Cut It Out and Restart *Daredevil*Damned*Agents of SHIELD*

1) The End and the Beginning

Warnings: blood, mentions of a suicide

-.-.-

Blood.

On her hands, her t-shirt, her jeans, everywhere. So much blood. Smeared over his face when she was holding him and staring into his empty dead whiskey-coloured eyes. In a puddle under his body. On the handprints on his chest as she had tried CPR even when it had been obviously too late.

"We'll get you out of this, I promise," said firmly despite his glassy eyes. The attorney Franklin Nelson making a promise he wouldn't be possibly able to keep. A strong man he was, defending a woman who supposedly killed his best friend.

Blood.

On her belly as a concerned and outraged citizen stabbed her twice in the courtroom for killing her own husband, for killing such a great man who had nothing but a good heart and helped those in need. On the ceramic knife. On her hands once again as she was clutching her stomach and prayed the baby would survive, herself be damned.

God hadn't been listening. The sheets were snow-white when she woke up, learning that the merciful God fucked up and she was still alive, while her unborn daughter Jackie joined her father, in heaven no doubt. Selfish, selfish God, wanted them both for himself and punished her for never trusting in Him enough.

The walls were grey and battered. It was the same, every day. Reliving the horror of life in the nightmare, touching her now flat belly with tears in her eyes, gaze lowered all the time, tasteless food, supposedly comforting visit of one or two of the variety of her friends she didn't quite register, cleaning or a different meaningless work to do, disgusting food and sleep with the nightmare to keep her tortured.

Rise, rinse, repeat.

Murderer. Killed her husband in cold blood. For an affair, supposedly.

The sheets on the examining table were grey too, maybe once the same bright colour as the hospital ones. The doctor left for a minute, learning they ran out of pain meds. The minute was more than enough and leaving the med cabinet unlocked was as if he was asking her to take whatever she wanted. So she did. She left the examining room with a syringe and a vial of morphine, wondering if God was giving her an out, navigating her to hell, because suicide was sure not a ticket to heaven. At this point, she didn't care.

Hell couldn't be worse than this.

-.-.-

She saw Foggy Nelson's amiable and sorrowful eyes as he was promising again, when someone shook her awake. She blinked her eyes open into the shadows.

"Hey. Get to the visitor's room. Now."

She ran her hand through her messy bed-hair, putting on her glasses and following the guard. She didn't check on the vial under her pillow, one she had stored that day, not wanting to give it away. But was this about it? Why would she be coming to the visitor's room in the middle of the night?

She squinted at the person sitting at the table, only illuminated by the poor light from one weak fluorescent tube. She didn't remember seeing them before. Not that it mattered, but she actually was concerned about a man in a suit having the right to... call her out of bed at night. He must have been powerful.

Her lips parted. Maybe... maybe he had something to do with Matt's murder. Hell, maybe he had done it himself and now he was coming for her. The emotion that hit her at the thought was confusing – it was relief, because someone had decided to put her out of her misery; it was anger, because she was face to face with the killer of her loved one; it was utter confusion, because the man smiled at her, but not meanly, not mockingly, not quite compassionate, somehow.