Christmas in Hell's Kitchen (DD/Widow)

[Matt Murdock]

Location: Hell’s Kitchen
Date: Christmas Eve, 2012
Time: Evening

The Man Without Fear was out in the cold. Matt Murdock had no family, and outside of his friend and partner Foggy Nelson, he had no one to spend Christmas with. So, why not patrol Hell’s Kitchen?

Most of the police would be home, and in a place like this, that was not safe. So, his workload would be doubled today, even though it meant that the cops would be off his back. Daredevil felt the snow landing on his head, the waterproof mask keeping him from being soaked. A white Christmas, just like the last time Matt had been able to see.

“Y’know, I hear Tombstone is out tonight. Holdin’ up some club around the corner. Wanna check it out?

“You kiddin’ That guy is crazy. We all work for the Kingpin, but I ain’t messin’ with Tombstone.”

Daredevil looked from his perch. His bones felt frozen, but he knew that if there was a holdup involving both Tombstone and the Kingpin, he needed to be there. Aiming one of his grappling hooks cleverly disguised as part of his bow staff, Matt launched himself along the rooftops. The pattern of his steps were hard, allowing his radar vision to kick in. When he could use all his super senses, he could supplement them into painting a picture.

He could see that way.

Landing hard on top of Lace: Gentlemen’s Club, Matt sniffed the air. He could smell Tombstone’s rotten scent coming up through the vents. He was in there alright. The crashing sound let Matt know that he wasn’t alone either, probably a squad of goons helping him out. Sometimes, Matt wished that he hadn’t stopped Castle from finishing Tombstone off years ago.

Turning upward again, Daredevil grit his teeth. He wasn’t alone, no, someone was watching him, or, approaching him. He knew those footsteps, it was that of a woman trying to be quiet, trying to keep him from knowing she was here.

“Don't you have an ivory tower and a holiday to enjoy, Natasha?”

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Manhattan had gotten cold quickly.

In the space of a month, Tasha had gone from casual wrap sweaters and the occasional hat to full-on winter wear. Her Widow suit was the only exception, and on nights like tonight, she fully appreciated its insulative properties. She was out on the beat, communicative earpiece tucked snugly into her right ear.

But she wouldn’t use it. She wasn’t out here because she thought Manhattan needed it. They did, but that was just a bonus. No, she was out – alone, it should be noted – to cool her heels and keep out of Steve’s way.

She’d been afraid this would happen. Or as afraid as she ever got, anyhow. If she needed him, he’d be there – she wasn’t worried about that. It was just that their personal disagreements had strained their professional relationship, and right now she’d even choose working with Tony Stark over having to endure five awkwardly silent minutes with Captain America.

The thoughts faded from her mind as she realised there was someone surveying the street below from three rooftops down. Nonchalantly, she slunk around, backtracking two blocks and using the slimline hook in her utility bracelet to shimmy up the backside of the building. It was a gentleman’s club, and she wondered who would hold a stakeout there, of all places.

Two moments later she got her answer, and her lip curled in response. To her credit, the sneer wasn’t readable in her tone.

”I’d say it’s more of a grey…”

There was no trace of amusement in her voice, frustrated for the umpteenth time at his ability to foil even her best stealth tactics.

"Why are you here?"

Tasha was tired in so many ways; the last thing she was willing to do tonight was beat around the bush.

* * *

[Matt Murdock]

His mask covered his eyes since they offered nothing but darkness to Matt anyway, but if she could see the part of his face that wasn't obstructed, Natasha would probably be able to tell that he had rolled them at her correction.

"Grey, ivory, it's all the same to me. Black."

Matt wasn't one to complain about his lack of eyesight, but something in being around his Ex just made him absolutely snarky.

"Why are you here?"

"Tombstone is busting up the club, holding up the scumbag owner for dirty money. So, it's a typical night in Hell's Kitchen." He tilted his head in her direction, "The better question is why are you here? I didn't think one of the Mighty Avengers would come down to grace the little people unless there was some kind of invasion or biological attack on the city."

Matt had been present during the Chitauri invasion, fighting off any of the creatures that dared to wander out as far as Hell's Kitchen. He'd also been protecting the neighborhood during The Lizard's attempt to poison Manhattan's air and turn everyone into a crossbreed like himself. The Avengers had been dealing with the mutating citizens while Spider-Man fought off The Lizard with the held of the NYPD Captain directly. Of course, the Bugle wrote about how the Avengers saved the city from the Lizard and Spider menaces that took the life of Captain Stacy.

The police took no action against Spider-Man, knowing the true story, but that was a tale for another time. Daredevil was focusing on the here and now.

"It's Christmas Natasha. Let's be civil." He offered a truce, for now.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

"Grey, ivory, it's all the same to me. Black."

Natasha refused to feel guilty, even though she knew that was the aim of his comment. She’d had years of practice at not letting others dictate her mental capacities; it was a priority these days. She knew too well what could happen when it wasn’t.

”Tombstone is busting up the club.”

Well, that was news to her. She knew if anything was going to happen at night, Hell’s Kitchen was where it would go down. What she didn’t admit to was that she was out on the streets, suited up, because she had to get out of the tower. There was too much of a chance to run into Steve, and with the connotations of Christmas surrounding her at every turn, she’d felt stifled.

So she was working it off.

“Then that’s why I’m here,” she answered silkily, the edge not gone from her voice.

Barely holding back a sneer at yet another mention of Christmas – as if it meant something – she looked long at hard at the man, knowing he was seeing her in an entirely different way. It was unnerving… but it wasn’t the tower, and that was all she needed. She let out an exasperated breath.

“Fine. What are we doing about Tombstone, then?”

She knew he had a plan. So did she, of course, but in the interest of not freezing her ass off on a rooftop on Christmas Eve while they argued about it, she decided to play nice. Or at least look like she was playing nice. Once they got inside, if the plan wasn’t working, Natasha was her own backup.

* * *

[Matt Murdock]

“Then that’s why I’m here."

"It's more than that," Daredevil stated "I can tell by your tone Natasha. You can fool most people, but not me." He wasn't here to be her shrink, of course, but Matt had been with Natasha long enough to tell the small intricacies of her voice. He could here confidence, or fake confidence from a mile away. He wondered sometimes if that's why they hadn't worked, because Matt could always tell what she was really feeling, what she was up to when she tried to sneak away, when she was lying.

Keeping a secret from Matt Murdock was practically impossible.

"It's Christmas Natasha. Let's be civil."

“Fine. What are we doing about Tombstone, then?”

He stood and moved toward a weak point of the worn ceiling. He could feel how much looser it was here, probably a cheap repair after the cheap initial ceiling collapsed. Feeling the muscles in his legs tense up, he tilted his face in Natasha's direction again, "I think that's self evident." He jumped up hard, then came crashing down, through the tar and wood, into the club below. Tombstone dropped the burly guard he'd had pinned to the wall, "Hornhead. Been wondering when you were gonna show up."

"Sorry I was late. I forgot scumbags love to cause trouble on holidays."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Natasha narrowed her eyes when he pressed the point. Civil, her neoprene-clad ass. She knew he was probably the most perceptive being she’d ever known – he had to be to survive – but too often he used it as a weapon against her. It’s ultimately why they hadn’t worked, all that time ago. He knew her buttons, and he was pressing them, the bastard.

She was grateful when he cut the chatter, stomping through the roof like the brute he was.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” she thought to herself, keeping out of the light that filtered up from the room. She wanted Tombstone to think Matt was alone, to think that he might possibly have the upper hand because surely if there was backup they would have entered the fray by now.

But more than that, she wanted Matt to sweat. She had no doubts he could take care of himself, and if, by chance, one of the goons got a jump on him, she would be there in half a second. So though she was itching for a fight – a product of the restlessness the tower environment had fostered in her for the last week – she decided to cool her heels in the shadows on the roof for a few minutes. Let him think she wasn’t coming.

Now they would see who was pressing buttons.

* * *

[Matt Murdock]

"Well boys, it's the Daredevil. We've been waitin' for one of you sissies in tights to show up. Merry Christmas to us."

Daredevil didn't say anything as Tombstone's men circled around him, instead, he waited to be attacked before jumping up. A jumping split kick took out two, then the billy club came out. Matt had designed the weapon himself. Disguised as a blind man's cane in civilian garb, it is a multi-purpose weapon and tool that contains thirty feet of aircraft control cable connected to a case-hardened steel grapnel. Internal mechanisms allow the cable to be neatly wound and unwound, while a powerful spring launches the grapnel. The handle can be straightened for use when throwing. The club can also be split into two parts, one of which is a fighting baton, the other of which ends in a curved hook.

Two swings, and three of the six thugs joined the two downed already. Matt never looked in a direction facing anyone but Tombstone, intending on intimidating the big man into either fighting the Guardian Devil himself, or running away and being snatched up by the Black Widow.

The Black Widow. Where the hell was Natasha? What was she doing up there? Filing her nails?

Oh, she was being petty, even after they called for a truce. She'd pay for that later, Matt would ensure it.

That's when his senses went fuzzy. He felt wetness leaking onto his face. Something had hit the back of his head, a bottle? Daredevil dropped to a knee, everything was off. He couldn't hear after the loud crack the breaking bottle had made in his ears, the smell of alcohol filled his nostrils, and his taste buds as well. This was bad.

"Get up you clowns! We got 'em on the ropes now!"

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

The commotion inside was loud, loud enough for her to follow roughly what was happening, even without peering in. Matt’s low chuckle kept her informed that he was firmly in control, and she silently counted the larger hits; three, maybe four of Tombstone’s henchmen would be out of the running by now. It was almost too easy for him.

The smash of a bottle broke her concentration. That wasn’t typically Matt’s style; he’d engineered that weapon of his, and he liked to use it. Props weren’t exactly his style.

Things suddenly got quiet. Well, quieter – which also wasn’t his style. Something was up.

Peering in, the dirty light spilled over her face, but no one noticed her. Tombstone was fully fixated on the fallen figure in front of him. Matt. The Black Widow didn’t feel any pang of sympathy or worry, she just knew she had a job to do. Simple. Unclouded. It was how she was wired.

Dropping neatly through the hole in the roof, she landed on the shoulders of the advancing guard, immediately leaning back, hands spread wide, locking her thighs around his neck and using her momentum to swing the man backward as she turned a back handspring.

Viciously, she took out a recovering guard, her kick hitting him square in the chin to whip his head around, and she neatly took out the one who leapt for her with a neat sidestep, a sharp elbow to his ribs as he flew past her making a satisfying crack. He wouldn’t be moving, unless he wanted to puncture a lung. It was almost too easy.

“Miss me?” She asked Matt dryly, not bothering to offer him a hand up. A truce was only good for so much, after all.

* * *

[Matt Murdock]

“Miss me?”

Matt could feel the heat of her hand close enough to his face, and the sound was starting to stabilize around him. He recovered, always did. Pushing up with his hand and his knee, Matt disregarded Natasha's hand before standing on his own.

"Miss is a strong word."

He could feel Tombstone looking at them, the massive albino man was the last thing in their way from getting out of this god forsaken place. The big man chuckled before speaking, "Daredevil and the Black Widow, together again. This really is Christmas, I can kill you both at the same time."

Daredevil nearly growled, but instead grit his teeth and tightened the grip on his billy club. Tombstone stepped forward and said, "Now that I got you two right where I want ya, I'm going to break two skulls and have myself a merry little Christmas." He began lumbering toward the pair as the Guardian Devil of Hell's Kitchen launched one end of his weapon, it cracked off the side of Tombstone's skull and cracked hard. The man grabbed his head and growled out in frustration and pain.

"You son of- I'm gonna kill you Hornhead!" Tombstone began to charge toward the duo as Matt ducked down to properly engage him in hand to hand.

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

Gritting her teeth, she took the putdown, not so much insulted as she was annoyed. She had the fleeting thought that even the stifling atmosphere of the tower would have been better than this, and then she remembered why she’d come out in the first place.

Unfortunately, a fight that in no way belonged to her was still winning in the “places I’d rather be” column.

Tasha had been prepared to rush the man after Matt’s hit landed, but he recovered faster than she’d thought and charged them instead. Immediately, she flipped her momentum, launching into a backwards aerial; the first rule of two on one was always to put distance between the targets. No one could be in two places at once.

If there was one thing Natasha was best at, it was evasion. She excelled at it on many levels, and this situation was little more than practice for her. She danced out of Matt’s way, weaving opposite him as he engaged Tombstone, never putting herself within striking distance or developing a pattern; if she didn't give him to opportunity, he couldn't take it.

It was almost fun.

* * *

[Matt Murdock]

Daredevil dodged a swipe at his head, then delivered a knee to Tombstone's ribs. The man growled and then turned his attention to Natasha, who'd become practically impossible to hit, The duo, if they had been one thing, were quite the fighting force. Her grace, his instincts, they meshed into one of the purest hand to hand forces on the planet.

Over the loud music and shaking of the club's bass, a song playing from a device in her utility belt went unnoticed, even by Matt.

Tombstone turned his attention from Natasha to Daredevil, who'd launched the grappling hook from his billy club at him once again. This time, he snagged it and with a yank, pulled the vigilante off his feet and toward him. As Matt neared him, Tombstone leveled the man in red with a clothesline, sending Matt careening into a table, which smashed in half. "Got you now Devil." Tombstone reached into his waistband and retrieved a pistol, "Time to end it, but first, the girlie."

Turning in Natasha's direction, Tombstone aimed a few inches in the direction Natasha was likely to dodge, and fired the gun, intending to neutralize her before he put Daredevil out for the count. Tombstone's eyes lowered back to the Hornhead as he smirked, "Y'know, I always wanted to see who was under the mask before I put a bullet in your head."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

She knew he was going to shoot back when his elbow lifted to lead the motion into levelling the pistol. Baiting him, she dodged into its path, dropping to the ground in the second before it was fired. Though parts of her uniform were fitting with slimline bullet shields, she never liked taking the chance that a bullet would hit one of the protected areas.

A dry ping told her that the round had hit the drywall and quite possibly a stud behind it., embedding safely in the wall instead of her side. It was only then that she realised her shoulder was bleeding, the fabric torn where the round had grazed her.

“Better than some alternatives,” she thought.

Still, the Widow appreciated being shot at about as much as Al Gore appreciated global warming. Silkily, she pulled her own pistol from the belt slung around her hips, deciding that this party had gone on long enough.

A silent flip carried her the distance she needed to travel in 1/3 of the time it would have taken her strides, and in a split second she was at Tombstone’s side as he taunted Matt. The man deserved it, of course – Tasha would likely get in a taunt or two after this ordeal was over – but he’d shot at her. He clearly had to go.

She didn’t even both with a comeback as she pressed the pistol to the side of his head, pulling the trigger without a second thought. It was only when he dropped to the floor that she spat a curse in Russian before reholstering her weapon, her movements deliberate and unhurried.

* * *

[Matt Murdock]

Matt's radar vision kicked in the second Natasha fired. Such force, it was terrifying to think how easily she took a life. For a moment, he saw her face, emotionless, cold, still beautiful. He didn't like the things she did to him. The way that, despite being everything he stood against, she still had a place in his heart. That was too dark for Daredevil, the man who saw nothing but the dark. He couldn't live like that, as much as he wanted to still be with her, it just wasn't right for either of them.

He slowly got up, Tombstone at their feet. Tombstone was one of those types that could take a bullet to the head, and then return among the living with no explanation. One of the devil's own, he supposed.

"You didn't need to kill him," Matt said, "You still haven't figured that out yet, have you Natasha?" After all this time, he had hoped someone had shown her some kind of light, it hadn't been him, or Barton. Apparently, it hadn't even been the Captain, if the rumors were true. That's when Matt figured something out about Natasha, right there in the wreckage of the strip club, corpse at their feet.

"You won't change. Not until you let someone help you." Daredevil stretched his shoulder, it felt like it had separated twice over, but no, it was in place still.

He paused, trying to focus up his radar vision with the remaining bass noise from the club speakers, "Stop running. If there's one thing those people in the tower can do for you, they can bring the best out of you. You're not wipe that ledger clean when, when you spend Christmas Eve here in Hell's Kitchen."

He was focusing so hard now, he could hear something else, if Matt's face could have been seen, he'd be raising a brow, "I think your cellphone is ringing."

"Too many women with too many pills Shoot to thrill, play to kill I got my gun at the ready, gonna fire at will."

[Natasha Romanoff]

* * *

As much as she admired parts of him, she hated the condescension in his voice. And she hated that he seemed to think she needed saving. She wasn’t damaged anymore. She was scarred; there was a difference. And the last thing she needed was for him to chalk up every last detail of her personal stance on morality to her rough background. It made her a victim, and it made him right.

And that wasn’t the case, on any count.

“You know as well as I do that it hardly matters with him.” Her tone was defiant, but she refused to let her temper flare up; he would just take that as a sign of victory.

“I like to think my best was here tonight. It certainly helped you out.” She glared at him before abandoning the effort, knowing he couldn’t see it, instead craning her neck over her shoulder to peer at her wounded shoulder. “To hell with my ledger…” she grumbled, almost managing to sound convincing. Her fingers pressed down, testing the wound experimentally. It was surface; it would heal.

The phone at her hip jangled, lighting up. Why the hell wasn’t Tony using the comms?

“Stark,” she growled into the phone. “Make it short.”

* * *

[Tony Stark]

Tony Stark wasn’t usually one to bark orders as if he were Nick Fury. Yes, he’d make you do what he wanted you to do, and it was usually as rude as possible, but Tony didn’t shout unless he was under severe stress. This was one of those times.

“It’s Cap. Some guy called the Taskmaster got to him, he’s, beat up pretty bad Natasha. You’re gonna want to get here before Hank puts him under to keep him stable. My personal doctors are flying in, but we need to stabilize him as soon as he’s ready.”

Doctor Pym was a biologist with a steady hand, and an incredible mind for fixing wounds at incredibly fine levels. He’d learned his medical knowledge when he worked for SHIELD, and on Christmas Eve, when the entire city was practically shut down; there wasn’t any better person to take care of you.

”You need to get back to the tower, now.”