
Elektra settles back and is quiet for a moment, then a slow smile spreads over her features. She knows it's a bitch move, and she doesn't care. He's the one throwing the ethics at her like some sort of holier than thou ground to walk upon. "Fine. You want me to discover if they have anything on you? I'm willing, but it will cost you. Don't worry, it won't cost you anything you wouldn't do for a friend."

Daredevil has posed:
Like he could feel her misery Matt could feel that creeping satisfaction move through her and knew he was in for trouble. The beer is lifted to his lips and takes a sip. It was cheap like the whiskey but it let him gather his thoughts and prepare for whatever Elektra might have in mind.

When it does come, Elektra's words are vague, drawing out his curiosity. "Okay, let's hear it," he says, she had him dead to rights, but that didn't mean he was going to let her torture him with it.

Elektra has posed:
Her demand is simple, and it is a demand. They could mince words and say ultimatum. Or request, but ultimately, it was a demand. He'd denied her, and had come crawling back. Why? Because suddenly she could do what he could not.

Stubbornly she threw away the fact of Foggy. In fact, in some ways, Matt had brought her demand down upon himself *because* he'd brought up Foggy - he'd tried to manipulate her, a thing that she was suddenly angry about, even if she stuffed it so far deep down inside hersel that it was a chill burn. No, more than that, he'd told her his price: Foggy.

He'd do what she wanted because of Foggy. Because he couldn't risk that they had a file on him, because of Foggy. Or that pale wisp of a secretary he kept. Or any other number of helpless and hapless friends he kept.

"What I want is simple, really. Just your signature. On that contract." Her smile remains a hard, harsh thing between them. Cold as she needed to keep herself in order not to feel. "Sign it, and I'll find out what you need. Your choice, Matthew. Tell me, how much do your friends mean to you."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt listens to her demand with a face like stone. The expressionless of it enhanced by the red lenses of his glasses, reflecting a hellish version of her face back at her in duplicate. "Really? That's your price? If I don't sign, you'd really let Karen or Foggy pay the price for my refusal?" he asks. He knew there would be no reasoning with her on this, and that he'd likely brought it about by bringing Foggy's name into it, but it still rankled the fighter in him. Made him want to punch back. "Guess, things haven't changed as much as I hoped."

Despite the pain, all of this was familiar, they hadn't wanted it that way, these jabs, these little bleeding cuts of the heart and soul had become the language of them.

Elektra has posed:
He'd set the scene. The pace. Turned on the music. He'd even picked the dance.

"Oh, no, Matthew, /I/ won't let them pay the price. You will." The chill of that smile is as deadly as she is. "You tell me, are they worth the price?"

Daredevil has posed:
Fuck.

His old man had never been knocked out in the ring, but Matt felt like had just been dropped for the ten count.

She had him, his voice is pained as he answers, "I'm not going to sign it Elektra, not like this," then he takes a further swing of his own. "You don't want me to either. You want me to want it on its own merits, to want you. This, it isn't what either of us want."

Elektra has posed:
And there it was. Where he was wrong. Or where he was trying to buy her again. Dangle that thin thread of implied hope. Do this, Elektra, and I might like you again. Don't do this Elektra, I'll never.. Never what?

For all his moral high horse, she finally understood something of Matt Murdock: He was willing to give everyone, and anyone else a chance, to believe in their hope of redemption; anyone but her.

It left her laughing. Laughing for everything that she had once thought might be, or possibly even had allowed herself to have the little dream of. He might be right, she might once have hoped he'd look upon these things she did as a change in her, a reason to believe in her again. To see that regardless of what he thought, there was something worth his seeing past the bits and pieces he couldn't understand or accept, and trying...

Only he never would. He wouldn't ever want what she offered on its own merits. She'd tried that. Had offered him an ironclad contract that protected him. Had spent silly amounts of money in doing do. Because she /had/ wanted that. Had wanted him to want the thing on its own merits. It was..

It could have been her redemption. Only he didn't see it.

Like the community centre he asked her about, wondered why it was so important, to which she had no answer. Suddenly she had an answer: It could have been.

Only it wasn't. And as long as it was her, it never would be.

"How long, Matthew? How long would it take for you to believe in me? To believe I'd changed? How. Long. A month? Two? Six? A year? Five? Ten? How long would I have to grovel at the feet of your hypocrsy before I actually got the same belief from you that you offer utter strangers? You said you loved me once. Only, did you? Because you never afforded me the luxury you afford people whose name you don't even know."

She shakes her head, and begins to rise from the table. "No, you're wrong. I do want you to sign it. I want you to sign it because you actually believe those people matter more than your stupid moral code does. I want you to actually look in the eye of this decision every day for the rest of your life and know you had a choice and you made it. You can send me the ashes or a signed contract. The decision is yours. I'll know what to do next once I've heard from you. Until then, enjoy your beer, and the cold comfort of being better than everyone else."

Daredevil has posed:
To Matt's mind he was in the right. She was the one who had chosen to kill and in doing so built this wall between them. To accept what she offered, even if it wasn't her money, it was an admission that what she did, what she was /still/ doing was alright. He couldn't be a part of that he couldn't let her keep going further into the darkness and by signing this, he felt that was what he was doing. Giving her permission to keep killing. So, the ultimatum she gave was not just about a contract or his friends lives, that was an easy choice to make, it was her soul or their lives, and that was more difficult.

"I could trust you right now if you promised never to kill again and meant it," he replies, simply, his voice cold. He knew she wouldn't say it.

"But we know what your answer is going to be, so, should I send those ashes by courier or will regular mail be alright?" he asks.

Even as he said those words he knew they weren't wholly meant. He had come to her because his sources had failed. That hadn't changed, just what it would cost to get things done.

Elektra has posed:
"You poor, pathetic man. You really believe your own rhetoric, don't you?"

"The truth is, Matthew, you've never trusted me. You would never believe me if I said I'd never kill again and meant it, because it was me. It would eat you up from inside wondering if today was the day I broke my word. Or tomorrow. Or the day after that. It would eat you up inside because you know just how much you're lying right now. Your friends don't mean anything to you. Not really."

She leans in closer to the table, then, "You see, that's the difference between you and me, Matthew. I know what things cost. I know what every one of my acts buys. And the truth of the matter is, I'm willing to pay the price to keep those important to me alive. You figure out what that means, and when you realize that sometimes the cost of those you love is yourself, we'll talk."

She stands upright again, and gives him a sad little smile. "You asked why? Why it mattered? It mattered because I wanted you to see me, Matthew. To see what I was capable of. How I was willing. And then you sat in your judgemental silence and left me to die. The fact is, I've moved on. I'll build the thing because it needs building. I don't need your approval anymore. I know what you're worth. I'm a busy woman. Send me the ashes by courier."

And with that, she turns on her heels and begins heading towards the exit, tossing some bills onto the bar to pay for their drinks as she does so.

Daredevil has posed:
"My morals aren't just rhetoric, Elektra. But you wouldn't understand that," he says. He knew she did understand, at least on an intellectual level, but he was trying to hurt her.

The rest, it hurts because it's true. Even if she'd said the words and her heart was steady, he knew deep down, he'd always worry, worry that one day she'd slip and they'd be right back here again with the wall up between them. Though what wasn't true was his friends, they meant the world to him, but he had to believe they understood him enough to know why he couldn't do this, couldn't bend even to help them. He did love them though and he loved Elektra (in different ways) that's what made all of this hurt so much.

"I know what things cost too, Elektra, but some prices aren't worth paying. When you figure that out, /then/ we can talk."

He gathers up his cane and gets to his feet. He lets those last words sink in, adding them to the hurt he already felt. "I am sorry, Elektra. Really, I am. I'm glad you're keeping with it, that you've found something to give a shit about. I know that's been a struggle." The words are earnestly meant and he trusted that she could hear that, though perhaps it was the cruelest thing he'd said tonight. The hint of what could have been, what could be if who they were wasn't standing in the way.

Elektra has posed:
He'd be wrong. She understoon on more levels than he'd ever know. But then again, there was the difference between them. His rigidity made it so that he couldn't bend. Was inflexible. And she was the storm he'd snapped in, unrooted from the ground.

Oh, she had no intention of not finding out what Rising Tide knew about him, if anything at all. But knowing that information didn't mean she had to tell him. She had no obligation to share. And there, again, was the difference between them. She could cut him with the knife of her words, and lay him open for the vultures to feed upon, but she'd still do what she knew was right, despite the cost. Foggy would be safe. Even that pale secretary would be. Why? Because they mattered to Matt, and despite his inability to do what was right, she wouldn't make them pay.

The only person she wanted to pay in this scenario was him.

His words don't even get a rise from her. Not a comment. Not a pause. Not ever a bare flutter of heart that says he's reached her. Though maybe in this he was right, in this one small thing, he might be right: some things weren't worth the price of payment. His love was one of those things.

Once outside, she turned the corner and walked down the street. Not far from there, she turned into an alley. And not long after that, she disappeared into shadows and settled down for an evening of doing what she did best. The thing she might have done with him if he'd allowed her..

There'd been a time she'd have tried for him. And truly, she still tried. It wasn't always death she gave, though there were those moments too. Times when her sai struck home with a trueness that left only the ultimate judgement to the bodies she left behind. And she knew what that cost her, too. It wasn't just Matt those deaths had cost her.

Tonight, though, tonight her soul is too dark and bruised to consider such things. There is no pause. No moment of contemplation. Just a silent and simple ease from this life into the next. A passing of judgement as final as his had been upon her.

She felt no remorse.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt listened to those parting heartbeats. They were as steady as ever, his words hadn't reached her. Before long they'd grown too faint and distant to be heard over the roar of the sounds of the city. He'd heard the Elektra pay for their drinks, the sound of money unfolded and tossed negligently on the bartop. Still he digs into his wallet for some bills and puts them on the table. It was pigheaded and stubborn but at least Josie got a few bucks out of it.

He rose and left out the back, winding his way through the pool tables and patrons until he passed through the door and into the cool of the night air. He leaned against the wall of the alley, ignoring the smells of puke, piss and worse as he tried to get control of his thoughts.

Only she could knock him off balance like this. Make him doubt himself, oh sure, he'd stood his ground and got a few licks in but he had no illusions who'd won the fight. She'd left his heart bruised and bloody, his spirit raw and aching. She always did.

As he tosses aside the cane and leaps up to grip the railing of the fire escape to pull himself up. The doubts begin. Was she right?

He sprints up the fire escape.

Was bending this once the right choice?

He reaches the roof, carries on and leaps between the buildings, landing in a roll that left his suit dirty.

Should he have gone to her in the first place?

He leaps more buildings until he lands at last on the roof of his own.

She was out there right now, he knew it, and it was his fault.

Shouldn't he have just asked her to come home with him? Wouldn't have that been worth sparing some lives?

He lets himself into his place, makes his way down the stairs and to the place he hid his costume, shedding his ruined suit and replacing it with the other.

He would be going out tonight to find her. He wasn't guaranteed success, but, one thing was certain: God help whoever he did find.