ddk_mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ddk_mod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daredevilkink2017-08-15 08:44 am
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2017-08-15 08:44 am
Entry tags:
Defenders Prompt Post #1
Fills from all posts: Completed & WIPs
Defenders-only Discussion Post
This post is for prompts involving everyone in Netflix's The Defenders! Crossovers between anyone in the four individual shows should go here. Prompts only including characters from one show should still go on the relevant show prompt post.
Rules:
- General
- YKINMKATO. Play nice. If you don't like something, scroll on.
- All comments must be anon. If you would like to be politely banned to avoid anon-failing, leave a logged-in comment on the mod post or pm the mod account.
- Subject lines should only be changed if you're posting a prompt or a fill (indicators like OP or Author!Anon should go in the body of the comment).
- RPF is allowed. Crossovers, characters from the extended Marvel Universe and comics canon are allowed, but must relate to the 2017 TV show in some way.
- Drop a comment on the mod post if you have any questions or problems.
- Prompts
- All types of prompts are welcome.
- Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing or characters, keywords, kink).
- Warnings are nice, but not mandatory. Get DW Blocker if there's anything you really don't want to see.
- Fills
- Put [FILL] or something similar in the subject line when posting a fill.
- Announce your fill on either the Completed Fills Post or the WIP Post.
- Long fills can either be posted over multiple comments, or posted on AO3 and linked back here.
- Multiple fills are always okay.
- Fills can be anything! Fic, art and vids are all welcome.
fill. role reversal au: elektra as a defender, matt as an assassin (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2017-10-12 11:50 am (UTC)(link)Jessica doesn’t try to get involved in things bigger than herself, as a rule. Sure, it doesn’t always work out for her, but—well, at least she tries to keep things simple and neat. She’s not sure these two fuckers have tried that in their lives.
Elektra reaches over to spear Jessica’s shrimp on a fork. Jessica lets her—she’s not hungry, anyway, and even if she was she wouldn’t be in the mood for Chinese.
“So,” says Elektra, her mouth full, “do we have a plan?”
“There’s still no we,” says Jessica.
“We’re all eating together,” Danny Rand, Boy Billionaire, points out.
She looks at Luke, who so far seems like the only other person in this shitshow who is just as aware as she is of its status as a shitshow. She’s a little disappointed when she sees him chewing thoughtfully on a slice of chicken.
“But that’s why we’re here,” says Danny, earnestly. “To work out a plan.”
“Correction,” says Elektra, “we’re all only here because it was the best place to hide out and it serves really good food.” She swallows, wipes off her mouth with a tissue, which is a small courtesy. At least she didn’t do it with Jessica’s scarf. “The plan, we still need to work out, and I’m all ears if anyone’s got something.”
“Well, the legal way didn’t work out,” says Danny, with a sigh. “I tried it—see? I even put on a tie!”
“Working from the bottom up didn’t work out, either,” says Luke. “The kid I was keeping an eye out for—” He stops, huffs out a quiet breath. “Well. They’re pretty thorough.” He pauses, then says, “And that guy with the swords. Who was he?”
Ah, yes. The little motherfucker in red with the swords and the ninja-flips. If Jessica never sees him again it’d be too soon, it’s thanks to him that John Raymond’s brains are splattered all over the wall of her apartment, thanks to him that her life has taken a wild left turn into cheap and vaguely racist kung fu movie.
Elektra, beside her, has gone still.
“I’m not sure,” says Danny. “I fought him in Cambodia—he’s fast, faster than the other members of the Hand I’ve gone up against.”
“Yeah, I met him too,” says Jessica, propping an elbow up on the table. “He tried to skewer someone in my apartment.” She glances sideways at Elektra, and says, “Seems like you’d get along with him.”
Elektra shakes her head. “He went after your client?” she asks.
“You know him?” says Luke.
Elektra’s eyes dart briefly away from Jessica, and she picks at her food, her fork tinking against the porcelain. “No,” she says, and it doesn’t sound like a lie. “I’m surprised, that’s all. At this point, the hero of Harlem here is the only one he hasn’t gone after yet.”
“And every hour I thank god for that,” says Luke. “You know how much hoodies cost when you have to buy them every few days?”
“I could help,” says Danny, earnestly.
“I can buy my own hoodies,” says Luke, coolly. “Anyway. Guy with the swords. What do we know?”
“Nothing,” says Jessica. “Zip, zilch, nada.” She glances briefly at Elektra, who’s prodding at a dumpling with her chopstick, a contrast to her earlier appetite. Something’s up with her, Jessica’s sure, and that something involves the guy in red. “Elektra?” she says.
“I told you already,” says Elektra. “I don’t know him. Or it.”
“It?” says Luke, incredulously.
“He looked human to me,” says Danny.
“Trust me, whatever he is, it’s something else,” says Elektra, her tone brooking no argument. She’s lost her smile, too, that frustratingly ever-present grin like she’d thought everything happening around her was a little bit amusing—this is something she’s not going to budge on. Not an inch. “Something that isn’t human.”
“Well, whatever he is,” says Luke, “he knew what he was doing.”
“The Hand trains its warriors to be merciless,” says Danny, eyes darting between all three of them. “But this guy’s something else entirely.”
“He moves like a Russian gymnast, I can tell that much,” says Jessica.
“He’s trained by the Hand, of course he does,” says Elektra, and Jessica knows bullshit when she hears it. She’s about to say so when Danny says:
“But we can fight him.”
Jessica turns in her seat and gapes at him. “We? I just want to crack my case. I did not sign up for this ninja bullshit.”
“Neither did I,” says Luke. “I came to Midland Circle to help one family, the best way I could. Ancient organizations are—a little outside my worldview.”
“So expand it,” says Elektra.
“We all came to Midland Circle for different reasons,” says Danny, leaning forward. God, he’s so earnest, it almost breaks Jessica’s shriveled husk of a heart. “But I think—we came together for a reason. Because of fate. I mean, come on, look at us!”
Jessica says, “We’re a bunch of people who got thrown together ‘cause we were working the same case and had to fight our way out of the mess it put us in. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Beyond that,” says Danny. “Don’t you feel it? I mean—” He waves a hand at Luke, at Elektra, at Jessica herself. “Bulletproof, Black Sky, and. Whatever it is you are.”
“Classy,” says Jessica.
“I think I’m disqualified as the Black Sky on the grounds of very strenuously objecting,” says Elektra. “All right—the Hand. We need to take them down.”
“Who said anything about taking them down?” says Jessica. “We need to get them off our backs. Ideally in a way that doesn’t incriminate us.”
“Incriminate us, what are you talking about—” starts Danny.
“None of us were on police payroll,” says Jessica, steamrolling over Danny’s protests. “What we did back there was aggravated assault, trespassing, and so much vigilante bullshit.”
“Also murder,” says Luke.
“The Hand doesn’t count,” says Elektra. “An evil like that? Needs to be destroyed root and stem.”
“Are you even hearing yourself right now?” says Luke. “You stabbed someone through the eye.”
“I stabbed multiple someones through the eye, technically,” says Elektra. “And it doesn’t change the fact that I’m right.”
“She is, though,” says Danny, which, what the fuck. “The Hand is dangerous, and we need to destroy it and then salt the earth where they used to be.”
“What the fuck,” says Jessica.
“I know someone we can bring in,” says Luke, glancing at Jessica, “a cop, and a good one at that. We can trust her.”
Which is barely a comfort, because Elektra apparently doesn’t give much of a shit about cops, but still.
“You’re just going to put her in danger,” says Elektra. “Her and everyone else she loves. The Hand doesn’t know anything about mercy—you should know that.”
She punctuates this ominous declaration by reaching over to steal the last dumpling off Luke’s plate. Luke swats her on the knuckles with his chopsticks, says, “Stick to your own plate.”
“You’re no fun,” says Elektra.
--
Here’s a joke:
A man with unbreakable skin, a kid with a glowing fist, a surly PI with super-strength, and a businesswoman with two sai hole up in a restaurant on the edge of town.
Then a blind man walks in, a sword in one hand and just the one hand because he apparently lost the other one, and says, “This is a shitty excuse for a hideout.”
What’s the punch line?
Elektra doesn’t know yet. She doesn’t even think this is funny.
“Stick,” she spits. “You’ve lost a hand.”
“Ellie,” says Stick. “You’ve gone soft.”
Luke holds out a hand before she can charge forward, blocking her way. “Who are you?” he says, evenly.
“I thought you said you locked everything,” Jessica hisses.
“I did,” Elektra whispers back. To Stick, she says, “I’ll show you soft—”
“I’m the guy who’s going to help you dumbasses,” says Stick, waving the sword at all four of them, “save New York.”
“Since when do you care about New York?” says Elektra, one hand in her bag, curling around the hilt of her sai.
“Since when did you?” Stick shoots back, sheathing the sword. “Hand out of the bag, Elektra. For now, we’re on the same side.”
“You know this guy?” Rand asks.
“He raised me and trained me to fight his war and then tried to kill me,” says Elektra, taking her hand out of her bag. “Stick? Get out of this restaurant and the city. We don’t need your help.”
“Pretty sure you do,” says Stick, and damn it, he’s right. Stick has the most experience in going up against the Hand, and he’d be an invaluable resource, but she can’t forget how they fought. “You want this city to not crumble like a fortune cookie, right?”
“Considering that we all live here, yes, that’s priority number one,” says Luke. To Elektra, he says, “Is he with them?”
“He’s with another organization,” says Elektra.
“Let me guess, it’s ancient and powerful and has a stupid name,” says Jessica.
“We call ourselves the Chaste,” says Stick, walking towards them easy as you please. He bows to Danny Rand—bows to him, seriously! Elektra’s never seen him do that to anyone who hadn’t earned his respect first, before. “We follow the Iron Fist.”
“These names,” Jessica says, contemplatively, “are going to kill me.”
fill. role reversal au: elektra as a defender, matt as an assassin (1/2)
(Anonymous) 2017-10-24 04:41 pm (UTC)(link)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.”
fill. role reversal au: elektra as a defender, matt as an assassin (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2017-10-24 04:43 pm (UTC)(link)“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced,” she says.
Luke glances at Elektra, whose hand’s snuck back into her bag. “I’d like to keep it that way,” he says.
“A wise decision,” says Alexandra, stepping away as if satisfied. She turns to the rest of them and says, “I can see you’ve formed a bond here. I promise you it won’t last.”
She’s very smug. It’s annoying.
“The more connections you have, the easier it will be to break you.”
Seriously, it’s getting annoying. Luke glances reflexively away from her, searching for Jessica, before he remembers—she left. It aches, surprisingly, to remember that, even if he knows it’s probably for the best. This isn’t her fight, after all. She’ll be safer far away from it.
—now Alexandra’s moved on to trying to tempt Elektra and Danny, placing her hands on their shoulders like an indulgent grandmother. “There are alternatives,” she says, kindly, “and we can work together. I might even let them go free.”
“Kid,” says Stick, warningly, “you walk with her, I’ll take you down myself.”
“Shut up, Stick,” says Elektra. To Alexandra, she says, “After what you did? You’re lucky I haven’t run you through with a fork.”
Danny glances, briefly, at Luke. What do I do?
Luke shakes his head. Say no.
Danny takes Alexandra’s hand off, frosty but polite. Elektra smacks it off her shoulder, glaring at the woman in undisguised hatred.
Alexandra sighs.
“They’re just like you, old man,” she says, sadly. “The only language they know is violence.” She snaps her fingers, and the front door all but explodes as if the table Jessica shoved in front of it was never there.
The man with the swords steps into view. Luke steps closer to Danny, whose fist starts glowing as he settles into a fighting stance.
Elektra snaps, whips her sai out and swings at Alexandra. The woman ducks, disarms Elektra with a quick and terrifying efficiency.
“Now, now, my child,” she says, scolding, “I just wanted to talk.”
“Too fucking late,” Elektra spits, and she slams her heel down on Alexandra’s foot. It’s the first time Luke’s seen the woman in white caught off her guard, and she stumbles back with a quiet curse in a language he doesn’t know.
“Plan not going well?” says Stick. Luke could swear he sounds amused, the old bastard.
“Hound,” says Alexandra, eyes flicking towards the man in red and black. He tilts his head in her direction, but his eyes don’t seem to track her. “Go on. Serve life itself.”
The man twirls the swords in his hands, almost like he’s showing off. Then he steps forward, and Luke tenses, ready to step in front and take the brunt of the blows if needed. Between the four of them, he knows he’s the only one who can stand up to a sharp weapon like a sword.
Then something skids, and a moment later an SUV crashes through the window and into the man, knocking him out of the way. The man groans, disoriented.
Jessica steps through the broken glass, and stands beside Luke.
“Anyone missed me?” she says.
fill. role reversal au: elektra as a defender, matt as an assassin (1/2)
(Anonymous) 2017-12-08 02:53 am (UTC)(link)Listen.
He’s. Moved on, sort of. At least he’s made it to the stage where Train doesn’t make him burst into tears, where he doesn’t find himself at a bar late at night trying to drown the grief in alcohol, where he’s coping in a healthy manner with grief and blame and anger.
He’s not—visiting so much, anymore. He used to visit Matt’s grave every day or so, like if he’d drop by often enough Matt would get the hint and drop out of wherever the hell he was hiding, say hi like he’d never died. Like Matt would just pop up at his own grave and apologize, for keeping him waiting.
He never did because. Well. Dead.
He doesn’t visit so much as he used to. He’s cut it down to every few weeks, and it doesn’t quite feel so dreamlike anymore, standing over his best friend’s grave. See? Acceptance.
If he still feels his heart crack whenever Kirsten plays her old Train album in the office, then that’s no one’s business but his own.
Speaking of Kirsten—
“Hey, Nelson,” she says, as Foggy steps into the office, standing up from the desk, “were you ever going to tell me you knew Elektra Natchios?”
Foggy blinks at her. Elektra’s here? As Elektra? “Uh, yeah,” he says, thinking fast, “it just never came up. Why?”
“Well, she’s in your office,” says Kirsten, “and if you ask me she’s looking a little desperate.” She huffs out a breath. “I offered to help her out, but she said she wanted you, god only knows why.” She frowns, says, “She also said something weird?”
A lead weight drops into Foggy’s stomach. “How weird?” he asks, hanging up his coat.
“Super weird,” says Kirsten. “What was it she said? Something about a hand with a long reach.”
Foggy breathes out, turns to Kirsten. She’s young, fresh from law school, itching to prove herself and also incidentally pay off her student loans. He’d been her, just two years ago. If Kirsten McDuffie, fresh-faced lawyer with something to prove, goes up against the Hand, she’s not going to make it to next year.
He says, “Take the day off, Kirsten.”
She blinks at him. “What?” she asks. “Nelson, what are you talking about?”
“Just—take the day off,” Foggy says, grabbing her by the shoulders. She jumps, surprised, eyes wide in shock. “Please, Kirsten.”
Kirsten takes his hands off, gentle, and says, “What’s going on? Come on, talk to me.”
He wishes he could. He really does. But telling Kirsten exactly what the nature of Elektra’s case is means telling her about Elektra being the new Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, means telling her about Matt’s secret, and he can’t do that. Not yet.
He swallows, and says, “I just—whatever Elektra’s brought, it’s bad. Real bad.” He doesn’t look at Matt’s old office, stripped now of everything Matt had moved into it. It’s Kirsten’s now, and he’s only just stopped seeing double whenever he walks in. “I can’t tell you more than that.”
“I think I can handle myself,” Kirsten says, so goddamn certain of herself that for a second Foggy thinks of Karen, with mace on her keychain.
“I know you can,” says Foggy. “But trust me, this is way above your pay grade.”
“You barely pay me at all,” says Kirsten.
“I’ll give you a raise,” says Foggy.
“Can you even afford one?”
“Just take the day off, McDuffie,” says Foggy. “Go and—be with your mom. She still needs you.”
Kirsten deflates, then, shakes her head. “You can’t just up and play that card when you want me out of trouble,” she says, but she picks her bag up, starts putting her files and her things inside.
“I let you pull the late ‘cause I was visiting my dead best friend card when you want me to do things for you,” Foggy shoots back.
“Fair,” Kirsten concedes. “But you’ll call if you need me, right?”
Foggy swallows. “Yeah, of course,” he says, and the lie tastes bitter on his tongue.
--
To be honest, he hadn’t expected Elektra to take up the mantle of protector of Hell’s Kitchen, after Matt’s death.
He had expected her to take the first flight out of New York after the funeral, though, so it had been a shock when she first landed on his fire escape. She moved lightly on her feet, a product of the same training Matt went through, but on this one occasion she’d hit the metal grating with a loud, dull thud.
“What the hell,” Foggy had said, fresh from having almost been mugged. He hadn’t seen his savior well, then, but they’d wielded a pair of swords—
She’d wielded a pair of swords, apparently, because Elektra had calmly tugged her mask down and said, “Now, is that any way to greet someone who’s saved you from getting shot in an alleyway?”
That hadn’t been an auspicious reunion.
He likes to think things have improved between them, sort of, in the time since Elektra’s settled into her role. Less screaming than there was at the start, for starters. Less awkward blubbering.
He opens the door to his office and blinks at her, dressed in a red shirt and dark pants. There are dark circles under her eyes, like she hasn’t slept, and a bruise on her cheek.
Her knuckles are split, just cleaned up.
She says, “Hello, Franklin.”
“Foggy,” says Foggy. “What’s up? I’m assuming it’s something serious, seeing as you took the time to talk to Kirsten and wait here for me instead of your usual surprise, I’ve been stalking you routine.”
“You have to admit, it’s quicker on both of us that way,” says Elektra, which, well, she may be right but still. “She’s very competent, by the way. I like her.”
“You’re an asshole,” Foggy informs her, checking outside his door and noting that Kirsten’s gone—her bag is nowhere to be found, and her door is locked. “Maybe it’s quicker for you, but this way means I get less heart attacks.”
“This way also means more awkward explanations to your new partner,” Elektra points out. “And you sent her away, don’t think I didn’t notice that.”
“Because you never meet up with me like this,” says Foggy, moving to the window, looking nervously around. “You went to all this trouble when you could’ve just dropped onto my fire escape as per usual. That means something’s wrong.”
“Observant,” says Elektra, and Foggy could swear she sounds almost impressed. “Very well, then: the Hand is back.”
Foggy turns, and says, voice admirably steady, “The—The Hand?”
“Yes,” she says.
“The evil ninja clan that—”
That killed Matt. He can’t finish.
Elektra nods.
Foggy slumps into his chair and says, “I thought they were gone for good.”
“They never left,” says Elektra. “They slunk away into the shadows and waited for the right time to reemerge. It’s what they do.”
“So what are you going to do?” he asks her.
“I’m going to destroy the Hand, root and stem,” she says, and the conviction in her voice is worrying. It reminds him of Matt, the solid conviction in his voice when he said the city needs me in that mask. “That’s the only way to ensure they can’t hurt anyone else in this city again. Or anyone else at all.”
“That’s not your responsibility,” Foggy says, pushing away thoughts of Matt, what if what if what if. “This Hand group—if we can dig up a paper trail—”
“You can’t use legal channels to bring them down,” says Elektra. “They’ll weasel out of it, every time.” She stands up, and says, “Anyway, I didn’t come here to debate my methods with you. I came here to tell you to get out of the office and haul your overworked ass to the police precinct.”
Foggy says, “What?”
“It’s the safest place to be for now,” says Elektra, smiling at him humorlessly. “You’ll be of great interest to the Hand, and if they try to abduct you, I’d rather make it difficult for them. Hence, the precinct.”
“I have a deposition today,” says Foggy.
“Certainly you could go,” says Elektra, with a shrug, “but they could abduct you from your all-important deposition, easily. After all, they abducted Page once.”
And, damn it, she’s right. Foggy curses under his breath. “Fine,” he says, standing up and pulling out his drawers, packing files and folders into his bag. “Fine.” He pauses, then looks up at her and her humorless smile. “Why are you doing this?” he asks. “We barely knew each other. We didn’t even like each other that much.”
The smile fades, and Elektra breathes out, hands reaching up to grip her forearms. “He would’ve wanted to protect you,” she says, and he doesn’t have to ask who she’s talking about. They both know it’s Matt, his ghost hanging over the both of them, always.
Matt’s first priority would’ve been getting him and Karen out of the line of fire.
Even if it meant pushing them out himself.
“You talked to Karen already?” Foggy says, because dwelling on Matt right now is not going to do him and his caseload any favors.
“I’m going to drop by the Bulletin after this,” Elektra says. “Why, do you want me to tell her anything?”
“Just to check up on the joint before she gets to the precinct,” says Foggy. “Besides that, nothing.” He hesitates, and says, “Be careful, Elektra.”
Elektra blinks at him, and for perhaps the first time since she saved his life in a dark and damp alleyway, smiles genuinely at him. “I always am,” she says.
--
Karen calls him a few minutes after he makes it to the station, and says, “You’re going to want to see this.”
“Is it a death threat?” says Foggy. “Because once you’ve seen one you’ve seen pretty much all of them.”
“No,” says Karen, and—she sounds like she’s been crying, a little. “No, Foggy, this is—this is good news. Sort of. But I can’t—I can’t tell you about it over the phone. Can you come by the office?”
Foggy frowns at his phone for a moment, but says, “Well, sure. I’ll tell them I forgot a few files that I really need.” He shifts his grip a little, presses his phone against his ear with his shoulder as he hoists his bag back up onto his other shoulder. “Can you at least give me a hint as to what I’ll find when I get there?”
Karen says, “I—I’m not sure how to describe it. But when you do get here,” she takes a deep breath, then breathes out, “please, remember: it’s real and you’re not dreaming.”
--
Karen opens the door a fraction when he gets there, and says, “Don’t shout.”
“Why would I shout?” says Foggy. “Karen, come on, end the suspense here. What did you find?” He pauses, then says, “Please tell me it’s not Kirsten’s secret stash of romance novels.”
“It is definitely not that,” says Karen, “and I already know where that is.” She breathes out and says, “No, this is—I think it’s best if you see for yourself. I’m not sure I believe it myself either.”
“I would,” says Foggy, “if you let me see.”
“Who’s there?” someone calls from the couch. Someone who sounds—weirdly like Matt. But that can’t be.
Karen steps aside, opens the door wider to let Foggy in.
When he steps inside, there’s a ghost in red and black sitting on the couch.
“What,” says Foggy, stunned, “the fuck.”
Matt Murdock—dead Matt Murdock—cocks his head in Foggy’s direction, draws his black cloak tighter around himself. And it’s a cloak, with an actual hood, and underneath Foggy can see something red, he isn’t sure what.
—there’s a sword leaning against the couch. There are daggers on the desk.
“What the fuck,” says Foggy, again.
“You’re her friend?” says Matt, and it sinks into Foggy’s thick skull just then that he’s not-watching him with the wariness of someone who’s not sure who to trust.
“How are you not dead?” says Foggy, remaining admirably calm despite the fact that his dead best friend, who he mourned, is sitting on his couch not-staring at him like he doesn’t recognize him. “How?”
“Long story,” says Matt.
“Then make it short!”
“Don’t,” says Karen. “Foggy, I know you want answers—”
“I buried him!” says Foggy.
Matt flinches away, and says, “I—knew you?”
“Yes!” says Foggy, whipping around to him. “You know me! We were roommates in college, you were my partner, you were my best friend, you’re dead.” His voice breaks, on the last phrase.
Matt tilts his head up, eyes fixing on a point near Foggy’s face. “I was,” he says. “The Hand brought me back.”
fill. role reversal au: elektra as a defender, matt as an assassin (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2017-12-08 02:55 am (UTC)(link)“I’m not sure they even have hearts,” says Matt, and that—that startles a laugh out of him, and Karen as well. “No, they wanted the Black Sky. They got me, instead—they wanted to lure her in, I think. Using me.”
“Black what?” says Foggy.
“Her?” says Karen.
Matt just cocks his head to the side. “She didn’t tell you?” he asks, which, no shit, no one ever tells Foggy anything. “The woman with the sai. The Black Sky.”
“Elektra?” says Karen. “No, she didn’t tell either of us.”
“It’s nothing new,” says Foggy.
Matt’s brow wrinkles up, his face scrunching up like he’s just smelled something bad. “She probably wanted to keep you both safe,” he reasons. “And here I am, dragging you further in.”
“We are here by choice,” Karen stresses.
“You called me out here without telling me what I was going to find,” Foggy points out. “Also, why did you call me out here, anyway? I mean, I’m glad that for once someone’s keeping me in the loop, but, uh. What am I supposed to do here?”
Karen jabs a finger into Foggy’s chest and says, “You’re going to be his lawyer.”
“What,” says Foggy.
“What,” says Matt, at the same time.
“He’s a witness,” says Karen.
“You can’t possibly think you can take down an ancient organization with its claws in everything using the legal system,” says Matt, bleakly. “They’ll find a way out. They always do.”
“An ancient organization like that knows how to delegate, though,” says Karen. “Maybe we can’t take them down completely. Fine. But we can destabilize their powerbase somehow by taking down key figures, screw up their operations—”
“—with information from a witness on the inside,” Foggy completes. He can see the logic that Karen’s working with, and he could almost approve. Almost. “Matt?” he says.
Matt huffs out a breath. “That’s doable,” he says, curling up on the couch and drawing the cloak tighter around him. Like this, he looks less like a ghost and more like the Matt that Foggy had known. Had buried. “Risky, though. I don’t know, I didn’t—I don’t want to drag you either of you even further into this. I can’t have either of you become targets because of me.”
And there’s the Matt Murdock Foggy knows, hating even the idea of dragging his loved ones into his mess.
“We’re not doing this because we’re dragged into this,” he says. “We’re doing this because, damn it, Matt, we’re friends.”
Present tense.
Matt stares up at him, sheer shock written across his face. Or—well, he stares at Foggy’s cheek, anyway, but the utter surprise on his face breaks Foggy’s heart, more than a little bit. This shouldn’t be a surprise. This should be a given.
“You don’t have to go back,” he says.
Karen kneels down, takes Matt’s hand in hers, the hope in her eyes laid bare for Foggy to see. “We’ll find some way to keep you safe,” she says. “Somehow. Somehow.”
Matt tugs his hand out of hers, his face doing that—that thing, where it scrunches up like he’s overwhelmed and might actually cry. Foggy’s not really sure, his vision’s kind of swimming from the tears right now too.
“I don’t,” Matt starts, then he shakes his head. “I can’t leave. You don’t know the Hand, not like I do. Right now, the safest thing to do is play along with whatever they want—I break away now, they’ll go after you and everyone you love, and everyone they love.”
“They’ve done that,” starts Karen.
“They’ll do more than that,” says Matt. “I want to help, you want me out of the Hand, and the Black Sky seems to want the Hand gone.” He sighs. “Right now, I have more information about the Hand than I frankly know what to do with. I might as well unload somewhere, and you can get it to her and her friends.”
“What about you?” says Foggy.
“There’s stuff I don’t know yet that I plan to find out,” says Matt, eyes darting away and flicking downward. “The easiest way of getting that information would be staying in the Hand—they don’t have any reason to suspect I want to break from them, for now.” He smiles, and it’s a touch sardonic and a little dangerous, like the Matt Foggy buried. “They were thorough.”
Foggy’s not a violent man.
But if he had the chance to punch the Hand right in the face, especially if it was anyone responsible for doing this to Matt—he thinks he might just do it.
“So, okay, you’re going to leak info to us and we’re going to tell Elektra,” he says, instead. “I get that right?”
“Yeah,” says Matt, relaxing.
“Can’t you tell her yourself?”
“She’d try to kill me first,” says Matt.
“What,” says Foggy. “But she loved you! I mean, you two crazy kids used to ditch me all the time in college!”
“What,” says Karen. “You know what, that explains so much. Except the part where Elektra wants you dead.”
Matt cocks his head, and says, “Because I’m part of the Hand,” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And she’s made it clear she thinks that I’m not—who I was.”
Man, these two crazy kids are fucked up as all hell.
“Not was,” says Karen, with conviction. “Are.”
“Was,” says Matt, simply. “The man you buried, the man I used to be—would he have done the things I’ve done?”
“What things?” Foggy asks, dreading the answer.
Matt tells them.
--
“We have to help him,” says Karen, quietly, after Matt’s fallen back to sleep. It hadn’t been an easy thing to convince him to rest for a little while longer, after everything he’d told them, but somehow they’d managed it. Foggy’s been watching the windows ever since, terrified somehow that some ninja might crash through the windows, or kick their way in through the walls, or—
He hasn’t had the best few hours so far.
“And we will,” he says, peeking through the blinds. “We’ll get him out of there, but—he’s right. Goddammit, he’s right about where he can best help us.”
“We can’t just let him go back to them,” says Karen. “There’s a risk they’ll know.”
“It’s not a risk I want to take, either,” says Foggy, looking back at Matt, sleeping on the sofa. He looks so vulnerable and small, curled up into a ball. He looks like the man Foggy knew back in college, before everything, before Daredevil and the Hand and Matt dying. “But even if we tried to get him to stay here and be safe, how long do you think it’ll be until he does it anyway?”
Karen breathes out, shakes her head. “Dammit,” she murmurs. The answer hangs in the air between them: not long at all. “So what next? What do we do?”
“We go back to the precinct,” says Foggy. “Knight’s probably wondering where we’ve gone. And then we give Elektra the info Matt gave us. Hopefully she won’t think it’s unreliable and go after Matt, but just in case—”
“Witness protection,” says Karen, sardonic.
Foggy nods, then looks back out the window again, trying not to jump at every shifting shadow he spies.
He glances at Karen again, sees her crossing the room to kneel down and brush Matt’s hair back from his face. He makes a soft little noise.
It sounds like Elektra’s name.
Re: fill. role reversal au: elektra as a defender, matt as an assassin (2/2)
(Anonymous) 2021-12-26 03:52 pm (UTC)(link)I would love to continue this because I absolutely adore this prompt but I’m not all that good of a writer