notdaredcvil:
Elektra was someone that Matt cared about. It would take an extremely oblivious person not to see that, or someone who was actively attempting not to look too closely. There had always been a part of him, although for a long time he had loathed to admit it, that continued to hang onto her. Ten years later, she had shown up in his apartment, and he had fought alongside her. Being there when her father died was something that neither of them had envisioned being a part of their relationship, especially after they had spent years fighting against each other, but quickly Matt found himself falling into familiar patterns. He knew, after all, what it felt like to grieve, to love his father more than he loved himself. He also knew that despite outward appearances, Elektra was not the emotionless assassin that some pegged her as, or that the legends professed her to be. Things might be easier if she was.
In reality, Elektra had just as much of a capacity for love, for good, inside of her as anyone else did. Matt may have been biased in the fact that he believed she had even more than the grand majority of people, though it was buried deep down, kept hidden by secrets and grief. Death seemed to follow her, in a similar way to how the darkness followed him. Stick had tried with her the same way as he had tried with Matt to make them emotionless, to remove their ties to humanity, to make them entirely loyal to him, and he had failed in both regards. Matt doubted he had ever been prouder of a fact in his life.
âTrash cans?â Matt repeated, raising an eyebrow, a smile developing despite himself. âIâll keep that in mind. I spend enough time bleeding out in dumpsters as it is, I might as well find a use for their little brothers.â There were many times when Matt tried to dissect why it was that he fought best with Elektra, but here was the explanation - she was glib about everything, meaning he could be too. âI donât think thereâs a group of anything out there that could come out on top against the two of you,â Matt said. Bias wasnât to blame for that sentiment, experience was. âIâm prosecution now. Any clients I seek out are pro bono, so I donât think my chances of getting a nice Parisian champagne any time soon is likely.â The expensive stuff did taste better. Matt didnât need enhanced senses to know that, but he had always felt more comfortable with the cheap stuff. âI assumed you left no survivors,â Matt commented, âbut then again, bringing someone back to life is likely to be an organisational venture, right?â He remembered the smell of blood, how those kids had been drained, how they had ran from the hospital and followed their captors into the night. The things that the Hand did, they were unforgivable, they were dangerous, and they were unexplainable. That was perhaps the most terrifying thing.
When Elektra mentioned the potential that they might not be coming back, Matt furrowed his eyebrows. âWhat makes you think that?â Matt asked, though he knew there were few things he could count on more than Elektraâs reading of a situation. âStick and luck doesnât typically go together, but small mercies have happened before.â Matt wasnât exactly sure what he would feel like to see Stick again. He assumed it would be anger. Another part of him remembered how it felt to hear the man say he was proud. It was pathetic, but it was something Matt clung to, even when he recognised it as manipulation and nothing else. âAre you offending my good looks?â Matt asked, bringing his hand to his chest in mock affront, but the humour faded somewhat when Elektraâs voice did. âYeah,â he said softly, âbut that doesnât mean I did a good job of it.â He had been saving the city while hurting his family. What did that make him? âIâm going to take that as a compliment. Newspaper coverage is only interesting when Iâm in it. You can say the words, Elektra. I wonât record them.â
Although Elektra had never offered an honest explanation of how she had known Matt was Daredevil, he hadnât pressed the matter. At the time, he had just been looking to get rid of her. He didnât push or pry because anything she had to say was unimportant unless it led to her next departure. Elektra did know Matthewâs physique exceptionally well, and the part of his face left bare would be enough for her to ID him if given a good enough look. But it was his movements, the fighting caught on camera and broadcast on local news that left no question in her mind that the man she had once seen fight with a scarf wrapped around his face was Matthew. She didnât think about his failed rescue attempt of her father very often, but in retrospect, it was foreshadowing. At the time, sheâd thought it was her alone that emboldened him enough to risk his life. Ultimately, he might have done the same for anyone.
It took a decade, but she proved that she was willing to die if it meant protecting him. Even if she had been looking towards a future where she fought to protect others, sheâd still had a long way to go before she got anywhere near a typical heroâs level of morality. Because it was him, she could take a fatal blow from a sai. He believed in her ability to be good but she doubted she would ever do the same for a stranger. Yes, she could fight off a robber in an alley, or make sure men trailing behind a woman at night would regret ever leaving their homes. That didnât require sacrifice, and after everything Matthew had given up to be Daredevil, it certainly seemed that sacrifice was an essential part of what he and many others did.
âAlleys are full of them,â she said by way of explanation. Demons and other foes did like to congregate in alleys, she wondered if someone else had kicked trashcans at wrongdoers. âWhat an adorable metaphor to employ while describing the way you regularly allow your stab wounds to become infected.â All of the education she accumulated as she followed the path to one day become a lawyer was useless 90% of the time. She wondered if she should have set her sights on medicine instead. "I wish anything that tries the best of luck.â Elektra and Natasha had similar skill sets but they were nothing alike as people. Still, if a third party was to assume Matt had a type, they might not be wrong. âOh, Matthew. You went about this lawyer thing completely the wrong way.â She was certain that had her life continued on the intended path, she would be partner at a high powered firm by now. The youngest in their history. âBut speaking of French wine, you should look out for a package within the next few days. Iâd be very put out if you allowed one of your neighbors to steal my gift.â She would love it if she didnât regularly have nightmares about her resurrection, but she supposed that was part of the deal. âComing back to life was a tad disorienting, I may have missed a ninja or two.â Her thoughts hadnât been on revenge, just on escape. Her work had been less thorough than normal.
She let a soft self-deprecating laugh slip before looking up at the ceiling. âNot everyone was thrilled by the decision to bring me back. And Iâm sure that would be the case no matter their resources, but I think I was something of a last ditch effort. A better bet than one of their own who had already died.â It could be flattering, if she wasnât already tired of being treated like something to be wielded against others. âThey donât have the means to bring anyone else back.â Since she had failed to take them down with Matt, it was a comfort to know she could do them this blow. When he mentioned small mercies, she felt hopeful. Because sheâd already been dealt one, for once she believed that they were real. "Never. Everyone knows I have extremely discerning tastes." She dropped down onto the sofa beside him, reaching out to quickly pinch his chin between her thumb and index finger. Elektra intended to drop her hand but then he had to go and deny all that he had accomplished. Instead, she ran her thumb along his jaw, always much better at conveying sincerity through touch than with her words. âYou did the best you could. Better than anyone else could have.â And truly, even after her more recent run ins with other do-gooders, she believed that. âWould you accept less boring?â








