Author's Note: Hello everyone out there in fanfic land. So after almost a year I've finally decided to finish off my Elektra series. I'm sure you all know by now that my updating patterns are…somewhat erratic, but I will try my hardest to finish this thing before the next presidential election. That said, enjoy and please forgive any grammatical errors, As I've said before, my editing team (meaning myself) isn't the greatest. Any ideas, criticisms, muffins, or bombs can reach me through reviews. On second thought, please hold off on the bombs, explosions make my dogs nervous.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I have nothing, so please refrain from suing me. The title of this story comes from Linkin Park's song of the same name.

Elektra was doing a last minute check of her appearance when Abby came in. Rolling her eyes, the teen flopped down on her guardian's bed, sighing dramatically.

"Problem?" the older woman asked calmly, well used to Abby's theatrics.

"Matt's sending me to a convent."

The mascara she'd been reapplying smeared as Elektra nearly dropped the tube. Turning away from the mirror, she opened her mouth to respond, but was stopped by the sound of footsteps.

"She's exaggerating," Matt stated as he walked in a moment later.

"He wants me to become a nun,"

"Still exaggerating," the blind man replied while adjusting his tie.

"What's this about?" Elektra demanded as she began fixing her makeup.

"I didn't tell her to become a nun."

"No, you just told me to dress like one."

"Abby, be quiet," Elektra ordered. "I'm afraid to ask what she's talking about."

"She was snooping around in the compartment looking for your costume."

Frowning at Abby's reflection in the mirror, Elektra said, "What could you possibly want with that?"

"To borrow it."

"For what?"

"A costume party," the teen answered, as if the answer should've been obvious.

Mascara back in place, Elektra shot a withering glare at her young charge. "You actually thought we'd let you go out of the house like that?"

"No, otherwise I would've asked permission."

"And the convent?"

"I suggested that if she needed an outfit so badly, she could always go as a nun," Matt answered.

"He's trying to force religion on me."

"He's also the most fallen Catholic I've ever seen," Elektra retorted. "I wouldn't worry about it."

"So just so we're clear-"

"If I see you in anything red I'll send you to that convent myself," Elektra cut in.

"Thought so." Getting off the bed, Abby glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. "You're going to miss your reservations."

"We'll be fine," Matt told her.

"You'll be late," the girl corrected. "When's the last time you shaved?"

Surprised by the question, Matt ran a hand over his stubble-covered chin. "Why?"

"Because you're starting to look more like a homeless guy than a lawyer."

"I haven't had the time," he replied, in what he hoped was a normal tone.

Turning off the bathroom light, Elektra frowned as she caught sight of the bedspread, which was slightly wrinkled on the spot Abby had just vacated.

Following her line of vision, Abby smirked wickedly. "Oh, now you're really going to be late."

"Go watch TV," Elektra ordered.

"You have to remake the bed now, don't you?"

"No," the former assassin lied.

"Knock it off," Matt said sternly. "Go wait for us in the living room."

"But I want to see how long it takes her to get the whole thing totally perfect again," Abby protested. "She spent an hour adjusting the throw pillows once."

Arms crossed, Matt gave her a very hard look.

"Right," Abby muttered. "Convent. Angry, lonely nuns. I'll go practice my Hail Mary's."

Smoothing out the wrinkles of his suit jacket, Matt donned a pair of sunglasses from atop the dresser. "Ready to go?"

Instead of answering, Elektra walked over to him, straightening his already-straight tie. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Shaking his head, Matt reached down to capture her hands. "I think I can handle one dinner date."

"I know."

"No, you don't, or you wouldn't be asking."

"I'm just saying that you don't have to-"

"I want to. I've been back to work, I can handle crowds again, the only thing I'm worried about is the bill," he joked.

"Just because you can handle this, doesn't mean you'll be comfortable doing it."

"Well," he replied in a much lower voice, "I guess you'll just have to make me more comfortable then." Releasing her fingers, Matt moved his hands down to her waist, leaning down for a long, thorough kiss. After a moment, he felt Elektra's hands tangling into his hair, pulling him closer.

"Reservations at 8:00!" Abby shouted from the other room.

Sighing, Matt broke the contact, offering his lover a crooked half-smile. "Reservations at 8:00," he repeated.

"You want to skip them?" Elektra asked, a playful smile on her lips.

"You can play tonsil hockey in the cab!" Abby yelled more loudly this time. "You're going to be late!"

"You know," Matt said dryly, "If she's really not interested in the nun thing, she'd have a great career as a timekeeper atsporting events."

"If anything happens, anything-"

Abby grabbed the piece of lined paper from her guardian's hand without waiting for Elektra to finish. "I know. Call your cell phone. If that doesn't work, call Matt's cell phone. If that doesn't work, call the restaurant. If that doesn't work, call all the numbers on this list until somebody answers." Examining the long list of emergency contact numbers, Abby shot Elektra questioning look. "You're the most anti-social person I've ever met, how do you even know this many people to call?"

Ignoring her, the older woman grabbed her handbag from the coffee table.

"Hey E, you forgot to put the Secret Service's number on here."

"You know where everything is?"

"3 knives under the floorboard by the window, stun gun in the kitchen drawer, gas pellets in the third candy jar on the left, gas masks under the sink next to the dish soap, the rest of its under your bed, right next to the back issues of Playgirl," Abby rambled off sarcastically.

"Abby, I'm serious about this. You need to be careful."

"Can I have some money?" the girl asked, unfazed by her guardian's serious tone.

"What for?" Matt asked as he returned from making sure the rooftop entrance was locked.

"In case I get hungry later."

"No deliveries," Elektra said firmly. "I don't want you answering the door for anyone."

"That's not fair. There's a new pizza place and-"

"There's plenty of food here. Just make sure you clean up when you're done," said Elektra.

"I'm not an infant; I know how to put stuff away."

"And don't fall asleep with the TV on again."

"Shouldn't you be gone already?" Abby said in irritation.

Matt gave her another hard look as he ushered his lover out the door.

"Right," the teen muttered as they were leaving. "What sounds better, Sister Abby, or Sister Abigail?"

"Relax," Matt spoke into her ear, hand on the small of her back.

Elektra was unable to heed his advice. She could feel eyes burning into them as they moved across the dance floor, and it made her absolutely furious. They'd always gotten these stares before, some people were simply not used to having a blind man in their midst. This was different though, because Elektra knew it wasn't just about the way Matt clutched her arm, or the stick and sunglasses.

"Is it that bad?" Matt asked her ruefully as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"What?"

"The scars," he said casually. "Should I be in the market for a plastic surgeon?"

"No," Elektra replied tightly. While Matt's face had obviously taken damage during those months he'd been away, it wasn't as if he were deformed. And it certainly wasn't grounds for these idiots around them to keep looking at him like he was something out of a circus sideshow.

"Relax," Matt said again. "Don't let them get to you."

"It's rude," Elektra whispered angrily. "They have no right to do this."

"It's New York," he chuckled. "Rudeness is practically a prerequisite for living here."

"I still don't know how you put up with it."

"I put up with it," he replied, "because there's only one person in this room whose opinion I give a damn about. And considering that she's dancing with me right now, I think I'm doing okay."

"Very smooth. You rehearse that?"

"With Foggy, yes. Practiced during lunch."

Elektra laughed, resting her head against his shoulder, the tension finally gone from her body.

"Are you happy?" Matt blurted out a few seconds later.

Pulling back to look at him, Elektra removed the dark glasses to stare confusedly into blank eyes. "I'd think you'd be able to figure that out."

"I don't mean right now specifically, just…in general."

"What brought this on?"

"Curiosity," Matt said lightly. "Idle curiosity."

"Really?" Elektra asked suspiciously.

"Yes, really. Are you going to answer the question?"

The billionaire's daughter paused in consideration, knowing Matt would catch her in a lie. "I'd be happier if you shaved," she finally answered, brushing her fingers against the rough skin of his face.

Laughing softly, he kissed both her eyelids, then the bridge of her nose before reaching his final destination of her lips, effectively ending the conversation.

The couple returned to a darkened apartment around midnight. Darkened except for the television that, surprise surprise, was still on. Abby was asleep on the couch, the remote control on the floor near her left hand. What got Elektra's attention though, were the empty containers of Chinese takeout on the table.

"Leave it," Matt said softly. "Yell at her in the morning."

"She knows Fisk is watching us, I tell her to be careful, she doesn't listen," Elektra fumed in an angry whisper.

"Nothing happened. Besides, I don't want to talk about Fisk tonight."

Shaking her head, Elektra turned off the TV and reached down to pick up the mess. Matt, however, had other plans. Stopping her hand in mid air, he led her closer to the hallway, away from the sleeping teenager. "Clean it tomorrow."

The ex assassin looked at him dubiously.

"Please clean it tomorrow?"

Her expression remained skeptical.

"If you have one ounce of mercy in your entire body, you'll come to bed with me right now."

Cringing one last time at the messy table, Elektra decided that showing a bit of mercy this time wouldn't damage her reputation too badly.

Slipping out of bed was harder than usual, as Matt's arm was draped possessively over her waist. Elektra managed it nonetheless, making her way quietly to the hidden room that held all of Daredevil's equipment, as well as the thing she'd come for.

The bright red costume hadn't been used in years. It lay in a far corner of the room, a constant reminder of her past.

Matt wanted her to get rid of it, though he'd never said as much.

Then again, everyone wanted things they couldn't have.

Elektra ran her fingers softly over the material, just as her mind ran over and over a simple question.

Was she happy?

As happy as she could be, she supposed. At least under these circumstances.

Certainly she loved Matt, loved both of them. The difference between having them and not having them was like night and day. She'd gotten both of them back more than once, and that should be enough.

But was it?

Gazing at this reminder of her old life, a life of blood and pain yes, but also of excitement and adrenaline and something more than playing house all day, Elektra came to the startling realization that she didn't know.

Elektra was next to him again when Matt woke an hour later. It was still dark, close to four in the morning, but Matt got up anyway, careful not to disturb his bedmate.

Entering the bathroom, he closed the door behind him, opened the second door from the top and took out his razor and shaving cream. He couldn't do this in the morning. Not in front of Elektra.

Placing the cream on the counter, he held the razor in his right hand, willing it to remain steady.

Do it. Do it now.

He brought the blade to his face, not bothering with the cream.

"I know this hurts," that disgustingly smooth voice informed him, scraping the blade along his jaw.

It had hurt. But not only because of the knife. It was the noise. They'd kept him in a room with no sound for so long that the noise of the blade, the noise of his tormentor, the noise of his own breathing was torture. It was like being twelve years old again, trapped in that hospital with no control over his senses.

"You must stop fighting. Stop fighting and it will all be over." Sharp pain. The bastard had cut him, blood oozing sluggishly from his chin.

Back in his apartment, Matt winced as the razor cut into his chin. Before, in that cold room, the smell of blood had overwhelmed him. When they left him alone, he couldn't smell anything but his own sweat.

"What do you want from me?" He hadn't wanted to ask that, hadn't wanted to give them the satisfaction of talking, but he couldn't help it.

"We only want you to accept the truth, Mr. Murdock."

Matt didn't ask what that truth was, keeping silent as the blood ran don his face.

Matt ignored the small drops of blood running down his chin, continuing to run the razor across his face. The blade shook in his hand.

"Do you know what that truth is, Mr. Murdock?"

No, he didn't. He didn't want to.

"You caused your father's death. And then you killed her father as well. That's why she left you, that's why she became a murderess herself. You're responsible for all of it." The knife cut him again, his throat this time. Not deep, but the smell of copper made him feel sick.

He cut himself again, near his throat. The blasted razor wouldn't keep still.

"Say it, Mr. Murdock, admit it." The man's voice had a hypnotic quality to it, and Matt found himself wanting to obey. "Dad's death," he whispered haltingly. "My fault."

"Finish it." The knife still dancing across his throat.

Finish it. Finish it before Elektra comes in and sees you like this. Finish it now. The razor flitting against the skin near his windpipe.

"Elektra. That was my fault too. Killed her father, took her over the edge."

"Good. Very good." Matt screamed as the knife crashed to the floor.

Dropping the razor into the sink, Matt gripped the counter with both hands. The blood's smell was making him dizzy. He should be better by now. He'd told Elektra that he was.

"I think that's enough for tonight. We'll talk again tomorrow."

Wiping his face, Matt forced himself to breathe normally. Tomorrow. He'd finish it tomorrow.

Wilson Fisk stood at the window to his penthouse apartment, looking over the city.

His city.

He should've been sleeping, but the excitement coursing though his veins wouldn't allow that. It was almost time for the plan to commence.

Turning his back to the view, Fisk settled down in front of the sixty inch plasma screen TV. Punching a few buttons on the remote, he brought up the security tape his people had acquired, the one he'd been viewing so obsessively as the months went by.

It showed an elaborately decorated library, with a silver haired, distinguished looking man reading in a high backed armchair. Fisk knew who the gentleman was, but his identity was unimportant.

It was the action in the tape that mattered.

The footage continued, revealing a man in dark clothes, face hidden by a mask. In two seconds, the intruder had walked into frame, slit the older man's throat, then disappeared again. There was a lag in the tape as it switched to a different security camera, this one in the hallway outside the library. The killer's body was rigid, his head shaking minutely from side to side.

Fisk paused the tape here, zooming in so he could get a good look at what happened next.

The magnified image continued once Fisk hit the 'play' button, documenting the moments to come. A tremor ran through the intruder's body, and Fisk wondered for the hudreth time if he'd suffered a mild seizure. Then the mask came off, the killer crushing it between his hands.

Fisk paused the footage again, smiling at the crystal clear image of Matt Murdock, fresh from commiting murder, with a cold, blank expression on his face.