Prompt Post #5

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Re: Repost: Foggy's secret family drama & Rosalind Sharpe

[(Anonymous)]

YES THIS IT CANNOT COME FAST OR HARD ENOUGH

FILL: The Price of a Soul (13a/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Of course it was a trap. Matt had known that from the moment Melvin had told him Betsy had been taken. Someone had obviously made the connection between Matt's costume and the reserved, strange armor designer and wanted to draw him out. Betsy's heartbeat was strong and her breathing heavy from where she sat tied to a chair in the abandoned warehouse. Her mouth was taped, but they hadn't hurt her. It was obvious that they were waiting for him.

But even though he knew it was a trap, he was puzzled. There were only four men guarding her. Hardly enough for an ambush. He reached out with his senses, but he couldn't sense anyone else in the surrounding area. And so he had no other option but to remain crouched on the roof of the warehouse, listening intently and waiting for the right moment to stage his rescue.

"The boss said he'd come," one of the four men guarding Betsy said. "What if they're too late? What if all this just pisses him off?" He voice was shaking, and Matt could smell his sweat. He was terrified. Good. Matt also now knew that someone else was coming. Maybe he was early.

"We just need to keep her here," one of the other men said. "Keep her here until he shows up, get everyone in one place. Follow our orders." He threw his cigarette butt onto the ground and paced, calm.

"Still though," the original man said, "I don't like being the fall guy like this."

"Relax," a third man said. "We're getting off easy here. Five years, tops. And then we're on easy street." Matt filed that away for later, unsure what it meant.

The fourth man only looked at his watch, his heart pounding furiously. Matt steeled himself, sensing that something was about to happen. Tick. Tick.

CRACK!

Matt had no time to react before a bullet slammed into his shoulder and the momentum propelled him forward through the roof skylight, and he gasped for breath as he fell and landed hard on the cement below at the feet of the four kidnappers, who immediately trained their guns on him. He rolled over, reaction time slowed, bruised and bleeding from cuts made by the glass but before he could make his move to get back up one of the guns was already in motion, the butt of it connecting with his head.

---

Foggy couldn't sleep, which was strange for him. Usually he was exhausted after sex, his entire body humming with contentment and satiation. Marci had often complained about it.

But not now. Now, he was wide awake, his mind racing, the regret mounting. It was always beautiful women. He joked about Matt's predilection for them, but if he were being honest with himself, they were always his downfall too. He and Karen were in this together now. They shared Matt's secret, shared the worry and now they'd shared their bodies with each other. It couldn't be undone. So what was going to happen next?

He turned his head to observe her next to him, one of her arms and a leg still slung across his body, her head nestled on his chest and her hair falling softly across his stomach. She looked so peaceful. His heart melted slightly at the sight. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her that at ease when she was awake. In fact, the more he thought about it the more he realized that he may never have seen her that at ease. So much had happened to her since they had met. And none of it good.

He sighed and refocused himself on his bedroom ceiling, knowing that if he continued staring at her his inner monologue would talk him into something that he didn't think would be good for either of them. He tried to worry about Matt instead, which he took as a bad sign of the state of things.

He was startled when his phone began buzzing on the nightstand, then nervous when he saw that the call was from an unknown number. Matt's burner phone.

"Where are you, buddy?" he asked once he had accepted the call.

The voice that answered wasn't Matt.

"Who do you think I am right now, Franklin?" asked Rosalind's stern voice. "Your partner? I imagine he must get quite turned around sometimes."

He went to hang up, but before he could Rosalind surprised him. "I wanted to let you know that I just wrapped up my last piece of business related to the Fisk case," she said.

Foggy rolled over and leaned his head back against his pillow, breathing a sigh of relief. What was she playing at?

"And you called to tell me that you did it for me and request that I say thank you, is that it?" he asked. "Like you're doing me a favor by not ruining my life?"

"Well I did do it for you," she said. "But I don't expect a thank you, Franklin. I know you hate me. But the things I've done are for your own good, so you can be as ungrateful as you want as long as I know what I did and why. I don't need you to approve of the decisions I make."

"Why call to tell me, then?" Foggy asked. "I'm sure I'll hear all about it from the DA, or on the news like everyone else."

"I called to invite you for a drink," she told him.

"And why would I go for a drink with you?" he asked in return.

"Well, we have a lot to talk about," she said.

"Do we?" Foggy asked, heavy dread settling uncomfortably in his stomach.

"We do," she said. "You've been keeping some rather interesting company. And hiding some particularly dark secrets. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

Foggy gasped softly, the weight of things overwhelming him, paralyzing him. He didn't know what to say. He was such an idiot. He let Matt go out, and now they were both going to pay for it.

"The Plaza Hotel bar. Half an hour," Rosalind said when he didn't respond. "Take a cab. I'll pay for it. See you then."

FILL: The Price of a Soul (13b/?)

[(Anonymous)]

I apologize, because the order of this is all screwed up. Oh well.

Matt woke up slowly, sluggish and groaning. The first thing he took stock of was that his mask was still on. That was good. The second thing he noticed was that his arms were handcuffed behind the chair he was sitting on, and his legs were similarly bound. Not good.

As his senses came back to him, he became aware of other things. The smell of cigarette smoke, the feeling of it flooding his lungs secondhand. And a perfume, thick and heavy in the air, that smelled of jasmine and lemon. He knew that perfume. Who did he know who wore that perfume?

A hand on his cheek, soft and feminine, caressing it carefully with genuine affection.

"Finally," a voice said, accented and warm. "I've been waiting for you to wake up. I didn't want to start at a time when you couldn't feel the pain and understand why it was happening to you. Do you know who I am?"

"You're Wilson Fisk's girlfriend," Matt said, confused as the sounds and smells of the person in front of him finally coalesced into an image of sorts. He'd met her at the gallery. She'd had a gentle laugh and a way with words then.

Now, her voice was hard and raw with emotion as she told him "I'm the woman who will be his wife. You took my Wilson from me. All he ever wanted was to save this city that he loved so much, to be with me, and you took all of that away."

Matt hissed as the lit cigarette in her hands was slowly ground into his chin, the burning sensation flooding Matt's senses until everything whited out.

"You're going to pay," she said, "in blood." Her fingers moved from his face to his neck, one of the few places on his suit where the armor didn't protect him. She must have nodded, because one of the men in the room advanced towards him, the all too familiar metallic click of a switchblade being pulled out telling Matt he was in trouble.

Matt was afraid, but not afraid as he should have been. Because he could hear the sirens. Dozens of them, heading in his direction and only moments away. The warehouse was being raided. Someone had tipped them off that he was there, that Vanessa was there.

So he resolved to take the pain and wait for his moment to escape in the chaos. He listened carefully for the hum of the few light-bulbs keeping the warehouse dimly lit so that he would know where to aim the projectiles necessary to operate in the dark and have the advantage. He began moving his right thumb back and forth in the restraints, working to break it and allow him to slip out of the handcuffs. He just needed to take the pain for a moment before he would have the opportunity to get away, and Vanessa would be arrested, Betsy saved.

And as he did those things, as he breathed and tried to meditate past the pain of the knife cutting into his flesh as it slid up through his mask in an attempt to cut it away, he remembered what the guards had said, smelled the sweat of fear emanating from them. They knew. This was a set up.

By who and why were questions that would have to be saved for later.

---

The hotel bar was nearly empty when Foggy arrived, not surprising given the late hour but not always the case in a city like New York, and in a hotel as popular as the Plaza. Rosalind sat there calmly waiting for him, a folder in front of her on the bar and a glass of wine in one hand.

He tried to control his breathing, tried to pull himself together and not let her get to him before he'd even sat down, but he knew he was kidding himself. She'd been in control from before he'd even seen her on TV defending Fisk. She'd been in control his entire life, even in the years she wasn't there, like a shadow cast over him and everything he did.

He walked over and sat down. "Rosalind," he said.

She simply observed him carefully, taking in his flustered demeanor and thrown together outfit.

"What do you want? You called me here, remember?" he finally asked.

"Aren't you going to have a drink?" she asked.

"What?" he replied, confused.

"A drink. You know it occurs to me that we've never done this. Had a drink together," she said. "You were so young the last time we spent any time together. Order something."

"No, thank you," he told her. "Can we just do this?"

She sighed and motioned for the bartender. "What do you drink, Franklin?" she asked.

He sighed. "Whiskey. On the rocks," he finally said.

Once it was poured, he drank it quickly. He hadn't wanted it, but now that it was in his hands he recognized that it might help steel his nerves.

"What do you think you know, Rosalind?" he asked.

"I know that Wilson Fisk is a very guilty man. The more my team of investigators and colleagues began to look into his case, the more we turned up that made us uncomfortable continuing on with his case," she said. "That's why we decided not to continue on with it."

"I hope that whatever you found you intend to turn over to the prosecutor, since to not do so would be unethical and disgusting," he told her angrily.

"Of course!" Rosalind said, "Whatever you might think of me personally, Franklin, I hope that you know that I take my professional obligations very seriously. Although in this case, you might have a good reason to not want me to take everything to the prosecutor."

"What does that mean?" Foggy asked, dread sitting in the pit of his stomach.

Rosalind pushed the folder over to him. "Why don't you see for yourself?" she asked.

He opened the folder slowly, fingers trembling, knowing that inside he would find photos of Daredevil using Matt's roof access, or evidence of Matt's fingerprints on a crime scene.

He wasn't expecting to see photos of Karen.

"What is this?" he asked.

"Security footage taken from outside of your secretary Ms. Page's building on the night of May 15th," Rosalind told her. "From the ATM across the street."

It was grainy and in night vision, but it was definitely Karen walking up to her apartment. He moved the photo to inspect the one underneath. It showed a man approaching Karen from behind. The photo after that showed the man dragging Karen into a black car. What was this?

"I don't understand," Foggy said.

"Keep looking," Rosalind said.

The fourth photo wasn't at Karen's apartment anymore. It was in a warehouse. It was a body covered in blood.

"James Wesley," Rosalind said. "Shot several times at close range in the chest. He was Mr. Fisk's loyal assistant of many years. I believe you met him. He hired you to take on Mr. Healy's case on behalf of Confederated Global, one of Mr. Fisk's holdings."

"So what? So he's dead. And Karen was kidnapped? I'm not seeing the connection here," Foggy said.

"Mr. Fisk insisted to us that Mr. Wesley was murdered by the man in the mask. He wanted it looked into, believed it would be a good way for us to implicate the mysterious man and prove him to be a threat. As it turns out, though, it wasn't the Devil who killed him."

The next photo was security footage from what Foggy assumed to be outside of the warehouse. It showed Karen exiting.

"Mr. Fisk's men attempted to use their influence to investigate, but they missed that there was a security camera mounted in a nearby parking lot by it's owners because the attendant there had been held up several times. He doesn't know that this footage exists. Or about the footage from Ms. Page's building," Rosalind told him.

"She didn't kill him," Foggy said, not believing what he was seeing.

"The bullets in Mr. Wesley match those of the handguns issued to Fisk's bodyguards. The murder weapon was missing from the scene. She was the only other person there," Rosalind said.

"It still could have been Daredevil," Foggy said, hating himself for both bringing up that possibility and wanting it to actually be true instead of what was being presented to him.

"It doesn't fit his M.O. Believe me, we have been looking into him. Not very successfully. The man's a shadow. But as far as we can tell, he doesn't use guns, and he doesn't kill. Ms. Page, on the other hand, has a very colorful history. Go ahead. Keep looking."

The stack of photos and files under Foggy's fingers was thick. He didn't want to think about what else might be there. "No," he said. "I don't want to know." Rosalind simply nodded, closed the folder and moved it back towards herself.

"It was self-defense," Rosalind said. "But she'll still be arrested. Fisk will still want revenge, and even from within the prison it wouldn't be impossible for him to attempt it," Rosalind told him. "It's too bad that I have to turn it in, since to not do so would be, in your words, disgusting."

She put the folder into her briefcase, and stood up to leave.

"Wait," Foggy said, knowing that she was fully expecting him to stop her. She turned around.

"I'm listening," she said.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"You know what I want," she told him.

"Me. You want me to come and work for you," he said.

"That's part of it," she said.

"Part of it?" he asked.

Rosalind sighed. "I don't know why you don't believe me. Why you're making this so much harder on yourself than it has to be Franklin. I want to be your mother again. And I want you to stop fooling around and be the person who I always knew you could be. To be my son."

"And if I said yes? What then?" he wanted to know.

"Then we move forward. And we keep the past," she said, gesturing to her briefcase, "in the past. Where it belongs."

He stared at her for a long moment, contemplating the situation. He pictured Karen back in his apartment, in his bed, and the way that he and Matt had made a promise to her to always protect her. Matt had meant it a different way at the time, knowing that he was Daredevil. But Foggy felt obligated too, even if the methods available to him to do it were different.

He thought about their office, how proud he had been to erect the sign and how much he had come to love the terrible taste of Karen's coffee. The dying plant sitting in one corner that they all joked required an actual adult around to take care of it properly. He thought about the only two people in the universe who made him feel whole and human, like the person he had worked so hard to become was real.

Was that person real though? What if Rosalind was right? What if he was fooling himself?

He nodded.

Rosalind smiled and ordered them another round of drinks.