Fic: Alternative Dispute Resolution (3/3) (Daredevil)
Fandom: Daredevil
Rating: PG
Characters: Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, Kirsten McDuffie, Wilson Fisk, Jamie Madrox, Max Coleridge, Charlie Hastert
Words: 3,955
Summary: Matt's world is crumbling around him. Jubula has thrown him a lifeline, but the price for taking hold may prove too high!
Genre: Friendship, Angst
Warnings: None
Notes: After making "this speculative post" the bunnies would not leave me be. So... here's a somewhat AU version of the end of Volume 4 #15... Some of the original dialogue in #15 has been lifted for insertion.
Spoilers: Daredevil Volume 4, #4, #15
Timeline: Daredevil Volume 4, #15
Alternative Dispute Resolution
Chapter 3
I guess I can stop wondering whether the Shroud was eavesdropping on our communications. He is royally ticked off. The office doors burst open and the two goons who escorted me here spill in with reinforcements. One of them grabs hold of me before he realizes I’m not the one threatening his boss. The next minute, they’re standing frozen, their pulses speeding up.
“Boss? Boss?”
Voices are nervous. I’m pretty sure the guy gripping my arm right now is doing so to confirm that he’s not alone in a void, and not because he’s trying to menace me. Shroud’s got to be using his power on them.
His voice grates like iron scraping concrete and the temperature seems to drop as he all but screams, “WHERE. IS. JULIA?!”
I have to hand it to Kingpin. His heart is hammering in his chest, but if I was going by voice alone, I’d never know he was scared. He shrugs expansively and replies, “I have no idea.”
“No more lies!” Shroud snaps. “No more games! My patience is exhausted! Where is she?”
“Why don’t you ask Murdock if I’m lying?” Kingpin replies. “He knows.”
Here’s irony for you: with all the lying I’ve done in the past, with the lies I told tonight to try to reassure my friends earlier, at this moment, I have one of my worst enemies counting on me to be truthful, when an expedient falsehood might solve one major problem on the spot. And I’m not sure why I justify his faith in my honesty, but I do. “He’s not,” I admit.
“So,” Shroud snaps, stalking toward me, “you tricked me. You manipulated me, dangling a light into the darkness of my existence, only to jerk it away. Allow me to reciprocate.”
On cue, radar field narrows from 360 degrees to about 36. Hearing starts to fade. I know I haven’t moved from the chair, but I no longer feel the cushioned leather surround me. I might as well be floating. I can still smell the tobacco on Kingpin’s fingers from his Cohíba cigars; he’s sitting directly in front of me. But the other scents in the room are muffled and fading fast. My sensory awareness becomes limited to a small crack of... well, call it ‘light’, even if it’s not completely accurate.
I fight down a wave of panic. I’ve said it before: that whole ‘Man without Fear’ nickname? It’s not entirely accurate. It’s easy enough to jump off a building 50 stories high when you can’t see what a long way down it is. I hate to break it to people, but that’s not being fearless; it’s being blind. But when I know what’s coming? More than a year ago, I was imprisoned in Latveria and subjected to sensory deprivation. I never want to go through that again. Just the thought of it has me breaking a sweat now. I have to stop Shroud somehow, but I have no idea where he is and I’m not entirely sure I remember the layout of the room. And then it hits me.
“Shroud!” I yell, hoping that I sound authoritative, not terrified, “Kingpin may not know where Julia is, but he knows who’s hiding her!” I hope. If I’ve guessed wrong, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing that Kirsten and Foggy are still safe. Then the small glimmer of sensory awareness I’ve got left widens and I hear Kingpin’s heart hammer, smell his sweat over the Cohíbas, and I know I’ve got a chance.
“Is that true?” Shroud demands.
“Of course not,” Fisk blusters. “Look at him; he’s desperate! Clutching at straws!”
Okay, that much is also true. The thing is, sometimes-very rarely-those straws are stronger than they seem. Like now. “Shroud,” I take a breath, “Max. I admit I misled you to get you in here, but if you think back, I believe you’ll find that I’ve never blatantly lied to you. I’m not lying now either. He knows.”
For a moment, I’m not sure what’s going on. His void starts to close in on me again; his living shadows nearly engulf me completely. The tiny bits I can hear and smell don’t give me enough of a picture to recognize what’s happening. Then the darkness slides off me like a loose cloak, and the world comes flooding back. Fisk is practically marinating in his own sweat, as he picks up his phone and keys in a number. The goon lets go of me.
“No tricks,” Shroud warns.
“It will take time to bring her here,” Kingpin replies, his tone the slightest bit patronizing. “I located her in New York. Weeks ago, she fell into a coma, from which she has only recently awakened. Knowing of your interest in her, I ensured that she would receive the best care while she recovered.”
“And you didn’t think to inform me, even though you knew that the only reason I was assisting you was in order to locate her.” Shroud’s voice is thick with menace. “I want to speak with her.”
Kingpin is seething, but he gives the order to whoever’s on the other end and tells us that they’ll call back in a few minutes.
Sure enough, ten minutes later, the phone rings. As Shroud grabs it, I hear something else, though. Trust me: with my ears, silent alarms aren’t actually silent. It’s not entirely unexpected; strong-arming Kingpin in front of his own people is seldom a wise move. I didn’t expect him to let Shroud get away with it. It occurs to me that I might have to save the goons already in the room, if Kingpin gets it into his head to eliminate anyone who saw him in a weakened state. More likely, though, he’s just not taking a chance on Shroud hearing him give an order. Reinforcements might be able to take down Shroud before he has a chance to use his darkness powers.
At this moment, I’d be lying if I said that there’s not a part of me that that wants Shroud to suffer. When I think of the people whose lives he wrecked today, collateral damage in a war they had no idea they were even a part of, I’d like a piece of him myself. But liking and taking aren’t the same thing. And I’m not about to stand by and let Kingpin’s goons shoot him in cold blood either.
I hear footsteps coming down the hall at a brisk trot. They’re armed; I can smell the gun oil through the crack under the door. As I get ready to intervene, I can’t help wishing that they hadn’t confiscated my billy-club.
“I have to hand it to you,” Kirsten says, admiringly. “I don’t think my father will be able to tell that we were even here, much less had to deal with those creeps.” Madrox’s duplicates have been hard at work, cleaning, touching up paint, and otherwise returning the yacht to its pre-attack state. All but one, who sits groaning on a deck chair, atop several black plastic garbage bags, a bloody bandage around his head. The bullet grazed him and the wound looks-and feels-more serious than it is. The original Madrox, who’s told Kirsten and Foggy that he prefers the term ‘Madrox Prime’ smiles.
“One advantage to being able to split myself apart: any skills or experiences my dupes pick up transfer back to me when I reabsorb them. It made law school easy; each duplicate was responsible for taking one course. Much less pressure that way.”
“I can see that,” Foggy says, not quite able to keep a note of wistful envy out of his voice.
“Isn’t that cheating?” Kirsten wants to know.
“No,” one of the duplicates interjects. “It’s not. We’re all one person; we just split into as many bodies as necessary. Generally speaking, I’m no realer or truer than that other me; the one who’s actually working as an entertainment lawyer in LA.”
“Theoretically,” another duplicate adds, “if anything were to happen to ‘Prime’ here, one of us would automatically become the new Prime.”
“Though we might all fade out of existence,” another one chimes in.
Madrox Prime shrugs. “I guess we’ll know for sure, if that ever happens. Meanwhile, since you don’t need an army, and since re-absorption is also going to heal our gunshot wound about thirty times faster than normal...” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he gently leans into one of the duplicates. Before Foggy and Kirsten’s eyes, the two become one. He repeats the procedure, careening from one double to the next, until only he and the injured duplicate are left. He smiles and touches the dupe lightly on the shoulder. “Ready?”
The injured man nods. A moment later, Prime is the only one standing. “Not bad,” he says, rubbing the side of his head in the spot where his duplicate had been injured. “A little sore, but nothing too serious.” His smile fades. “Unlike that other stuff you were telling me earlier. I can understand why Murdock would consider approaching Kingpin. Heck, I can understand a bit better why he’d reach out to me.”
Foggy blinks. “Explain what you mean by that.”
Madrox shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “Mutants and Avengers usually don’t get invited to the same parties. And when we do, it sort of tends to get messy. Mind you,” he adds, “my dupe in LA, the entertainment lawyer,” he chuckles briefly, “a generation ago, it was ‘my son, the doctor’; now it’s ‘my dupe, the entertainment lawyer’. Times change. Anyway, my dupe’s worked recently with She-Hulk. That went pretty well. Well enough that she evidently said something to Murdock that led him to make that phone call. Still, we all know that there are others he could have called in.”
“We discussed that before Matt left,” Kirsten says. “Of the people he’d normally turn to, if he were going to turn to anyone... Black Widow is currently off the grid; he doesn’t know how to reach Elektra; he refuses to call in Iron Man; and just about everyone else he knows is in NYC. He wasn’t sure if you’d get here on time, what with the distance between Frisco and LA.”
“LA?” Madrox laughs. “Try Kansas. That’s where I live. It’s why I hitched a ride with Magik to get here.” He shrugs. “My dupe in LA spends most of his time behind a desk. The most exercise he gets is slapping himself on the back every time he wins a case. Which give him his own dupes to take care of paperwork, janitorial duties, coffee detail... When Daredevil called him, my dupe put him on hold for a minute and called me.”
“And you came from the Midwest to the West Coast to help out someone you’ve never met, much less worked with?” Foggy lets out a low whistle.
Madrox shakes his head. “It’s not as noble as you’re making it sound. My wife grew up in Hell’s Kitchen. She speaks well of him. You too, actually. I know your firm was one of the few willing to take on hate crime cases when the victims lived in Mutant Town. You handled one involving a friend of hers pro bono.” He smiled at Foggy’s surprised look. “What goes around, eh? Actually, she-my wife, I mean... well, she knows stuff. That’s one of her abilities. And she told me that my coming down here now was important for the future. I know that’s pretty vague, but I’ve learned to trust when she says stuff like that. So,” he shrugged, “it could mean that at some point, I’ll need representation. Or maybe next week, when X-Men and Avengers go back to not talking to each other, something accomplished here will be instrumental in all of us getting our heads out of our keisters and remembering we’re supposed to be on the same side. Maybe, ten years from now, at least one of you three will be involved in some other case that pertains to mutant issues and something I do here and now will give you some insight that would help your arguments.” His smile fades. “I can tell you right now that I don’t know how it would go down if, say, one of my dupes were to commit a serious crime and then get re-absorbed. Technically, absorbing him obliterates him, but his memories would still live on in me and bits and pieces would be in any future dupes I bang out. So... could I be held accountable for his actions?”
Foggy frowns. “I’m not sure if there’s any precedent for it, but if I was admitted to the bar in the state where the trial was to be held, I’d be willing to take it on.”
“Pretty sure I’m speaking for Matt here when I say we all would be,” Kirsten chimes in.
Madrox smiles. “Speaking of Daredevil... Matt, I mean, you realize Kingpin probably wasn’t happy with the way that phone call went. Think he’s okay?”
There are times when I envy Captain America. Truly. He always seems to have a clear picture in his head of what’s right or wrong. I’ve never known him to compromise his ideals. (To be fair, I don’t know whether he has, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he hasn’t.) I’ve never heard of a time where he’s lost the moral high ground. And if there were two people who-on different occasions-had wrecked his life, and they were in a room together ready to kill each other, I would bet good money that he wouldn’t be tempted for a second to walk away and let them have at it.
I am not Captain America. I am tempted. Very tempted. It’s not like either one of them is innocent in this. It’s not as though I have my billy-club. It’s not...
It’s not like I can’t hear what Julia is saying to Shroud over the phone. She’s gone from incredulous and giddy to angry and hurt in the course of thirty seconds. I realize that I don’t want to hear what she’s telling him, but even normal senses can be hard to close off. Mine go a bit beyond that. She knows what he’s been doing. I don’t know how, but she knows. And she’s horrified.
As the office doors open and Kingpin’s thugs pour in, I hear Julia loud and clear: “The Max Coleridge I know would never have crossed the lines you’ve crossed. The Max Coleridge who did isn’t any man I want to know.”
As I leap out of the chair, I spot the goons behind me drawing their guns. Disarming them is child’s play. I keep one of the pieces and use it-along with my other hand-to bludgeon the reinforcements. I’m betting they wish their boss had let me keep my cane. It still would have hurt, but not as badly.
Through it all, Kingpin stays behind his desk, letting his people bleed for him, and Max stays on the phone, his voice desperate, as he pleads with Julia to listen to him.
“Don’t call me again, Max. And, for your sake, get some help.”
I grunt, as a fist plows into my gut and the air gets knocked out of me. That’s what I get for letting myself get distracted by a soap opera. I fall back, but I’m ready when the goon presses toward me. I dodge his next blow, grab his arm as I rise, and slam him into the wall. I smell plaster dust and hear something crash-probably a framed picture. Diploma, maybe? Wood and glass, whatever it is.
The goons are down. No sign of my cane, but I doubt they’ve dropped it off in the cloakroom. Sure enough, when I stick my head outside the door, I spot it in a corner and pick it up. I take a deep breath. Now, for Kingpin.
As soon as I re-enter the office, I realize that Max isn’t holding the phone anymore. Instead, he’s standing behind Kingpin, off to one side, right where the window he crashed through used to be. Kingpin still hasn’t moved from his chair and his heartbeat nearly back to normal, now.
It’s not hard to realize why.
When I first met Max Coleridge, he was reeling from a number of reverses, including Julia’s disappearance. By the time our paths crossed, he was passively suicidal-seeking out battles he knew he probably couldn’t win and hoping someone would put him out of his misery. After talking to Julia, it looks like he’s decided to take matters into his own hands.
I yell his name, as he takes a step out of the office and into the empty air beyond. He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t even hesitate. As I leap after him, I’m positive that Kingpin is smiling.
Talk about déjà vu. Just like our first encounter, it ends with the two of us perched on the edge of a roof, Max tied up in my billy-club line. I should just turn him into the authorities. If Charlie wants to chuck me in a holding cell, too, so be it. The Shroud is too dangerous-both to himself and to others-to leave at large. His heart is pounding. He’s shaking, and I can tell it’s more from rage than despair or fear.
I’ve been there.
I should be there now. I’ve got every right to be. Not only was he instrumental in tearing apart the life I’d built for myself here... he’s humiliated and endangered friends and clients. People I care about. People I swore to protect. Solely because they know me. Their lives are about to go to hell and the best I can hope to do is mitigate the damage somewhat. I can’t prevent it entirely.
I should be furious. Instead, I’m just numb. Months of work... down the drain in the course of an afternoon. I think it’s finally really sinking in. It’s over. Pounding Max to hamburger won’t fix it. Kingpin couldn’t have fixed it either; not really. Short term, he might have done something, but the cost would have been too heavy; I recognize that now. I can’t change what’s happened today. I can only choose where I go from here.
A sigh escapes me. “Are you all right?” I ask Max.
He growls. “I suppose now you’re going to tell me again how superior you are, because you would never have done what I did for a lost love.”
I never said- ...But thinking back to our first encounter again, maybe I can see why he took what I told him then as acting holier-than-thou. I sigh again. “I took over a ninja cult and constructed a prison-slash-temple in the middle of Manhattan after one of my enemies drove my wife permanently insane. I set myself up opposite heroes I’d once stood alongside. I almost murdered my best friend in cold blood. I’m not that superior.”
For several long moments, Max says nothing. When he speaks again, his voice is scarcely louder than a whisper and it’s missing most of its gravel. “Your wife?”
I shake my head, wondering whether he can register the gesture. “Not anymore. Her parents had our marriage annulled. They also took out a restraining order against me. They blame me for her condition. I’m not so sure they’re wrong. The man responsible for her condition admitted... gloated, rather... that he’d done it specifically to hurt me. Mission accomplished.” My shoulders slump. “She’s in an institution in upstate New York. I still write to her every week. I don’t know if she receives the letters. She’s never replied.”
I press my lips together tightly as though that can somehow repress the emotions whirling around me. “You’re not the only one who’s ever embraced darkness,” I add. Something makes me keep talking, even though I think I’ve said enough. “I didn’t lie to you before. I never got to the point where I tried to get some ‘super villain’-or regular villain-to put me out of my misery. But I came damned close. Close enough that when I did eventually come to my senses, it terrified me to realize how little it would have taken to push me to that point. That other time, I didn’t yell at you because I thought I was ‘better’ than you for not falling into that abyss; I yelled at you because when I understood what you were doing, I felt my old terror surface, and my adrenaline kicked in. I was yelling at my own memories. You just... got in the way.”
I don’t think I’ve actually sat down and analyzed it like that before, but as the words come out, I realize that I mean them. Max seems to know it, too. At least, he isn’t raging and spewing bile at the moment.
“And now, you’re going to turn me in.” He sounds more resigned than bitter.
I take a deep breath. “I’m turning us both in,” I say. I think I made up my mind about that around the same time I accepted that there were no easy fixes to this situation. I need to face facts. I need to face consequences. I need to live with myself and I don’t think I’ll be able to do that if-after going on and on about the people who’ve been hurt in all of this-I wash my hands of the whole affair, pull up stakes, and try my luck somewhere else. I remember how I reacted when my identity was first outed in the tabloid press. Months... years spent denying the truth, running from it, and in the end, it caught up with me anyway. I could run again, but I’ll never get fast enough or far enough, so why try? “Ready?”
“I don’t care anymore,” Max’s voice is bleak. “I’ve lost Julia. There’s no point in fighting.”
I hoist him onto one shoulder, preparing to descend. “One day,” I say, “I hope you’ll find out that you’re wrong about that.” There are people in New York who’ll be able to locate Julia and get her out of Kingpin’s clutches. I make a mental note to call one of them as soon as I can.
I’m not that surprised to find the police waiting at street level. With Max tied up in my billy-club line, swinging from the roof was out of the question, and climbing down with him on my back meant taking it slow. There was plenty of time for someone to spot us and call them. One of the officers asks whether I can accompany them to the station to answer some questions. He assures me I’m not under arrest and can leave any time. It’s my first indication that things might be calming down somewhat from where they stood earlier today. I accept the ‘invitation’ and allow them to escort me to a squad car. I’m alone in the back seat, so I can only assume that they’re transporting Max in another one.
That’s when I remember what I told Kirsten earlier. It seemed like a good idea at the time: count on Shroud being so eager to tear me down further that he’d be only too happy to have Kirsten give Charlie another reason to track me down. Then bluff about Julia’s whereabouts and, while Shroud was on his way to attack Kingpin, have Foggy alert Madrox. It probably was a good idea. Except that I really don’t want to be forced to undergo a psychiatric assessment.
Maybe I was too clever for my own good...
At the station, they bring me directly into an interrogation room. I assume so, at any rate. Two chairs facing each other across a wooden table. One door the sole way in or out. If the SFPD stations are at all like the NYPD, then there’s got to one-way mirror on one of the walls, but I can’t hear anybody talking on the other side.
After ten minutes, someone pokes their head in and asks me if I’d like anything to eat. I decline the offer, but accept a cup of coffee. It’s instant, from a machine that hasn’t been cleaned or otherwise serviced in a long time. I force it down anyway.
About a half hour after I finish the coffee, the door opens again and three people enter. I’m assuming that two of them are officers. The third is Charlie.
The other chair squeaks annoyingly, as Charlie pulls it away from the table and sits down. “I’m thinking I owe you an apology,” she says softly.
I tilt my head in her direction.
“The timing was a bit too perfect: you bringing that woman around to my window at the precise moment that the video of her supplying those sky-sleds showed up on my tablet. And...” her voice drops even lower, “I really should have known better than to think you’d need to stage my daughter’s kidnapping in order to establish yourself here.”
That’s right. She should have. Still, I try to imagine what must have been going through her head earlier. Under pressure, faced with nasty surprises in rapid succession, anyone can fall prey to hasty judgment and jump to the wrong conclusions.
“She’s the Owl’s daughter,” I say finally. “We’d teamed up to try to find her father. I had no idea about her other activities. Or her costume.”
She nods. “I had the manhunt for you called off a short while ago. You’re here mostly because I didn’t think you’d be turning up at my window any time soon and I wanted to let you know that you could relax. A little.” She sighs. “And partly because Kirsten phoned to say that she was worried about some of your actions. And once certain orders are given, rescinding them isn’t instantaneous.” She pauses. “And I figured whoever was spying on you might also be spying on us. I wasn’t sure it was a wise move to let them know I didn’t suspect you any longer. All things considered, getting you down here just seemed best.”
I nod. “Fisk is here in San Francisco,” I say, “though my reasons for seeking him out were a bit different from what I had Kirsten tell you.” I give her the address of his office, adding that I suspect he’s moved on since my visit. One of officers says they’ll check it out.
“I can’t do anything about your clients’ personal information being out there,” Charlie admits. “Nor any of the potential repercussions. But as far as our business here,” she looks from one officer to the next, “you’re free to go. And I do want to thank you for bringing in the Shroud.”
I nod again. “He should be able to tell you where to find the Owl.”
One of the officers speaks now. “He did. We sent a car to the location specified. Unfortunately, the premises had been vacated. We have forensics going over them now. Afterwards, if you’re up to taking a crack at it...?”
“Of course.” I’m wondering, though. Did Owlsley manage to escape on his own? Did Jubula get to him? Or... did Kingpin? “Well,” I force myself to smile, “I guess I’m going to have what to do to occupy myself during those hours when I would normally be seeing clients.”
Charlie slumps. “I wish I could tell you it wasn’t going to be that bad.”
I push my chair back from the table and stand. “I’ve weathered reverses before. I’ll weather this one, too.” Somehow.
The officers escort Charlie and me to the street. I wish that when the station door closes behind us, it doesn’t have such a heavy ring of finality.
Epilogue
My place has better security than Wendell McDuffie’s yacht. I have Kirsten, Foggy, and Madrox meet me there and we discuss strategy.
“My dupe’s specialty is entertainment law,” Madrox admits. “That’s probably not going to help you. And as for his personality... um,” he tugs at his collar, “Let’s just say, Jen didn’t exaggerate. But if you need to look stuff up quickly, he can bang out as many researchers as you need. Have you heard anything about a civil suit from any your clients, yet?”
I shake my head. “Notwithstanding that this has been a very long day; this whole thing did just break a few hours ago. I’m expecting that it will happen though.” I incline my head toward Kirsten. “When it does, they’ll be going after the firm-both of us-rather than just me.”
I turn to Madrox. “Would your dupe have any problems with Jen using his practice as the firm of record, as she did when she defended Captain America?”
“I doubt it. I’ll talk to him; you talk to Jen and we’ll hammer out the details over the next day or so.”
“And hey,” Foggy breaks in, “just because I’m not currently licensed doesn’t mean I can’t join the research team. We’ve handled cases like this in the past.”
“We are still looking to settle out of court, right?” Kirsten asks.
I nod. “Absolutely.” Nobody wants this to drag out through the system. We just need to come to an agreement as to a fair payout. Which reminds me...
I reach over to Foggy and rest my hand on his shoulder. He tenses and turns his head to look at it. I take a breath. “I need to come clean about something else. The reason I took the book deal in the first place was because... when you were disbarred, you lost your medical insurance. And an eight million dollar advance covers a lot of cancer treatment.”
Under my hand, I feel his muscles tense for a moment. Then, his shoulders slump as he exhales. “I suspected,” he admits. “I mean, the doctor kept sidestepping my questions about cost and I know you’re in decent financial shape, but I didn’t think it was that decent.”
“No,” I shake my head. “Most of it is in a money market account, but about a hundred thousand has been used and more will need to be. Unfortunately, that does impact the amount of money available for settlement or damages. We’re going to need to figure out how much to set aside from the advance to keep paying for your treatment. Whatever’s left after that-and there should be a significant amount-I’m happy to part with. If it’s not enough...” I sigh, “I’ll put this place up for sale. I can probably find something in the Tenderloin or Ingleside Heights for a less than a third of what I clear for it.”
“The Tenderloin?” Kirsten’s aghast. “Matt, do you have any clue what the crime rate is in that part of the city?”
I release Foggy’s shoulder and shrug. “You know I’ve lived a good part of my life in pre-gentrification Hell’s Kitchen, right?”
“Point conceded.”
“Hey,” Madrox breaks in, “we’re just exploring options right now. Nobody’s calling a realtor tonight, right?”
I nod. “It’s possible that what’s left of the advance, plus future book sales will be enough to cover everything. If it’s not...”
“If it’s not,” Kirsten says, “Daddy’s not going to see us out on the street. I hate asking him for anything, but if it should come to that, he will help.”
Good to know, even if I’d prefer not to ask either. “As far as our practice...” I venture. “Kirsten, I never meant to-”
“Matt,” her voice is firm, as she lays her hand across mine. “I’m going to stop you right there. Listen. We got off to a few false starts, mostly because I started to realize what associating with you-in a non-professional sense, I mean-would entail. And I walked away. And...” I hear the smile in her voice, “I had some very good reasons to do so. But as soon as I did, I started having regrets. So, I sat down and I reassessed. I helped you out with the Sons of the Serpent. I pulled up stakes and came out to San Francisco with you. I’m sitting here next to you now. And the reason I’ve done all this isn’t because I love you (though I do). It’s because I’ve weighed the risks and, believe it or not, I think you’re worth it. And if I need to start a new line of work, they say that the average person today changes careers five to seven times, so bring it.” Her hand tightens on mine. “In other words, if you’re blaming yourself because one of your enemies trashed my professional reputation, cut it out right now. My choice, my lumps.”
Have I mentioned how much I love this woman?
She takes a breath and lets it out. “Of course, if you could give me five minutes alone with the Owl or the Shroud...”
A grin spreads across my face. There are some big storms looming on my horizon and more than a few of them are going to be hard to weather, but it would be exponentially worse if I had to face them alone. I don’t. Not anymore. I’m going to get through this. It’s going to work out. As for how it will... I have no idea, but that’s okay too. I never was much of a planner.
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Rating: PG
Characters: Matt Murdock, Foggy Nelson, Kirsten McDuffie, Wilson Fisk, Jamie Madrox, Max Coleridge, Charlie Hastert
Words: 3,955
Summary: Matt's world is crumbling around him. Jubula has thrown him a lifeline, but the price for taking hold may prove too high!
Genre: Friendship, Angst
Warnings: None
Notes: After making "this speculative post" the bunnies would not leave me be. So... here's a somewhat AU version of the end of Volume 4 #15... Some of the original dialogue in #15 has been lifted for insertion.
Spoilers: Daredevil Volume 4, #4, #15
Timeline: Daredevil Volume 4, #15
Alternative Dispute Resolution
Chapter 3
I guess I can stop wondering whether the Shroud was eavesdropping on our communications. He is royally ticked off. The office doors burst open and the two goons who escorted me here spill in with reinforcements. One of them grabs hold of me before he realizes I’m not the one threatening his boss. The next minute, they’re standing frozen, their pulses speeding up.
“Boss? Boss?”
Voices are nervous. I’m pretty sure the guy gripping my arm right now is doing so to confirm that he’s not alone in a void, and not because he’s trying to menace me. Shroud’s got to be using his power on them.
His voice grates like iron scraping concrete and the temperature seems to drop as he all but screams, “WHERE. IS. JULIA?!”
I have to hand it to Kingpin. His heart is hammering in his chest, but if I was going by voice alone, I’d never know he was scared. He shrugs expansively and replies, “I have no idea.”
“No more lies!” Shroud snaps. “No more games! My patience is exhausted! Where is she?”
“Why don’t you ask Murdock if I’m lying?” Kingpin replies. “He knows.”
Here’s irony for you: with all the lying I’ve done in the past, with the lies I told tonight to try to reassure my friends earlier, at this moment, I have one of my worst enemies counting on me to be truthful, when an expedient falsehood might solve one major problem on the spot. And I’m not sure why I justify his faith in my honesty, but I do. “He’s not,” I admit.
“So,” Shroud snaps, stalking toward me, “you tricked me. You manipulated me, dangling a light into the darkness of my existence, only to jerk it away. Allow me to reciprocate.”
On cue, radar field narrows from 360 degrees to about 36. Hearing starts to fade. I know I haven’t moved from the chair, but I no longer feel the cushioned leather surround me. I might as well be floating. I can still smell the tobacco on Kingpin’s fingers from his Cohíba cigars; he’s sitting directly in front of me. But the other scents in the room are muffled and fading fast. My sensory awareness becomes limited to a small crack of... well, call it ‘light’, even if it’s not completely accurate.
I fight down a wave of panic. I’ve said it before: that whole ‘Man without Fear’ nickname? It’s not entirely accurate. It’s easy enough to jump off a building 50 stories high when you can’t see what a long way down it is. I hate to break it to people, but that’s not being fearless; it’s being blind. But when I know what’s coming? More than a year ago, I was imprisoned in Latveria and subjected to sensory deprivation. I never want to go through that again. Just the thought of it has me breaking a sweat now. I have to stop Shroud somehow, but I have no idea where he is and I’m not entirely sure I remember the layout of the room. And then it hits me.
“Shroud!” I yell, hoping that I sound authoritative, not terrified, “Kingpin may not know where Julia is, but he knows who’s hiding her!” I hope. If I’ve guessed wrong, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing that Kirsten and Foggy are still safe. Then the small glimmer of sensory awareness I’ve got left widens and I hear Kingpin’s heart hammer, smell his sweat over the Cohíbas, and I know I’ve got a chance.
“Is that true?” Shroud demands.
“Of course not,” Fisk blusters. “Look at him; he’s desperate! Clutching at straws!”
Okay, that much is also true. The thing is, sometimes-very rarely-those straws are stronger than they seem. Like now. “Shroud,” I take a breath, “Max. I admit I misled you to get you in here, but if you think back, I believe you’ll find that I’ve never blatantly lied to you. I’m not lying now either. He knows.”
For a moment, I’m not sure what’s going on. His void starts to close in on me again; his living shadows nearly engulf me completely. The tiny bits I can hear and smell don’t give me enough of a picture to recognize what’s happening. Then the darkness slides off me like a loose cloak, and the world comes flooding back. Fisk is practically marinating in his own sweat, as he picks up his phone and keys in a number. The goon lets go of me.
“No tricks,” Shroud warns.
“It will take time to bring her here,” Kingpin replies, his tone the slightest bit patronizing. “I located her in New York. Weeks ago, she fell into a coma, from which she has only recently awakened. Knowing of your interest in her, I ensured that she would receive the best care while she recovered.”
“And you didn’t think to inform me, even though you knew that the only reason I was assisting you was in order to locate her.” Shroud’s voice is thick with menace. “I want to speak with her.”
Kingpin is seething, but he gives the order to whoever’s on the other end and tells us that they’ll call back in a few minutes.
Sure enough, ten minutes later, the phone rings. As Shroud grabs it, I hear something else, though. Trust me: with my ears, silent alarms aren’t actually silent. It’s not entirely unexpected; strong-arming Kingpin in front of his own people is seldom a wise move. I didn’t expect him to let Shroud get away with it. It occurs to me that I might have to save the goons already in the room, if Kingpin gets it into his head to eliminate anyone who saw him in a weakened state. More likely, though, he’s just not taking a chance on Shroud hearing him give an order. Reinforcements might be able to take down Shroud before he has a chance to use his darkness powers.
At this moment, I’d be lying if I said that there’s not a part of me that that wants Shroud to suffer. When I think of the people whose lives he wrecked today, collateral damage in a war they had no idea they were even a part of, I’d like a piece of him myself. But liking and taking aren’t the same thing. And I’m not about to stand by and let Kingpin’s goons shoot him in cold blood either.
I hear footsteps coming down the hall at a brisk trot. They’re armed; I can smell the gun oil through the crack under the door. As I get ready to intervene, I can’t help wishing that they hadn’t confiscated my billy-club.
“I have to hand it to you,” Kirsten says, admiringly. “I don’t think my father will be able to tell that we were even here, much less had to deal with those creeps.” Madrox’s duplicates have been hard at work, cleaning, touching up paint, and otherwise returning the yacht to its pre-attack state. All but one, who sits groaning on a deck chair, atop several black plastic garbage bags, a bloody bandage around his head. The bullet grazed him and the wound looks-and feels-more serious than it is. The original Madrox, who’s told Kirsten and Foggy that he prefers the term ‘Madrox Prime’ smiles.
“One advantage to being able to split myself apart: any skills or experiences my dupes pick up transfer back to me when I reabsorb them. It made law school easy; each duplicate was responsible for taking one course. Much less pressure that way.”
“I can see that,” Foggy says, not quite able to keep a note of wistful envy out of his voice.
“Isn’t that cheating?” Kirsten wants to know.
“No,” one of the duplicates interjects. “It’s not. We’re all one person; we just split into as many bodies as necessary. Generally speaking, I’m no realer or truer than that other me; the one who’s actually working as an entertainment lawyer in LA.”
“Theoretically,” another duplicate adds, “if anything were to happen to ‘Prime’ here, one of us would automatically become the new Prime.”
“Though we might all fade out of existence,” another one chimes in.
Madrox Prime shrugs. “I guess we’ll know for sure, if that ever happens. Meanwhile, since you don’t need an army, and since re-absorption is also going to heal our gunshot wound about thirty times faster than normal...” He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he gently leans into one of the duplicates. Before Foggy and Kirsten’s eyes, the two become one. He repeats the procedure, careening from one double to the next, until only he and the injured duplicate are left. He smiles and touches the dupe lightly on the shoulder. “Ready?”
The injured man nods. A moment later, Prime is the only one standing. “Not bad,” he says, rubbing the side of his head in the spot where his duplicate had been injured. “A little sore, but nothing too serious.” His smile fades. “Unlike that other stuff you were telling me earlier. I can understand why Murdock would consider approaching Kingpin. Heck, I can understand a bit better why he’d reach out to me.”
Foggy blinks. “Explain what you mean by that.”
Madrox shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “Mutants and Avengers usually don’t get invited to the same parties. And when we do, it sort of tends to get messy. Mind you,” he adds, “my dupe in LA, the entertainment lawyer,” he chuckles briefly, “a generation ago, it was ‘my son, the doctor’; now it’s ‘my dupe, the entertainment lawyer’. Times change. Anyway, my dupe’s worked recently with She-Hulk. That went pretty well. Well enough that she evidently said something to Murdock that led him to make that phone call. Still, we all know that there are others he could have called in.”
“We discussed that before Matt left,” Kirsten says. “Of the people he’d normally turn to, if he were going to turn to anyone... Black Widow is currently off the grid; he doesn’t know how to reach Elektra; he refuses to call in Iron Man; and just about everyone else he knows is in NYC. He wasn’t sure if you’d get here on time, what with the distance between Frisco and LA.”
“LA?” Madrox laughs. “Try Kansas. That’s where I live. It’s why I hitched a ride with Magik to get here.” He shrugs. “My dupe in LA spends most of his time behind a desk. The most exercise he gets is slapping himself on the back every time he wins a case. Which give him his own dupes to take care of paperwork, janitorial duties, coffee detail... When Daredevil called him, my dupe put him on hold for a minute and called me.”
“And you came from the Midwest to the West Coast to help out someone you’ve never met, much less worked with?” Foggy lets out a low whistle.
Madrox shakes his head. “It’s not as noble as you’re making it sound. My wife grew up in Hell’s Kitchen. She speaks well of him. You too, actually. I know your firm was one of the few willing to take on hate crime cases when the victims lived in Mutant Town. You handled one involving a friend of hers pro bono.” He smiled at Foggy’s surprised look. “What goes around, eh? Actually, she-my wife, I mean... well, she knows stuff. That’s one of her abilities. And she told me that my coming down here now was important for the future. I know that’s pretty vague, but I’ve learned to trust when she says stuff like that. So,” he shrugged, “it could mean that at some point, I’ll need representation. Or maybe next week, when X-Men and Avengers go back to not talking to each other, something accomplished here will be instrumental in all of us getting our heads out of our keisters and remembering we’re supposed to be on the same side. Maybe, ten years from now, at least one of you three will be involved in some other case that pertains to mutant issues and something I do here and now will give you some insight that would help your arguments.” His smile fades. “I can tell you right now that I don’t know how it would go down if, say, one of my dupes were to commit a serious crime and then get re-absorbed. Technically, absorbing him obliterates him, but his memories would still live on in me and bits and pieces would be in any future dupes I bang out. So... could I be held accountable for his actions?”
Foggy frowns. “I’m not sure if there’s any precedent for it, but if I was admitted to the bar in the state where the trial was to be held, I’d be willing to take it on.”
“Pretty sure I’m speaking for Matt here when I say we all would be,” Kirsten chimes in.
Madrox smiles. “Speaking of Daredevil... Matt, I mean, you realize Kingpin probably wasn’t happy with the way that phone call went. Think he’s okay?”
There are times when I envy Captain America. Truly. He always seems to have a clear picture in his head of what’s right or wrong. I’ve never known him to compromise his ideals. (To be fair, I don’t know whether he has, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he hasn’t.) I’ve never heard of a time where he’s lost the moral high ground. And if there were two people who-on different occasions-had wrecked his life, and they were in a room together ready to kill each other, I would bet good money that he wouldn’t be tempted for a second to walk away and let them have at it.
I am not Captain America. I am tempted. Very tempted. It’s not like either one of them is innocent in this. It’s not as though I have my billy-club. It’s not...
It’s not like I can’t hear what Julia is saying to Shroud over the phone. She’s gone from incredulous and giddy to angry and hurt in the course of thirty seconds. I realize that I don’t want to hear what she’s telling him, but even normal senses can be hard to close off. Mine go a bit beyond that. She knows what he’s been doing. I don’t know how, but she knows. And she’s horrified.
As the office doors open and Kingpin’s thugs pour in, I hear Julia loud and clear: “The Max Coleridge I know would never have crossed the lines you’ve crossed. The Max Coleridge who did isn’t any man I want to know.”
As I leap out of the chair, I spot the goons behind me drawing their guns. Disarming them is child’s play. I keep one of the pieces and use it-along with my other hand-to bludgeon the reinforcements. I’m betting they wish their boss had let me keep my cane. It still would have hurt, but not as badly.
Through it all, Kingpin stays behind his desk, letting his people bleed for him, and Max stays on the phone, his voice desperate, as he pleads with Julia to listen to him.
“Don’t call me again, Max. And, for your sake, get some help.”
I grunt, as a fist plows into my gut and the air gets knocked out of me. That’s what I get for letting myself get distracted by a soap opera. I fall back, but I’m ready when the goon presses toward me. I dodge his next blow, grab his arm as I rise, and slam him into the wall. I smell plaster dust and hear something crash-probably a framed picture. Diploma, maybe? Wood and glass, whatever it is.
The goons are down. No sign of my cane, but I doubt they’ve dropped it off in the cloakroom. Sure enough, when I stick my head outside the door, I spot it in a corner and pick it up. I take a deep breath. Now, for Kingpin.
As soon as I re-enter the office, I realize that Max isn’t holding the phone anymore. Instead, he’s standing behind Kingpin, off to one side, right where the window he crashed through used to be. Kingpin still hasn’t moved from his chair and his heartbeat nearly back to normal, now.
It’s not hard to realize why.
When I first met Max Coleridge, he was reeling from a number of reverses, including Julia’s disappearance. By the time our paths crossed, he was passively suicidal-seeking out battles he knew he probably couldn’t win and hoping someone would put him out of his misery. After talking to Julia, it looks like he’s decided to take matters into his own hands.
I yell his name, as he takes a step out of the office and into the empty air beyond. He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t even hesitate. As I leap after him, I’m positive that Kingpin is smiling.
Talk about déjà vu. Just like our first encounter, it ends with the two of us perched on the edge of a roof, Max tied up in my billy-club line. I should just turn him into the authorities. If Charlie wants to chuck me in a holding cell, too, so be it. The Shroud is too dangerous-both to himself and to others-to leave at large. His heart is pounding. He’s shaking, and I can tell it’s more from rage than despair or fear.
I’ve been there.
I should be there now. I’ve got every right to be. Not only was he instrumental in tearing apart the life I’d built for myself here... he’s humiliated and endangered friends and clients. People I care about. People I swore to protect. Solely because they know me. Their lives are about to go to hell and the best I can hope to do is mitigate the damage somewhat. I can’t prevent it entirely.
I should be furious. Instead, I’m just numb. Months of work... down the drain in the course of an afternoon. I think it’s finally really sinking in. It’s over. Pounding Max to hamburger won’t fix it. Kingpin couldn’t have fixed it either; not really. Short term, he might have done something, but the cost would have been too heavy; I recognize that now. I can’t change what’s happened today. I can only choose where I go from here.
A sigh escapes me. “Are you all right?” I ask Max.
He growls. “I suppose now you’re going to tell me again how superior you are, because you would never have done what I did for a lost love.”
I never said- ...But thinking back to our first encounter again, maybe I can see why he took what I told him then as acting holier-than-thou. I sigh again. “I took over a ninja cult and constructed a prison-slash-temple in the middle of Manhattan after one of my enemies drove my wife permanently insane. I set myself up opposite heroes I’d once stood alongside. I almost murdered my best friend in cold blood. I’m not that superior.”
For several long moments, Max says nothing. When he speaks again, his voice is scarcely louder than a whisper and it’s missing most of its gravel. “Your wife?”
I shake my head, wondering whether he can register the gesture. “Not anymore. Her parents had our marriage annulled. They also took out a restraining order against me. They blame me for her condition. I’m not so sure they’re wrong. The man responsible for her condition admitted... gloated, rather... that he’d done it specifically to hurt me. Mission accomplished.” My shoulders slump. “She’s in an institution in upstate New York. I still write to her every week. I don’t know if she receives the letters. She’s never replied.”
I press my lips together tightly as though that can somehow repress the emotions whirling around me. “You’re not the only one who’s ever embraced darkness,” I add. Something makes me keep talking, even though I think I’ve said enough. “I didn’t lie to you before. I never got to the point where I tried to get some ‘super villain’-or regular villain-to put me out of my misery. But I came damned close. Close enough that when I did eventually come to my senses, it terrified me to realize how little it would have taken to push me to that point. That other time, I didn’t yell at you because I thought I was ‘better’ than you for not falling into that abyss; I yelled at you because when I understood what you were doing, I felt my old terror surface, and my adrenaline kicked in. I was yelling at my own memories. You just... got in the way.”
I don’t think I’ve actually sat down and analyzed it like that before, but as the words come out, I realize that I mean them. Max seems to know it, too. At least, he isn’t raging and spewing bile at the moment.
“And now, you’re going to turn me in.” He sounds more resigned than bitter.
I take a deep breath. “I’m turning us both in,” I say. I think I made up my mind about that around the same time I accepted that there were no easy fixes to this situation. I need to face facts. I need to face consequences. I need to live with myself and I don’t think I’ll be able to do that if-after going on and on about the people who’ve been hurt in all of this-I wash my hands of the whole affair, pull up stakes, and try my luck somewhere else. I remember how I reacted when my identity was first outed in the tabloid press. Months... years spent denying the truth, running from it, and in the end, it caught up with me anyway. I could run again, but I’ll never get fast enough or far enough, so why try? “Ready?”
“I don’t care anymore,” Max’s voice is bleak. “I’ve lost Julia. There’s no point in fighting.”
I hoist him onto one shoulder, preparing to descend. “One day,” I say, “I hope you’ll find out that you’re wrong about that.” There are people in New York who’ll be able to locate Julia and get her out of Kingpin’s clutches. I make a mental note to call one of them as soon as I can.
I’m not that surprised to find the police waiting at street level. With Max tied up in my billy-club line, swinging from the roof was out of the question, and climbing down with him on my back meant taking it slow. There was plenty of time for someone to spot us and call them. One of the officers asks whether I can accompany them to the station to answer some questions. He assures me I’m not under arrest and can leave any time. It’s my first indication that things might be calming down somewhat from where they stood earlier today. I accept the ‘invitation’ and allow them to escort me to a squad car. I’m alone in the back seat, so I can only assume that they’re transporting Max in another one.
That’s when I remember what I told Kirsten earlier. It seemed like a good idea at the time: count on Shroud being so eager to tear me down further that he’d be only too happy to have Kirsten give Charlie another reason to track me down. Then bluff about Julia’s whereabouts and, while Shroud was on his way to attack Kingpin, have Foggy alert Madrox. It probably was a good idea. Except that I really don’t want to be forced to undergo a psychiatric assessment.
Maybe I was too clever for my own good...
At the station, they bring me directly into an interrogation room. I assume so, at any rate. Two chairs facing each other across a wooden table. One door the sole way in or out. If the SFPD stations are at all like the NYPD, then there’s got to one-way mirror on one of the walls, but I can’t hear anybody talking on the other side.
After ten minutes, someone pokes their head in and asks me if I’d like anything to eat. I decline the offer, but accept a cup of coffee. It’s instant, from a machine that hasn’t been cleaned or otherwise serviced in a long time. I force it down anyway.
About a half hour after I finish the coffee, the door opens again and three people enter. I’m assuming that two of them are officers. The third is Charlie.
The other chair squeaks annoyingly, as Charlie pulls it away from the table and sits down. “I’m thinking I owe you an apology,” she says softly.
I tilt my head in her direction.
“The timing was a bit too perfect: you bringing that woman around to my window at the precise moment that the video of her supplying those sky-sleds showed up on my tablet. And...” her voice drops even lower, “I really should have known better than to think you’d need to stage my daughter’s kidnapping in order to establish yourself here.”
That’s right. She should have. Still, I try to imagine what must have been going through her head earlier. Under pressure, faced with nasty surprises in rapid succession, anyone can fall prey to hasty judgment and jump to the wrong conclusions.
“She’s the Owl’s daughter,” I say finally. “We’d teamed up to try to find her father. I had no idea about her other activities. Or her costume.”
She nods. “I had the manhunt for you called off a short while ago. You’re here mostly because I didn’t think you’d be turning up at my window any time soon and I wanted to let you know that you could relax. A little.” She sighs. “And partly because Kirsten phoned to say that she was worried about some of your actions. And once certain orders are given, rescinding them isn’t instantaneous.” She pauses. “And I figured whoever was spying on you might also be spying on us. I wasn’t sure it was a wise move to let them know I didn’t suspect you any longer. All things considered, getting you down here just seemed best.”
I nod. “Fisk is here in San Francisco,” I say, “though my reasons for seeking him out were a bit different from what I had Kirsten tell you.” I give her the address of his office, adding that I suspect he’s moved on since my visit. One of officers says they’ll check it out.
“I can’t do anything about your clients’ personal information being out there,” Charlie admits. “Nor any of the potential repercussions. But as far as our business here,” she looks from one officer to the next, “you’re free to go. And I do want to thank you for bringing in the Shroud.”
I nod again. “He should be able to tell you where to find the Owl.”
One of the officers speaks now. “He did. We sent a car to the location specified. Unfortunately, the premises had been vacated. We have forensics going over them now. Afterwards, if you’re up to taking a crack at it...?”
“Of course.” I’m wondering, though. Did Owlsley manage to escape on his own? Did Jubula get to him? Or... did Kingpin? “Well,” I force myself to smile, “I guess I’m going to have what to do to occupy myself during those hours when I would normally be seeing clients.”
Charlie slumps. “I wish I could tell you it wasn’t going to be that bad.”
I push my chair back from the table and stand. “I’ve weathered reverses before. I’ll weather this one, too.” Somehow.
The officers escort Charlie and me to the street. I wish that when the station door closes behind us, it doesn’t have such a heavy ring of finality.
Epilogue
My place has better security than Wendell McDuffie’s yacht. I have Kirsten, Foggy, and Madrox meet me there and we discuss strategy.
“My dupe’s specialty is entertainment law,” Madrox admits. “That’s probably not going to help you. And as for his personality... um,” he tugs at his collar, “Let’s just say, Jen didn’t exaggerate. But if you need to look stuff up quickly, he can bang out as many researchers as you need. Have you heard anything about a civil suit from any your clients, yet?”
I shake my head. “Notwithstanding that this has been a very long day; this whole thing did just break a few hours ago. I’m expecting that it will happen though.” I incline my head toward Kirsten. “When it does, they’ll be going after the firm-both of us-rather than just me.”
I turn to Madrox. “Would your dupe have any problems with Jen using his practice as the firm of record, as she did when she defended Captain America?”
“I doubt it. I’ll talk to him; you talk to Jen and we’ll hammer out the details over the next day or so.”
“And hey,” Foggy breaks in, “just because I’m not currently licensed doesn’t mean I can’t join the research team. We’ve handled cases like this in the past.”
“We are still looking to settle out of court, right?” Kirsten asks.
I nod. “Absolutely.” Nobody wants this to drag out through the system. We just need to come to an agreement as to a fair payout. Which reminds me...
I reach over to Foggy and rest my hand on his shoulder. He tenses and turns his head to look at it. I take a breath. “I need to come clean about something else. The reason I took the book deal in the first place was because... when you were disbarred, you lost your medical insurance. And an eight million dollar advance covers a lot of cancer treatment.”
Under my hand, I feel his muscles tense for a moment. Then, his shoulders slump as he exhales. “I suspected,” he admits. “I mean, the doctor kept sidestepping my questions about cost and I know you’re in decent financial shape, but I didn’t think it was that decent.”
“No,” I shake my head. “Most of it is in a money market account, but about a hundred thousand has been used and more will need to be. Unfortunately, that does impact the amount of money available for settlement or damages. We’re going to need to figure out how much to set aside from the advance to keep paying for your treatment. Whatever’s left after that-and there should be a significant amount-I’m happy to part with. If it’s not enough...” I sigh, “I’ll put this place up for sale. I can probably find something in the Tenderloin or Ingleside Heights for a less than a third of what I clear for it.”
“The Tenderloin?” Kirsten’s aghast. “Matt, do you have any clue what the crime rate is in that part of the city?”
I release Foggy’s shoulder and shrug. “You know I’ve lived a good part of my life in pre-gentrification Hell’s Kitchen, right?”
“Point conceded.”
“Hey,” Madrox breaks in, “we’re just exploring options right now. Nobody’s calling a realtor tonight, right?”
I nod. “It’s possible that what’s left of the advance, plus future book sales will be enough to cover everything. If it’s not...”
“If it’s not,” Kirsten says, “Daddy’s not going to see us out on the street. I hate asking him for anything, but if it should come to that, he will help.”
Good to know, even if I’d prefer not to ask either. “As far as our practice...” I venture. “Kirsten, I never meant to-”
“Matt,” her voice is firm, as she lays her hand across mine. “I’m going to stop you right there. Listen. We got off to a few false starts, mostly because I started to realize what associating with you-in a non-professional sense, I mean-would entail. And I walked away. And...” I hear the smile in her voice, “I had some very good reasons to do so. But as soon as I did, I started having regrets. So, I sat down and I reassessed. I helped you out with the Sons of the Serpent. I pulled up stakes and came out to San Francisco with you. I’m sitting here next to you now. And the reason I’ve done all this isn’t because I love you (though I do). It’s because I’ve weighed the risks and, believe it or not, I think you’re worth it. And if I need to start a new line of work, they say that the average person today changes careers five to seven times, so bring it.” Her hand tightens on mine. “In other words, if you’re blaming yourself because one of your enemies trashed my professional reputation, cut it out right now. My choice, my lumps.”
Have I mentioned how much I love this woman?
She takes a breath and lets it out. “Of course, if you could give me five minutes alone with the Owl or the Shroud...”
A grin spreads across my face. There are some big storms looming on my horizon and more than a few of them are going to be hard to weather, but it would be exponentially worse if I had to face them alone. I don’t. Not anymore. I’m going to get through this. It’s going to work out. As for how it will... I have no idea, but that’s okay too. I never was much of a planner.
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