。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

DEVIL'S ADVOCATE!

ii. "en garde"

    STANDING ON THE THRESHOLD OF 'NELSON AND MURDOCK', in complete honesty, was Silvia's own personal idea of a nightmare. She had been standing outside the law practice's door for the majority of ten minutes, willing herself to go inside while every cell in her body screamed at her to flee. 

    The thought of facing Matt Murdock again made her feel sick; bottled hurt and anger kept under careful lock and key now threatening to resurface. The pair hadn't seen or spoken to each other in almost two years, driven apart by reasons Silvia still didn't understand. 

    Threatened with the prospect of seeing him again, she couldn't help but think back to the last time they had spoken. Evenly matched in lack of temper and patience, the pair had exchanged cruel words on either side, tailored to hurt each other in the heat of the moment. Words she remembered so vividly even after all this time, carved into the dark matter of her brain. 

    He had hurt her without even having the decency to explain why, and in return she had lashed out with words she regretted even now. 

    And yet some small pathetic part of her, which still lived and breathed despite her futile efforts to suffocate it, wished to see him again. To hear the familiar tones of his voice, to see how he had changed in their time apart and what had stayed the same. She hated herself for it. Hated how she still sought comfort in something long dead, searching for some spark of life in a flame long burned-out. 

    In a desperate attempt to calm herself, Silvia tried to focus on small details surrounding her, eyes drawn to the shabby cardboard sign taped to the law firm's door: Nelson and Murdock, it read, Attorneys at Law.

    Looking past the crooked sign, she could barely make out movement through the frosted glass, the blurred outlines of two people moving in and out of view.

    Taking the plunge, she knocked; two short raps that sounded horribly loud in the stillness of the hallway, the breath catching in her throat as one of the figures inside moved towards the glass. 

    The door swung open to reveal Foggy, cheerful grin returning once more as he regarded her nerves. "Silvia!" He said brightly, stepping aside to let her in. "Right on time too! Damn, I'd forgotten how amazingly punctual you are." 

    In spite of herself, Silvia's lips tilted in a lopsided smile. No matter how hard she had tried in the past, it was impossible to be miserable when in the presence of Foggy Nelson - something she had learned from experience during their shared years in college. She had often wondered if it was some secret ability of his; an aura of good-humour that followed him wherever he went like a shadow made of sunshine. 

    Whatever the case, he was the closest thing she had ever had to a friend, and some selfish part of her didn't want to push him away. 

    "Welcome to our new place," he said, closing the door behind her and gesturing about the room. "As you can see we're going for an avant-garde 'cardboard boxes as furniture' sort of vibe. You could call it..."

    "Warehouse-chic?" Silvia suggested, sidestepping a box overflowing with various knick-knacks labelled Foggy's Office: Do Not Touch as he led her through a side door into a soon-to-be meeting room. 

    "Bingo! I'm coining that term," He snapped his fingers, pointing at her with an expression of faux seriousness. "Strictly copyright, of course."

    Silvia rolled her eyes, allowing herself a small smile as she took a seat across from him. She cast a look around, taking in the bare walls and mess of objects that covered each surface. It needed some work, sure, but it was miles better than her own ramshackle office. "So, where's your client?"

    "Oh of course, you haven't met Karen yet," he peered into the next room, before nodding. "Ah, she's in the kitchen I think. You still drink coffee, right?" 

    "I do, but- Foggy, why is your client doing that? Surely it should be, you know, the other way around?"

    "I would've done it myself but she insisted! She wanted to do it as a gesture of her undying gratitude," he made air quotations around the words, perking up as the rattling song of crockery floated in from the kitchen. "Ah, here comes the lovely lady herself now,"

    Silvia turned to the doorway, gaze falling upon the infamous client she had heard so much about; the reason why she had agreed to help Foggy in the first place. The woman was tall and willowy, with blonde hair that fell in waves to frame a prettily freckled face. Upon noticing Silvia she smiled, setting a trio of mismatched mugs down before taking a seat.

    "You must be Ms. Flores-" she began, running a hand through her hair.

    "Please," the brunette gave a wry smile. "Call me Silvia. If we're going to be working together, there's no need for formalities." 

    "Of course," Karen amended, "Silvia. Foggy's told me so much about you, and I just wanted to say... thank you for being here." Her words were shyly earnest, and the weighted trust in them made Silvia's heart hurt.

    Following her damningly impulsive promise to investigate Union Allied, Foggy had given her an idea of Karen's situation. His account was brief, but that did little to diminish the full impact of the story. What little scraps of information he had provided, mixed with the bruises already fading to violet on Karen's neck, proved convincing enough.

    Once again, Silvia found herself drawn back into examining the Hell's Kitchen's hidden sins; prepared to stride into the city's den of deceit and face corruption's cold smile once more. 

    There was clearly much more to the construction company beneath its mask of normality, and she was determined to find out what exactly it was hiding. For the sake of Karen and Foggy, at least. 

    Silvia was shaken from her musings by the sound of the front door, whose hinges seemed eerily silent in comparison to those of her own office. Footsteps, surprisingly steady amidst the clutter that filled the floor, drew closer, and her hands began to shake as she cradled her chipped mug. The coffee hadn't yet cooled, burning her fingers through the fabric of her gloves as she gripped it desperately. It was a welcome distraction - the pain served as a tether, keeping her grounded as her mind threatened to betray her. 

    Pathetic, she tried to scold herself, but even internally the words sounded weak and bordering on hysterical. You're always so damn over-dramatic, just try to calm down.  

    Despite the futile attempts to brace herself for the impact, Silvia couldn't help but feel the very world crash around her feet as soon as Matt Murdock quite literally walked back into her life.

    Seeing him standing before her in the fading afternoon light was like a sucker punch to the gut, leaving her gasping for breath. The details she had tried and failed to purge from her mind served as a mocking reminder of what had once been; the familiar planes of his face, with its curves and jagged edges, or the stubborn tilt of his jaw she had once known all too well. 

    However, there were some aspects that had changed since their last encounter; his hair was different to how she remembered it, while he had replaced his old rectangular glasses with a rounded pair. She was acutely aware of how, when the weak sunlight filtered through the dark lenses, they turned red. 

    "On-time as always," Foggy said sarcastically, breaking the tense silence that had fallen upon his friend's arrival. "Better late than never, buddy." 

    "Sorry," Matt gave a tight-lipped smile, maneuvering around the table to take the chair farthest from the private investigator. "I had a few errands to run."

    He had always been an exceptional liar. 

    "Well, now that the gang's all here," Foggy turned to Silvia, nodding in encouragement. "How about you take the stage and give us a rundown of what you think so far?"

    She cast a glance at Matt, who had pointedly turned to face away from her, and to her surprise felt anger, white-hot and scorching, settle in the pit of her stomach. 

    Trying to ignore the rising heat of rage roiling within, she cleared her throat. Subtle hostilities aside, the prospect of addressing three people at once was, in truth, terrifying. Silvia couldn't remember the last time she had spent over five minutes with more than one human being, let alone held a conversation with three. 

    The thought of being so close to them, gloves or no gloves, was enough to send her into a fully-fledged spiral. 

    "Last night, I did some research into Union Allied," the words fell from her lips in a jumbled rush. "I managed to access the records of past employees and, well," she took a printed sheet of paper from her bag. "There were barely any. According to the records, Union Allied's current employees have been working there for a very long time."

    She slid the page across the table, drawing her hand back as though she'd been burned when Karen reached out to inspect it. 

    The blonde frowned, eyes roving over the abnormally short list. "This isn't right," she murmured. "I don't recognise most of these names... there's no way they've all been working there that long." 

    "Exactly. They're omitting past employees from the records, which means..." 

    "There's something about them that Union Allied wants to hide," Foggy said slowly, realisation colouring his tone.

    "I only managed to find one person who worked there, a man named-" she consulted her notes. "Eric Stewart. The rest have been wiped from all the records I could find. I'm going to try and talk to him tomorrow to see if I can get an insider's view of the company."

    "Silvia... this is amazing," Karen exhaled, shoulders sagging in relief as the brunette gave her a shy smile. "Really. This seems like the first step towards taking Union Allied down."

    Foggy turned to clap Silvia on the back, halting mid-movement before opting for an awkward finger-gun and wink combo. "I knew I told you guys Vi could help us take those assholes down! This is great, right Matt?" he asked deliberately.

    A muscle jumped in the other man's clenched jaw, before he said softly, "Well, let's hope Stewart doesn't have cash on him, or else Flores might be tempted to fall back into old habits."

    The three others turned to stare at him, each face painted in a different emotion; Karen's light brows furrowed in genuine confusion, while Foggy's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, horror rendering him speechless.

    Silvia, on the other hand, could not afford the luxury of disbelief. Lips pressing together in a thin line, she regarded him with abject disgust, mingled with the bitter familiarity of anger she had come to associate him with.

    "I can't believe you're still pissed off over that," a derisive laugh escaped her, clawing its way from her throat. "How long has it been, Murdock? And you're still hung-up over some delusion-"

    "Still denying it after all this time," he shot back, as Foggy looked on with a pained expression, head in his hands. "When we both know it's much more than a 'delusion.'"

    "How much longer is it gonna take before you believe me?" Silvia demanded, voice shaking as her hands balled into fists under the table. "Tell me, Matt, when? Because I'm getting pretty fucking sick of an accusation you still haven't told me about."

    There was a pause, in which silence settled over the room like ashes in the fallout. 

    Matt's mouth twisted, eyes hidden behind the darkness of his glasses. "When you decide to tell the truth."

    Shaking her head, Silvia began shoving her belongings back into her bag, not caring in the slightest as she felt the sheets of paper crumple at her fingertips. "I'll talk to you both tomorrow," she muttered in the direction of Karen and Foggy, who sat in stunned silence. 

    At least I have the good fucking grace to be embarrassed, she thought resentfully, casting one final look at Matt as he folded his arms across his chest, face a mask of impassivity. Prick.

    Unable to meet the others' eyes, she got to her feet, desperate for a swift escape. She could feel Karen's gaze on her as she left, burning the space between her shoulder blades, hot enough to leave a mark. Silvia's lungs began to contract as she hurried out the door and into the hallway, the sensation as familiar as a killing embrace. 

    "Silvia, wait!" Foggy called, catching up to her as she reached the stairwell. "I am... so sorry. I knew it might've been uncomfortable for you both but..." he trailed off, a thousand apologies written on his face.

    "It's fine, Foggy. Really." Her words were blunt, cut short by the thinly veiled anger coursing through her veins. "I just think it'd be best for all of us if I left," she sighed, a weary sound that did little to dispel her fatigue. "I'll call you if I can get anything worthwhile out of Stewart, okay?"

    Without waiting for a reply, she made a break for the stairs, taking each flight as quickly as she could as blood roared in her ears. 

    It wasn't his fault, of course, how could it be? He never could have predicted Matt's reaction, and Silvia had a sneaking suspicion he would give his friend a scolding for his behaviour.

    Good, she thought as she finally exited the building, swallowed up by the choking filth of the city once more. It was a petty conviction, but she believed it nonetheless. 

    She hated him. Hated how he could sit across from her, calm and collected as his words burned like acid. How could he speak to her with the stilted words of an aquaintance, when they both knew they had once been something much more?

    Some withered part of her, that had managed to survive the cruel frost of isolation, had half-hoped that time had healed whatever grievances Matt harboured. That they could have at least salvaged some semblance of civility; putting aside the past in order to save the future.

    But now, with the harsh light of the present cast upon the tensions of their relationship, Silvia knew better. 

    There was no hope in saving the remnants of their relationship; she would just have to accept that Matt Murdock was a lost cause. 

— ¤ —

    In the stillness of dusk, the fencing strip was deserted; the spacious training area bathed in shadow save for one flickering overhead light. Pulsing in a weakly erratic heartbeat, it did little to banish the shadows that crept across the floor, watching from the corners of the room as the lone figure sparred with an invisible opponent.

    Ducking and lunging, the figure manoeuvred around the floor, feet moving in a swift pattern as she went through the motions. Attack, parry, lunge. Sabre glinting as it carved the air; a bolt of lightning, white-hot and lethal. Feint left, lunge right, cut. The point of her blade came to rest in midair, over the heart of her ghostly opponent. 

    "Good game," Silvia murmured to no-one in particular, removing her mask with a triumphant smile. She was glad to be rid of it; beads of sweat ran glittering down her flushed cheeks, and the mesh visor had made her accutely aware of the fact.

    The encounter with Matt a few hours earlier had made her furious; rage sinking its jagged claws into her heart as she tried not to choke on the venomous words begging to leave her lips. The vivid burst of emotion was all-consuming, leaving her to pick up the pieces and rebuild the barbed cage around her heart.

    It terrified her, so she dealt with that terror in the only way she knew how; with a sabre in her hand, beautiful and deadly. 

    In the aftermath of her father's death, there had been fruitless attempts to try and coax her into some sense of closure. Grief counsellors and therapists alike had come and gone, unable to put the shattered fragments of her soul back together.

    None of them could fathom the mystery of the little girl with hollow eyes, who sat in silence as they poked and prodded her tender wounds until they were raw and weeping crimson; nor could they fathom the oversized black gloves she wore, swallowing the soft flesh of her arms from fingertips to elbows. 

    Children process grief faster than most adults do. It was a pretty lie, spun by most people she had had the misfortune to encounter following her father's murder. 

    If it was true, then why had she lain awake as the moon cast its silver gaze through the lace curtains, night after night as she drowned in her own memories? Why did she begin to flinch each time she passed by a church, the painted eyes of the saints full of accusatory wrath? And why did she wear those fucking gloves like armour, until she was convinced they were just another ruined piece of her? 

    Why did she feel like a flower sick with decay, rotting before it even got the chance to bloom?

    There had been one counsellor who, rather than smothering the child with pity, had suggested finding a way to distract herself from the crippling grief. To lose herself in a hobby or sport, perhaps art or soccer, the woman had mused.

    Silvia had wanted to learn how to defend herself, to vent the maelstrom of emotion brewing beneath her skin, and fencing had met that need. As a non-contact sport it suited her just fine, and the fact that glimmering sabres were involved was an added bonus. 

    Glancing at the old clock on the opposite wall, Silvia took note of the time: eleven-thirty on the dot. Once more she donned her mask with the ghost of a grin, muscles obeying as she resumed the intial stance.

    Unbeknownst to her, on the other side of Hell's kitchen, Matt Murdock was venting his frustrations in a similar way. In the darkened refuge of Fogwell's Gym, he circled a punching bag as though it were prey, fists beating a steady rhythm on the worn leather. He threw punch after punch, breathing hard through his mouth with each contact. 

    The interaction with Silvia had left him shaken, and he couldn't place why. Just being in the same room as her had set his teeth on edge, the friction between the two of them causing him to lash out. 

    He couldn't help it; there was just something about Silvia Flores that brought his guard crumbling down. 

    "En-garde," she whispered now, feeling the familiar weight of the sabre in her hand as Matt landed another punch. "Pret," Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. "Allez."

    The pair remained like that for some time, seeking inner peace in a violent dance of flashing steel and swift punches. The way they had done for years, joined in their craving for chaos. 

author's note!

when i tell you i was fighting for my life writing that dialogue-

but anyway i hope you enjoyed!! i know matt and silvia seem to hate each other atm but i promise there's a reason for it 😭 all will be revealed later on i promise :')

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