Chapter Text
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Matt returned slowly. The world was out of focus, and he felt disoriented. Everything moved around him in a dizzying haze; in his ears, a cacophony of ringing and crashing sounds; but muffled, as if he was listening through a thick wall of water.
But then there it was; that all-too familiar heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump, in its familiar, steady rhythm. The scent of sweat and iron and blood. And orchids. The presence that promised fire, and adrenaline; blood and pain. That promised freedom in darkness ; in giving in.
“Elektra.” He croaked out, throat dry from disuse.
Why was he here? Why was she here? He couldn’t remember.
“Am I dead?”
He should be.
“Oh Matthew, always so dramatic .”
Her voice was bitter chocolate; smooth, dark, and decadent . His heart swelled, and it hurt.
And he knew, then. That he was alive, that this wasn’t just a hallucination. His imagination could never do her justice. Could never conjure, in just the right way, the way she spoke his name. Tender, yet seductive. Like a siren-call that pulled him in, dragged him down, down, down, and did not let go.
He’d never been strong enough, even when he thought he knew better, to walk away.
So many questions swam around in his head. Where were you, Elektra? How are you alive? Why did you leave me?
“Why am I alive?” He asked instead. Why, why, why.
Elektra did not respond in words. She took his hand in hers. Gently, carefully. And brushed her lips softly against the torn skin of his knuckles.
“Are you real?”
“Sleep, Matthew. Things will be clearer, tomorrow,” she whispered into his palm. “I promise.”
He wanted to protest, to scream and yell for answers. But an unnatural fog settled over his mind, and his eyelids suddenly felt too heavy to lift.
Between one thought and another, he’d slipped back into the abyss.
Elektra watched him sleep, restless, in his too-small infirmary cot.
She reached out a hand to brush a stray hair away from his face.
“Elektra, where did you go?” He mumbled deliriously.
She retrieved her hand, and slipped back into the cold night air.
He was lying on hard ground, like frozen needles digging into his sensitive skin.
She was there again, on the other side of the bars.
He sat up and groaned.
“Matthew.”
He reached his hand out, hoping for… Affirmation. Recognition.
She reached back.
“I’m sorry.”
Elektra had snuck into the church again.
It wasn’t difficult--there were so many dark corners to hide.
She watched as Matthew tried, so desperately, to find himself again. A poor imitation of the violence that he’d lived and breathed with her. That he was made of, made for.
He suddenly stilled, cocking his head in the way that meant he was trying to listen for something.
He didn’t notice as his opponent came in close enough to knock him down.
Down, but never out.
“Let’s go again.”
And Elektra knew it was time to leave.
The fight was fast and bloody, both of them born and bred in violence. He knew that he would need to finish it quickly, before he passed out from blood loss. Before the abyss consumed him whole.
Matt, as always, held back, an iron grip around the devil inside him; a clawing desperate thing. His restraint, his humanity, that they have tried, again and again, to take away from him.
He hit the unyielding stone floor on his hands and knees, rolling aside just in time to avoid a blow to his spine. He struggled back up, staggering on his feet.
He threw his fist forward, not quite reaching far enough. But his opponent now teetered, unsteady, on leaden feet. Matt struck out again, and he landed, hard, on his back. He did not get the chance to get back up.
Matt set upon him with his fists, exhaustion and desperation spurring him on, the devil overtaking his mind.
By the time he finally pulled back, all that was left was red, red, red. He didn’t need sight to see, to know-- remembered enough from seeing the blood and cuts on his father’s face. Born and bred in violence, all of them.
“Finish it,” commanded the voice that he lived and died by, in that godforsaken place.
Matt staggered back in horror at what he’d done, at what he was being asked to do, a litany of nos tumbling from his lips.
He felt hands grip him by the shoulders, by the throat. Forcing him to face the still body before him.
“Finish it,” the voice repeated, a hint of anger beginning to color its tone.
He heard the sickening sound of blades against flesh, against bone. And the shape in front of him breaking, dividing, multiplying.
“Oops, sorry. I guess my hand slipped.”
“I’m sorry.” Thank you, he wanted to say instead, but couldn’t muster up the courage to let the words slip past his lips.
“You’re welcome, Matthew,” Elektra replied from the cell beside his, responding to his unspoken words.
“God forgive me.” He’d pleaded, kneeling in supplication to the God that had abandoned him long ago.
“Oh, Mathew, no...”
Elektra’s heart clenched. Is this what she’d done to him? Her legacy on his body, the mark she’d left upon his soul. She’d taken something beautiful, something precious, and let it turn into ashes in her hands.
The men never saw t heir end coming , before all that was left of them were bloody pieces of flesh on the asphalt. She could see her name forming on his lips, but stole his words away from him before they could be realized.
She cradled his unconscious body to her chest, and stole away.
“Elektra, why do you stay?”
Matt heard her release a long, drawn-out breath.
“A weapon needs a master, Matthew, needs to be wielded. This is where I belong.”
Matt shook his head, too quickly, ignoring the renewed pain that bloomed in his head at the motion.
“No. No. You are not just a weapon, changing hands for someone new to use. You are more than this, Elektra. More than theirs. ”
“No I’m not.” Her voice sounded sad and patronizing. Like he was too naive, too innocent, to understand the true nature of this world they’d fallen into, to which they both belonged.
“Yes you are. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you. You belong to no one but yourself,” a small, bittersweet smile formed upon his lips, and his voice grew quiet, “not even to me.”
“Matthew,” she said, resigned. “You’ve always been the only one who ever saw any good in me, even when it isn’t there.”
Matt didn’t argue further. It would take more than just this one conversation, he knew, to convince her. To make her see what he saw. He swore to himself then, that when if they got out of here, he’d make her a believer, even if it took him the rest of his life.
They were quiet for a long moment after that, each lost in their own thoughts, enjoying each others’ presence. Matt was struck, once again, with wonder at the fact that she was alive. That she was here, with him. E ven if...
“They’re going to try again.”
“I know,” she replied, voice barely above a whisper.