Chapter Text
"Matthew! Wake up!" Elektra slapped Matt lightly on the cheek. "You have to wake up. The security guards are coming." She grabbed his shoulder and shook it violently.
"Wha-?" Matt slurred, trying to locate himself. Carpet bristled under his hands and head. The waft of harsh commercial carpet cleaner became near unbearable as he shifted sideways against the fibres.
Elektra grabbed Matt under the armpit and tried to pull him up onto a leather office chair. He slumped across the armrest, but then his knees buckled and he slid back to the floor. "Come on, get up. At the very least, sit up," he was ordered once more. Matt grunted as he tried to comply, attempting to push himself up with the other hand.
He finally made it onto the chair, sweaty and shaking with the exertion. Almost immediately, he felt the weight of Elektra straddling his lap. She gripped the back of his head, forcing his lips against hers. "They're coming now,” she hissed. “Here’s the line: you're drunk and we're a just an innocent couple making out in the offices. I'll say the rest."
Matt groaned in confusion. Elektra. Why was Elektra here? Why was he unconscious in a corporate office? There was a cocktail party, but he didn’t drink more than a couple of sips of wine. There were corridors, a secret door… They were looking for something...
Before he could come up with something concrete, two men with crackling radios and the smell of gunpowder stormed the room. Elektra let out a giggle and a shriek - the convincing sound of someone caught making out... if they were teenagers.
The guards pulled Elektra off Matt's lap, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Get up," they ordered Matt. There's no way, he thought. His limbs refused to comply. He tried to raise himself, but his leg gave way and he fell back into the chair."
Elektra let out another giggle, still playing the tipsy girlfriend. "He’s a bit drunk," she said, "but he's very rich." She swayed theatrically.
The guard waved Elektra aside, and yelled at Matt again. “Get up. Or else.”
Matt shakily got to his feet, holding on to the armrest for balance. He shifted sideways and found the edge of a table, on which he half-leaned, half-sat. His hand bumped against his cane, which was lying diagonally on the table next to him. When did he put it there?
"Take off your glasses."
Matt complied, letting go of the table for an instant to remove them with two hands.
The guard flashed his torch in Matt's eyes to check for pupil response, hoping to discover that he was in fact not blind but one of the two people who had robbed the secret vaults within the Roxxon building only ten minutes earlier. Matt shifted nervously as the guard looked at Elektra and then back to Matt. Matt couldn’t remember exactly how he got into this situation, but he could sense that the guard was on edge and ready to lash out.
"Just a couple of drunks," the guard finally radioed back to the control room. "Go!" he yelled at Elektra and Matt, "get out."
Elektra shoved Matt's cane into his hand, and lifting his arm over her shoulders, dragged him to the door, taking the bulk of his weight.
They stumbled down the stairs and out the front door without further trouble. She shoved him in the back of an awaiting car, and he fell sideways across the leather seats. Why did he feel so tired? His head was pulsing, aching. Had he been drugged? Was he concussed again? He just wanted to curl up and be left alone. His face was uncomfortably smushed against the back of the leather seat, but it felt good to be horizontal again, so he just lay there and quickly drifted off asleep.
Matt awoke when Elektra pulled him back out of the car. He didn't know where they were, and at that stage didn't really care. Elektra took his weight again and they half stumbled across the pavement. He recognised the smells of this particular street and he realised they were outside his apartment building. He stumbled as they climbed the stairs, leaning heavily against the railing, with Elektra pulling him up by the other arm. He was trying, really, but he was too tired. “Can I sit?” he mumbled. Elektra just gave him an even harder tag, snapping, “no Matthew, come on!”
They finally made it to Matt’s apartment. Elektra gave him a slight push sideways onto the couch, letting gravity do the rest of the work. He rolled onto his back and could feel himself drifting off again, delayed only by a gnawing thirst. "Waaer," he slurred, and he soon felt a glass pressed into his hand. He tried to sit up, but quickly gave up. He managed a few sips, but ended up spilling more water on his face and chest as in his mouth. The glass started to slip out of his fingers and he braced for the smash, but just before he dropped it, it was taken from his shaky grasp. He felt a blanket drape over him and he gave a weak grunt in thanks, slipping quickly into sleep.
The next time Matt woke, it was of his own accord. His muscles ached and his head was still pulsing with pain. He could feel the fine weave of a dress shirt against his skin, although the collar was wet with... water, he concluded. He hoped.
"Good morning, Matthew," Elektra said from a nearby armchair.
"’lektra," Matt croaked, his mouth uncomfortably dry. He could feel the slight pull of a crust around his mouth, and Elektra shoved a glass of water into his hand once again. "Drink." Matt didn't need telling. Raising his head slightly, he downed the glass in one go and then sunk back onto the couch, the water sloshing slightly in his now-full stomach.
"Why didn't you tell me you had epilepsy?" she demanded.
"Huh?"
"You had a seizure while we were trying to steal the secret Roxxon ledger. We almost got caught Matthew. You put us both in danger."
"I don't... I don't have-”
"You have brochures on your kitchen bench from the Epilepsy Foundation."
"They're not mine," he lied. He pushed himself upright on the couch.
"Half of them are printed in braille."
"I mean, I don't have epilepsy. I had a seizure - but it was a one off. I've been fine since."
Elektra adopted a more sanguine tone. "When?"
"About a month - a month and a half ago."
"What happened?"
"Slight concussion. I ended up in hospital. It was no big deal. I've been fine ever since." This time Matt really was lying. He'd ended up in hospital for more than two weeks. He'd had three seizures within 12 hours after receiving a second head trauma in the space of a couple of weeks. He ended up on ventilator unable to breathe on his own and had been warned that there might be lasting effects - although as far as he could tell it was only the fatigue that remained. Until now, that is.
"This changes things," she said.
"Changes what?"
"I can’t track the Yakuza with someone who's going to collapse at any minute. You're a liability."
"It won't happen again." Matt felt like a child being scolded for a misdeed.
"It won't, you're right.” He flinched slightly as she bent towards him and kissed him briefly on the top of his head, cupping his chin in her hand. “Goodbye Matthew." And just like that, Elektra was gone.
Matt swore and threw the first thing he could find across the room in frustration (a cushion, fortunately). The muscles in his arm ached with the movement. He gradually eased himself up, and limped into his room, shedding his clothes and making his way into the shower. He tried to recall if anything unusual had happened before the seizure to cause it or the muscle stiffness. Was this how people usually felt after a seizure? The hot water seemed to help both his muscles and his mood, although he felt tired enough to go back to sleep. At least it was a Sunday so he didn't have to work. He could rest. In the end, sleep seemed like the best way of not thinking about last evening’s events and complications. Too tired to source a pair of pyjamas, he curled up in bed naked and promptly fell asleep.
Matt woke up later that afternoon, still sore, but not as tired. He got out of bed and stretched before making himself a coffee in an attempt to jolt him out of this sluggishness. He considered calling Foggy and telling him about the seizure. That would be what Foggy would want. But he didn't want a fuss being made, and it had to be a one-off. He didn't have epilepsy. He couldn't have epilepsy. Elektra was right - it was completely incompatible with vigilante activities.
He tried to remember what happened the previous night, but there were massive gaps in his memory. Elektra had turned up in his apartment a few nights earlier and sprouted something about a conspiracy. She needed his help as a lawyer or some such bullshit. Then she’d invited him to a fundraising party to steal – what did she say this morning – the secret Roxon ledger? It was all very mysterious. There was no denying she was a dangerous woman and he was anxious to keep his distance. Yet he had felt energised by her presence. He hadn't felt that kind of thrill since his hospital stay.
Matt unthinkingly gravitated towards the armchair Elektra had slept on the previous night. Her smell still lingered in the leather. Too sore to sit cross-legged (and while he’d never truly acknowledge it, comforted by Elektra’s smell), he closed his eyes and attempted to meditate his problems away.
By Monday, Matt was feeling normal again, save for the fatigue that had plagued him ever since his initial seizures. The tiredness had become his new normal.
He tried to ignore the part of him that was telling him it would be wise to see the neurologist again. At the very least, he should tell Foggy (who would instantly drag him to the neurologist). But as the day wore on it became easier and easier to pretend Saturday night never happened. It was a one-off, he convinced himself. It won't happen again.
"You're in a good mood for a Monday," said Foggy as they walked to Josie's that evening for a post-work beer.
"Am I?" Matt said casually.
"Have you started going out again? Y'know, on your night time wanderings?"
"Yeah," Matt smiled. "Just once."
Foggy was somewhat resigned to the fact that Matt seemed to need Daredevil to feel whole. He sighed, "be careful. You're not exactly in fighting form judging by the way you puff at the top of the stairs every morning."
"Always am."
Foggy rolled his eyes.
Foggy strode into Matt’s office the next day. “Hey buddy, you know how we were talking about turning over new leaves last night?”
“Uh, vaguely,” Matt said distractedly.
“You were going to be more honest with me about your health, and I was going to trust you to let me know if your workload was too much. Oh and we were going to be more systematic about the way we tackle cases – talking to each other and doing things that guy in the small business guide says to do.”
“Yeah, okay.” Matt still hadn’t read the book on small business management Foggy had given him. This was probably not the best time to break this news to Foggy though.
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
Matt stretched and yawned. “I guess I’m just tired.”
“Still? Do you want to go home?”
“No, of course not.” Matt gave him an odd smile. “I might need a bit of time to review that book though.” He didn’t want to say yes to some whacko business theory. Matt knew very well that Foggy could often get sucked into odd fads and schemes. Foggy’s tone was a little ‘fan boy’ when he’d initially given Matt his own digital copy, which set Matt’s internal alarms ringing.
“I really think this is the answer to all our problems, Matt.”
Matt chuckled. “Me not sleeping at work is the answer to all our problems.”
“Actually, more paying clients is the answer to many of our problems,” Foggy pointed out.
“Do you think you could give Brett a call?” Matt asked desperately. “Perhaps don’t use the term ‘interesting cases’ this time though. I don’t think that necessarily translates into ‘innocent clients who can afford to pay.’ I’ll pitch in for a box of chocolates.”
“Tradition says it’s gotta be cigars, Matt.”
“Perhaps Brett would be more willing if we gave his mum chocolates though. Do you see what I’m getting at?”
“No way. Brett’s mum is the ultimate matriarch. If she’s happy, he’s happy.”
Matt waved him off. “Whatever. Just ring him.”
Matt tried to remember what he was doing before Foggy interrupted. He ran his hand over his braille display and realised that he hadn’t absorbed anything that he’d been reading for the last hour. His thoughts were on Elektra and Elektra alone. He had to find her. He had to find out what she was doing in New York. He’d do it tonight.
Ultimately, Elektra wasn't hard to find. She was waiting for him in her penthouse.
"I was wondering when we'd see each other again," she purred.
Matt snorted, amused at her figurative use of strong visual language. He'd forgotten how nice it was to be around someone who treated him no differently to anyone else – someone who knew about his abilities and didn't care either way.
"Feeling better?" she said. Such was the neutrality of her tone that Matt couldn't tell if it was sarcasm or genuine concern.
"Yes, thank you."
“I still don’t feel sorry for you, you know.”
“I know.”
"So have you come to beg?” she teased, taking a step towards him. Matt tried not to flinch as she touched his cheek and provocatively drew her finger down his jaw line. “Are you going to beg to join my grand plan to take down the Yakuza?"
"No, I just want to know what you found." Matt needed to retain a shred of dignity.
"Well, while you were feeling sorry for yourself, I found someone who could decode the ledger. He was a filthy NYU professor, whose taste in interior decorating was as bad as his ability to keep secrets under pressure."
"What did it say?"
"Oh nothing much. Smuggling, prostitutes, drugs… you know, the usual activities of a modern multinational corporation,” she said casually.
“You’re excited though. You must have discovered something.”
“I’ve warned you against listening to my heartbeat before, Matthew. It’s not polite.”
Matt scowled.
“Alright, alright, you can stop pulling that face,” Elektra said. “There’s a shipment by rail arriving tomorrow. "
Matt knew her cryptic words were designed to tease and taunt. He wasn't going to take the bait.
"So what are you going to do about it?" he said nonchalantly.
"Why? You want me to reveal my plans so you can follow in the shadows?" She walked over to the sideboard and poured herself a drink.
"No,” Matt snapped. “I want to know how you're going to deal with it quickly and quietly before getting out of my city. Or preferably deal with it quickly and quietly somewhere else."
"All in good time. Now are you going to join me for a drink or do you have somewhere else to be in that cheap suit?"
Matt pulled a face and turned back to the elevator. He'd had enough of Elektra's games for the evening. He'd figure out what the shipment was and follow her tomorrow night. If indeed there was a shipment. She wasn’t lying, but her source might have been. He knew how to follow someone without detection.
The next day, Matt set up a Google alert for news articles relating to the Roxxon Corporation. Elektra seemed unusually focused on the company and if he couldn’t join her on her mysterious crusade, he’d at least try to keep tabs on the results of her activities through the press. And that’s if they were even reported. He knew it was a desperate move, but he was willing to try anything right now.
He was scrolling through the current search results when Foggy appeared at his door. Matt kicked himself for leaving the laptop screen open. He prayed that Foggy wouldn’t walk around to his side of the desk. Foggy had been exceptionally patient with Matt’s slow work output over the last month – he didn’t want to be seen abusing it.
“How are you going with the Yenken case, Matt?”
Matt used the opportunity to switch computer programs, trying and failing to bring up the Yenken case details.
“Good.” Matt couldn’t remember what the Yenken case was even about. His memory had been terrible lately. He scrambled for something to say to distract Foggy. “Um, are they going to come into the office at some point? I wouldn’t mind speaking to them in person.”
“Not them, she,” Foggy corrected. “You know the case I’m talking about, right?”
“Yeah, of course I do. Ms Yenken – she’s-”
Before he could dig a deeper hole, Foggy interrupted, jokingly whispering, “you want to listen to her heartbeat?”
“Yeah, oh, no. I just think it would be easier if we could meet in person, that’s all.”
“Karen!” Foggy yelled, and Matt could hear a frantic scuffling as Karen quickly came to the door.
“What is it?” she asked, concerned.
“Can you set up a meeting with Ms Yenken?”
“Is that all?”
“All what?”
“You know I’m in the next room, right? You don’t need to yell.” She crossed her arms just to make her point.
Matt had a pained expression on his face. He said in a stage whisper, “sorry, Karen. Foggy won’t do it again, will you Foggy.” Foggy looked a bit embarrassed. “Karen, could you set it up for Tuesday next week?”
“You don’t want to do it sooner?” Foggy asked, and Matt regretted not knowing the nature of the case.
“I just want to be thorough,” Matt said vaguely.
“It’s a pretty open and shut immigration case, but if you need time you need time,” Foggy shrugged. Matt kicked himself. It was probably just as basic as filling out a form and drafting a letter to the immigration department. Oh well…
“Thanks, Foggy.”
Matt found the Yenken files and skimmed the case. “Karen?” Matt called. He heard her scramble quickly from behind the desk.
“Yeah, Matt?” Karen appeared in the door.
“I’m just going to email you the immigration review form for Ms Yenken. Being a government form, they’ve made the PDF as difficult to edit as possible and my screenreader can’t cope. Can you fill it out for me please?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Kare.” That was one thing done for the day at least. He turned to the task of the letter.
Karen had only just sat down when Foggy yelled, “Karen!” (Cue more frantic scuffling as Karen jumped up from her desk)
“Coming! You don’t need to yell remember,” Karen yelled back.
“We probably need a better system,” Matt chuckled.
“Owls!” Foggy yelled in response.
“You don’t need to yell, Foggy,” Matt said in a completely normal and yet still audible voice. Of all the things Matt would improve in their tiny office, soundproofing would be number one on the list.
That night, Matt dressed head to toe in black, donning his hoodie and tucking his old black mask into his pocket for good measure. He was still lethargic and quite shaken from the weekend’s seizure. Although he had semi-convinced himself that the seizure was a (second) once off, there was a small part of him that considered what might happen if he had a seizure in his red Daredevil suit. A version of his retro black outfit would do. Besides, his task for the evening was simply to track Elektra and find out what she was really doing in New York. She’d said something about a secret shipment, so Matt headed to the railyards in the hope of hearing something.
He jumped onto a shipping container and waited in a crouch. He was there for almost an hour when he heard people shouting something in Japanese. Not long after, he heard a cargo train pull up. He jumped off the container and crept a little closer. Suddenly he heard Elektra hiss his name from across the yard. He tried to play it cool and pretend not to hear her.
“I know you can hear me, Matthew.” Of course she could. “What are you doing here?” she angrily whispered at a level still completely audible to Matt.
Matt ignored her once again, and instantly regretted it when he found himself pulled into a chokehold. He could smell the stale beer and bourbon on his attacker’s breath and the body odour of a man who had not showered in months. “Stick,” Matt hissed, and Stick tightened his grip.
“Obviously all my lessons were for nothing if I can take you without even trying to be stealthy.” Matt knew Stick had a point. He was so busy listening out for Elektra that he hadn’t noticed his old mentor approach.
“What are you doing here?” Matt demanded.
“What are you doing here?” Stick countered.
“I was looking for someone,” Matt said cryptically, not wanting him to know about Elektra.
“Oh yeah? Who?”
There was a sudden bang from the train and a shouted command in Japanese, and then the sound of gunfire. Before Matt could even react, he gave a deep moan, fell to the ground and started seizing.
Matt woke up to someone kicking him.
“Get up,” Stick growled, kicking him in the shin.
Matt groaned and rolled over on the gritty concrete. The heavy scent of ammonia gave him an extra push towards consciousness.
"The mind controls the body, Matty,” Stick lectured. “You're letting yourself get weak. The silk sheets, the $40 a pound coffee… you've got weak in mind and body, and look what's happened." He kicked Matt's leg again. "Get up."
"Doesn't work like that," Matt murmured, not quite believing his own words. Maybe the seizures were a sign of weakness. He wasn’t meditating much at the moment, and when he did, it was in a cosy armchair or couch. He could have healed faster. Instead of meditating or training, he lay on the couch and rested. Like he was told to do by Foggy and his doctors. Like a normal person. Yet he wasn't normal. Stick was right. He was weak.
Stick kicked him harder. "Get up.
Matt struggled to his feet, fearing Stick’s wrath. He moved towards the corrugated iron wall and leaned against it, breathing heavily at the effort. His legs were damp, and fuck, Matt realised the source of the ammonia. Trying to ignore the feeling of shame and deep humiliation, he growled, "how did you get... how did you know I was here?"
Stick ignored Matt’s question. "Apparently you were too busy being a pussy, falling over, pissing yourself, to help Ellie with the Hand. I wanted to leave you there and keep fighting, but she insisted we ‘take you somewhere safe’." He said the last words in a parodied sing-song voice.
“Ellie?”
“Yeah, your lover.”
“She’s not - hang on, you know her? You know Elektra? Whose hand?"
"The Hand. You're even stupider than I thought. And lazy. And weak. Go home Matty, you obviously don't have what it takes." Stick spat on the ground at Matt's feet. Matt didn't move. This was worse than Elektra's reaction. At least she just called him a liability. Stick's words cut much closer to the bone.
Stick stepped threateningly towards Matt, who ducked aside with a stumble. His senses were unusually clouded and he ended up crashing into a wall before finding the exit. He was tired, achy and thirsty, and all he wanted to do was lie down and fall fast asleep, but he had to get as far away from Stick as possible before resting.
Matt found an alleyway that was quiet and not too offensive in its smell. He sat down on an upturned milk crate, leaning against the wall. He'd rest for a minute before making his way home. He closed his eyes and was soon fast asleep.
Matt awoke when a can ricocheted off his head. "Shit he's waking up," a small boy shrieked to his friends.
"Hey!" Matt called angrily at them.
"Drunk fuck!" They yelled back as they ran away.
Matt slunk home still feeling sore and exhausted. He smelled like stale urine and sweat. He could no longer avoid the reality. This seizure was not a one-off.
Matt woke the next morning to the vibrations of his burner phone in the pocket of his hoodie, which he was still wearing from the night before. He fumbled with it, pressing the wrong button the first time so that it beeped angrily back at him. He tried again.
“Hello?”
“Matt?! Where are you?”
“Er, home?”
“Is that a question or a statement?” Foggy snapped. Matt just sighed in response.
“Why are you answering your burner phone and not your regular one? I tried it six times! You haven’t been shot again, have you?”
Matt rubbed his brow in frustration. “Of course not. I – I don’t know where my phone is. It’s lost charge and I can’t ring it.” That wasn’t entirely a lie. Matt had taken his burner with him the previous night and left his regular one at home, but he couldn’t remember where. If it wasn’t ringing then it had to be out of battery.
“Are you okay?” Foggy smelled a rat.
“Yeah- actually, I’m feeling a little under the weather.”
“Do you need the day off?”
“Um, no… what’s the time?” Matt pushed his sheets away, and was greeted with a waft of filth from the previous night’s activities. He screwed up his nose in disgust.
“Midday.”
“Shit,” he whispered to himself.
“I was about to come round to check on you,” Foggy said. “Do you want me to come round? I could help you find your phone.”
“No, it’ll turn up.”
“Can I bring you some food or anything?” Foggy persisted.
“I- I think I might take the day off after all if that’s okay, Foggy.”
“Of course. Just – well, just call me if you need anything, okay?”
It felt terrible lying to Foggy, particularly after all his support over the last month or so. Matt struggled out of his hoodie and made his way to the shower, but not before he’d tripped over his soiled pants that he’d chucked on the floor when he got home last night. He retched at the pungent smell. His senses felt a bit raw right now.
Matt spent longer than usual in the shower, the hot water calming his aching muscles once again. His shoulder seemed to be sporting a new bruise. Maybe he’d hit something when he fell. Maybe it was Stick. It wouldn’t be completely out of character to kick someone while unconscious.
The thoughts of shame, humiliation and regret swirled round and round. How could he be so stupid as to put himself in the position where he could be seen like that. Witnessed by Stick of all people. And Elektra. There was something about Elektra. He tried to pull his vague memories into something solid. Something happened last night…it was important. If only he could remember…
After the shower and obligatory coffee, Matt shuffled round the apartment searching for his phone, finally finding it next to the fridge instead of its usual spot. Stick was right. He was undisciplined. He had to do better. He’d meditate properly this time. Rationalizing that the continued seizures were the result of his own laziness and self-discipline, Matt decided not to call his neurologist just yet. He could deal with this on his own.