If you had a nickel for every time you and Matt Murdock had to work on closing statements together but never finished, you would have two nickels. It isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice!
WARNINGS: swearing
You were nearly nose-to-nose. His breath caressed your cheeks, tantalizing and taunting. It felt purposeful, the proximity, the too-close-closeness. Yet, you let him wield his heat, let it lash against yours. You would allow it with no one else, no one but him.
With a shallow breath, his low voice reminded you of what little space remained. “The question at the heart of the matter is-”
“Is it just?” You finished for him.
“Exactly, and, philosophically, it is not.”
“That is quite a black-and-white perspective, Mr. Murdock.”
“Laws demand such objectivity,” he pressed, “they are, as Socrates says, a contract citizens of a given state agree to honor by continual habitation of said state.”
You leaned back, smiling to yourself. “However, then the question of justness shifts. Is it just to let a state remain if the citizens determine its application of the otherwise objective law is unjust? In this context and in his death sentence, Socrates is being singled out. The law has become a weapon to stunt the evolution of the state, its laws.”
Matt leaned back in his seat, taking his heat with him. Though, you were much too preoccupied with how his mouth was opening and closing, trying to close his lips around the right words. All he caught was air and the silence of the classroom. Your smile widened. Before you could bask any further in the sunshine feel of victory, Dr. Drake cleared her throat.
“We will leave our debate on Plato’s Crito there for today. Come back to class on Thursday with your closing statements prepared for your respective perspectives.” Steely grey eyes seared your skin as the professor gave a pointed look in your and Matt’s direction.
You offered her a softer smile that was only slightly apologetic as your peers hurried out of the lecture hall. A rustling at your right averted your gaze. Matt was gathering his binder of translated-to-braille readings and shoving it in his shoulder bag. The opening of which was still half zipped-closed. Instinctually, you reached over.
“Here. It’s still caught.”
“Oh, thanks,” he said as you leaned in close. You felt his heat again, your shoulder brushing against his chest. At the almost touch, you felt your original smile return.
“It’s the least I can do.”
“It is,” Matt said as you unzipped his bag the rest of the way. When you leaned back, you saw he was smiling too. “You think I under-analyzed Crito?”
“I think you under-analyzed the need for a radical revolution.”
“I think you guys forgot that you were on the same side! Again!”
You turned around to face Foggy. His long blond hair was rattier than usual, likely from the party the night before. But his eyes were bright with a mischief that was fresh from this morning’s debate. You rolled your eyes and quickly packed up your own readings and notes.
“Not my fault Matt is so steadfast. Stuck in his ways.”
“Ouch,” Matt placed a hand to his chest, “attacking my character? Thought we agreed on no mudslinging this time?”
“I’m not attacking your character,” you said with a tilt in your voice as you pulled your bag over your shoulder. “I’m just…encouraging you to entertain other views.”
“I’m no revolutionary.”
“You’re no saint either,” you fired back, linking your arm in Matt’s.
“Ugh,” Foggy groaned, pressing his hands to his temples as he led you and Matt out of the lecture hall. “We get it: you’re smart. Too smart. Two smartasses, the both of you.”
“Yeah,” you sighed, “Dr. Drake did give us a look.”
“A look?”
“Everyone was giving you guys a look!” Foggy started as he darted down the stairs. You guided Matt’s first step with your own. Once he found a rhythm, the descent was smooth. “Barely anyone else had a chance to talk, you nerds.”
“I thought we were smartasses?” Matt asked and you could not help but catch the contagion of his wide, boyish grin.
“Yeah, you are.”
The warm air of Spring trickled along your skin as you and Matt followed Foggy outside of the Cooper Building. Foggy continued to spout on about what attributes constituted a smartass as you all walked across the quad towards the library. Your arm remained tightly linked with Matt’s. He could have switched to his cane, you realized. Though, you were glad he hadn’t. You liked his heat, the smell of coffee and birchwood that seemed to always stick to his clothes.
“I can’t argue against that evidence.” Matt’s voice broke you from your little reverie.
“Yup, and you won’t. ‘Cause you’re a smart…ass. Smart. But an ass. You’re stubborn but you know when you’re beaten and you admit it in that know-it-all tone-”
“He doesn’t know when he’s beaten,” you interjected and Foggy’s tirade fell quiet. “Why do you think he’s always arguing with me?”
You looked across the sidewalk, across Matt, and met Foggy’s gaze. His light eyes sparkled with a sudden, new-wave of eagerness. With a jester-like jump, he walked backwards before you and Matt so he could face you. Wide-eyed, you watched him nearly trip up the steps of the library. Passersby took in the scene frightfully before disappearing inside.
“Well, I mean…”
“Are we at library?”
“Can you smell the fear of people Foggy is scaring?”
Matt chuckled, the gravelly sound reverberating in his chest. You felt it in his arm, even as it slipped from yours. He fumbled with cane for a moment before it snapped open with an airy crack like a stiffened snake. A rattle came from the ball tip as Matt rolled it against the pavement tiles. He flicked his head to the left then the right. It was his ‘going somewhere’ dance.
“You’re not studying with us tonight?” You asked, peering into the dark lenses of Matt’s glasses.
“I actually promised to help someone with Spanish tonight.”
“Anyone we know?”
“Nance Tracy?”
“From the writing center?” Foggy gripped the library stair railing for support, the thought of Nance Tracy apparently weakening his knees.
“Turns out she struggles with grammar, just not English grammar.”
“So, I won’t be seeing you back in the room tonight?”
You shot Foggy a furrowed brow glance and he mouthed ‘What?!’ in a manner that made you scowl.
“Why? You having company over later tonight, Foggy?” Matt teased, leaning lightly on the handle of his cane.
“If by company you mean a bag of pizza rolls, then yes.”
“I’ll be sure to be quiet then,” Matt quipped back. “Happy studying.”
Your heart sank slightly at the sight of him walking off on his own. It felt far too reminiscent of last year. Desperate to alleviate the ache that accompanied the sight, you called out.
“Let me know if you want help with your closing statement!”
“Smartass!” Matt called back and your chest swelled with heat, a full, warm hope. A stretch of silence followed his departure, that was until Foggy spoke up.
“He seems better.”
You glanced over at him. “Yeah, but he’s still…”
“Yeah, I know. Elektra really fucked him up.”
“She did,” you agreed before pushing on his shoulder, “and cracking jokes about sleeping around might not be helping.”
Foggy didn’t miss a beat, it was why you always knew he would make an amazing lawyer. “Not helping Matt or not helping you?”
“Did you prep a closing statement?”
“I emailed you a text copy this morning.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
Panicked, your rustled through the papers splayed out on the table in a wild-whirl search for your laptop. With a collection of new paper cuts, you found it and cracked it up. The screen illuminated and, after a few sharp clicks, revealed your inbox. You scrolled but found only spam messages about discounts and deals.
“Subject line?”
“CS: Threat of Department of Damage Control.”
“I’m not seeing it, Matt. All I have is the email Foggy CC’d me in on about how to bill Spiderman. Speaking of, did you ever get paid for that?”
“Hard to bill someone when you don’t know their billing address…or name,” he sighed. “You can check my drafts. Maybe I just didn’t send it.”
You darted to Matt’s side of the desk and leaned over his shoulder. Heat kissed your skin, even through the button-up your wore. The warmth was followed by the familiar scents of Matt. Coffee. Birchwood. Copper, that tang of blood.
Quickly, you looked down at Matt, his shoulder. Through the white of his shirt there was a bloom of crimson. Quickly, you pulled back and rested a hand on the back of Matt’s head.
“What?”
“You’re bleeding,” you murmured, tilting his head to the side. With your free hand, you fiddled at his collar, pulling it away enough for you to look beneath. “Matt.”
“I must’ve forgot to change the bandage before I left.”
You sighed and started towards the office kitchen of Nelson, Murdock, & Page. “Where are the-”
“Upper right cabinet. Second shelf, behind the granola bars.”
Reaching up, you rifled through the snacks and felt your finger find a Tupperware container filled to the brim with medical supplies. The first aid kit. Careful not to knock down Foggy’s array of Cheez-It boxes, you manuevered the container free from the cabinet. When you strode back into Matt’s office, he was already fiddling with the buttons at the collar of his shirt.
You forgot yourself for a moment, forgot that Matt, while blind, could see in other ways. Some part of you still believed in his need for his cane, that emblem of your shared college days. Some part of you still ached for him to see you how you had always seen him; still heard the echo of Foggy’s teasing questions. And that part of you let you linger in the doorway, watching.
The startings of chest hair were just entering your view when the spell broke. “LIke the show?”
“I-”
“I’m kidding,” Matt cooed, “but I am still bleeding.”
Hurriedly, you made your way to Matt’s side. The splotch on his shirt spread with a little trickle tracing down his back. You slowly peeled the material back from his skin. A blood-soaked bandage was slipping off his shoulder and you gently pulled it the rest of the way free.
You quickly tossed it in the little trash bin by Matt’s desk and reached, with your clean hand, for the first aid kit. Careful not to place your bloodied hand down anywhere, you pulled out a towel and pressed it to the wound. Matt hissed softly and you murmured an apology.
“Can you put pressure on it while I get the bandage?”
“Yeah,” Matt replied, and you guided his hand to his shoulder. With a light touch, you pressed on his fingers, denoting where he should press too. “Thank you, for this.”
“It’s no problem. Just hope you weren’t bleeding in front of clients. It’d stain your image.”
“Wow,” Matt chuckled, “if I wasn’t already in pain-”
“Laughter is the best medicine, right?”
“Not when you have broken ribs.” Matt’s tone dipped into the heaviness of a memory you did not share, into a haunted thing. Your own joy fell at the thought.
Instead of trying to save the feeling, you prodded at his hand. He lifted his fingers and you saw the wound once more. You wiped gently at the excess blood before you stuck the fresh bandage on. The crisp white pinkened at the contact, but did not immediately soak through. The bleeding was slowed.
“If it’s like that tomorrow, go to a clinic for stitches,” you said, pulling Matt’s sleeve back up. “I also think this shirt is essentially ruined.”
“I have one Hell of a dry-cleaner,” he quipped back, but the levity was gone. Matt saw it missing without seeing at all. “Are you alright? You’re…quieter.”
You shook your head. “Just, you’re hurt. Broken ribs. It’s nothing Foggy, Karen, and I haven’t said before. I want you to take care of yourself. I’m not saying stop, just help me by helping yourself not bleed out anywhere.”
As you spoke, you packed away the medical supplies and closed the lid on the container. The heat of Matt’s body emanated, pressed against your own in that wonderful way it always had. You nearly jumped when you felt it intensify, when his hand closed gently around your wrist and pulled you to face him.
His glasses were off then, brown eyes exposed and warm, flitting across the general shape of your face. “I’m going to be okay.”
“You’ve said that hundreds of times,” you sighed, “but the bruises get bluer and the worry gets worse. I think about you getting your ass kicked a lot, Matt, too much.”
He smiled, that charming grin. “Ya know, sometimes, I’m the one kicking asses.”
“I do know. I just wish…” you trailed off, pressing your lips in a thin line. The thought that haunted your senior year of college resurfaced in a eviler shape and Matt must have heard your heart pounding.
“What is it?” He squeezed your wrist softly, “tell me.”
“I blame her for this sometimes.”
“Who?”
“Elektra.”
Matt shifted in his seat, the unbuttoned portion of his shirt slipping open slightly. “I was already doing it. I was always going to find my way here, to the Devil.”
“I know, you stubborn smartass. I know it’s unfair, to you and to her. But she hurt you so bad, Matt and then this really picked up.”
“You and Foggy pulled me out of it the first time, just like you did the last time.” He stood then, hands cupping your elbows lightly as if to keep you standing in front of him.
“I was hard seeing you like that, both times.”
“But you saw me anyway,” his hands rested on your upper arms then, “and I’m…I’m sorry I put you through that, that I didn’t tell you everything. I wanted to but I thought you wouldn’t like what you saw.”
“Then you couldn’t see me, and you didn’t.”
There was a paused and Matt took a breath, one that tickled the skin of your neck with how close he was. “And it was a cycle.”
“Operating like a corruptive state.”
It was impossible to look at anything but Matt. He filled your vision and invaded your other sense. There was that heat again, stronger than ever before. It only burned brighter when he smiled again.
“You think we staged a revolution radical enough to break it?”
“Did we?” Your question was a challenge, as your questions to Matt often were.
This was one he did not hesitate to accept.
His hands roamed up and cupped your jaw to pull you in. Plush lips met yours and the skin of your chin was scratched by scruff. Your hands clutched at his ruined shirt and pulled until his heat became yours. There would be time for closing statements later.
Working on law is so fucking stressful y'all😂 I can't. I have an attorney resigning immediately and I have to re-assign all his fucking cases immediately. I got 30 done last night that we're supposed to show up today. Now I'm working on the next batch
