1964-01-13 - Repercussions
Summary: The mob decides to pay retribution to Nelson and Murdock for their failure, of sorts, in representing the late Paul Cavassini.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
daredevil elektra 

The rooftop of Matt Murdock's apartment building is the perfect spot for him to perch on lookout over Hell's Kitchen. In part because it's close to home, but also, the high edges upon the old Italianete rooftop help to conceal the garbage pail fire he burns up there to keep warm on these frigid winter nights.

Its been a quiet night in Hell's Kitchen, likely in part due to the cold. It isn't quite midnight when a trio of men in dark clothing creep up to the front door of Nelson & Murdock, clearly up to no good. One of them pulls a hat from atop his head and placed it against the glass door, then, with a solid punch, the glass is shattered.

Blocks away, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen jerks his head at the sound. He rises from his perch beside the fire, approaching the edge of the rooftop. Bitter cold bites at him, in spite of the protection his lightly armored costume provides. The sound of a hand pushing through Venetian blinds is one thing; but the bump of a gloved hand against a bell is another.

Thats his bell. Specifically, the one they has just installed at the las office.

"… Shit."

Moments later, a figure in red is swinging from his grappling line, headed for Nelson & Murdock at breakneck pace.


While Elektra didn't have super hearing or such powers, she did have money. Money and the ability to pick any hotel in the city. She just happens to have picked the one across from Nelson and Murdock. Because, if she's not spending time with Foggy, she's trying to be certain she hasn't reigned down damage on their business. It's just pure luck that she's watching across the street, worried and uncertain tonight, when that glass is broken. The moment she sees it, she's rushing into action. But she'll be a bit behind Matt as she actually needs to put on clothing for fighting. She makes quick work of changing before she's dashing out the fire escape of her hotel.
She's in black yoga pants and a black tunic, having just been sitting around her hotel. As she goes, she pulls the dark cowl up across her face. There are hidden knives. There's always hidden knives. She's practically been begging for a fight, going stir crazy without. SHe had the black and red uniform ready. It felt good to put it back on.

So, about two minutes after the Devil of Hell's kitchen gets on the scene, there is another racing heartbeat and familiar scent coming up the road. She's moving straight for the fire escape, so she can climb and swing her way into the building without using any sort of door. SHe's even faster, and more quiet, than she had been before. Someone without enhanced senses would have no clue she was there.


By the time Daredevil arrives, the thugs have already ransacked the place and are back outside, pulling two large gas cans from the rear door of a nondescript van. One of them finds a billy club whizzing through the air, only to crack said thug's nose into oblivion, with a spray of blood against the white van door and a groan of pain.

By the time Elektra arrives, she'll find two of the thugs lying on the ground in a heap. The third is currently engaged in a thorough ass beating, but he's not the one dishing out the damage.

Daredevil's hand strikes the cement, using leverage to throw a kick into the thug's midsection. Ribs are cracked. and before the thug can answer, Daredevil is back on his feet and swiping a hand into the crook's neck. The gagging is short lived; that same hand forms a fist and comes down on the back of the thug's head, knocking him out cold.

It would seem that Elektra may have missed the fight.


Maybe Elektra missed the whole fight, or so it actually seems. But she's not going to let the man do this alone. The dark clad woman dashes on scene, coming up short of the last mobster as the thug collapses to the ground and his opponent stands there, all in red, breathing perhaps a bit hard. Elektra's only slightly winded from the run herself, though she seems intrigued by who beat her to this matter. "… Seems you don't need my help after all. Ashame we couldn't get here faster, I suspect they've already been through the place." Where as he is worried about keeping his identity, Elektra doesn't care about her's. Her face is hidden, yes, but the accent to her voice is unmistakeable to anyone who knows her.


The scent is what really gave it away. Daredevil is just retrieving his fallen billy club when Elektra speaks, at which point he stiffens. He can't say a word… she of all people would recognize his voice, if she hasn't already recognized his fighting style.

What happens next is so very fast, most people might miss it. Something whistles through the air; Daredevil turns abruptly and swings the club in hand.


Some sort of knobby object, resembling a tough wooden spike, is split in two by the force of Daredevil's swing. Hewn in two. the blunt end of the spike clatters against the van, while the pointed end finds itself protruding from the brick wall nearby. Sharp. Very sharp.

"What the-"

A single headlamp shines from the other end of the block, bathing both in harsh light. It's followed immediately by the revving of a motorcycle and the squeal of tires. The motorcycle is big; the fellow riding it is clearly a mutant, with green skin and glowing white eyes. The stocky fellow behind swings his hands, and two more of those ugly spikes shoot forth, aimed at both Daredevil and Elektra.


Well, there was no time for pleasantries now. While Elektra had a small suspicion, so few people fought in the same style she and Matthew Murdock did, her mind didn't have the time to process it as another sudden attack comes their direction. Her dark eyes go wide, body twisting in the direction of that headlight. A split of a second later, her knives are out and she's truly ready for a fight, "Or, I came just in time…" She mutters happily. The promise of a fight was too damn irresistable right now. It had been too long.

Quickly, she is moving into action. Not running away from the mutant, but towrs. Yes, there are spikes coming, but she weaves to the side and quickly bats several of them asside with her daggers, metal clanging hard against wood, but her motions are almost super human fast. She's gotten BETTER over the last years. ANd then she's going in for a kick, to knock the man off of his motorcycle and pull him into the fight proper. As she passes, she drives a dagger deeply into the tire of his bike. SHe's not letting him have his getaway.


The man in red isn't able to keep up with Elektra. He's likely as fast as her unburdened, but the armored costume keeps him back.

Elektra's kick knocks the spike-throwing mutant right off the motorcycle, and into Daredevil's sphere. The brute catches himself on a pair of fresh spikes protruding from his wrists, and skids along the ground before twisting about and throwing two spikes Daredevil's way, which are quickly batted away by a swing of his club.

Meanwhile, the green-skinned driver ditches his ride with a leap into the air, a vault much higher than any normal human might achieve. He tumbles end over end with grace, and pulls a pair of swords from behind his back. He lands lightly, and spins the blades with blinding speed while squaring off against Elektra.

Theres something maddening about the bladed mutant as he advances on her, something shared by the spike-throwing brute who rolls to the left, dodging the motorcycle as it falls and skids down the road.


Just to make good of her work, Elektra quickly spins around and slashes the back tires too. No getting away safely at all for their attackers, though this was a far different threat than some mobsters pissed at a lawfirm. She'd have lots of questions after this, but they had to clear out the current threats first. While she doesn't exactly know who the man in red is, she has to trust that he can defend himself, she's squaring off against her own actual bit of a challenge.

However, a challenge is what she's been craving. She smiles beneath her cowl, eyes bright as she mutters, "Hullo, big boy…" But then is immediately jumping to work. A quick, spinning kick to one of his wrists, mean to to break those fine bones and disarm him of one of his blades already. Her other hand comes up, moving to lock her knife with his other blade before it can come into contact with her flesh. She operates as smoothly and expert as she ever has.


Daredevil is delayed in his attack, primarily by managing his own defense and dodging the skidding motorcycle. He makes a move to advance upon the brute, but the mutant begins throwing spikes in rapid pace, which has the effect of pinning Daredevil down.

The brute scrambles to his feet between throws, snarling. "I'm'a fill you with holes, Devil!" he shouts, before throwing two more spikes toward the vigilante.

Daredevil deftly dodges the spikes, before whirling around with his other billy club. This one is thrown, a cable attached, and the club catches one of the spikes mid-flight. He spins about and with a snap, the spike is flying right back toward its issuer, nailing him in the leg with a crunch and the squelching of flesh.

There's a familiar odor in the air, something only Matt can smell, and it brings a sour look to his exposed mouth.


There is a single moment where Elektra looks over to the Devil, almost worried that he might not be able to handle himself, but then he's spinning and the spike has nailed the attacker. Clearly she was wrong. But that single moment of care has delayed her from cleaning up her own opponent too fast and he's actually gotten his other blade free from her knife. It comes in a violent swing, meant for her neck. She jerks to the side just in time, catching it on her arm with a blossom of blood on the air.

Now she's pissed. A slight grunt and she's bringing her other blade around to bear down on the man, slashing deep enough into his arm that she's cutting through muscle, completely driving that attacking arm useless. But his other hand? It still has a blade. Broken, but he's fighting through the pain. How was he fighting through the pain? Her eyes widen a bit as she just barely wards off that second attack with a clash of blades echoing on the air.


The brute yelps in pain, giving Daredevil a moment to press the advantage. The grappling club whirrs back to its home, and he charges the mutant with clubs in each hand. The brute is barely able to release one more spike before Daredevil is upon him, in close quarters.

Good luck throwing those things now, buddy.

Still, the brute puts up one hell of a fight. With those thick, woody spikes in hand, he's able to deflect many of Daredevil's strikes, but he's no ninja. The only reason he hasn't yet been put down by the Man Without Fear is because he's being tested. Daredevil is looking for his weakness, so that he can dispatch the brute without killing him.


Meanwhile, Elektra isn't quite so kind. She doesn't entirely PLAN on killing her foe, but if it happens, she is not going to lose sleep. Though, she's a bit different than she used to be. She is being more gentle, taking the time to go for less deadly blows. She knows a dozen ways to outright kill a man with a few twitches of her fingertips, and she hasn't used any of those ways yet. It's a change in methods for her. But still, this fight is getting long and frustrating. Whatever drug he's on is giving him speed beyond most humans, which means they are almost a match.

Elektra huffs out, taking another blow of his blade to her side. But that was slightly purposeful, she could handle pain, and it let her get into his guard. Now, slightly under his arm, her hand jerks up with the underside of her blade which she shoves violently into the underside of his chin. That makes his head crack back, hard. He finally crumples to the floor. Maybe his neck isn't broken…Hopefully not. She stands there, breathing slightly hard, bleeding, but fine otherwise.


Similarly, Daredevil is pressing his advantage. The thug tries to throw a few of his wooden spikes, but they careen off in haphazard ways, while the Man without Fear beats the ever loving hell out of him. Body shots, cracked ribs, a few jabs to the face, but those are all moves to simply weaken him. The crushing blows come with two brutal strikes.

First, Daredevil spins around and plants his boot squarely into the thug's right leg, just above the knee. There's a vicious and ugly crack, and the man's leg bends in a way it simply shouldn't.

"YAAAAAHHH!!" the mutant cries in torment.

That cry is silenced by a whip of a billy club squarely to the man's temple. He hits the ground, cold.

Or so he thinks.

Turning away, Daredevil walks back toward Elektra, his face concealed by the devil horned mask that clings to chiseled features. "Here," he says, and produces a square shaped object from his belt, resembling a measuring tape. Of course, carried within is steel rope, designed to be used as makeshift handcuffs. "Tie them u-"

Then, he hears the click of a zippo, coming from Elektra's opponent.

Daredevil whirls around, but he's simply too late. The thug flings the zippo to the ground, and it catches on a trail of fuel. The gasoline ignites fast, and rips across toward the canisters.


Daredevil dives to the ground moments before the gas cans erupt. The van is upended, crashing to its side in a fiery blaze… and the windows of Nelson and Murdock are blown in with a resounding crash of shattered glass.


Well this makes Elektra's point for not killing them. If she had killed him, he'd have stayed down. But that is of no matter now. Elektra's about to reach for the ties when it all happens so fast. She curses, not quite catching on as fast as he does, she doesn't have the hearing to pick up the click of a zippo. So, she's diving no where until the explosion itself tosses her across the alleyway, into concrete beyond.

She's really going to be regretting the lack of body armor at this point. Tossed like a ragdoll, she hits brick hard and pavement harder. For a few moments, she just lays there, very possibly unconscious….


After a few moments, Daredevil looks up, coughing. A fire alarm is ringing in the building; fortunately the blast wasn't strong enough to light the building on fire, but there's plenty of gasoline burning in the street, and lots of smoke. It takes him a moment to clear his head; the ringing in his ears is absolutely deafening, so much so that he staggers upon standing. Reaching up, he clutches his hands to his head, grimacing openly, before staggering in Elektra's general direction. "El…" he starts to say, then thinks better of it. "Hello? Hello, are you okay?" he calls out. With the ringing in his ears and the smell of smoke, he… simply can't find her.


While the whole world hurts, the sound of that voice, a voice she's come back to time and again, is enough to draw her around. Elektra rolls over slowly, against broken ribs and bruised limbs. She curses in more than one language, but the man was still looking for her. And he called her El. No one calls her that but a certain Matthew Murdock. Even if he's in some ridiculous Red Devil get up… "Matthew?" She coughs through the fire and dust of the alley, half crawling, half stumbling in his direction. Her ears were ringing.

Shit. If her ears were ringing, what were HIS doing?

Suddenly, another push of adrenaline helps her claw past the pain as she stumbles in his direction. She reaches for him gently, trying not to aggrivate any of his wounds, but to give him her hands. She is here. He can lean on her, he can follow her. Deaf and blind now, she lets her hands be his guide. "We…we need to get out of here. The fire department will be here soon. The police." He might not even be able to hear those words. It didn't matter. She gingerly starts guiding him out of the chaos. Back to her hotel… if they could just get to her hotel.


What are his ears doing? That's a question one wouldn't want to answer for themselves. Hearing his own voice is like a blast inside an echo chamber of indescribable torment. It's visible in the way he staggers around, lips peeled back into a horrible grimace. He silently curses himself for even speaking, for she spoke his name.

How long did he really think he could keep his secret from her?

He finally catches her, and holds on tight. He nods his head rapidly, a sign that he can hear her. Her voice is deafening to him; he won't be able to get things under control for some time now. "Help," he answers, and willingly goes wherever she might guide him.

"The… the office." He grimaces again, but speaks again against his better judgment. "How bad?"


"…Shh. Sh… broken windows. Damage to the front. I don't think the fire reached it. Help is already coming." Elektra whispers, barely a brush of breath. She well knows who he is now and remembers just how sensitive his ears are. She cannot imagine the pain he is in, but she can guess. She walks in silence otherwise, letting him lean fully against her while she fights through her own pain with a mix of adrenaline and stubborn will.

The hotel would be too obvious in the front. But, she came down a fire escape and they could go back up that way. It would just hurt more. "There's a fire escape ladder two feet above you. Best way in. Follow me." And Elektra jumps, grabbing the rungs and swinging up with a grunt of pain. She's ripped open both blade wounds more doing that, the smell of fresh blood hitting the air. She keeps climbing on, leading into her third floor hotel room… It all smells like her here. And it's just down the street from his office. Was she watching him?


"Wait," he tries, but she's as stubborn as ever. Suppressing a sigh, he follows in her stead, seeming to know where he's going on instinct. In truth, the matter hasn't deafened him, and he can still hear those sounds up close, though his climb does seem a bit haphazard in nature.

Once inside the hotel room, he sprawls out upon the floor and braces himself, breathing heavily and trying to calm himself. His world is spinning, and the last thing he wants to do is throw up all over Elektra's hotel room carpeting.


Once they are inside, Elektra only half stumbles. He was hurt, half sick, and reeling. She couldn't pass out on him herself now. She drags the window shut and the pulls off her cowl, tossing it down on the floor. At least most of her outfit is absorbing the blood she's losing, so she's not tracking it all over the hotel floor. She stumbles half numb back towards the bathroom and begins to quietly run water. It would be gentle white noise. Hopefully it would help him. It also means she can fill a basin with some water and get to slowly patching up both their wounds.

He's either losing time or she's that fast, as she's back at his side in no time, water, bandages, a small medical pack with her. She reaches up, so gently going for his helmet. He needed free of it. Unless he stops her, she guides it off of his head, then starts working on his other armor…"…what in the ever loving world are you doing with yourself now, Matthew…" She mutters beneath her breath. Her motions are a bit slow, sloppy with pain and blood loss, but she's managing.


By the time Elektra returns, the masked man has regained some of his balance. The world is still pounding at him, but that was something he was used to… carefully, selectively, he's working through all of the senses, filtering them into pockets long since established. His mentor's training, through and through.

However, he doesn't resist when she makes to remove his helmet. Without the shades on, his eyes sort of look off into different directions, seeming a bit dumb in nature. They simply aren't useful to him in any way; his brain doesn't even recognize their uses anymore. "What I have to," he answers between heavy breaths. "This… this is what Hell's Kitchen needs."


Seeing his face, really, this close, for the first time in how long? It makes something tighten in her chest. Elektra sighs, the pad of her thumb tracing down his cheek for a heartbeat or two before she fully lets go. "…You are a mess." She whispers. Of course, she's not really one to speak right now. She was wearing far less armor than he, not her own usual MO, but then she hadn't come to New York on business.

Slowly, she works on guiding his armor off of his chest, so she can expose more of his frame and search for any wounds. She doesn't have his senses, she has to do triage like any old fashioned nurse or doctor. A ghost of a smile cuts across her lips, though, the echo of a slight laugh. "…it was good to fight with you again, Matthew."


At this precise moment, Matt is simply too tired to flinch from Elektra's touch; too worried about the state of his law office to really care. He does smirk a bit at her remark. "I think you're bleeding more than I am, Elektra," he remarks softly. "You should invest in body armor."

Finally, he scoots back so that he might sit up straight. The body armor seems to be attached by strips of velcro - space age technology right here, folks. It's attached to what seems to be a skin-fitted bodysuit beneath, which can easily come undone by a clasp high upon his neck.

"What are you doing here, Elektra?" he asks in response to her compliment. "Keeping…" A brief wince when she touches a fresh knob. "Keeping tabs on the office?" He shakes his head. "I don't think these guys were your trouble. I think they were mine."


"I… had body armor. I left it behind. I… am trying to get out of that life. That is what I am doing here." And despite bleeding, despite pain and injuries… if he can hear that careful trip of her heart as she speaks, that is not a lie. She's trying to get free. Desperately. She left most of her weapons behind, all of her armor. She ran with just the knives on her, hence the yoga get up now and her most basic of weapons. She doesn't elaborate further, though, as she peels him out of the last bit of armor he's wearing. At least he doesn't seem to be actively bleeding anywhere.

SHe can't say the same for herself. Silently, she grabs at some gauze, pressing it against her side in some effort to at least give pressure there so they can speak and hopefully she doesn't end up passing out. "…I… originally came to Foggy. He's… a good man. The best either of us know, and you know it is true. I… thought he could help. Keep me… normal." The way she says the word normal is already bored. Disgusted. SHe's been going insane. "But…it put him in danger too. So I stayed close. So… I could watch. Protect."


Listening carefully, Matt nods his head once or twice, showing that he's actively listening. His eyes wouldn't show that, after all, aimless as they seem. "Foggy knows," he tells her. "About… this." He gestures at himself with a gloved hand, before letting it flop back down to the carpet. "Karen doesn't. Elektra… what kind of danger are you in?" He pushes himself up again, fixing his eyes toward her as best he can. "Who might be coming after you?" A pause, and then his expression grows more serious.

"What did you do?"


Since he doesn't seem to be in danger of bleeding out anywhere, and the armor actually was rather effective, Elektra stops fussing over his injuries. Her own are nasty and protesting. It's a good distraction from his words, too, so she's not watching that unseeing face as he asks her about the last few years. Elektra doesn't respond for a long time, carefully tieing off a tourniquet at the top of her left arm, above that freely bleeding knife wound, so she can work on wrapping it and hopefully it will stop bleeding without stitches. Her side might not be so lucky, not to mention the crunch of cracked ribs from being tossed across the alley.

She doensn't bother wrapping anything else right now, just putting her other hand back against her side, pressing into the bleeding wound there. She stands up and crosses over to the little wet bar in her hotel room, using her free hand to pour out a good dose of whiskey. Not that she needed it, but she wanted it.

"I… I left. The Hand… I don't want to do it any more. What did I do? I killed people, Matthew. Dozens, and dozens…and dozens of people. Probably hundreds, by now. And I was the best. And I'm… done with it." And scared. Because she *was* the best the Hand had… and now she's told them to shove it.


Simply put, Matt can't help but conceal the sadness that comes over him. Her, Elektra… killing so many. They'd had their differences, but he never thought she'd be capable of that. He sighs deeply, and reaches up to scratch at his messy hair for a moment.

"They'll send people after you," he decides then. "It's only a matter of time." He shakes his head. "From what you've told me, this… Hand… they'll make my troubles seem like child play. Unless the mob really has gained mutant henchmen. Which…" He draws a deep breath. "If this was the mob hitting Nelson & Murdock for the Cavassini case? Then they do have mutants in their employment."


"I…should never have come here. It is not fair to you. Not to Franklin." Elektra murmurs quietly. But, hanging in the air, unspoken… She didn't know where else to go. She takes another drink of whiskey before stepping back over towards the sitting area. She weakly sinks down, curling her legs beneath her, trying to keep in warmth as she watches the man quietly.

Thinking about the current issues are easier, "Could have been hired mercenaries… or yes, maybe the mob is working with mutants. They, at least mine… was faster than any regular person I'd ever fought. Dangerously so. I don't remember the last time someone actually tagged me." Much less twice. "…tell me about the Cavassini case…"


"Maybe," he answers. "I also smelled… that stuff on them. The street drug, vigor." He shakes his head with a sour look. "Nasty, nasty stuff."

When she asks about the case, he smirks a bit. "Got any more of that swill?" he asks, and holds his hand out expecting the whiskey to be in his grasp soon enough. Once given, he'll take a long drag of it, before offering it back over.

"Paul Cavassini was a powerhouse. Close to bringing the Five Families under one rule again. Something we haven't seen since… well, since Prohibition. The cops bagged him, and things got… tense. Foggy and I agreed to represent him. We were hoping it would get me close enough to… to do something about the impending violence." A pause. "Then someone saw fit to put a bullet in his brain while he was on the stand. Foggy doesn't know… but we've received letters. Threats, from the mob. They're blaming us. They're saying we ordered the hit. They're also blaming each other for it. That's… why there's been so much violence in the Kitchen lately. It's more than that though, Elektra. Someone's been buying up property. Cavassini was a real estate powerhouse, and with him dead… someone else is gobbling it all up. Someone not a part of the Five Families, as best I can tell."


The dark haired, elegant woman listens quietly, her head sinking to the side, curling up slightly more in the couch. Everything hurts and the adrenaline has worn off, but not the enjoyment of the fight. It was like post sex good, everything aching but from what it felt right to do. "…Interesting. Do you… want help? You can't take them all on alone, you know…" Elektra offers throatily, a smile behind her words, cat line and pleased. Maybe there were reasons to be here.


"I may not need to," admits Murdock, with a strange sort of sadness. "If it keeps up… they'll just kill each other off."

And yet, she would know him well enough that this fact alone keeps him up at night. He believes in justice, in the justice system. The letter of the law. Mobsters offing themselves in an open gang war might ultimately make the city a safer place, but at what cost?

"They have families, you know," he tells her. "Kids. Innocent people… getting caught up in it all."

He turns and hauls himself up onto the couch nearby, and sinks into it with a heavy sigh. "They… can't…"

In that moment, the lack of sleep, the fatigue, the late nights… it all catches up with him. The words trail off, and the unmasked Devil of Hell's Kitchen finds himself out cold.


A bittersweet smile pulls at her full mouth as she hears him speaking in his same too noble, white knight kind of way. Innocents and families. The things that keep Matthew Murdock up at night — justice, righteousness. Elektra reaches out as he brings himself up onto the couch, just in time to almost catch him as he sinks down into half sleep, half unconscioussness. "Oh…Matthew. You do need my help…" She mutters quietly, letting his head sink down against her leg. She'll remain curled up there, fingertips smoothing through his dark hair. But she follows him along to sleep not too far after. SHe'll get the blood off the couch in the morning.

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