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Maggie kept her vigil at his bedside. She washed his face and changed his bandages. She prayed the rosary, trapped between fear that he might succumb to death and joy that he had survived. Mostly, though, she thanked God that her son had been returned to her.
He slept for two nights, and on the third morning after the woman left him on the stoop, he started to stir. It took another day before he was fully coherent, and another after that before he was in any shape to move around and do even the most rudimentary tasks for himself.
He’d sussed out that Sr. Maggie was his mother. She denied it weakly at first, but he persisted, armed by the truth. She caved, and they’d had the most awkward “how’ve you been, haven’t seen you lately” conversation ever.
Once that had passed and his immediate needs were cared for, once he’d eaten and showered, he asked for Father Lantom. He felt Maggie’s smile, proud and approving, as she said she’d fetch the priest.
Father Lantom hadn’t been informed of Matt’s whereabouts or condition. Matt heard him hesitate next to Maggie. They’re having a silent conversation about me, he thought. He heard the priest’s pulse spike when took in his condition.
“I’ll leave you two,” Maggie excused herself.
“You’ve looked better,” Lantom greeted him.
“I wouldn’t know,” Matt joked back.
“So, it’s true? You were in the building when it came down?”
Matt nodded. “Underneath it. There was a cavern.”
“And you got out… how?”
“I wish I knew. The Sisters tell me they found me beaten and unconscious on the steps of the shelter.” He hesitated. “A woman matching Elektra’s description left me there. At least, I think matching her description. I don’t really know what shade of brown her hair was or how tanned her skin was, and they’re not very forthcoming on what she smelled like,” he gave a wry smile.
“Elektra’s dead.” Fr. Lantom kept his voice neutral.
Matt sighed. He explained the events of the previous few days as best he was able. He finished with the last thing he remembered before the building came down. He hadn’t been forthcoming with the others about their relationship and that she was dead, or once dead, or undead, until they had pressed the point, and then it was too late. He understood that she was his responsibility. He decided to keep her there so the others could escape. He desperately wanted to turn her back into what she once was and what he wanted her to be. The consequence of his hubris looked to be his own death, and he accepted that. “I didn’t want to die, but I was prepared to,” he finished, knowing that Father Lantom would understand the hidden confession of I think I was prepared to commit suicide.
“You’ve been awake for a day and you’re already looking for penance,” he noted with a touch of amusement.
“I suppose I am.” he cracked a tiny smile. “I just need to know how to make this right.”
“Franklin contacted me yesterday,” Lantom started. “He wanted to know what arrangements had to be made to bury Matthew Murdock without proof of death. He understood how important a Catholic burial would be to you. If you’re contrite, if you repent of any suicidal impulses you may’ve had, God will forgive you. The harder part will be explaining to all of the people who love you and care about you, all of the people who think you died that you’re alive. That is your penance.”
Matt nodded grimly. He’d kind of been hoping Fr. Lantom would just assign some prayers.
***
Father Lantom had asked for permission to bring Karen to Matt. He knew she’d been keeping a vigil in the church. He’d spoken with her and she’d expressed her disbelief of it all and told him how she just couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d survived somehow. Matt gave him permission, but asked that he not tell her. He understood that these conversations really needed to take place in person. Calling up the people who thought you’d died in a pit under a hundred story build and saying “hey, turns out I’m alive and it might be because of Hand magic, but not the way you’re thinking,” was not covered in any etiquette book, but he was certain it wasn’t something to be done. Hearing second-hand might even be worse.
He knew the appointed time, but he still worked himself into knots in anticipation. He heard them approach the convent, then enter, then come down the hallway. Fr. Lantom knocked softly on the door. Matt asked them to enter.
“Karen,” he said softly.
She froze in the doorway. “Oh my God! I knew it! I don’t know how, but I just knew you weren’t dead. I knew you’d escaped somehow.” She started to shake. Fr. Lantom grasped her by the elbow because she genuinely looked like she might collapse. He escorted her to Matt’s bed, and she sat by his side. She pressed her hand against his cheek.
He covered her hand with his as she leaned down to kiss him. He knew he’d have to have a long conversation with her explaining what happened and his role in it all, but that could hold. For a minute, they’d just enjoy the reunion.
***
Matt had insisted that Karen not tell Foggy. Of all the people he had to tell, Foggy absolutely had to hear it from Matt, and in person. Even over the phone wouldn’t be appropriate, and probably wouldn’t be believed. Matt figured he’d let Foggy sleep and meet him in the morning. He carefully tamped down any acknowledgement that he was afraid to meet him and explain what had happened.
He was encouraged by how well Fr. Lantom and Karen had reacted, and knew he had to get the conversations over with, so he steeled himself and set out to let his friends know. Since it was the closest spot, he headed towards Alias Investigations.
He knocked on the door. “Jessica,” he called gently. He tried the knob, and the door swung open.
She was at her desk, head resting on one hand, tracing a finger across the touch pad on her laptop with the other. A tumbler of cheap whiskey sat on her desk, the open bottle at her elbow.
“What do you want?” she slurred before looking up. “Murdock?! Jesus Christ!”
“Jessica,” he repeated.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” She lurched forward and by some miracle managed to end up standing.
“It’s good to see you, too” was his amiable and apologetic reply. He was tired and banged up, which explained why he didn’t sense it before it was too late to duck. Her hand connected with the side of his face. He knew her strength, so he also knew that she’d pulled the slap. At least it wasn’t a punch, but because of the amount of bruising and swelling he had, it sent sparks of pain throughout his body.
She seemed to realize that she’d just hit a badly beaten man who was trying to do the right thing, and apologized.
He explained as much as he knew of the events between them leaving on the elevator and him waking up surrounded by nuns. When he was done speaking, she just said “If you ever pull anything that fucking stupid again, Matt, I’ll kill you myself.”
***
Jessica didn’t know precisely where Luke or Danny would be at any given time, but she knew generally where to find them. She said she’d do some digging and narrow down the places in case he couldn’t find them that evening.
Danny’s likely haunts were closer, so Matt decided to try for that first. Jessica said he’d been spending a lot of time at the Chikara dojo. Matt hailed a cab and headed for Chinatown.
The dojo wasn’t empty, but neither was Danny there. The two people within, however, were people he had to do the “I’m not dead” song and dance with, so he steeled himself for another round.
Claire came to investigate the visitor first. “Matt?!” At that, Colleen came running. “How?” she breathed. He accepted gentle hugs from both of them. Claire used her practiced eye to inspect his injuries, but was ultimately satisfied with the job the nuns had done.
They filled him in on what had happened outside of the pit. He made a mental note to bring Misty a bouquet of flowers as soon as he could.
Colleen was able to help him locate Danny. Apparently Danny had taken “protect my city” to heart and was trying learn to listen to the sounds of Manhattan. It was easy enough to hone in on Danny once he focused, and getting on top of that building wasn’t too bad since there was roof access.
Matt found him crouching on the edge of a rooftop. Danny was poised to act, but relaxed enough to still his mind and reach out with his senses. Matt scuffed his feet to alert the other man to his presence.
Danny whipped around and was prepared to attack, when he recognized who was before him and pulled up short. “Matt.” He fell into a fighting stance, primed to strike if Matt gave the wrong answer. “You’re dead.”
“Clearly not,” Matt replied.
“There’s no way you made it out of that pit.”
Matt held up his empty hands in gesture of good faith. “I don’t know how I made it out of the pit. But I’m here now.”
Danny lunged at Matt, leading with his fists. Matt barely dodged the attack. “Why are you fighting me?!”
“Because you’re not Matt! What did she do to you? Did she make you like her? Have you come back soulless?!”
It dawned on Matt that Danny thought he’d been resurrected by the Hand. “It’s me,” he reiterated, blocking a punch and jumping over a leg sweep. His injuries complained and sent jolts of pain throughout his body. He racked his brains to figure out how to convince him. “Elektra didn’t have a heartbeat. She came back without a heartbeat. It’s why I didn’t recognize her.”
Danny slowed his attack, but Matt could feel his fist starting to glow.
“Feel mine.” He slowly reached up for Danny’s left hand, telegraphing his moves. He guided it to his neck, offering another show of faith. Danny set his fingertips under Matt’s jaw. “Do you believe me now?”
The anger and tension in Danny’s body melted away. “Matt!” He threw himself at him and wrapped him in a hug. “Why aren’t you dead?”
Matt chuckled at the awkward wording and read between the lines. I’m so glad you’re alive, Danny’s heartbeat told him. “I’m a Murdock. We get hit a lot, but we always get back up.”
***
Danny aimed him towards Luke. Matt schlepped himself up to Harlem and found the small apartment Luke had rented. He knocked and listened.
“Luke, I know you you’re in there,” Matt called out without raising his voice enough to bother the neighbors. “It’s me. I really need to talk to you.” He placed his hand flat on the door. He could feel Luke breathing on the other side. He could smell the sizing in the new, unwashed shirt (Luke often smelled like sizing; man went through clothes like no one’s business). He could almost feel him weighing the decision of whether or not to let in the man who looked and sounded like his presumed dead companion.
“Please, Luke. I don’t want to do this the hard way, and I don’t want to wreck your apartment.” Matt listened as Luke turned away from the door and rifled through his belongings. He sighed, exited the building, and scaled the fire escape. The latch on the window didn’t take much force before it gave way. “You should talk to your landlord about the security in this building,” he said by way of greeting. “Before you hit me,” he continued, with his hands up and open indicating he had no intention of fighting, “yes, it’s me.” Matt went into what was now a practiced spiel, explaining what he knew. When he finished, silence hung in the air.
“Sweet Christmas!” Luke lunged at Matt and pulled him into a ferocious hug. Matt steadied himself against the onslaught of 220lbs of solid muscle and unbreakable skin and breathed through his nose to master the pain.
“Good to see you, too, Luke.”
***
Matt waited outside Foggy’s apartment the next morning. He’d been there since quarter to seven. Foggy got in to work early some days, depending on what his case load looked like and what he had on the schedule that day. He had to tell him in person; if someone let slip before he could talk with him, Foggy would be crushed that Matt hadn’t come to him personally. He didn’t have to wait long. When he heard him starting down the stairs, he calmed his nerves and prepared himself for the worst, yet hoped for the best.
Matt also knew that Foggy would be harshest on himself for enabling Matt in his final mission. While Foggy never had any true reason to feel guilty towards Matt, he was a good man, and Matt knew he’d be wrecked by the thought that he had sent his friend to his death.
“Foggy.” He caught him gently by the elbow as he exited his building.
“Matt?! Jesus Christ! What the hell!” Foggy flung himself away from Matt and flailed in shock.
“I brought breakfast.” He sheepishly raised the bag containing a pair of bagels with lox he’d picked up on the way over.
Foggy sat heavily on the steps to his apartment. “Jesus God, Matt.” He accepted one of the proffered bagels.
Matt sat next to him. “I don’t want to make you late for work—“
Foggy waved his hand to cut him off. “I just have depositions today. The first one is scheduled for nine, but there’s gonna be one now, if you know what’s good for you.”
Matt chuckled. “Is that a threat?”
Foggy shook his head. “Merely sound counsel. The truth, Murdock, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. And don’t leave anything out. I’ll know.” He wagged a finger in Matt’s general direction.
“So help me, God,” Matt affirmed. “You have super senses? Gonna listen to my heartbeat to see if I omit something?” he teased.
“I’m a lawyer. Do you know how many depositions I’ve sat through in the past three months alone? I know when people lie by omission. It’s a kind of superpower,” Foggy joked back.
Matt gave him is spiel, which was quite polished by that point. Foggy, though, knew when he was glossing over parts and called him on it. He also wanted to know much more about Elektra than the others had.
“She’s gone,” he stated. That much was true. She’d apparently left him on the stairs to the shelter and then disappeared into the night. He’d also understood, right before it all went to shit, that she wasn’t who he thought he was. He saw a reflection of himself in her, but that wasn’t the entirety of the picture. She wasn’t the image he’d constructed of her, and he finally had to confront that, to let her go. “She wasn’t who I thought she was,” he said at length, hoping Foggy would interpret that in all of the ways he meant it.
Foggy had the good grace to let it go. “They say,” he began, changing the subject, “that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client.”
Matt waited to see where he was going with that.
“You need a will, Matt. You need an end of life directive, a power of attorney for medical care. You should have a plan in case you die in the saddle. Instructions on which police are to attend to you, which coroner, who is permitted to identify your remains. Maybe bring Misty in on it. Daredevil turns up in their morgue, she’s the one to open the nuclear football, so to speak. You should construct a false identity for Daredevil. To protect yourself. To protect the people you love.” Matt made to protest but Foggy cut him off. “No. I know that this world-ending crisis is over for now. But given the crazy you traffic in, there’ll be another. Or hell, Elektra will come back and try and hurt you with her sexy violence. Or violent sex.” He shrugged. “Either way, given your nighttime activities, it’s more likely than not that something like this will happen again. I need to know what you safeguards you have in place professionally for when that happens, and what you want done medically, legally, and religiously. It’s up to you, of course, whom you chose as your power of attorney, but if you want, I’m willing to do this for you. Just putting it out there.”
Matt blinked back tears. “Thanks, Foggy.
“Anytime, Murdock.”