1964-07-05 - Brush Back, Part 1
Summary: Iron Fist responds to the murder of one of her secretaries.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
danny-rand matt-murdock 

The phone begins ringing and Matt Murdock begins stirring.

It's not where you leap out of the bed chipper and ready to greet the day. Instead, he's clearly tired. They are both probably exhausted; that's what tends to happen when you work both day and night, wearing two different hats.

Or masks.

As he runs his hands across the sheets of the bed he can feel that the thread count is different. He's not in his bed at all. It's hers. The phone keeps ringing and leaves that echo of a tone in the ears as it bounces off the walls angrily.

"Maybe they'll give up," he murmurs quietly.

"Probably not." Danny pulls the pillow up under her chin, grumbling into it for the span of another ring before she leans over him to reach for the phone. Leaning is a bit of an overstatement - by the time she can reach the phone, she's basically draped over him, and she doesn't bother moving as she holds the phone to her ear. "Danny Rand," she answers, pushing her hair away from her face as she blinks the sleep from her eyes.

The blond hair falls right from her face and onto his. He tries to blink it away as it tickles the ear between his nose and eyes. He leans up to kiss the area between her collarbones but goes quiet as the man on the other end begins to give some unfortunate news.

It's Hogarth. That Molly gal from the administrative assistant pool. The girl with the pencil skirt who was so nervous the last time she interrupted Danny during the work day. Well, she'd been shot and killed in her Queens apartment sometime this morning and the specifics were rather odd and would you please come and check it out after the cops are finished. There's a hint in there that she might want to come in costume.

Matt rests his head back on the pillow and rests his hand upon Danny's back.

Danny Rand runs playful fingers along his side at first, though her hand stills as Jeryn delivers the news. "Okay," she answers, nodding mostly to herself. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll come and check it out. Keep someone there, okay?" she says. "I want to make sure the scene's as intact as it can be."

She leans over once more to hang up, then pushes a hand across Matt's brow, leaning in to claim a kiss. "I assume you heard that?"

"I hear everything," Matt says, far more truthful than deceitful. His eyebrow raises after she kisses him. "Do you want me to go with or do you want this one on your own?" Finding the balance of helpful and hindrance in these types of relationships is something he has yet to master.

Danny rolls over to the side, falling onto her back and staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. 'Relationships' aren't really something she's mastered at all. "Do you want to come?" she asks after a moment. "I mean. I wouldn't mind the help, but I also don't have a day job to worry about."

She brushes a hand over his shoulder to soften any sting that may come from the words, then pushes out of bed, heading for the closet. "I don't know how long it's likely to take."

"I figure by the time I get my costume you'll probably be done, anyhow." Matt stands out of the bed and taps his foot upon the floor in an effort to find out where he flung his clothing. "Be sure to take copious notes, huh?"

Danny steps out of the closet, leaning down to collect his clothes and tossing them back toward him with a wry smile. "All the notes," she agrees, stepping in to slip a hand around his waist and tip her chin up. "Hey," she says quietly. "I had a good time last night."

"I could tell." Matt grins at her and plants a kiss on her lips quickly, "We'll meet up tonight."


Despite Hogarth's best efforts, the body has been moved by the time the Iron Fist arrives. That being said there's more than enough evidence. The bed has less blood than one might think is the immediate thing Danny will find.

Danny's steps are near-silent as she pads into the abandoned crime scene, a deep breath taken both to center herself and to see if there are any unusual scents in the room before she gets any closer to the bed. Her fingers stay spread, shoulders loose and ready for whatever may come. She may not have Matt's senses, but she does have an edge over most, sensitive to the ebb and flow of life energy.

The bed itself looks as though it was opened to get the body out and left haphazardly. At the top, the white pillowcase has been stained crimson with a blood splatter explosion that got up onto the headboard and wall above. It looks like the shot came from the far end of the room, opposite the door. And must have come quickly or without notice because the victim didn't even move her head from the pillow.

Danny grimaces as she eyes the splatter, stepping toward the area where it looks like the shot came from. If it came from there, there could be bullet casings, cigarettes…anything that could give her a hint of who took the shot, because from what she knows of Molly, there's no reason anyone should have.

And that's the absolutely odd thing. There's nothing. No casing, no available evidence (even gunshot residue). But then, Danny notices something that the police haven't. Something that their lack of observation will have haunting them in this case. Molly's window is open and the line of sight from her bed leads directly out the window.

Danny's brows furrow as she notes the window, steps taking her slowly toward the opening. "Seriously?" she murmurs to herself, crouching next to the window and checking the ledge for broken glass, searching for any assurance that the shooter may have been outside.

It's only a hunch, because there's no real evidence. And there's no balcony; not here. If there was a shot it had to come across a double wide boulevard from the roof of the building on the other side. If that's where it came from, it was one hell of a shot, that's for sure.

Danny tilts her head, weighing the possibilities. It seems unlikely - that's not the sort of shot that just anyone could take, which means someone could afford a lot of hit money to take out someone like Molly. It doesn't make sense. But neither does the possibility that a shooter inside the room managed to leave no evidence. Frowning, she moves out to the outside of the building, headed for the roof. The building across the way is her best chance to confirm her hunch.

It takes a while of finagling and creativity, but the Iron Fist finally gets to the lonely rooftop of the smaller building across the street. Sure enough, the sight line is perfect. And, a few feet away, Danny finds a pair of items: a casing for a rifle bullet. And a cigarette butt.

"You have got to be shitting me," Danny mutters as she crouches to get a look at the casing and the butt, shaking her head slowly. She doesn't touch it - forensics isn't really her strongest skill, and given her recent run-ins with the law, leaving her own prints around would be less than helpful. She'll have to call in a tip to the police later. But she does crouch to line up the shot herself, trying to gauge just how much of a trick it might have been.

It certainly would have taken a professional. To do a head shot at this distance, it had to be someone professional. An assassin. But why in the hell an assassin would come after Molly Burke from South Bend, Indiana is anyone's guess.

Danny lets out a long breath, straightening up, then heads down to the alley. Time to give Jeryn a call, have the man start looking into Molly's life. Her past. The past few days. Any unusual activity, any new acquaintances. Anyone whose association would merit someone spending the kind of money they must have to afford that sort of killer.

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