A mind beyond Marvel

[Bella POV]

[Christmas Morning ]

I had barely taken a sip of my morning coffee when the news broadcast caught my attention.

"New York's mysterious vigilante Noctis strikes again—this time, not with fists, but with presents! Hospitals and orphanages across the city woke up to unexpected Christmas gifts, courtesy of the masked benefactor."

The footage on the screen was grainy, security cameras catching only glimpses of the figure—tall, dressed in sleek black armour, the same one that had been all over the news for months. Only this time, there was something comically out of place: a bright red Santa hat perched atop his helmet.

I nearly choked on my coffee.

"Oh my god."

From across the couch, Gray was watching, his lips twitching upward ever so slightly.

"Would you look at that?" I said, turning to him. "Noctis is feeling festive."

Gray didn't respond immediately. He merely leaned back, watching as the news anchor continued.

"Reports say the gifts contained warm clothes, toys, and even handwritten letters for the children. One orphanage caretaker described it as 'a miracle.' But who is this masked Santa?"

The footage switched to a nighttime clip—a shadow slipping in through an open window, silent as a ghost, dropping a sack of presents before vanishing again.

Gray finally spoke, voice carefully neutral. "I guess even vigilantes have a soft spot for Christmas."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You seem... unbothered."

He shrugged.

The news continued, the footage rewinding to catch a clearer glimpse of the masked Santa placing a wrapped teddy bear on a child's bed.

I sighed, shaking my head. "Whoever he is… I hope he's being careful."

Gray didn't answer, but as the broadcast ended, I caught the tiniest flicker of something in his expression—satisfaction, maybe even pride.

After all, Christmas was about believing in miracles.

Even the ones dressed in black armour.

[Gray POV]

[St. Patrick's Cathedral]

The air smelled of incense and old wood, the kind of scent that clung to the walls of churches no matter how many years passed. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting colourful reflections along the pews. My mom sat beside me, murmuring along with the hymns, hands clasped in reverence.

I, on the other hand, sat stiffly, letting the voices around me blend into white noise. It wasn't that I didn't believe in God, but faith and I had an… understanding. I wouldn't bother Him, and He wouldn't bother me. Fair deal.

The sermon was about forgiveness today. The priest's voice echoed through the hall:

"For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you." — Matthew 6:14

Forgiveness. What a complicated concept. I'd seen too many people do unspeakable things and walk free to ever believe in divine justice. If it existed, it sure as hell worked in mysterious ways.

As the service ended, I stepped outside for air. That's when I heard him—

"You don't seem convinced."

I turned. A man stood near the church steps, a cane in his hand, dark red glasses covering his eyes. Blind. But something about the way he stood—relaxed, yet aware—made it seem like he saw more than most.

"About what?" I asked, leaning against the stone railing.

"Forgiveness." He tilted his head, as if reading me. "You think it's pointless."

I exhaled, rubbing my temples. "Not pointless. Just… impractical. You telling me if someone wronged you, you'd just forgive them? Let it go?"

"Not always," he admitted, tapping his cane against the pavement. "But that's the challenge, isn't it? 'Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.'" — Romans 12:21

I scoffed. "Nice words. But tell that to someone who lost their family to a murderer. Or someone who got their life ruined by the powerful. They should just… 'overcome it with good'?"

He smiled, a small, knowing thing. "It's not about excusing evil. It's about not letting it define you. 'For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.'" — Romans 3:23

I frowned. "So you're saying even the worst people deserve a free pass?"

"No," he said calmly. "I'm saying if you or someone you know does something horrible."

That stopped me.

"You think you're different? That your sins weigh less than theirs?" He adjusted his glasses. "You decide who deserves judgment, but who judges you?"

I clenched my fists. I wanted to argue, to tell him I was nothing like them. But could I really say that? I had killed Killgrave because he was a piece of shit, Once I am done killing Pieces of shit, who's next. I guess that's Batman's dilemma.

I had blood on my hands too but I have a rather strict criteria on who to kill, that is if the person has killed more than 10 people, not for the greater good but because he or she enjoyed killing.

I exhaled, shaking my head. "You talk like you know me."

"I don't," he admitted. "But I know people like you." He turned slightly, as if staring right through me.

A cold silence stretched between us.

Then, he smiled again. "But hey, what do I know? I'm just a blind lawyer."

Matt Murdock.

My mouth opened, then closed. Of course. Only someone like him could've seen straight through me without even looking.

Before I could say anything, he stepped past me, tapping his cane as he walked away.

"You don't have to believe in God," he called over his shoulder. "But you might want to start believing in forgiveness."

I watched him go, the words lingering long after he was gone. For the first time in a long time, I didn't have a rebuttal.

Maybe I had lost the debate.

Or maybe… I just wasn't ready to win it. I went back inside and headed to home with my mom

[Bella POV]

The scent of roasted turkey and simmering gravy filled the kitchen as I stirred a pot of mashed potatoes. Gray stood beside me, rolling his eyes as I handed him a knife.

"You're cutting the vegetables, no arguments," I said firmly.

"Mom, it's Christmas," he groaned. "Shouldn't I be..."

"Helping, yes. I raised you better than to think you can laze around while I do all the work."

Gray muttered something under his breath but grabbed the bell peppers anyway, beginning to slice them with slow, deliberate motions. I smirked, satisfied.

The doorbell rang.

I wiped my hands on a dish towel. "Go get that, would you?"

Gray set the knife down and walked off. A few moments later, I heard an all too gamiliar voice.

"Hey, kid! Merry Christmas!"

Phil Coulson.

By the time I stepped into the living room, the man had already taken off his coat and was shaking the snow from his shoulders. He still had that warm, easy-going smile, the kind that made you trust him instantly.

"Phil!" I said, walking over. "You didn't tell me you were coming!"

"Thought I'd surprise you," he said, giving me a quick hug. "Figured Christmas was a good time to check in."

Gray leaned against the couch, arms crossed. "What, the FBI gives you Christmas breaks now?"

Phil chuckled. "Even agents need some time off, kid."

I shook my head with a laugh. "Well, you're just in time for lunch. Hope you're hungry."

"Starving," Phil said. "If I remember correctly, you make the best roast turkey."

I waved him toward the kitchen. "Then you better grab a plate."

The three of us sat around the dining table, plates filled to the brim with turkey, mashed potatoes, and roasted vegetables. Phil ate with the kind of enthusiasm that told me he hadn't had a proper home-cooked meal in a while.

"So," I started, sipping my wine, "how's work?"

Phil swallowed his bite of turkey and smiled. "Same old, same old. Paperwork, long hours, the occasional fieldwork."

Gray smirked. "Sounds thrilling."

"You'd be surprised," Phil said with a twinkle in his eye.

I sighed. "I don't know how you do it. The long hours, the stress. You and my husband both..." I stopped myself. An old habit.

A shadow crossed Phil's face, but it disappeared just as quickly. "Yeah. He was good at what he did."

Gray glanced between us but said nothing. He just picked at his food, deep in thought.

After a while, Phil set his fork down and turned to Gray. "How about a walk? Get some fresh air?"

Gray raised an eyebrow. "A walk?"

"Yeah. Something wrong with that?"

Gray hesitated for a second but shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

I smiled, watching them. "Go ahead. I'll clean up."

Phil stood, grabbing his coat. "You sure?"

I waved him off. "Go. I'll survive."

With that, they headed for the door, stepping out into the cold.

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