Jessica leaves.

Elektra envies her, for that alone—for being able to leave, for having the choice and taking it. She would if she could, if her life wasn’t so tangled up in this war, if it wasn’t for Matt.

“This is big,” Rand says, elbows on the table. “This is bigger than all of us, I can’t understand why she can’t see that.”

“I can,” says Elektra. “She hasn’t been dealing with this all her life. She has the chance to get out while she still can.” She absently steals the last dumpling from Jessica’s plate—after all, it’s not like the woman will miss it. “In fact, I’d encourage Cage to leave too. This isn’t his fight, either.”

“It is now,” says Rand, stubbornly.

“Why?” says Elektra. “Because we teamed up to fight off the Hand one time?”

“After all you’ve been through, Ellie,” says Stick, his voice making her blood boil, “I thought you’d be a little more open-minded.”

“Forgive me, then,” says Elektra, frosty, “if I’m not excited about dragging more people into your war.”

“It’s your war too, Ellie,” says Stick, “and soon enough it’ll be everyone’s.”

“If we don’t stop the Hand,” says Elektra. “And we will.”

“With three people?” says Stick.

“The Avengers turned back an alien invasion with six people,” says Rand. “And the third Iron Fist, Zhang Wu, he fought an army and won.”

“Didn’t get to enjoy his victory very long,” says Stick. “He died because an archer got lucky.”

“The odds are against us, fine,” says Rand, “but we’ve got abilities. We can fight them on equal footing.”

“I knew someone who had abilities too,” says Elektra. “He died.” She turns to Stick and says, “Why do you think I haven’t killed you yet, old man? I want to take the Hand down.”

“Good to know we’re agreed on that much,” says Stick, just as Luke walks back inside.

Jessica, Elektra notes, is nowhere to be seen.

“This isn’t her fight,” says Luke.

“Sooner or later it’ll be everyone’s fight,” says Stick.

“Not yet,” says Elektra. “Not if I can help it.”

--

There’s a moment, before things go to hell, when Elektra musters up enough restraint to walk over to Stick, who’s standing at the window. Luke and Rand are forming some kind of bond, and she’ll leave them to their burgeoning friendship—she has other things to worry about.

“And here I thought you hated New York,” says Stick. “Or is this love?” He spits the word like a curse. “You’ve grown soft, Ellie.”

“So you’ve said already,” says Elektra. “Did you know?”

“Ah,” says Stick, understanding. “Matty’s corpse. You ran into him too, didn’t you.”

“At Midland Circle,” says Elektra. “When we were making our getaway.” She glances out the window, sees nothing but empty streets under neon lights. “Did you know?”

Stick shakes his head. “Not until a few hours ago,” he says. Bluntly, he adds: “He’s not Matt Murdock. Not anymore. He just happens to wear his body.”

Elektra’s hand curls into a fist, nails digging into her palm. “I know,” she says. “I know Matthew. I knew Matthew, and I know he would never have tried to kill me. He’s too good for that.” He always had been—between the two of them, Matt’s always been the kinder person, the one willing to see even a sliver of good even in the worst of humanity. Even in her.

Stick inclines his head. “Guess I don’t have to talk some sense into you, this time,” he says.

She turns to Stick then, and says, evenly, “I don’t need you trying to talk sense into me, old man. I am done with that—and after this, you’re going to leave the city and never come back, because I am done with you.”

She’s almost a little disappointed, when Stick just shrugs. As if her declaration doesn’t matter. As if he never cared—but then, did he ever care about anything other than his war? She doubts it. This is the same man who sent assassins after her. “Fine with me,” he says. “New York’s a shithole anyway.”

“Do you have any idea how much I pay for my apartment in this city?” she says.

“An expensive shithole,” Stick amends. “Matty’s rubbed off on you.”

Elektra grits her teeth, imagines stabbing Stick through the chest with a sai. She lets the fantasy go, and says instead, “What are they trying to do right now? Do you have any idea?”

Stick shakes his head. “Nothing concrete,” he says. “My guess is, your rebellious phase moved up whatever plans they had.”

“This is not a rebellious phase,” says Elektra, offended.

“Not how the Hand seems to see it,” says Stick, a sour note in his tone.

“The Hand,” says Elektra, levelly, “killed Matthew. They can’t sell anything to me now, after that.” They might’ve been able to, once, but she still remembers Matt’s weight in her arms, his blood on her hands.

This is what we get, he had said, rueful and sad, isn’t it? For trying to make it work.

She shuts her eyes against the hot sting of tears.

I’m so sorry, sweetheart.

“Good to know you’ve got your priorities straight, this time,” says Stick. Elektra opens her eyes, sees him cocking his head towards the outside world, the flickering lights playing over the deserted streets. “But remember—we need to work together if we’re gonna make it out of this.”

“I remember,” says Elektra. “I’m willing. For now.” She glances at the stump of his hand, wrapped in dirty, bloodstained bandages. She hopes it gets infected. “Did you get that treated?” she asks.

“‘Course,” says Stick.

“Damn,” says Elektra. She glances out the window, and says, “When you hear something—”

“I’ll let you know,” says Stick.

“Good,” says Elektra, and goes to warn the few civilians in the building to go, her gut churning with dread.

--

“So,” chirps Elektra, sliding into a chair and stealing a dumpling off Danny’s plate, “people should really hide out here more often. The food is amazing, it’s a shame the place tends to hang on by the skin of its teeth half the time.”

“Yeah, their duck’s pretty great,” says Danny, enthusiastic.

Luke misses Jessica already—this is so far beyond what he signed up for that it’s not even funny, and he kind of envies Jessica for taking the opportunity to leave when she could. Still, he can’t forget Cole’s plea, can’t forget how Cole’s mother broke down sobbing in his arms, all my babies is gone.

And here are Danny and Elektra, stealing food and talking about immortality and ninjas with mouths full of dumplings.

He sighs.

“I kind of like their pork better,” he ventures.

“Right?” says Elektra. “I’ve had the exact same pork dish in Paris and believe me when I say, this diner here? Cooks better than a five-star restaurant with a waiting list longer than this street.” She huffs out a laugh, says, “Every time I want to leave this city, there’s another reason for me to stay.”

“What was the first?” says Luke.

Elektra’s smile melts into something softer, sadder. “Love,” she says, simply.

“You love this city?” says Danny.

“On the contrary, I hate it,” says Elektra. She twirls a chopstick idly around her fingers. “It smells like shit, and if you’re walking on the sidewalk and minding your own business, there’s always going to be someone demanding that you walk faster.”

Luke huffs out a laugh. “Not to mention all the gentrification going on,” he says.

“And the crime,” she says.

“And the pollution.”

“And the pigeon shit.”

“I’m missing something here,” says Danny.

“Shush, we’re dissing New York here,” says Elektra. “It’s terrible, there’s so much crime here that I honestly don’t know why anyone would willingly choose to live here.”

“You live here,” says Danny. “You protect this city! And you have for a while, I’ve heard all about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Yeah, about that,” says Luke, “when I last checked, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was a guy who really leaned into the theme.”

Elektra props her chin up with her hand, dark eyes watching Luke like a hawk. Given all she’s told them tonight, he’s not surprised, but being watched like he just might pose a threat still puts him on edge.

“He was,” she says, after a moment.

“What happened?” asks Danny.

Elektra smiles again, but this time there’s something brittle to it. “What usually happens to martyrs,” she says. “He died, because—well, suffice it to say, I was involved in getting him into that situation.” She looks down, idly pushes a dumpling around on her plate. “I took up his mantle, afterwards, and I’ve been doing it ever since.”

Then she pops the dumpling into her mouth and says, after swallowing, “Anyway, enough about that. About earlier—I can tell you some things about the Chaste and the Hand. I can’t guarantee it’ll be accurate, considering it’s been a while and the Chaste are all dead, but if you want information then,” she gestures to herself, with a grin, “I’m a much better source than an old man with an agenda.”

Luke lets out a long, slow breath. There’s something more behind the story than what she’s telling him, he’s sure, something to do with what she had snapped at Danny before.

Just imagine holding someone you love in your arms and not being able to do anything to keep them from dying, she’d snarled, and knowing, for the rest of your life, that you only made things worse by getting them involved. How close had she been to Daredevil, he wonders.

“You’re sure?” says Danny. Kid’s got some self-preservation after all.

“I’m sure,” says Elektra. She shrugs. “But first: you’ve seen the Iron Fist in action twice?”

Luke snorts out a laugh. “First time was on the side of my face,” he says.

“First time that was the first punch that actually did anything,” says Danny. “You’re seriously tough. I do not want to go up against you again.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” says Luke. “Like I said, I liked your fist better on my side of the fight.” He glances at Elektra and adds, “Don’t. Don’t.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she says, innocently, reaching over for the dumpling Danny had helpfully given him before she’d sauntered on over. “In fact, I was just going to take this last dumpling—”

“It’s mine,” says Luke, shortly, yanking the plate away from Elektra’s hand. “Quit stealing off other people’s plates, woman.”

“If you’re not going to eat it, I don’t see why it should go to waste,” Elektra shoots back.

“Just because I’m not eating it right now doesn’t mean I don’t have plans—”

“If you three are done there,” says the old man at the window, the one she’d called Stick, his voice ringing out with the same kind of authority that Luke remembers from old Ms. Greene, back in Georgia, “we’ve got company.”

--

“How’d they find us?” says Luke, looking through the blinds at an unmarked grey van parked just outside the restaurant. Great. And he’d been planning on enjoying that last dumpling.

“Was just a matter of time,” says Stick.

“The civilians?” says Danny, urgently.

“They’re far away from here,” says Elektra.

“What do you think’s inside?” Luke asks.

Elektra shrugs, peers out the blinds as well. “Goons with guns,” she says. “That’s usually how this works, I’ve found.”

“Yeah, unfortunately,” says Luke, sourly. “How about the man with the swords?”

“Doubt it,” Elektra says, absently, “this wouldn’t be his style.”

“How would you know?”

Elektra’s quiet for a second, her eyes trained on the van. For a woman with a predilection for stealing people’s food off their plates, she can be as still and silent as stone when she needs to be. “I just do,” she says.

Stick sniffs the air. Then he says, “Well, I’ll be god-damned.”

“What?” says Danny, urgently, before he pauses and says, “Perfume?”

“Fuck,” says Elektra, succinctly.

Luke turns first, sees the woman in white sitting at his chair wiping her refined fingers off on a tissue, and says, “All right, who’re you?”

“This wouldn’t be my first choice for a hideout,” says the woman, seemingly unperturbed, “but I am a sucker for fortune cookies. And they make great dumplings here.”

“You goddamn bitch,” snarls Elektra, charging forward. Luke grabs hold of her arm to keep her back, and sighs when she kicks angrily but ineffectually at his knee. “Let go!”

“What are you doing here?” snaps Danny.

“Alexandra,” says Stick, voice full of loathing.

“Hello, Stick,” says Alexandra, apparently the leader of the Hand. She doesn’t look like much, but the smug smile on her face makes Luke think of Cottonmouth, somehow. Of Kilgrave, before him. “I thought it would be a good idea if we all talked this over. Like adults.”

Yep. Definitely Kilgrave.

“What do you want?” says Stick.

“Let me go,” Elektra hisses, struggling in his grip.

“I do that, you’ll kill her,” Luke says. “And you do that, who’s to say the goons outside won’t come down on us hard? Now, I know I can survive most kinds of bullets, but you and Danny and the old man don’t have that luxury. So calm down, so we can all make it through tonight.”

Elektra glares up at him, then breathes out, her breath hissing through her teeth. “Fine,” she says.

He lets go, and she steps away from him, practically vibrating with fury.

“You’ve become resourceful in your old age,” says Alexandra, walking closer to Stick with a smile on her face. “It’s almost commendable, really, considering how we met.”

“What have you become in yours?” Stick shoots back.

“Determined,” says Alexandra, turning away from him and smiling, kindly and maternal, at Elektra and Danny. Luke’s gut churns at the sight of her smile, her empty eyes. “Mr. Rand, Ms. Natchios—your exit from our meeting was so abrupt, I didn’t get the opportunity to speak with you as much as I wanted to.”

“And I didn’t get the opportunity to stab you in the throat,” says Elektra. “Be glad I’m not doing it now either.”

“You tried to have us killed,” snarls Danny.

Alexandra places a hand over her heart, as if hurt. “Not you,” she says. “The two of you are valuable, to me and my organization.” She nods briefly to Luke, and says, “I did try to have the others killed, though. And I see you’re missing one.”

“She’s not here,” says Elektra. “It’s not her fight.”

“It seemed like it was,” says Alexandra, placing a maternal hand on Elektra’s shoulder. The woman goes completely still, rage flickering in her eyes when they dart to meet Luke’s.

Luke mouths later, later.

Elektra nods, slightly, and pulls roughly away from Alexandra’s hand.

“Oh, my child,” sighs Alexandra, sadly.

“I am not your child,” snarls Elektra.

“So you might think,” says Alexandra, turning to Danny. “We have only the utmost respect for the Iron Fist, Mr. Rand,” she says, and Luke can’t help but raise an eyebrow. Utmost respect, yeah, right. Who’d kidnap someone they utterly respected? “It is an honor, a blessing beyond blessings, to bear such great power.”

“Save your compliments,” says Danny. “Save your lies for someone who’ll believe them. I am the enemy of the Hand, and I’d rather die than be respected by you.”

“So spirited,” says Alexandra, patting him on the shoulder.

“Cut the shit, Alexandra,” says Stick. “What. Do. You. Want?”

Alexandra turns to look at him, a wry, indulgent twist to her smile. There’s something cold in her eyes, in the way they flick over everyone not Elektra or Danny as if she’s judged them unimportant.

Fine. Let her think of Luke as unimportant, then. He’s pretty good at surprising people.

“What I’ve always wanted,” says Alexandra. “To bring light where there is darkness. To bring life where there is death.”

“Bullshit,” says Elektra.

The first word on Luke’s tongue is bullshit, lady, the same as Elektra, but he reins that first instinct in. Instead, he says, evenly, “For someone who wants to bring life, you sure kill a lot of people.”