the nature of keeping secrets

IT HAD been a long day, and Artemis was greatly looking forward to collapsing into his bed. He shoved the creaky door open and—

There was a cage in his apartment. His heart stuttered as he shut his door with a click. It was familiar in a way that made his stomach drop, and he could taste bile almost immediately. He knew its shape, knew the spattering of rust along the galvanized steel chain-linked walls but pristine door handle and padlock. It looked better suited to a large animal, but if needed, it could fit something larger, like—

"Kotik?"

There was no answering meow. Instead, there was a sharp voice, one that made his heart stop instantly.

"There are no cats here, Asset," said a smooth, accented voice as the blurred figure of his handler stepped out of his bedroom, just to the side of the cage. "Dogs, however," the faceless face seemed to stare him down, head tilted and mock-imploring. "Well. We do seem to have a bad dog."

He was no longer twenty-eight. Instead, he was fourteen, fifteen, again, wearing his training suit and the muzzle that covered his mouth. There was a collar around his neck, humming with electricity that promised pain and prongs that dug harshly into the delicate skin.

Artemis stumbled with a gasp, hands flying to his throat to relieve himself of the suffocating sensation. As he did, a bolt of pain erupted in his spine, and his legs gave out, sending him crashing to the hardwood floor.

His handler tsked. "You broke the rules, you know? What ever shall we do with you?"

A blinding pain shook his whole body, and then there was nothing.

Artemis bolted up in bed, gasping for air, much to the distaste of Kotik, whose new favorite spot during the night had become his chest. The cat skittered off the bed with an offended yowl and ran toward the kitchen. He didn't notice, clawing at his neck to remove the phantom collar. His hands instead pulled harshly at a thin jewelry chain, and he paused, stiff hands trailing down the length of it to reach a small locket. Swallowing, he gripped it tightly, not needing to open it to envision the small photo of his older sister and the blank frames left for the rest of his family.

If I can ever find them.

Forcing his breathing to even, Artemis swung his legs over the side of his bed despite his protesting back and hips and stood, trailing behind Kotik. As soon as he was out of his bedroom, the light from the uncovered window hit his eyes, and he hissed at the sudden flash of pain in his head.

Great. Just what I need, a migraine.

Glancing at the watch on his wrist—nearly seven—he trudged over to the kitchen, tugging the fridge open and digging for a protein shake. He barely had time to open the cap before there was a sharp rapping at his door.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath, his free hand rubbing his throbbing head. "Coming!" He quickly glanced through the peephole before unlocking and pulling the door open. "Damien?"

The man stood in the doorway, already dressed for the day in a typical pressed suit and a deep red tie. He looked Artemis up and down, eyeing the other's pajamas—tight workout shorts and a baggy T-shirt that read I did not commit tax fraud in 2013—with a raised eyebrow. "Nice shirt."

He stepped back to let him in. "Got it at a thrift store when I was eighteen. Still fits, so." He shrugged.

"Don't you have work soon?" Damien asked as he entered, trying subtly (but failing) to make a beeline for Kotik by the couch.

Artemis just grunted, rolling his eyes. "Yes, in an hour. I have time, don't worry." Stepping to the side to let Damien inside, he tilted his head, squinting. "Why are you here, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Thought I'd walk you to work today."

Artemis just stared.

"Fine," he said eventually, twisting one of the thick rings adorning his fingers. "I wanted to make sure you're doing alright. Estelle mentioned you've been having a rough week."

"That is an understatement," Artemis snorted, trekking back toward his room to grab his morning medication, shoving the afternoon's dose into its container to go with him to work. "But I'll be fine. There are, arguably, more pressing matters."

Damien glanced up at him from where he crouched to pet Kotik. "Such as?"

"The city's Devil has taken an interest in my arrival," he replied, trying to phrase it as best he could. While Damien held a stake in Artemis's new identity, Daredevil's secrets were his own and not for Artemis to share. That much he could respect.

As he predicted, Damien sighed deeply as he rose to his full height, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Tell me you didn't."

"I might have."

"Gods damnit, Ar-Artemis," he corrected with a huff. "The whole point of a new identity is for no one to find out about your old one."

"I know, I know," he admitted, hanging his head. "But it was that or fight the Devil because he could tell I was lying."

Damien's face softened, and he tilted his head. "Do you think he's...?"

"I don't know," Artemis lied with a shrug. "What I do know is that he's a man I'd rather not have as my opponent right now." He returned to his room to get dressed, trading the workout shorts for denim carpenter overalls and a plain green sweater.

As he reemerged, Damien sighed. "I suppose the man who took down Fisk isn't the worst person to find out."

Artemis hummed in accord. "I hope so." He grabbed his keys and shoulder bag in quick succession, slipping his medication into the latter with a yawn.

The two leave the apartment complex soon after, entering the crisp October air. As they turn onto the sidewalk, Artemis turns to squint at Damien.

"There's something you didn't say," he said softly. "What else is there?"

Damien sighed, blinking slowly as though considering his words carefully. "I've heard... whispers," he said eventually, voice low. "The big names of Hell's Kitchen are stirring in a... manner that should be a cause for concern. Something—something big is going to happen, Artemis. I just don't know what."

♘

Matt liked to think he was good at lying. After all, he had managed to keep his nightly activities a secret this long.

Foggy held a different opinion.

"Dude, just give it up already; you're acting weird."

He huffed. "There's nothing to 'give up,'" he retorted, removing the earpiece he had been listening to paperwork with. "And I'm not acting weird."

Karen had stepped out to take a phone call, and Foggy rounded on Matt almost immediately. Though he would never admit it, he had been slightly distracted by Artemis and Damien's arrival at Estelle's studio across the hall. He kept an ear out for the younger since their interaction only a few days prior, feeling only slightly guilty for how he had treated him previously.

He could hear Foggy's eyes pull into a squint as he scrutinized Matt before ultimately deciding to leave it, changing the subject with a shrug. "Fine. If you're almost done with your paperwork, do you wanna see if Artemis can meet us for lunch? I think he's done early today."

Matt hummed, removing his earpiece and shutting his laptop with a click. "I just finished, actually." He knew Foggy suggested lunch as a chance for Matt to scope out Artemis while he was there, as they had done multiple times already. He wasn't sure how to tell him that he had already figured it out without divulging Artemis's secrets, so he played along.

They collected their coats, passing by Karen at the reception desk.

"We're taking lunch," Foggy called as he waved goodbye. Karen nodded, air currents shifting as she shot them a thumbs up before returning to her phone call.

Even before they left their office, Matt could hear Artemis's voice as he spoke to one of his students, a child who couldn't have been older than eight.

"Mr. Bell?"

Artemis's knees creaked, and the surrounding muscles throbbed as he crouched to her level. "Yes, Brooke?"

There was a shift in air currents as she pointed at something. "Do we hafta put our pots away? I wanna take it home with me now so I can show my mommy and my daddy."

A gust of air. Artemis sighed. "Well, the pots all have to stay here for a while so that when you take them home, they won't smush and get sticky." After a pause, he added, "And we'll be painting the pots next week."

At that, her eyes lit up. "Like my mommy!"

Matt and Foggy entered the studio, murmuring a quick greeting to Estelle, who was busy talking to some clients.

"Just like your mommy," Artemis echoed in assent, standing back up and brushing off his pants. "And speaking of your parents, I think I see them now." He sighed with a tired smile as Brooke squealed and scurried to the door where the two clients were chatting with Estelle.

"Huh," Matt spoke up, listening to the young girl chatter excitedly about her day. "You're not bad with kids."

Artemis jolted, whirling around to see him and Foggy. "Jesus," he muttered. "You need a bell or something."

Matt grinned, playing along. "Or something." There was a beat, then he added, "You alright? You don't sound great."

On the surface, that was an accurate observation; Artemis clearly sounded tired. But also, given recent revelations, it went a little deeper.

"I'm fine," Artemis replied after a moment's consideration. "A headache threw me off this morning, but the rest has been normal."

"Man, I swear," Foggy called, poking his head into a different room, "this place is so much cooler than ours. What the hell is up with that?"

Artemis's eyes pulled into a squint. "Isn't our floor plan the exact same as yours?" Then, "What are you two doing in here anyway?"

Foggy shrugged as he came to stand next to Matt. "Didn't have any more clients today, so we decided to end the day early. Gotta be good bosses for Karen, y'know."

"Ah, yes, of course." Artemis nodded solemnly.

"And we were hoping to catch you for your lunch break," Matt added, holding his cane with both hands.

He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "You caught me," he conceded. "Let me get the kids' work up, and then I just have to take the old kiln out to the curb." He turned to the main table, easily lifting the wide tray of the kids' clay projects with a grunt, carrying them toward a different room.

Foggy wandered over to chat with Estelle while Matt followed Artemis as he made his way into a side room, the smell of earthy clay lingering.

As Artemis started to put the pieces in the kiln, he spoke to Matt, who hovered just behind him. "I might need your help getting the kiln out of here."

Matt raised an eyebrow, turning toward the smell of cardboard, where a large box was in the corner of the room. "You can't do it yourself?"

Shutting the lid, he pressed a few buttons on a screen, and there was a burst of growing heat. "I can," he acquiesced. "But it would be weird if people saw one man carrying almost two hundred pounds without breaking a sweat." He nodded at something against the far wall. "There's a furniture dolly in the storeroom; I just need 'help' getting it on that."

As Matt agreed, Artemis ducked into the connecting room, pushing the wooden dolly out with his foot. Once it was in the other room, he crouched with a grunt to position it in front of the cardboard box. "Here," he said, wrapping his arms around the bottom of the box, "I'll get it up; just help me keep it steady."

♘

It should have been easy, relatively speaking. The kiln weighed roughly two hundred and forty pounds, plus a few ounces from the box and packaging, something Artemis could lift with ease (so long as he ignored the resulting ache in his back and shoulders). As he hefted it in the air, Matthew felt for the other side, gripping the edges of the box.

"You weren't kidding," he noted when he realized there was no weight of the kiln to lift.

Artemis blinked, disgruntled. "I don't joke about that kind of stuff."

"Joke about what kind of stuff?" Foggy asked, poking his head through the doorway.

Startled, Artemis jerked back, his first instinct to pull himself against the wall. Unfortunately, that involved tugging the box out of Matthew's hold, clutching the massive package to his chest like a child holding a teddy bear.

"What the fuck?"

At that, Artemis dropped the kiln, and it hit the floor with a loud, solid thunk. He winced. There was no way it didn't dent the tile.

"What the fuck?" Foggy asked again, much more resigned and incredulous this time. He jabbed a finger at Matt. "Just this once, Murdock! Couldn't you have been wrong just this once?"

Artemis blinked. "What?"

"You can't be mad at me about this," Matthew protested. "I told you—"

"I was hoping you were wrong!" Foggy retorted before rounding on Artemis, who was still suitably (and justifiably) confused. "Why couldn't you have been normal?"

"Pardon?"

Foggy just crossed his arms, pointedly looking between the definitely cracked tile under the old kiln and Artemis, who was starting to wonder if this was what it felt like to get scolded by a teacher as a child. "So, were you involved in a toxic chemical spill as a child, too, or is your weirdness unrelated?"

Artemis didn't know how to make heads or tails of that, and he blinked owlishly as he tried to come up with a response.

Matthew pinched the bridge of his nose. "Foggy, don't—"

"No, it is alright," he said, shrugging, letting his natural accent bleed through. "Is fair question, and better here than at lunch." He glanced at Foggy. "Do you want the short version or long version?"

"Short one for now, but don't think you're getting out of giving me the long one," Foggy replied immediately, unfolding his arms to jab a finger in Artemis's direction.

Tilting his head, Artemis hummed. "In a few words, I was a... wildly unethical attempt at recreating Captain America."

Foggy stared at him shrewdly, looking both like he didn't believe him and wanted to question him further, but he sighed, throwing his hands up, and spun on his heel to walk back into the main room. "Jesus, sure. Fine! Why not? I'm picking where we get lunch for this." He spun back around, pointing at Artemis again. "I'm glad you're okay now—you're my friend, and I cherish you—but this conversation is not over." He turned around again, leaving the other two as he made his way back to the main room.

Artemis glanced at Matthew, who shrugged. "Probably best to go along."

"I heard that!"

Rolling his eyes in a poor attempt to feign annoyance, Artemis squatted to lift the box once more, easily hefting it onto the dolly and rolling it through the door, Matthew trailing behind him.

Estelle stood by the main door, changing the flyers on their bulletin board. When the door fell shut, she glanced at them with a raised eyebrow. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," Artemis hummed, his face (hopefully) the picture of normal. "Just... had a little trouble getting this ready to go." He motioned with one hand to the box as he wheeled it forward.

She nodded slowly, eyebrow still raised, but apparently decided not to question the blatant lie. "Uh-huh. Well, have a good day, you guys."

Once the three men and broken kiln were situated in the elevator, Artemis cleared his throat awkwardly. "You're taking this really well," he noted casually.

Foggy scoffed. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not. But at least there's one more superpowered guy on his side—" he jerked his thumb toward Matthew, who tilted his head and attempted to not look affronted. It didn't work, and Foggy rolled his eyes.

"You see what I have to deal with? Just, like, be careful, man," he said to Artemis imploringly. "I'm already worried about one friend dying constantly; I don't need two."

As the elevator dinged, alerting them that they'd arrived at the ground floor, Artemis held up three fingers cheekily. "Of course. Scout's honor."

♘

It should be noted that Artemis was never a Scout of any kind, so he felt a little bad about telling Foggy he'd stay out of trouble. But as he stared down the fidgeting man in front of him, all he felt was resolute determination, the kind he felt when he was on a mission.

"Thought the Russians were all blown up by Fisk," the man said, eyeing Artemis warily, taking in his worn hoodie and black medical mask obscuring most of his face.

He had found himself in another alleyway that night (one too many, but who was he to complain?) after asking around, posing as a member of the Russian mafia fresh off the boat. The man he was talking to bought it quickly, and Artemis was glad for the mask obscuring his smirk.

He shrugged leisurely. "Da," he agreed, laying the accent on thick, "well, after home heard what happened, Bossman sent more men to take over where they left off. With Fisk put away, we have no reason to worry."

"Wh-what makes you think we'll just let you guys back in?"

"We have heard whispers; things are moving. You seem... in over your heads," Artemis said, lying through his teeth. "We thought we would offer assistance."

The goon straightened, jutting his chin out. "Maybe, but you'll hafta pass some loyalty tests first, 'specially after what happened with the brothers."

Artemis just hummed, looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow. What happened with the Ranskahov brothers had been easy enough to figure out. Fisk's rage was not subtle. "You mean after they were killed like dogs and our men were blown up?" He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper, and moved his coat to the side, just barely exposing his pistol. "You should be lucky we do not take vengeance."

The man's eyes widened, but he crossed his trembling arms. "Oh, yeah? That a threat?"

"I am not in the business of threats," he admitted with a tilt of his head, letting his jacket fall back in place. "But sometimes they do not hurt."

"That so," the man murmured, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to pull himself up taller than Artemis. "Well, threats ain't gonna go over so well here, pal."

Admittedly, Artemis caught on a second too late, barely whipping around in time to see the men that rushed him from behind. The closest tried to grab him by the hood, but he caught his arm, the other hand going to the OTF blade tucked into his waistband. Popping the blade out, he quickly swung up, and the man drew his arm back, hissing at the shallow cut through the cloth.

As his swing followed through, Artemis felt a sharp twinge of pain in his shoulder, and he forced himself to tighten his grip on his blade so he didn't drop it.

Shit. This better be fast.

As far as he could tell, there were five men in total—a fair fight so long as his flare-ups were minimal. Unfortunately for them, Artemis wasn't necessarily looking for fair. He was looking for quick. Turning, he grabbed the man's arm again and pulled, crouching as he smoothly threw the man over his shoulder and into the far brick wall. Another tackled him, and Artemis fell to the ground with a surprised grunt as his arms were pinned above his head. He clenched his jaw to ride out the sudden burst of pain in his back as the man above him leered.

"Don't think we're gonna let you fuckers back so easily," he spat with a grin that revealed a few missing teeth.

Artemis blinked, curling his lip. "Иди на хуй¹," he spat, sliding his arms down toward his sides and wrapping his legs around the man as he lost his balance and fell, twisting them around until he was the one on top. He slashed the knife once over the man's forehead, leaving a shallow but long cut that immediately began weeping blood down into his eyes before rolling off him and swinging a kick to the back of his head. Unfortunately, that sparked a bolt of pain that started in his lower back but quickly traveled to his leg, which buckled slightly when it landed. Before he could right himself, the first man grabbed him by the shoulders, another quickly swooping in to grab his legs, lifting him fully off the ground.

"Not so tough now, huh?" The first man asked, his voice still trembling slightly even as he twisted Artemis's arm, forcing him to drop his knife.

Jaw set, Artemis briefly fell limp in their hold before folding himself in half, tucking his knees to his chest, and twisting. He fell unceremoniously to the concrete, wincing at the sharp pain as he broke his fall with his palms and forearms.

Rolling out of the way, he quickly grabbed his pistol from his hostler, alternating his aim between the two who had been holding him. "Come now," he said faux-imploringly as he caught his breath. "There is no need for this. We can speak like civilized men, no?" He wiped his forehead, smearing the blood on his hand from the knife.

The first man scoffed, but before he could reply, there was a thud as one of the men behind him was slammed into the brick wall. Daredevil had arrived without anyone noticing, and he was making quick work of the men.

Briefly, Artemis considered shooting the two in front of him and calling it a night, but instead, he lunged, pistol-whipping the first and then the second in the follow-through. The first man crumpled, but when the second remained standing, albeit woozily, he gripped his shoulders, pulling his head down to meet his knee before letting him fall. With everyone down except for him and Daredevil, Artemis pulled his medical mask down with a gasp, backing up against the bricks to catch his breath. The pain he had done his best to tamper down returned with a vengeance, and it took everything in him not to collapse himself, closing his eyes tightly as he breathed through his nose.

As footsteps neared, he didn't have to open his eyes to know that Daredevil stood before him in a strange repeat of a few nights ago.

"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice hard steel.

With a grunt, Artemis slid down the wall until he sat on the ground, his legs splayed out. "Heard that some of the bigger names were stirring," he admitted, carefully avoiding Damien's name. Knowing his friend's past, he wasn't sure how well the Devil would take it. "Thought I would snoop around, try and get some information."

♘

Matt frowned, crossing his arms. "You could've been hurt. Badly," he said, holding himself stiffly as if it would hold back his quickly growing rage. Tilting his head, he added, "You already sprained your wrist."

"So I have," Artemis hummed, lifting his arm to examine it with an infuriating casualness. "Should be fine in an hour or two."

"That doesn't make it better," he said through gritted teeth. "You were still hurt. And what were you doing with that?"

It didn't take a genius to know that he was referring to the gun Artemis was clutching with his good hand. He held it up, waggling it back and forth.

"Rubber bullets," he said as an explanation. "Besides, I did not fire it. Even if my training taught me to finish fights as quickly as possible—I am trying to follow your lead, you know."

He said it in a way that was an obvious tease, but Matt wasn't in the mood. Breathing deeply, he snarled, "That still doesn't explain why you thought it would be a good idea. You got hurt."

"Nothing I have not experienced before," he said with a shrug. "I went on many missions alone, several ending worse than this. If a sprained wrist is all I walk away with, I consider myself lucky."

Matt growled low in his throat, his frustration reaching a breaking point. "You said it yourself—you wanted to be done with all of this. So what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I think I am helping you," Artemis snapped back, his own anger seeming to rise as he kicked one man's head when he began to stir. "You are welcome, by the way."

"If you wanted to be helpful, you'd stay out of my way," he said through clenched teeth.

Artemis's flinch was nearly imperceptible, ever the trained soldier, but Matt heard it loud and clear. He nodded slowly like he wanted to be sure Matt could sense it. "Okay," he said quietly, voice oddly tight. "Good night, then."

He stood there until he could no longer easily sense Artemis. His rage, his frustration—why wouldn't he just listen? Why needlessly put himself in danger where he had no business being?—had yet to cool, what had once been embers minutes ago stoked back into a white-hot flame. So he set off into the night once more, forcing himself to forget the stiffness of Artemis's voice and posture as he left.

He would deal with it in the morning.

¹: Fuck you.

♘

WC: 4.3k
Status: Edited

Fun Fact: Artemis has an Extensive collection of dumb novelty t-shirts like the tax fraud one (which is a Real Shirt you can buy btw) that he got not long after he was reunited with Natasha. He pretends to ironically enjoy them, but he secretly unironically finds them funny.

Artemis can be very, very petty. Hope this won't cause problems :)

I need y'all to know that I've been putting so much effort into this story. Like, I've got a whole Notion setup just for plotting and characters, and I've even made floor plans for Artemis's apartment and Estelle's studio. If y'all ever want to see them, I might post them to my writing Tumblr (wavyfloralwrites).

Anyway, I'm so excited to finally get into the canon plot soon! I love Frank and season two as a whole, so I'm stoked to write about it :) Plus, I can feel out how I want to break the episodes into chapters, which will help me figure out how I want to pace the rest of this out. As it stands, I've got most of its acts figured out (and if I stick with my current plan, this will be three parts and then I will most likely start a second book), but that may change. 

As my senior year at college starts, I may be even slower with updates because between classes, work, and research, I'll be pretty slammed, but I'm gonna try my best! I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!