6126/Black Sky: Let Us Go Then, You and I

Black Sky: Let Us Go Then, You and I
Date of Scene:	07 January 2019
Location:	New York City
Synopsis:	Elektra recuperates at Matt's, where he finds her, and after all they've been through, realizes he must leave her to make her own choices; as must he.
Cast of Characters:	Elektra, Daredevil
Tinyplot:	Black Sky

---

Elektra has posed:
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

(Excerpt, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", T.S. Eliot)

She had been careless. First going out into the night without her weapons - though in truth that would not have beeen enough to cause what had happened, though it had been a factor. Secondly, in presuming to fight when her mind was so very clouded with doubts and uncertainties.

Elektra didn't know who it was she fought - or which of them that had hit her with what would have been a fatal blow to any other - but it didn't really matter who, or how. Likely it was one of the Foot. Someone who likely went on to crow to Shredder that they had completed their mission (though they would be proven wrong in the end).

It was a wounded Elektra who found herself going back to that rooftop, unable to stop herself. Though had she spent thought upon it, there were no other answers. She could not return to Madame Gao in this state. Not without divulging her doubts, and revealing all the moments of her heart and soul that questioned who and what she was. All the bits and pieces that had led to the turmoil that had led to her injury in the first place - things that would have her tightly under Gao's thumb and without the luxury of time to think.

Of course it wasn't the wisest of choices to go to Matt's loft, but habit was a strong thing, and in need of comfort and care, Elektra had retreated to the only safety she knew: Matt's.

Only he was gone, scouring the city in whatever manner it was that kept him.

She should have left, only, again, where would she have gone? It was, she told herself, just a brief respite she'd take. Just a few stolen moments to recoup before taking her leave. She hadn't intended on falling asleep in his bed, but her injuries were greater than she'd thought, and healing was necessary.

Elektra slept.

Daredevil has posed:
When she entered his appartment she would have found her blades laid on the sofa, but no sign of Matt himself. He had gone shortly after she had, exchanging a few brief words with Stick before they parted. After that Matt had tried to lose himself in the application of violence.

It was surgical, not just some mad rampage, but tonight his fighting crime had more to do with the readiness of a fight than the desire to stop crime.

Now, as dawn threatened on the horizon, he made his way back home, bone tired, but at peace for now. He'd worked out his fears and frustrations, at least enough to sleep today. Tomorrow would be another matter and need another trip into the streets.

Slipping in from the rooftop door he notices something is wrong almost at once. There was the scent of blood in the air, subtles signs his place had been disturbed. He makes his way down the stairs slowly, his hands reaching for his batons, drawing them out until he's holding them at the ready.

At the foot of the stairs the smell grows stronger, and he turns towards his bedroom and that is when he senses her, feels the familiar presence of Elektra laid across his sheets.

The batons are dropped to the floor and he rushes to her side. "Elektra, are you alright?"

Elektra has posed:
She's injured. There's blood - but not as much as you'd expect for the injury she's taken by the looks of her clothing, and even then the injury itself looks to be several days old already. She barely stirs as he speaks to her, her position shifting in her sleep as she murmurs, "Matthew. You took too long to come to bed," as though this were some domestic scene and she'd merely fallen asleep waiting for him to lock the place up for the night.

A smile flutters across her lips at the familiar sound and smell of him, and she stretches out. Much closer to waking now, but still not yet awake.

Daredevil has posed:
It's an easy fantasy to fall into, the two of them together, happy, all the problems from the world outside gone. Matt can't help but smile a little then lean forward and put a kiss on her forehead. "Guess so," he said.

It was likely a fleeting fantasy, soon to be broken like all the others, but he enjoyed it while it lasted.

"What happened?" he asks after a time. "Let me check your wound."

Elektra has posed:
She's alert enough to answer him, but not so alert to realize the danger in the situation yet. "I was careless," she tells him. "A kidney shot. I think I killed him. I can't remember. There was blood."

As much of it hers as his.

"You were gone," she complains. "I'm so very tired."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt takes her reply as permission to check the wound, and removing his glove, he feels at the wounded flesh with feather light touches trying to guage it's severity.

While he does he talks. "I can tell," he says of the blood, flinching at the mention of the dead man. Not something he can fix though and not, to his mind, Elektra's fault.

"I had to go patrol, make sure Hell's Kitchen was safe," it was half-a-truth at least. "But sorry I was gone, I would have taken care of you," he says. "But I'm here now, rest if you need to. You're safe, Elektra."

Elektra has posed:
He's allowed to touch - at least she doesn't react in any fashion that stops him. And while the wound looks like it should have been fatal, and is most definitely not a neat wound in any respect, she's not dead, and the edges of it have already begun to heal. It isn't seeping, and other than residual redness, and some tenderness (and that fact that it's still an open wound) she seems to be otherwise doing fine.

"It's okay," she says, lips falling upon a smile. "You're here now. I was just thinking..."

It's a thought she doesn't finish, his words that she is safe lulling her into sleep again.

Daredevil has posed:
Smiling faintly he asks, "Thinking what?" as his attention is on her wound. Though when his attention spreads to encomass the whole of her, shakes his head still smiling.

He stands then, making a silent bet with himself if Karen, Kate or Claire was going to show up just now. It would be typical of his luck. None of them do, and so Matt strips out of his suit, changes to his sweats and grabs his medkit from the bathroom. He could feel the wound kniting closed on its own, so what there was to do was minimal, a little cleaning, then putting a gauze bandage over it to contain the blood, all done delicately, to ensure she's not disturbed.

When it's done, Matt puts aside the kit and looks down at Elektra. She was here and real, it was almost too much to be believed, he didn't know what was coming, but for now, she was here. He didn't feel tired anymore, just her presence kept him awake, unwilling to let go of a second of this time. Though in the end he lays beside her carefully, letting her sleep.

Elektra has posed:
It's some time later that she stirs - it's the nature of her healing that while almost nothing will kill her, it's also true she needs time and rest to heal from wounds, and this one was greivous enough to require more time than most (and would still need time) - curling into the warmth of the body next to her in the bed.

There's a part of her mind that is alert enough to know that there is something wrong about this, even as the rest of her mind wants it to go on, to let this delightful fantasy continue. It takes a moment as she rises up out of sleep to remember where she is, and why, murmuring in a tired voice, "Matthew."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt didn't sleep, he couldn't so he drifted, being carried along by this fantasy, of peace, of Elektra in his arms. It was different than he remembered, but, compared to the bleakness of her death he'd gladly take it. Laying there beside her, he continued his drifiting until she wakes.

Opening his eyes, Matt did the same, rising from bed and reaching for Elektra. "Elektra," he says, "It's okay, you're safe. Do you remember where you are?"

Elektra has posed:
"Of course I remember," Elektra drawls, still in that mostly twilight state, but more aware than when he'd first stumbled upon her. "I'm in your bed. You weren't here. I was only going to take a short rest. I must have fallen asleep."

She stretches, then reaches down to feel her wound. "I was struck. From behind. I was careless." Which was something Elektra *never* was. Ever. "I should have died."

That, she has no answer for.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt nods, "Glad," he says reaching out a hand for one of hers. "Sorry I missed you, but it seems like you made yourself at home," there is a small but genuine smile at that. "As usual."

"You're never careless," he says, "What had you distracted?" he asks gently touching the bandaged wound. As for her dying. "But you didn't. What they did... what the Hand did... must have protected you somehow." It was all so strange and out of his depth, so he focues instead on her.

"It doesn't matter, it just matters that you're here."

Elektra has posed:
"I'm never careless," Elektra agrees. "Except with you. I wasn't supposed to love you," she says softly, letting the memory of that fall over her. "You were supposed to join us. Help in the fight. Stick was so angry that I wouldn't turn you."

She smiles to herself, eyes still closed, hand threaded with his for these small, few moments. "I walked away, then. Refused to be part of this anymore. Only it never ended. They wouldn't stop. It was never going to end."

Her smile fades away, and her eyes open. Her hand remains in his, but there's a tension to her and it now.

"I shouldn't be here."

Daredevil has posed:
"I am careless when it comes to you as well," And it was true how many times had he risked everything by letting Elektra in, he'd certainly risked his law career, his life more times than he can count but most of all his heart.

He squeezes the fingers threaded with his own. "I know, you gave up everything you knew when you refused Stick and it wasn't enough, you gave up your life and it wasn't enough then either, but we'll find a way to fix this, to make things alright for both of us."

The fading smile and the tension herald the end of that fantasy they shared, but Matt presses on, desperate.

"No. You shouldn't be anywhere else, you belong here Elektra, you belong here with me."

Elektra has posed:
"There isn't a way, Matthew," she says tiredly. "I tried. I tried and failed. I am what I am now. Being here puts you in danger." She almost, but does not say, says 'I had nowhere else to go'. Because she doesn't. And among the memories she's recollected also lies the one where his friends wish her away from him as well.

Elektra struggles, then, to sit up. "I should go. Before there are troubles."

Daredevil has posed:
It was an old argument, could they find a way to free themselves of the Hand. Each time they had it, it all boiled down to the Hand winning, over and over. Elektra's death had been their last gambit and that had failed too. In truth, despite his promises, he had no clue what to do except to keep fighting.

"We can take the fight to them, Elektra, you're their weapon, we can finish what you started, remove the fingers of the Hand, and let the rest rot away..."

He was fully given over for his need for this to work, for something for once to be okay.

"Please don't go, Elektra. Whatever troubles come we'll face it together."

Elektra has posed:
"I..." And here she had no answer. She was tired. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well - even if she wasn't supposed to have emotions. It was all such a struggle, and she hadn't time to think, or decide, or figure out anything that she needed to. What she really wanted was oblivion, and that, it seemed, was denied her.

"I don't know," she finishes lamely. "I don't know who or what I am. I can't think. You're making me decide without letting me be. How is that any better?"

To be fair, though, she wasn't protesting that they couldn't do it, only that she needed space. Needed to be left with all this turmoil and try to find a way through it that wasn't influenced by everyone but herself. And she didn't know who she was anymore. She hadn't known since she was a young child of perhaps six or seven when her father died.

Daredevil has posed:
'I don't know'... Matt was ready to rush in with assurances, promises, to help her know, to help her see what he saw that they were meant to be together, meant to survive this...

The rest though, it stops him. He's silent then, thinking, thinking about how her life had never been her own, that she had always been someone's pawn and now, he was trying to make her his...

"I," he begins. "I mean..." he lets that argument die too, "But..."

No, she was right, she had to be the one to decide the one to choose her own path not have it chosen for her. Even if he desperately wanted her to choose a path that followed his own.

He lowers his head. "You're right. It's not any better to ask you to choose now than it was for the Stick to force you to choose, or the Hand," his head raises, and he squeezes her hand. "I'm sorry."

Elektra has posed:
It's a smile of gratitude she gives him, turning fully to look at him, and cup his face. Her lips finding his for along, gentle kiss. "You never understood before. Nobody did. I have to do this on my own."

A thumb brushes along his cheek before she releases him. "Thank-you for loving me, Matthew. It mattered when very little else did. No matter what happens, I want you to know you made a difference."

She winces still as she sits up fully, and makes to swing herself free of the bed, shifting that her legs are over the side.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt eases into the kiss, but holds her tight until it's broken. "You're right, I didn't. It has always been about saving you and not about you saving yourself. It's sort of obvious when it comes down to it."

"Thank you Elektra," he says. "For loving me. It made a difference in my life, and whatever you decide, I will be here for you in whatever fashion I can be," he says wishing he could make a grander promise than what he offered, but if she chose a dark path, there was only so much he could do for her and still be himself.

"I will always love you, Elektra," he says rising from the bed and offering her a hand up.

Elektra has posed:
"Of course you will," Elektra says with a laugh, but there's a lack of arrogance to the statement that might have been there in the past. And then she's wincing again as she gets up and starts moving stiffly - still in damned decent shape for someone who took the damage she did.

"You'll know when I know what I've decided. And you'll know what to do when that happens."

Because she isnt' precluding the fact that she may not choose for him. That she might choose for the Hand. Or that her choice, again, may be to become a sacrifice - if she knew how it was she could be taken down, and taht she has no answer to, as it seems this latest attempt didn't work. Or perhaps she'll run from them all and hide - though that is less likely, given the fact that the rest of this would still be happening.

If she were one to believe in Fate, or a God, she might have more faith that her choice mattered. That all of this were for a reason. That she could stand with one side or another and end it. She'd thought that once and been wrong; now she wasn't so sure.

What she did know was that for a time she was trapped in the same loop she had been before her death: pretending to be one thing while pondering another. Only this time there was no simple way out. No coward's choice.

Elektra saw that now, too. How she wanted it to be easy - to make a choice by not making a choice. By dying and taking herself out of the equation, she'd absolved herself of ever making a decision, and if she truly wished to be her own person, then she had a decision to make.

If there were one thing she had learned from all this turmoil, it was that. That the only way out of this, the only way to be her own person, was to decide.

His hand is declined, and she steadies herself before making it clear she must, and will, leave.

"Thank-you for letting me rest. Tell Stick I am sorry."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt offers a slight roll of his eyes at Elektra's reply, but it's kindly meant and accompanied by a chuckle. Though it is a small one, now is not the time for mirth.

"I guess I will," he says of her decision. "For me, I'm going to carry on the fight and hope we can do some good, push the Hand out of the city, at least for awhile."

It wasn't earthshaking but it's what he felt his rag-tag team could manage.

As for Elektra's choice, he wanted desperately to meddle, to help, even to make it for her but it wasn't his place. He would love her instead and trust to God that things would work out in the end.

The refusal of his hand is met with an understanding nod and he withdraws it.

"You're welcome Elektra, and I will."

He leans in then, to kiss her one more time.

Elektra has posed:
Elektra takes the kiss for the parting gift it is meant as, knowing very well it could be the last she ever gets from him. Even so, she lets it be brief, and nothing of persuassion. This is truly a thing she must do on her own.

Then slowly, and carefully, because she is still wounded, she makes her way up the stairs that lead to the roof, and from there, one supposes she will find her way back to where she must be. Leaving Matthew behind to ponder his own future, and his own choices. Because ultimately, she is not the only one who must decide. He, too, has put off making decisions for far too long. Stick had set them both upon this path so very long ago, but in the end, he could not make either of them choose.

Now? Now was the time.


And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head
    Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;
    That is not it, at all."

(excerpt, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock", T.S. Eliot)