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» WHO? Matt Murdock & OPEN
» WHEN? Now
» WHERE? Deck 6 => 6.27 => Deck 5
» WHAT? Arrival
» WARNINGS? TBC

Arrival Hall (CLOSED to Frank Castle)
It's cold.

He's not where he was before. He knows that much. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets his senses go, scanning his surroundings like an uncalibrated radar. Metal. Lots of metal, clanging, banging. But everything is wrong. Lighter, like things are floating even when they're not. People are talking. Laughing, maybe. But distant, like the next apartment building over, or somewhere down the next block. The fine hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck stand with the low buzz-hum of the vessel, creaking, engine churning like an old ship, suspended in space.

It's like a hangover, except. He feels heavy even though he's light. Shackles on his feet. His head hurts. Everything hurts. And God, what is that noise?

Less of a waking up, more of regaining consciousness as Matt rolls over with a pained cry and a grimace.

His hand crawls over to the smartwatch, trying to mute the beeping and humming and screeching grating against his ears. What day is it? What time? What happened? He clutches the device with one hand and runs the other hand down his body. Daredevil's gone. Only Matthew. A jumpsuit covering the bandages. Stitches. Blood. No pearly gates, no apostles. No questions to answer about how he's lived his life, whether he's lived it well, whether he's repentant. Paid enough of a price. Just a jumpsuit... and a pair of boots?

"...lectra." Talking feels like rousing up a sandstorm in his throat. He groans and struggles to his feet, using energy he doesn't have to drive him forward. Out. Just the one thing on his mind.

I have to save her.

He gets blood on his palm as he presses his hand over a wet bandage, stitches having been ripped as he sluggishly stumbles deliriously down the corridor. His boots clunk along at an uneven, unsteady pace. Everything is too loud. Too cold. Too heavy. There's blood on the wall where he braced himself against it. And then there's a door. Everything flickers behind his closed eyelids. Black, red, black, red, black, black, black...

Room 6.27. Where everything's a little quieter. And he can just focus. Keep the red lights on in the dark.

6.27. Matthew. Chapter Six. Verse Twenty-Seven. 'Can any one of you, by worrying, add a single hour to your life?'

Hn. That's funny. The chuckle bubbles to the surface. For all the pain He's inflicted, God still has a decent sense of humour.

Departure Lounge (OTA)
He doesn't take kindly to being dumped in the med bay, but there's not much of a fight he can put up against Frank Castle in his current state. He's not sure how long he's been resting there, but when he's well enough to orientate himself again, he's not staying in the med bay. The machines are noisy. He has questions. He's scared.

Matt makes it two steps out of the med bay before space sickness kicks in. The sheer wrongness of the gravitational pull throws him off, throws everything around him off. He sinks down to his knees and clutches his head, curling up against the wall. He looks pale, like he's about to throw up.

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She hasn't slept this deeply since that night at Matthew's apartment, the one before everything fell apart. It was blissful even with the obnoxious doggie snores coming from Max. Elektra hadn't realized how much she missed simply being with someone else or maybe her denial was simply that strong. She certainly didn't spend the first two months here drinking with Miller for her health.

Elektra is past all that now. She has friends. Karen surprisingly is one of them after such an awkward first meeting back home. She's working on prying herself out of bed to see her. They've got codes to plug into a door. She wants to check in on Karen too after her half of the lovebirds turned up at her door. She's sure there's a story there. The least she can do is let Karen share it.

Her hair is tied up in a ponytail as she puts on that awful faded blue jumpsuit and magboots for the hundredth time. One of these days she'll have to see if she can coax Karen into borrowing her something. She might actually learn to appreciate her style if only because it's not a jumpsuit.

It's the sound of Max's magboots, so distinct because really who else, but Frank Castle would ask for such a thing? that really gives her a kick to get moving. She makes sure her hair is tied back straight one final time before she heads out to greet Max. She's grown to love that dog if only because deep down she's not all that different from him. Usually that sound means Karen or Frank are nearby too. Either way, it is something to look forward to. She moves towards the door in time to see the trio of boys disappear over to the medbay... and she masks her heart like a coward.

For better or worse, she never counted on Matthew coming here. She planned on it being an enemy. She planned on it being Stick. Elektra never thought he would come. She spends too long in her doorway simply trying to work through how it makes her feel. As far as she remembers? He wounded her deeply. He threw her out after letting her pick him over Stick for killing a boy who would have destroyed them with his brothers. She is now truly alone in the world thanks to him... or was. This place was difficult to live in, but she isn't alone here. Frank said as much and she believes him.

Worse, it's hard to stay mad when she knows what she saw. Even if she could miss the way Matthew carried himself, she knows the smell of stale blood anywhere. She knows how his senses must be struggling to adapt to this. She knows him even when she doesn't want to. She also knows herself too. She's not going to stay away. She can't.

Her legs move forward, hand shooting out to shut the door shortly afterward. As much as it hurts, she has to try to offer some aid. Matthew is more her responsibility than Frank's. Incidentally, she also loves him too much not to be there for him when she suspects he'll be struggling most. Elektra really doesn't know how long she stood there as she agnozied over what to do. It's clearly long enough for Frank to get things under control.

He takes off once their eyes meet. She knows this is truly on her. Elektra puts her big girl pants on and lets her heart beat normally again. It's as close to hello as she gets some days as he knows. "Hello, Matthew." It's tentative, uncertain. She's bracing herself for another rejection. She approaches him slowly as she tries to make peace with her foolishness. How many times does she need to be told to go away? She really is pathetic.

Third time's the charm, or so they say. That voice. It cuts through all the other horrendous noises in this God forsaken place.

He's died and finally gone to wherever they were going to meet. In their holiday home with the children they were going to raise together. Santorini, listening to the sunset in Fira between blue-domed churches with the smell of donkeys and barbecued fish tickling his nose. Decrepit and old in purgatory. Still arguing over the most mundane things in hell. He doesn't care. If there's no place for her in heaven, he will gladly burn with her in the depths below.

But he hasn't died. And neither has she.

This is their life, before the first time she died in his arms. The second chance they never had. They've run so far from the Hand he doesn't know where he is anymore. And they'll make it work this time.

He twitches when she approaches, and when she gets close enough the bewildered look in his tired eyes fade away. He reaches out to touch her. Pull her in. Hold her close. The ridiculous crinkling of jumpsuits when their bodies meet makes him want to laugh but that's not why his shoulders are shaking.

What're you talking about? He's not crying. She's crying.

He isn't cruel. That's what surprises her. The thing about heartbreak is that it can warp and eat away at even the sweetest of memories. There is more to Matthew than the moments he gives up her just as there is more to her than the moments she loses control of the beast inside her. She had forgotten that up until he pulls her in. Elektra is reaching to wrap a protective arm around him in return. She doesn't know what caused all these injuries, but she'll keep him safe this time. She has to.

That desperate thought fades away at the tears. Her eyes well up for the second day in a row. This time she lets herself cry. She never could stand his tears when they were so few and far in between. "Oh, Matthew." Her voice is wet and tinny. What brought him down so low that all the problems between them no longer mattered? She can't help wondering what she left him too. She should have fought to stay. Once again leaving turned out to be a mistake they both suffered for.

Her fingers tangle through the hair on the back of his neck. "It's alright. I'm here now. We'll get through this together." She sounds so painfully sincere even if an uglier voice in the back of her skull reminds her that this will be short-lived. How can she care when he's suffering like this? Let him change his mind again as long as he's alright in the end.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out in a choked sob, gripping tighter into her clothes. All the things he wanted to say if he saw her again came gushing to the surface like an overfilled drain. He wanted to scream at her for making them both accept their fates down there, for making him make peace with God, and Foggy and Karen and the people he's just met that he'll never see again, for damning his soul while he held her in his arms as that thunderous roar of Midland Circle came rushing down on them. He wanted to punch her. Shake her violently. Wanted to demand why she killed that toxic father figure they shared, the man who raised him and made his stomach twist when he made Matthew feel like his own son, why she would stoop to his level instead of rising above the pain and giving him the forgiveness he never deserved.

But above all those pent up frustrations, he wanted to hold her. And just.

Listen to that silence.

He's loved someone. And he's let her go. And she came back and tried to kill him. He knows she's his.

It's late as far as apologies go, but she accepts it for the wrong thing. Elektra nods against his shoulder. Just like that all her grievances against him are forgiven. She can't know this isn't what he means. No one told her of the future that laid ahead of her because they didn't know. The sad reality is no one knows her there. No one loves her, but him. You can't know the fate of a woman you never gave a damn about before now. She won't even blame them once she does find out. It's not like she had any love for them either.

She cries with until every ounce of frustration and bitter loneliness comes out and her chest settles minus a tremor she can't suppress. She can't help thinking she should cry more often. It really is freeing. "I'm sorry too." It isn't all on him. She should have been open from the start. "I should have told you about it sooner. I try so hard, but I can't always control it." She wipes her face. She can only imagine how she must look now. Her voice shakes as she continues, "I'm broken, Matthew. I don't know why, but I am. I should have said so from the start."

He's barely been here for a few hours and already he's exhausted. He's not sure what she's talking about, why she's apologising about whatever 'it' she's talking about. Surely it's not to do with anything that's happened in New York when she's already freed herself from the grasp of the Hand. Chose their fate in the depths of that dark, cold, underground cavern. And he accepted.

"You're not," he insists. He's reluctant to pull away as well, sniffling. Not because he doesn't want her to see him like this, but because he doesn't want to let go.

"We'll start over," he whispers against her hair, breath warm against her ear. He pulls back then and wipes some of her tears away with his thumb, pressing his lips against hers.

"Everything will be okay this time."

She wants to say he's wrong. Nothing's really changed. This is all still hard for her. She doesn't always win. Matthew is telling her what she desperately wants to hear. Elektra wants to believe him more than anything so she kisses him back with a gentleness she really isn't known for. What he's talking about sweet and she's fairly certain she cried out any aggression she had left five minutes ago.

"I hope so." She whispers against his lips. Elektra wishes she could collapse against him and sleep. She's tired as well. It's important he understands what they've gotten themselves into so she hovers above him. "I won't lie to you again, Matthew. This place is against us. It will hurt you or me sooner or later in the most intimate ways imaginable. Neither of us will be able to stop it. It's going to be difficult to be okay for long."

"Elektra, everyone was against us." Didn't she remember? All the trials and tribulations other people put them through in college. Everyone fighting for and against the Hand. Stick. Everyone who's ever said they weren't good for each other. Sometimes they're even against each other.

"I won't let anyone hurt you anymore." He tucks his head in against the side of her neck, nuzzling softly, closing his eyes.

She lets out a breath of laughter. He does have a point. No one has ever supported their union. There were many times they didn't support their union. She knows they love each other. God it barely took a minute before she was back at his side in the grand scheme of things. Matthew has clearly had a change of heart after what he's been through in her absence.

"We are quite unpopular together." She admits as he nuzzles her neck. Elektra inhales sharply. He knows that spot is sensitive. She hates that he's distracting her. She wants this seed planted before he goes on another martyr bender. It certainly doesn't help hearing him say that he'll protect her. It breaks her heart that he wants to. There's no way he can keep that promise. More importantly, it's simply nice for her to feel valued by anyone. Her eyes well up again, but she restrains herself this time from giving into her emotions. "I'll protect you too. You know I will. If something is outside of our control, I want you to know it doesn't mean you're any less for it. If you can't protect me from something we can't perceive, don't hate yourself for it. Please, Matthew."

He's very rarely ever not on a martyr bender but he would appreciate that she's giving him a chance to prove her wrong. He doesn't know how long he's been out of action, how long she's been here before him. The kinds of things that happen to people here. All he knows is that they're both alive and he'll do anything to keep it that way this time. Anything to make her heart beat less quickly when she's talking about the worst case scenario like this.

"Okay. Okay. Don't be upset." He pats her hair, closing his eyes and just breathing her in like he has to make sure she's real. He's not letting her walk out on him this time. And if she is going to try, he's definitely coming along.

"I don't like it here," he says quietly after a lull. He's referring to the medical bay but she can freely interpret it as this whole place in general. Everything was noisy. And wrong. Wrong like an off-balance kind of wrong. Like somebody stormed in here and broke gravity, flung it in his face and made him deal with it.

At his reassurance she finally settles down. Her heart slows back down to a more normal pace. Elektra knows when it counts he'll be consumed by his guilt. Nothing she says will change that. She also has to know she tried.

During the lull, Elektra pulls away enough to finally attempt to lay beside him. She's still sore and bruised from her fight with Frank as much as she hates to admit it. She can't hover above him all day when her abdominal muscles ache like this. The medbay beds aren't made for two, but she's skinny so she can make it work.

She smiles wryly at the question. "I suspected you wouldn't. This place isn't natural, Matthew. It's practically designed to assault anyone's senses." They both know his are more sensitive than most. This must be Hell for him. She'll need to work on fixing that. "I trust Francis explained some ways to help lessen the pain? Or were you being too difficult to listen?" She asks it with all fondness. She wouldn't have him any other way.

He shuffles over a little, giving her a bit more space. A jolt of pain rang through his lower body like an old church bell, reverberating through torn muscles and rattling his bones, trying to get him to stay still.

This is the kind of conversation he would have liked on their deathbeds. Not when he's listening to explosives going off up above, glass shattering, pipes bending, steel snapping and concrete breaking up into murderous rubble coming after them.

"We're calling him Francis now?" Matt mutters. He knows she likes to use the whole names they were given - she never called him Matt or Matty - but he might actually be sulking.

"He doesn't know how this works. Either that or he was stomping on purpose." Him and his dumb dog.

Elektra can't fight the smile springing to her lips. He's so transparent it hurts sometimes. "You can call him whatever you like. I settled on Francis for him. I intend to keep it." She laughs softly at the rest. He really does sound like a sulking child mad at one of his friends. It's actually fairly accurate despite the fact that friends usually don't shoot each other in the head. "He doesn't know as well as me and certainly not you. I doubt he was trying to make things worse... today. When you're better, I make no promises for him." She says it like they're old friends at this point. It's safe to say she's been here for a little while already.

"I don't want to tell him. He messed up my hearing when he shot me." A pause. "Made me feel helpless." A simple confession that was understandable given the circumstances, but Matt would never admit to anything like that in front of anyone else.

Matt takes her hand and brushes his thumb over her knuckles. He wants to ask her whether she knew how they got out of that hole. How long it had taken her to recover like this. She had barely any scars to show for it. Did it have something to do with those bones? But he doesn't want to bring up what happened, make her go through it again the same way he has flashbacks and nightmares about it.

So he just swallows and focuses on her question, casually dropping a bombshell that he thinks little of.

"I didn't hear much of what he said after he told me you survived Midland Circle."

Her eyes soften with sympathy. She knows how that must have felt. It's difficult for people like them to feel helpless. She only needs to look to her near death experience with the poison as an example. "Matthew, I'm sorry." She leans over to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. Even if she kept up with him before they reunited properly, she didn't know his battles with Frank were all that serious before. Unfair or not, she still thinks of Castle as an amateur. How could she not? She's been fighting as long as she could stand even if the parts with Stick are all she remembers now.

Elektra turns a little more towards him when he takes her hand, watching with that soft, loving look he brings out in her until he drops that bomb. Her brows furrowed together in confusion. Elektra feels ice water flood her veins inexplicably. Something is very off here. She knows instinctively it can lead nowhere good. "I don't understand. You watched Stick cure me days ago. Why wouldn't I have survived the poison?" That's the only way she can make sense of what he's saying. She thinks he's talking about their discovery of the hole. She starts to calm. He must have hit his head in whatever battle he got himself into after she left. "You must be confused, Matthew. Don't concern yourself with it. Just focus on healing. It will all make sense later, I promise."

"W- what?" He starts to sit up, wincing as his body reminds him that it's a bad idea. He compromises and stays propped up on his elbows, staring at her with a bewildered look etched into the lines on his face.

"No. No. That was weeks- months ago. You died. Died on that rooftop, saved my life after we said we'd run away together, and I held you. Frank was there. And- and Stick. We buried you. And- and you d- you killed Stick. How- wha-"

Elektra initially stares up at him. She doesn't react. He's saying something. She understands it objectively. She died months ago, they made up at some point, Frank was there when she died, and Matthew buried her. She can even picture it clearly. All these events make perfect sense to her with two exceptions: Frank was there and failed to say anything up until now and that she had killed Stick who was also there for her death. How can she kill Stick after death? The Hand only resurrected their own. They'd never waste their tricks on a soldier of the Chaste.

Her heart slows and picks up rapidly as she tries to get it to make sense. "No, that can't..." She's sitting up so fast that it's only her reflexes that keep her from falling off the bed. She's rattled though not from any potential fall. She doesn't think Matthew would ever lie about events. His feelings are another story, but never about what happened. "Matthew, whatever you think of me... I'd never..." She can't breathe. Stick is dead. He'd been awful, but she did love him. There were times he'd been less so. He called his Ellie. He left peacefully even after picking his favorite student over him. He killed an ally to protect her. Why would she kill him after all he'd done for her?

A grief-fueled sob shakes her frame. It's getting harder to keep herself steady as panic starts to take over. "No! They tricked you! I'm his. I will always be his. He said so. Even if I left him, I'd never...!" She really can't breathe. She grabs her chest with her free hand as she wills herself to breathe the way he taught her to. She can't lose it now.

He didn't exactly describe it in the most eloquent way he could, but he's too emotional to get the words out properly. It might not have been in the correct order of events either, but if he's confused it's not because of any head injury.

She is his Elektra, there's no doubt about it. Not the thing the Hand brought back to try and kill him. She's even got a heartbeat, the one he could pick out in the most densely-packed crowd or even on a weird ship in space. Why is she reacting like this?

"Elektra..." He clutches onto her shoulders. What's wrong? What's happened? Why is everything out of sync like this? It's not just the gravity or the space ordeal, it's the people on this ship. Karen remembers Midland Circle. Why doesn't she?

He wraps his arms around behind her torso and pulls her in close, even though she's distraught and might not want him to hold her right now. He shouldn't have said anything. He could have just- let her think that that's where their story ended.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said- I didn't know. I thought you died - I thought we died. At Midland Circle."

It was actually the best thing he could for her. The funny thing about her unusual upbringing is that she's conditioned pretty thoroughly to calm down if she breathes deep enough or is held tightly by someone else. It takes some time, but her breathing starts to slow and steady out. Her mind starts to clear enough to look at this objectively. Matthew is remembering events that happen months in the future. While he has amazing abilities, seeing the future isn't one of them. She swallows thickly, fingers still dug into his terrible jumpsuit. She's probably putting too much weight on him, but she isn't ready to pull away yet.

"I don't remember any of this happening. Listen to my heartbeat. I truly believe that none of this ever happened to me. The last thing I remember was leaving your apartment. I was on my way to a private airport so I could run as far away from you as I could. How did I get from there to dying at Midland Circle with you?" She's honestly baffled by all of this. "How did I die twice?" That's truly the most mad part of all of this. What game were the Hand playing that required someone in Stick's service to be raised from the dead? It makes no sense. Even if they could break her, why would they? Any of the top leaders would be a better choice for killing the old man off than one of his precious students.

"I know. I know." He doesn't have to listen to her heartbeat to know. They lie about a lot of things, scream at each other, be especially and needlessly vicious just so that they can tear each other apart, but when she's being open with him he always knows.

"They brought you back. You weren't... you. Look, it doesn't matter anymore. It really doesn't." He doesn't want to tell her all this information secondhand. He doesn't want to put himself through all this again if he doesn't have to. That and he's holding on to the naive idea that things would just go back to the way they were before she died. They were so far away from home now that surely this is the second chance that they deserved.

"You're here now. We're okay. It doesn't have to end that way."

For some time Elektra says nothing. Matthew is describing a hideous nightmare to her. Only in her wildest dreams would such a thing happen. It takes every bit of self-restraint and the calming warmth from his body to keep from screaming at the horror of it.

Eventually she does speak if only to make sure he knows where she stands on all this. "It won't end that way, Matthew. Stick is...ruthless, vicious, but he does care for us in his own way. I know he does. The thought of being the one to end his life is... well, you know now how I feel about that." It disgusts her as much as serving her enemy to begin with. This whole thing is a nightmare she can't wake up from now. The only thing stabilizing her is him. "Did he ever tell you what he did for me?"

He didn't know it at the time, that's for sure. So much was happening. He was trying to grapple with too many things at the same time. He'd like to think that she wouldn't, if she'd been in the right frame of mind, but he was never really sure up until now. And nobody was in the right frame of mind as soon as they locked themselves in that Chinese restaurant.

"I don't think so," he says quietly. Maybe he has, but he'd rather talk about something nice about Stick with Elektra than grieve over him.

There weren't that many nice stories involving Stick, to be fair.

She wets her lips with her tongue. This isn't the easiest story to tell. She realizes he doesn't really know much about her origins. This will be his first exposure to it to her knowledge. "I was the youngest member of the Chaste. I never knew any other life. My first memories are of Stick training me so that I could fight the other members and win. The Chaste never cared about my age. I'd fight every man there without being given any quarter for my age because the Hand never played fair. I had to know how to survive those encounters. It pleased him that I never complained." Elektra smiles at that. She was always so proud how he used her as an example to the others who never warmed to her.

"One day I bested a young man who followed one of Stick's allies. I was so young and sheltered that I didn't realize that even no restraint had its limits. I almost beat him to death before Stick stopped me and congratulated me for winning in the same breath. He corrected me properly later, of course. So when the man came to me in private, I apologized for my mistake earlier that day. I meant it too. He responded by trying to slit my throat and... I told you what I did in response to that. He was the first man I killed." She grimaces. She hates to bring that up now, but it's important for him to understand their relationship. This is the only way for him to see how much Stick means to her. "His master put me in a cage. Stick tried to defend me with his words, but his master wouldn't relent. I was to be put down. To him, I was a thing to be discarded violently." She swallows the bitter taste in her mouth at that word. "So Stick cut him down and freed me. He gave me to the Natchios so I'd always be safe and cared for. He did the best he could. I know he hurt you, he's hurt me, but he's still the man who cared for a little girl and tried to give her a better life. I will always love him for that."

So that's how she ended up a rich man's daughter. Bored and biding her time. Matt will never not be angry at Stick for recruiting child soldiers for his fight, weaponising children against his enemy. Kids who didn't have parents, who were eager to please, craving the approval and the love they never got to have. But for all the tough love he dished out, he wasn't as terrible of a man as he purported or pretended to be.

Maybe Stick never told her that she was the Hand's prized treasure. Maybe 'you killed Stick' is oversimplifying things too much. Matt doesn't know. The old man is dead now, as far as Matt is concerned, and along with him any secrets he might have kept differentially from them.

"I told him you liked orchids," Matt says after a moments' silence. He said a lot of things about Elektra after the Hand brought her back, but. Those aren't the things Matt would want Elektra to remember him for.

It's for the best. She never sees Stick's betrayal coming. While he doesn't deserve it, Elektra deserves the narrative that both of her adopted fathers were flawed men who cared for her as best they could. What he did to her was truly awful even if it was only continuing the Hand's work.

The mention of orchids wins an easier smile. "Funny you should mention that. I made that my username so you'd know I was here if I didn't find you first." A confession that might have been pathetic if he were still mad at her. Now it's a cute story. "Who else would love orchids that much?"

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