I know you're afraid.

[man_without_fear]

It's been a long night, and the thing of it is, the work isn't done yet.

Matt is upright, which was no small feat; although the larger had been carrying an unconscious man up several flights of stairs, then trussing him up by the wrists.

The city has calmed with the hour. Sirens still wail in the distance, cars still meander down the streets, but the rush of traffic and thrum of humanity has dulled, leaving him and Claire on a relatively quiet rooftop above the alley where she'd found him earlier.

They've come to a point where questions have to be asked and answered now. The vague brush offs of before aren't going to cut it anymore. Where Matt is standing there are two sides to this situation and he has to know why she's standing on his as much as she does.

The man who had been knocking on doors said he was a cop. He spun a story about a masked man knocking over a bodega and Claire not only did her best to keep Matt's presence behind her door a secret, she watched as Matt dropped a fire extinguisher on the man from above and knocked him out, then helped Matt lug the guy up to the roof.

Now, with the unconscious "detective" between them, she's questioning her decisions, and Matt wants to know what the truth is about her motivations.

"So I'm supposed to take it on faith that I'm on the right side of this?" she asks, the waiver in her voice giving away uncertainty. And fear.

"You don't carry a masked man bleeding to death into your apartment on faith," Matt replies. "You knew which side you were on the moment you found me." He regards her, curious and almost as apprehensive as she is to know why they are here now. "Why did you help me, Claire?"

With her arms crossed in front of her Claire weighs the question, and her answer, and finally gives. "I'm a nurse. I work the ER at Metro General."

As a nurse she's seen a lot, including the criminals, and their victims, who have been a part of Matt's crusade.

Matt listens, for the first time getting an outsider's perspective on what he's been doing. He'd never thought about word getting out on him and his activities, how that might reach other people.

He'd certainly never planned on being a symbol for hope, but it's there in Claire's voice that, at least to her, that's what he's becoming.

"I want to believe in what you're doing, I really do," She tells him earnestly, "But this?"

She's on the fence, as he had been at one time. He listens to the flutter of her heartbeat, and the tremor of her breaths. She's scared, hanging onto the last few tendrils of the resolve she's shown all night.

He speaks up, his voice calm and steady, sure now of her, "I know you're afraid. You can't give into the fear. If you do, men like this win."

And that's the short of it. Fear. The city and its people have been plagued by it for too long. It gives power to the ruthless and evil, and takes it from the decent and kind-hearted.

Matt's had enough of it. Claire must have, too, because she stays. What's more, she helps him.

When the "detective" awakes he proves himself to be what Matt pegged him as; one of the Russians. He's also less than cooperative, and Matt is less than steady on his feet. Each blow delivered in interrogation costs Matt a hitch of pain himself. His ribs protest and the puncture in his side flares and there's nothing he can do to stop himself from wincing.

"We got you good, didn't we?" The Russian says with relish.

They did.

Time is running out, Matt can feel it, and he knows that if he doesn't find the boy tonight he's not likely to find the child at all. He can't let that happen. He won't give up. It isn't even guilt at knowing the boy was kidnapped to lure Matt in that's driving him. It's something else, something stronger than that and Matt is hellbent and determined to get what he needs from this man.

Whatever it takes.

When blows don't work Claire steps in and gives him another tactic to use.

"Try stabbing him in is trigeminal nerve."

"Where is it?"

She shows him, and Matt pushes the Russian's head back bringing a knife he'd taken from Claire's kitchen to bear. It pierces through just above the eye socket and the man screams into Matt's muffling hand.

It's now or never. If Matt doesn't break this man here, he's lost his chance at finding the boy.

Cutting him loose, Matt hauls the Russian to the roof ledge where the man panics and stutters as Matt hangs him out over the drop.

"This is important. Shh, listen, " Matt hushes him, his fists clenched tight in the fabric of the man's jacket. "I need you to know why I'm hurting you."

The Russian's heartrate is a trip-hammering mess, but Matt's is strong and steady just like his voice as he leans in and tells the piece of scum he's holding onto, "It's not just the boy, I'm doing this because I enjoy it."

Matt isn't asking anymore, he's demanding and the Russian finally gives the location up. Matt could let the man drop and not feel an ounce of remorse for the action. Instead he drags the man back to safety.

A moment later the Russian's smug attitude and sick taunts pushes Matt's final button and Matt shoves the Russian over the ledge. Claire screams, but the man isn't dead. He's in the alley down below in the same dumpster Matt had been lying in.

Turnabout is fair play.

"You need to get your things and leave, don't tell anyone where you're going," Matt tells Claire. It isn't safe for her, and that is something he regrets, but there's nothing to do for it now.

He draws himself together as Claire looks on with concern. He's beat to hell and beyond exhausted, but there's one more mile to make this night and the only reason he's still standing now is the woman who dug him out of the garbage and patched him up. Moving past her on his way to finish his task, Matt lays a hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you, Claire."

As he limps on she speaks up.

"I don't believe you, what you said. I don't believe you enjoy this."

He doesn't reply, but her words will trail after him. They'll be something he'll be thinking about, after the fighting is done.

-----

The restaurant the Russian named is a dingy rattrap. The hallway beneath is rank with mildew and old kitchen odors, and the lights on the walls hum like old incandescents do.

Matt moves down the corridor silently, steps measured, breaths even, moving with purpose. There's the chance he's walking into another fight that he can't win; the thought doesn't stop him.

A boy's life is at stake, a father is missing his son. Matt is going to make that right, however he has to, with whatever he has left.

Stopping in front of a closed door he can hear a TV muttering behind it. He lays a hand on the wood and listens. There are five men behind the door, four more in the room down the hall, and at the end of the hallway behind a bolted door, the boy.

His gloves and the ropes wrapped around his hands creak as his fist tightens, he counts the passing of several heartbeats, and then he throws open the door and rushes into the night's last brutal fray.




[dialogue taken from Netflix' Daredevil: 1.2]