Shook Hands With the Devil

Chapter 1 - Frustrations

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

You slammed down the dial-phone attached to your apartment wall, cursing to hell one Matthew Murdock. Your newest client, some thirty-year-old man who spent too much time around bars and women, just called to say that he was dropping you for a different lawyer.

Listen, he had said, his voice slurring from a failed attempt of not day drinking. I found this new guy, Mike Murdock or somethin'. Gonna cost me less than half what you're chagrin' me darlin', and a man's gotta eat. A pause settled over the line and you could hear the man hiccup, or take another swig of alcohol. Thanks, darlin', I'll get out of your hair now, apologize for the drop. And with that he had hung up, leaving you feeling defeated and out of a nice paycheck.

Of course, this job wasn't all for the paycheck. Being a lawyer meant more than a substantial paycheck. You wanted to help people, to allow people to get the justice that they deserved. However, you couldn't be as charitable as you wanted to be; you were a fresh out of law school lawyer living in Hell's Kitchen, New York. You had bills (and college loans) to pay. Besides, you can't serve justice only as Umbra.

Lumbering your way to your small kitchen, you reached for a bottle of whiskey, too frustrated to make it through the rest of the day sober. You pulled a chipped shot glass from one of the lime-green shelves and poured yourself a decently sized shot. Knocking it back, you enjoyed the cool burning as it ran down your throat. Slamming the glass down, the once slightly chipped piece of glass shattered into a million pieces, and a few lucky shards dug their way into your hand.

"Goddammit it!" You shouted, currently not caring if it was 8 in the morning. Great, you thought. As if my day couldn't get any better.

Wrapping a towel around your now bleeding hand, you made your way over to your bathroom, acquiring your first aid kit that was significantly more well-stocked than others. Bringing it to your couch, the leather creaked in protest as you sat down. Taking off the towel, you assessed the damage done. A large piece was inserted under the flesh under your thumb, and a smaller piece was caught halfway in your middle finger. Grabbing the rubbing alcohol, you cleaned out the wounds, wincing at the sting. Next, you grabbed a rubbing alcohol wipe and your tweezers, disinfecting the metal. Pulling out the shards, you dropped them on the coffee table that was holding the first aid kit. At that point most of the bleeding had stopped, thanks to your super healing. You had needed to get the glass out as soon as possible to not allow the skin to grow over it. That would've made things even more difficult.

Cleaning up the remnants of the shot glass, you tossed the mess you had made. You were just closing up the garbage can and about to start getting ready for work when you heard a light knock on your front door. Grabbing the wooden baseball bat that had a permanent residence by your door, you unlock your door. Outside was your elderly neighbor Mrs. Soddenheim with a concerned look on her face.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, dear, but I heard some shouting from your apartment. Are you alright?" She asked, her eyes assessing you for any visible injury.

Setting down the bat out of sight of Mrs. Soddenheim, you let out a chuckle, trying to alleviate any fear the older woman had. "Just a rough morning, Mrs. Soddenheim. I accidentally broke some glass and it cut me. Nothing to worry about though!" You added as you saw the older woman's eyebrows crease with worry.

"Well, if you ever need anything dear, you know where I am." She said, and she slowly began to make her way back to her apartment which was directly across from yours.

"Have a good day!" you shouted at her, and she waved you off without turning around. Shutting the door, you slid down until you met the floor, covering your face in your hands. That woman was everyone's grandma in the apartment complex, and you hated making her stressed in any way. You sat against your door, embracing the cool floor of your home. You couldn't stay there forever, no matter how much you wanted to; you had to go to work, had to go find a new client after your previous ditched you for Murdock. Huffing, you stood up and got ready.

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You got out the door by 9:15, significantly earlier than you thought you would get out. Making your way down the bustling New York streets, you kept your head down as you wove between the crowds, just another fish in the sea of people. Your office was a couple blocks away from your apartment, but you didn't mind the walk. It was therapeutic in a way, especially on days like this. You were still mad at Murdock, but you figured it would be more beneficial for you to just move on and find a new client instead of fuming over him. You could try your best to avoid him, but that was hard to do when your office was in the same building as his.

Click. Click. Click.

Speak of the devil and he doth appear.

Mentally preparing yourself for the mind-exhaustion that comes with speaking with Matthew Murdock, you unlocked the front door to your office building as fast as you could, but Murdock still made it before you could get inside

"Good morning sweetheart," he spoke, putting extra emphasis on the pet name. He knew how to push your buttons, you had to give him that.

"Morning Murdock," you huffed as you pushed through the door, not bothering to hold the door open for him. Yes, you were the asshole that didn't hold the door open for blind people, but only if that blind person was Murdock. Besides, you knew he could handle himself, and he hated it when people babied him for his disability.

"You're mad," he stated, and you whirled around, meeting his smug face. That bastard had the audacity to have a smirk on his face, mocking you for losing a client to him and Foggy.

"No shit!" you snarled, meeting your breaking point rather quickly into the day. Maybe the whiskey shot wasn't the best decision this morning. "He was one of the best-paying clients that I have seen in a while, and you fucking took him from me! It is near impossible for me to find work in the shithole we call a city, and you knew he was my client! You will never know how hard it is to find clients, you will never have to deal with people not trusting your judgment because you're a woman, or think you're not smart enough to handle a case. So yeah, sweetheart, I'm mad." You threw the pet name back at his face, and you could see his smile falter ever so slightly.

Before he could respond, the door to his office space opened, and a very concerned Foggy Nelson stepped out. Out of the two of them, if you had to survive on an island with one of them, it would be Foggy. He not only was an incredible lawyer, but he was nice to everyone, unlike his counterpart.

"If you guys are gonna kill each other, can you at least not do it on the rugs. Blood is hard to clean" Foggy said, a hint of humor laced in his voice to try and diffuse the situation. "Want some coffee or something, Tigress."

Tigress was a nickname that Foggy had given you back in your law school days. Due to your fierceness in the courtroom and the stinging remarks made to Murdock, Foggy began calling you a mock trial in class gone (almost) violent, and the name just stuck. Murdock knew better than to call you that though.

"No, thank you Foggy" you sighed, not wanting to throw any anger at the wrong person. Before you could punch Murdock, you made your way into your office, quickly shutting the door behind you.

Matthew was still standing there, shocked at your outburst. He did realize he was being cruel, but he didn't know how upset it made you. If he tried to apologize, however, he was sure he would never leave the office alive. Shaking his head, he made his way over to Foggy, patting him on the shoulder.

"You ever gonna say anything nice to her, Matt? You'd think this feud would be done by now". Foggy stated, obviously exhausted with the anger between you two.

Matt just shrugged, not wanting to commit to something just quite yet. Making his way into his desk, he listened closely to the angry beating of your heart, guilt crawling up his mind. I'm sorry, he thought, the closest thing he could do to apologize due to his pride and the danger that came with facing your wrath.

Pushing his guilt aside, he focused himself on the notes in front of him on the newly acquired client instead of the woman on the opposite side of the building.