My DD art creation, inspired by this work on AO3. I've recently been doing cross stitch again, and decided to design and stitch this. Might even finish the writing to go with it.
Here is my DDE 2021 New Year’s Day fic @daredevilexchange (a few days late, shhh) for @matt-murdok. Sorry it was late, but I hope it was worth the wait!
This is set in that horrible time after season 2, when Matt and Foggy aren't on good terms. Matt is working with the Defenders. @metaderivative and @iheartallthethings were amazing with their help on this fic.
Read it here, or over on AO3.
Enjoy!
_____
Foggy doesn't bother to announce his arrival with a knock. If Matt is conscious, he'll have heard Foggy long before he slid his key into the door. If Matt hasn't heard him… well, Foggy isn't letting himself think about unconsciousness, or worse.
It's dark in Matt’s entryway, of course, vague blotches of colour mottling the cavern that Matt uses as a lounge. Foggy drops his keys and a sigh on the side table, and flicks on the hall light. He can see a tuft of dark hair at the end of the couch, and his back is thankful he won't be scraping Matt off the floor.
"What are you doing here, Foggy?" Matt's coherent, even. Wonders will never cease.
"You know, it's great being wanted." Foggy nearly turns on his heel to leave, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes slow, deliberate steps, as he moves away from the warm light of the hall and towards the purplish billboard-lit gloom of the lounge. "It makes my day. Or, whatever you call this sort of time."
Matt grunts but doesn't turn his head to track Foggy as he ambles over to perch on the edge of the coffee table. Matt's half-sitting, stretched out full length. His eyes are closed, and he looks pinched, in pain, even as the lights dance across his face. Foggy can’t identify any visible injuries. "There's no reason for you to be here," Matt says.
"That's where you're wrong." Foggy waits, but Matt gives him nothing more, so he sighs. Matt seems to make him sigh more and more these days. He decides to stick to fact. "Jones told me you might need a welfare check."
Matt shakes his head slightly without opening his eyes, so Foggy stops trying. He stands, walks to the kitchen and fills a glass with water, snagging a bottle of pills from the shelf on his way back. He puts the glass on the coffee table, where Matt can reach it easily, and shakes the bottle before throwing it on Matt's stomach. "Ibuprofen." Matt opens his eyes, picks up the bottle and runs his fingers over the braille label, like he doesn't believe Foggy and needs to confirm for himself.
Foggy thrusts his hands in his pockets and watches as Matt twists the cap off the bottle with some difficulty, and shakes out two capsules. He swallows the pills, then reaches out, groping for the glass, but his aim’s off. He must be feeling pretty bad. Foggy takes Matt’s flailing hand and guides it to the glass.
“Thanks,” Matt says, grudging. Foggy knows how much Matt hates feeling helpless, so he shrugs. Matt drains the glass, and manages to get it back on the coffee table without smashing it. “I’m fine, really.”
“Yeah, sure,” Foggy says. Matt really does look miserable. He has dark circles under his eyes, and his breaths come short. Foggy casts about and spots a blanket hanging over the back of one of the armchairs. He picks it up, shakes it out, spreads it over Matt. God, he hates this asshole. “Ribs?”
Matt nods, curtly, then says, “You don’t need to stay.”
“Oh, I know.” Foggy paces over to the window and looks through one of the grimy panes, down into the darkened alley, still with the heavy humidity of summer, then back over his shoulder. “Want to tell me what happened tonight?”
“C’mon, Foggy. What do you want here?” Matt squirms slightly, pulling the blanket around himself.
“Whatever. I’ll get out of your hair.” Foggy turns and leans against the brickwork, holds up a finger. “Just tell me one thing.”
Matt raises a questioning brow, as his hands squeeze the blanket.
“What’s CPLR 3211?” Foggy asks.
Matt frowns in confusion. “What?”
“You heard me. CPLR 3211. What is it? What’s it for?”
“Motion to dismiss?” Matt replies. “Or is this something cryptic?”
Foggy relaxes and wanders closer to Matt. “Nah, you got it right. I’m just testing your lucidity.” Testing that Matt’s safe to be on his own.
“With my knowledge of New York’s consolidated laws?”
“It’s not something you’d forget easily.”
Matt concedes the point by tilting his head. “So now you want me to dismiss you?”
“Don’t imagine you’re the one calling the shots, here.” Foggy stands where he is, studying Matt’s face while he tries to decide between coffee, alcohol, and the door. “You know it would be an enormous pain in my ass if you died, right?” Foggy asks. “So I need you to promise that if I leave you won’t die.”
“I will never die,” Matt quotes, the corner of his mouth quirking.
Foggy snorts, suddenly on the edge of laughter. "Yeah. Okay, Gary." He sobers, looking again at Matt’s taut face. “Don’t lie to me. Are you going to be okay if I leave you alone?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
Foggy nods absently. “Gary was a better actor than you.” He doesn’t really believe Matt’s ‘fine,’ but Matt also doesn’t look like he’s lining up to shuffle off this mortal coil. “You want any help getting in bed?”
Matt closes his eyes again, shakes his head. “I’m here for the night.”
“Need the bathroom?”
“Foggy. I’m not an invalid.”
“Okay.” Foggy nods. “Okay. See you, man.”
Matt says nothing as Foggy walks away. It’s for the best, really.
_____
He spots them, a week or so later, walking towards him on the opposite side of the street. Matt’s grinning like an idiot, and Jess is trying to hide her own smile, looking at him with fondness. Foggy’s glad they’re working together, he really is. Matt needs someone looking out for him, and Foggy appreciates the sporadic texts she sends him. Matt’s even holding her elbow, the way he used to hold Foggy’s.
Foggy readjusts the strap of his briefcase where it’s suddenly cutting into his shoulder. Because he can’t tear his eyes away he sees Matt’s smile falter, his head tilt, and because Jess is looking right at Matt she catches it, too. She tenses, scans the street as Matt shakes his head slightly and mutters something. Jess relaxes, turns her head to look across the street just as they draw level and locks eyes with Foggy, raising her brows. Foggy half-smiles then looks away and carries on with his journey. He can’t let this derail him. He has clients to meet, a reputation as a capable lawyer to uphold. He even manages to whistle.
And if Karen can’t meet him for drinks that night, and he spends the night crying into his whisky glass alone in his apartment, no one needs to know.
The next day he gets a text.
Sort your shit out
I’m not the one with the shit, he replies.
Then he adds, Thanks for texting last week.
Jess replies surprisingly quickly. He was pissed at me
He’s an asshole
Agreed
Keep him alive, please, Jones
Jess doesn’t reply to that one.
_____
Foggy sees Matt in other places. At the courthouse, in a cafe. He can’t help but scan him for injuries, knowing that his heart’s pitter-pattering in his chest betrays his concern, and finding no new injuries, subsequent relief. Or pulling at the sight of a poorly-masked limp, a black eye not-so-hidden by dark glasses.
When Foggy sees Matt unexpectedly, he tries to feel revulsion, but he can’t. Instead, being close to Matt Murdock summons pain, and frustration, and despair. The feeling swirl and threaten to drown him, and he waits for them to coalesce into a single entity, something he can name and vanquish. He expects it to be disgust, loathing, or even hatred, but that hasn't happened yet. And Foggy can’t work out why. So he learns that after he sees Matt he’ll lose his appetite, that his breath will catch, that his body will worry.
There’s something else that he feels, in the centre of his chest, but he stubbornly refuses to name it. All the time and betrayal hasn’t weathered away its rough edges, and it has a habit of spiking him at the most inconvenient times. It would bring him to his knees, if he let it.
Matt always plays their encounters perfectly straight, never betraying what he might be reading from Foggy’s traitorous body, never straying from polite yet distant when they need to interact.
Foggy knows there’s chatter at the courthouse - What happened to Nelson and Murdock? They were practically married, and now I never see them together.
Foggy lived through the past months, but he doesn’t know, either. He doesn’t know how they ended up here, and if they can ever get to a new place.
_____
The next time Jess contacts him, she calls. At the panic in her voice he bolts out of his warm bed. Foggy has never heard her panic before.
When he arrives at Matt’s apartment his hands are shaking and he struggles to slide his key into the lock, but before he can manage it the door swings open, revealing a broad chest, clad in a hoodie flecked with bullet holes. Luke nods and steps aside wordlessly as Foggy pushes past him, searching for Matt.
All the lights are on, which isn’t saying a lot. The poor lighting casts deep shadows, appropriate for a man with too many dark secrets. Foggy has eyes only for Matt, stretched out on the couch again, bare to the waist and with an arcing red line of sutures across his chest. His breathing is so shallow that for a moment Foggy fears the worst. Matt’s deathly pale, his lashes dark against his cheek, and gives no sign whatsoever that he’s clocked Foggy’s arrival. The bright splash of red on the floor paints a picture in crimson that takes Foggy back to another night, another pool of blood. Foggy feels his legs weaken underneath him.
Foggy turns to look at Claire, where she’s kneeling beside the coffee table, cleaning up her supplies. Surgical instruments clatter into a plastic box, alongside the once-sterile wrappings of her surgical kit and little suture packets. It’s less tidy than usual, as though Claire was rushing. Claire’s hands are shaking, and her movements are jerky. She looks like she’s gone beyond her standard frustration, like she’s been grappling with fear.
Claire glances at him, then back at her work. “If Danny hadn’t got here quickly….” Claire cuts herself off and swallows hard, composes herself. “There’s only so much I can do like this.” She gestures angrily and shakily at her supplies, at Matt’s prone form, and throws bloody swabs into the box. “This isn’t an operating theatre.”
Foggy lets out a long, shuddering breath. “Thank you, Claire,” he says. He knows it’s inadequate, that it doesn’t even begin to cover what happened here tonight or any of the other nights before. .
Claire pauses, her tidying finished, and there’s a stillness to her. It’s like the night has drawn in, circling the three of them in a hideous diorama. Foggy feels himself frozen and watches as Claire looks at Matt, still as death. She shakes her head minutely, then slowly rises to her feet.
Jess is suddenly there, holding a cup of coffee in Claire’s direction, and the moment passes. Claire takes the cup with resigned relief, and Foggy shivers in surprise. He hadn’t noticed Jess at all. He looks over and sees Danny slumped at the dining table, chopsticks in hand and an empty take-out container beside him.
“Drink that, and I’ll take you home,” Jess tells Claire, then looks at Luke. “You’re in charge of Fisty.” Luke nods, and wanders over to Danny, poking him in the side with a finger.
“Ow!” Danny yelps, and stands up stiffly.
“Quit being so dramatic,” Jess grouses.
“It takes a lot of energy to channel my Qi like that-” Danny begins, but Luke picks him up and hefts him over a shoulder. Danny protests briefly, pounding ineffectually against Luke’s back, then gives up, sagging in defeat. Luke nods at Foggy, and makes for the roof access stairs, disappearing up them more quickly and quietly than a man his size should be able to.
Claire knocks her coffee back, and discards the cup on the table, looks hard at Foggy. “You need to stay with him.”
Foggy nods. “How long will he be like this?”
She shrugs. “He’s lost a lot of blood. Danny’s fist is kinda miraculous, but I think it has limits.”
“Just tell me what I need to know. Please.”
Claire and Jess exchange a look, and Jess clears her throat. “Luke and Danny were working together, Matt and I were doing a different area. Matt got cut bad. It was deep,” Jess supplies. “We were close so I called the others then got him here, and Claire met us, but…” Her already-pale skin turns whiter still, and she swallows hard.
“Luke and Danny showed up when we needed them to,” Claire says. She looks again at Matt, and he watches her watching Matt. “He’s going to need to rest for a few days,” Claire says.
Foggy laughs mirthlessly. “Have you met Matt?” he asks.
“He might not have any choice this time. Keep him warm, make him drink and eat. Call me only if you need to. You know the drill.”
Foggy nods, following Claire and Jess with his eyes as they disappear around the corner. The front door opens and closes, and Foggy is alone with Matt. He rubs his arms, feeling the sudden chill of fall, and looks down at the person he once called his best friend. Matt’s still unconscious, and he looks cold.
In Matt’s room Foggy digs out socks, sweats, and a hoodie, and the soft blanket Matt keeps at the end of his bed. He spreads the blanket over Matt, and piles the clothing on the coffee table. Foggy allows himself another look at Matt’s face, and he feels the spiky thing flip over in his chest. He tucks in the edges of the blanket, to keep Matt warm, and goes to make himself a coffee.
Foggy’s left a few magazines and a couple of novels at Matt’s apartment, and they’re still in a small, neat pile on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. He retrieves his old, dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, and sits down in the armchair closest to the window. From here the billboard lights Matt’s face, and Foggy can look up every few pages to check that Matt’s still breathing.
Foggy sets the book aside and stretches, and walks over to stand above Matt. Matt’s skin in waxy, but his breathing is smoother, a little deeper. Foggy should be angry at Matt, but he’s just sad, worried and lonely. He wants his best friend back.
Foggy sinks slowly to his knees and reaches up a hand to stroke back Matt’s hair. His skin is clammy, which Foggy remembers tends to happen when someone nearly bleeds out. His stomach twists again with fear for Matt, and for a fleeting moment Foggy imagines a world without Matt in it. It’s a dark place. But Matt is here and breathing. Foggy finds himself leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to Matt’s forehead.
Because this is Foggy’s life, Matt chooses this moment to stir and groan, and Foggy jumps back.
“Jess?” Matt asks, eyes pinching tightly.
“Sorry, man, it’s just me.”
“Fog?” Matt croaks, uncertain. “I can’t, I’m not.” He swallows and his eyes open, roving aimlessly and frantically as he brings one hand to the wound on his side. Foggy’s seen Matt’s eyes wander like this before, when he’s disoriented, so he grabs for Matt’s clammy hand and gives it a squeeze. Matt holds on tight, a drowning man clutching a lifering, and the lost look fades from his face. He clears his throat. “When did you get here?”
“A while ago. Jess called me.”
Matt closes his eyes again. “Claire was here.”
“She was.”
“She stitched me up.”
“Ye-es. And I think that, maybe, Danny did the magic healing glowing fist thing? Claire seemed kinda upset.”
“Because Danny took over?”
“More like…” Foggy swallows, fighting down an edge of panic. “She nearly lost you.”
“Oh. Mmm.” Matt pauses, like he’s taking stock of his body. “That tracks.” His tone lacks inflection.
“How do you feel?”
“Fine.”
“Oh fuck you, Murdock.” That earns him a half-smile. “You thirsty?” Foggy asks, reaching for casual, but falling wide of the mark.
Matt swallows, with effort, and licks his lips. “Um. Yes.”
Foggy lets go, and doesn’t miss that Matt flexes his hand, like he hadn’t realised they were still holding each other, before slipping it under the blanket.
In the kitchen, he fills the electric kettle and puts it on to boil for tea, then retrieves a bottle of water from the fridge. There’s not much food on hand, looks like Danny got to the leftovers, but at least there’s bread for a sandwich.
“It’s late, Foggy. Go home to bed.”
Foggy aggressively ignores this, setting out two mugs with tea bags, and retrieving milk and sugar. He starts slapping together two PB&Js, and finds half a block of dark chocolate in the usual spot. The jug clicks off, and he fills the mugs. The familiarity of the task is soothing, distracting. Matt doesn’t seem to be as aware of Foggy’s movements as he usually is, and he hasn’t tried to sit up.
As the tea bags steep, Foggy prepares himself for the conversation he knows is coming. He has to be the instigator.
Tea bags out, Foggy adds milk and honey. Matt doesn’t like his tea sweet, but he gets less choice on a night when he nearly died. Foggy he tucks the water bottle under his arm, picks up the plate of sandwiches and chocolate, and carries Matt’s mug over to the lounge. “You need one of those lap trays they make for old people.”
Matt groans as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. Foggy stuffs a piece of chocolate at Matt’s mouth and he makes a face, but takes it without protest. The blanket has slipped down, and goosebumps stipple Matt’s chest, his nipples standing out, hard. Foggy hands Matt the hoodie and Matt takes it with surprise, running his hands over it to orient himself before slowly and painfully pulling it on and lifting the hood up over his head.
“Drink your tea,” Foggy says, and goes back to collect his own. He snags the whisky bottle and pours a hefty tot into his cup before returning to sit in one of Matt’s armchairs.
“Do I get some of that?” Matt asks.
“Maybe when you’ve got your blood volume up again.”
Matt’s surprisingly tractable, eating his sandwiches without complaint. Of course, it’s not particularly reassuring because Foggy knows it means that Matt’s got to be feeling terrible.
They sit in relative silence, Matt seemingly focused on drinking his tea without spilling it, until Foggy realises it’s past 5am. He pulls himself out of the airchair and goes to switch on Matt’s espresso machine.
When Foggy moves away, Matt reaches for the rest of his clothing. Foggy lurks in the kitchen while Matt dresses slowly, awkwardly, dropping his pants and kicking them under the coffee table. Foggy’s seen this enough times to know better than to offer help. Matt pulls on one sock then sits back, panting. Foggy despairs for Matt and his abysmal sense of self-worth. He wishes he could love Matt into healing, but he knows it doesn’t work like that. When Matt stands to pull up his sweatpants he sways slightly and clutches the back of the couch for balance. Foggy looks away, attends to the coffee, makes his own Irish.
Foggy puts Matt’s coffee on the coffee table in front of him, although Matt’s lying down and doesn’t reach for the cup. Foggy sits down again in the armchair, balancing his mug as he leans back, and fixes Matt with a stare he hopes Matt can feel.
“So.”
“So. You heading out?”
“I’m here to look after you,” Foggy says.
Matt scowls a little. “Don’t you have work?”
“It’s Saturday.” Foggy spreads his hands wide, like a magician presenting his trick. “I can stay all weekend.”
Matt makes a noise of frustration. “Just go, Foggy.”
“No can do. I’m staying.”
“You’ve left before.”
Foggy feels a stab of anger. “Because you told me to. You made it very clear that you didn’t want me around again.”
Matt’s jaw tenses, and Foggy takes a deep breath, willing himself to regain some calmness. When he speaks again, he’s proud that his voice doesn’t shake.
“We’ve already been through this, and I have no interest in doing it again.” He takes another breath. “You matter to me, Matt. Once upon a time I met this cool guy and we became friends and spent tons of time together. I even started a business with him.”
“And then you found out he wasn’t who you thought he was,” Matt says, with a wide, dismissive gesture.
“Yeah, and it sucked.” Foggy looks down at the hands in his lap and realises he’s wringing them.
“So why are you still here? I thought we were done.”
Foggy looks up at that. “I’m not done.”
“Foggy. I feel like shit. I don’t want to do this now.” Matt does look like shit, but that’s not the point here.
“Yea, well, you never want to talk about it on the rare day you’re uninjured, so...”
“So drop it.” Matt’s face is blank, emotion masked, facing the wall in front of him, not Foggy.
“Stop pushing me away, Matt”
A flicker of anger crosses Matt’s face. “You’re only here out of a misplaced sense of loyalty.”
“Misplaced? Matt. Why can’t you accept that I want to be here?”
“Because you don’t. Because I’m...”
“What?”
Matt closes his eyes and tips his head back, inhales like he’s praying for strength. Then he straightens, facing Foggy head on. “I’m not worth it.”
“This again. You must think I’m a poor judge of character.”
“Maybe when it comes to me,” Matt says, nodding.
“You’re such a selfish asshole.”
Matt nods again, agreeing, which is frankly irritating. “Also, I’m not. Not. I…”
“Not what, Matt? Reliable? A good decorator? Because I already knew that.”
“I’m not.” Matt stops again, takes a deep breath. “It’s not you, it’s me. You know that. I’m just…” Matt still can’t finish the thought.
“Are you trying to say that you’re not likable? Because I think you know that’s not true. You’re… magnetic.”
“Until people find out who I really am.”
Fogy shuffles forward in his seat and rests his elbows on his knees, leaning towards Matt. “Matt, I need you to listen to what I’m about to say. Okay? You have inherent worth as a human, and you matter to me, very much. And that isn’t contingent on us getting along all the time, or you avoiding injury, although I’d really prefer it if you didn’t get hurt. So stop trying to push me away, because I like things a lot better when we aren’t fighting. Or we can squabble, but it’s not the end of the world.”
Matt’s averted his face, away from Foggy and the billboard. He bites his lower lip and shakes his head slightly, and doesn’t reply.
“I love you, man,” Foggy says. “And it hurts seeing you be self-destructive. But that doesn’t stop me loving you.”
Matt squeezes his eyes shut, and Foggy sees a glistening tear slide down the curve of his cheek. Matt’s jaw works, and Foggy waits him out, giving him time to speak.
“There’s a difference between what you tell me I should know, and what I believe,” Matt finally says.
Foggy hates everyone who has left Matt over the years. But he can’t hate Matt.
“You’re so smart, Matt, but you don’t understand feelings at all.”
Suddenly the space between them yawns, impossibly far, and Foggy has to bridge it. In a rush, he stands and moves to sit beside Matt on the couch, and he reaches across Matt’s lap to pick up his left hand from where it’s balled in a fist on his thigh, forcing Matt to turn his shoulders towards Foggy.
Foggy looks at Matt’s hand. The knuckles are bruised, of course, but it’s the same hand that he’s seen reading, skimming over surfaces in a real or feigned search for information, the same hand that’s so often held firmly but lightly to Foggy’s elbow.
Gently, Foggy unfurls Matt’s fingers, spreading them wide and lifting Matt’s hand to press against the centre of Foggy’s chest, with his own hand spread above it.
The rest of Matt unfurls along with his hand, softening and reaching towards Foggy.
Foggy watches as the lines of tension in Matt’s face ease, and he seems to tune in to the beat of Foggy’s heart. The spiky thing in the middle of Foggy’s chest warms and pulses and softens, and Foggy finally lets himself name it - it is love. Foggy’s love for Matt. And Matt Murdock might be clever with words and stupid with emotions, but no one feels the world the way Matt does.
Foggy leans forward and kisses Matt’s forehead again, gentle and warm, then presses his forehead to Matt’s.
“I’m tired, Foggy.”
Foggy murmurs in agreement. “I know. So am I. And I miss you.”
Matt reaches with his other hand to cup Foggy’s shoulder, a finger playing over the scar under the sleeve of Foggy’s sweater.
Foggy kisses Matt’s forehead again, then pulls back slightly. “You haven’t touched that scar before, have you?” Foggy asks. Matt pulls his hand away, like he’s just realised what he’s doing, and shakes his head, frowning. “It’s okay.” Foggy has to release Matt’s other hand, but he shrugs his left arm out of its sleeve and pulls the bottom edge of his sweater up so that his entire arm and half his torso are bare. “Feel away.”
Cautiously, Matt reaches out with his right hand and touches one fingertip with unerring accuracy, exactly where the bullet left its mark. Foggy watches as fleeting emotions chase each other across Matt’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit you in the hospital,” Matt says. He presses his palm flat over the scar for a moment, lifting his hand away only to press a kiss of his own to Foggy’s skin, to his scar. Foggy shivers.
Matt’s hand moves again, sensitive fingertips trailing from Foggy’s arm across to his chest and grazing a nipple. He pauses, all five fingertips there with the lightest of touches over Foggy’s heart, before his hand spreads out. Foggy feels the contact like it’s a brand.
Foggy lifts his right hand. He has to unzip Matt’s hoody, but then he’s pressing his own hand over Matt’s heart, and confusion, joy and hope are chasing each other across Matt’s face.
Matt leans forward and kisses Foggy on the lips. It’s sweet and gentle, but when Matt presses in more firmly Foggy moves back.
Matt doesn’t look like he’s about to jump out the window, but he does look uncertain. “You don’t want...?” Matt asks.
“Oh, I do. You have no idea. But you’re hurt and tired and you have a very soft bed in the next room, and maybe we’ve done enough talking for now.”
“Want to spoon?” Matt asks, and the hope on his face nearly breaks Foggy’s heart.
“Yes I do, my spoony little friend. And we can talk later.”
Matt smiles, and it’s like seeing the sun burst over rain-drenched lands that had almost forgotten a sun existed. “Later.” And Foggy takes Matt’s hand in his, helps him carefully to his feet, and leads him to bed.
To fill my Marvel Fluff Bingo square, Astronomer AU. No warnings apply, rated G, Matt Murdock/Foggy Nelson, 2759 words. Read it here or over on AO3.
Matt makes his way slowly into the room. The first thing he finds is the couch in the middle, presumably facing the TV, so Matt circles it slowly, his cane tapping lightly between the heavy thud of upholstery on his left and the hollow chink of wooden skirting board. The cane makes a higher tink as it collides with a metal structure and Matt reaches out with his hand, searching, and confirms a metal cabinet. He continues sweeping his cane across the hardwood floor, wary of any rugs, as his hands skate the surface of the cabinet finding photo frames, three clustered plant pots. He sends some loose sheets of paper skating off the surface and freezes, trying to track their direction of flight.
“Don’t worry about it!” Foggy calls from the kitchen. “I’ll get them.”
Matt turns his head over his shoulder, towards Foggy, and grins sheepishly. “Sorry. Comes with the territory.”
Foggy tsks quietly. “It’s not a problem. They’re just bills. You said whisky, right?”
Matt nods, “Yes, thanks,” and resumes his exploration. There’s an open doorway just past the cabinet, and Matt pauses, head tilted. “This the bathroom?”
“Yup.”
Matt moves his cane again, and it twangs in his hand with another metal vibration. But this doesn’t feel as heavy as the cabinet. He frowns, and reaches forward as he hears Foggy come up behind him.
“Oh, that’s a little more fragile, but feel free to… feel away.”
Intriguing. Matt stretches through space and finds smooth, painted metal with his fingertips. The metal is curved into a tube, and as his fingers move along it they find an encircling ridge. The object gives under his touch, and he finds the pivot point, the tripod suspending it. He tucks his cane under his arm and takes a step forward, using both hands to get a better idea of its dimensions.
Matt turns his head back in Foggy’s direction. “Is a telescope actually useful in New York City?”
Foggy makes a considering noise. “It’s alright. Not as good as, say, the Socorro Desert. But I can still see things.”
“Does your apartment have roof access?”
“Not the apartment itself, but the super lets me use the service stairs.
“Nice.”
“Yeah.”
Matt files that away, drops his hands and turns towards Foggy. “Shall we sit?”
“Sure.” Foggy moves towards the couch. “Did you find the couch? It’s over here.” He pats the cushion with an open palm, a firm thump of orienting sound.
Matt smiles at him. “Yes, thanks.” There’s a coffee table as well that Foggy forgot to mention, but he expected that. He folds up his cane and drops it on the coffee table and sits down next to Foggy before accepting his drink. “So, what sort of things do you like to look at? You’re not a creeper, are you?” He takes a sip, revelling as always in the first burn.
Foggy laughs loudly at that. “No. I’m an astronomer.”
Matt tilts his head. “You said you were a teacher.”
“I am. I teach Observational Astronomy and Cosmology at NYU.”
Matt laughs. “And here I was, thinking you were a dance teacher.” Foggy had held the class in his palm, everyone drawn to him, like he had the strongest gravitational pull in the room. It had only taken three classes for Matt to succumb, and accept an invitation for a drink.
“That’s just a hobby. I like to boogie. And it’s a good way to meet people,” Foggy says, nudging Matt with his elbow.
Matt raises his glass, and Foggy clinks them together. “Slainte. So, do you do this often?” He takes a sip.
“Meet people?”
“Bring strange men back to your apartment.”
Foggy laughs at that. “Strangers are friends we haven’t yet met. But, honestly? No. I don’t.”
Matt considers that. He, in contrast, does do this often, but usually only once or twice with the same person. Matt’s a comet, shooting in and out, plenty of noise and fuss but little substance.
“How about you,” Foggy asks.
“Me?” Matt mentally scans through all the men and women he’s dated in recent history. This may not be the moment to share that information.
“How do you make your crust?”
“Oh.” Matt leans back against the couch cushions and stretches an arm along the seat back, towards Foggy. “I’m a lawyer,” he says, mouth quirking in a slight smile, and waits for the inevitable praise. People are always impressed.
“Oh cool. I nearly did Law,” Foggy says. People often say this - it’s one of those throwaway lines. But then he adds, “I was aiming for Columbia but then… I took an intro to Astronomy class over the summer after high school and I sort of… fell into the stars.”
Matt tilts his head. “Tell me about it.”
Foggy hums, consideringly. “I’d always been interested, you know?” he says. “But I hadn’t really thought that it could be my job. I thought it would be fun to take the class, that it would be interesting. So I did.”
“Always a solid choice, choosing the interesting.”
“It was residential, close to an observatory. One morning we got up in the middle of the night, and towards dawn I saw the Orion Nebula. It’s near Orion’s Belt. And it was so beautiful, and unknown. I wanted more. I couldn’t stop thinking of what else must be out there.
“I mean, we do know a lot now, especially when a probe like Juno fires back information, but also a lot of it we can’t exactly know. No one knows what it’s like to stand on the surface of Eros, not really. Or what the Helix Nebula looks like from the inside. We can model it, sure, but we can’t know. I was hungry to find out what I could. I was hooked.” Foggy stops, abruptly, and Matt can hear him sip his drink.
Matt is struck by the emotion in Foggy’s voice, growing with every word. “That’s a great story,” he says. “Not everyone finds their passion, or follows it.
Foggy takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “Yeah. You know, I don’t usually tell people all that, right out of the blocks.”
“I guess I should feel honoured,” Matt says.
“You should, my friend,” Foggy says, the humour back in his voice.
Matt angles his head towards the telescope in the corner. “And that. Do you use it often?”
“Uh yeah, I do, actually.” Matt can hear Foggy shifting against the cushions, like he’s embarrassed again, caught out. “I mean, it’s no match for the Keck telescopes, but it still lets me look. I like looking.”
“Why don’t you show me?” Matt suggests. “I mean, if it’s a good night for it.”
Foggy holds his breath for a moment, then lets out a puff of laughter. “Sure. Why not.”
It takes a minute to get sorted. Matt snaps out his cane, stashes the whisky bottle under his free arm and holds the glasses in that hand. Foggy is gentle, almost reverent, with the telescope as he folds up the tripod. They head out the apartment door, Foggy and telescope leading, Matt and whisky following, and up the stairwell to the roof.
The summer air is still warm, but cooler than the oppressive heat of the day. “Over here,” Foggy says. There’s a table and a couple of chairs set up to one side, and Matt settles down to listen as Foggy fusses over the equipment.
“You do do this often.”
“Mmm. It’s nice up here. Quiet.”
Matt listens to the sound of cars rushing in the street below. It’s muffled, sure, and you can’t ever escape cars in New York City. But Foggy’s right. It is peaceful.
“What do you see?”
“There’s still some light in the sky from the sun, but Mars is close and bright. And Venus. Not that I need the telescope for them.”
“You don’t?”
“Not to find them. They’re just like bright stars. But it’s not really dark enough yet. I’ll wait a bit.” The other chair creaks as Foggy sinks into it. “Tell me about your law practice, Matt. Are you a corporate hotshot?”
“Not so much.” Matt shrugs. “It’s just me and my partner Kirsten, and our paralegal Karen. I mostly do what Kirsten says.”
“Partner?”
“Business partner,” Matt says, smiling at Foggy. “Best friend from law school.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“Small stuff, mostly. Tenancy disputes, work visas, that kind of thing. Most of our clients come from here in the Kitchen.”
“Sticking up for the little guy!” Foggy cries. “Show me some skin.” Matt holds up his palm and Foggy high fives him. “That’s what I wanted to do.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Well, like I said, it was the stars. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d learned in that in astronomy class. And I’m good at Math, so that helps. I ended up switching from Philosophy to Physics before the year started. And then I went on to get my doctorate at UC Davis. My parents were devastated when they realised I wasn’t going to drive a Bentley” he says, laughing.
Matt laughs with him. “Academia isn’t really a way to make money, is it?”
“It’s really, really not. Not like law. Mom wanted me to be a butcher but that was never going to happen, so at least I could have done something which would have made me rich. Such a disappointment.”
Matt laughs at that. “You sound like me. I’ll never be rich.”
“Your family counting on you for the bucks, too?”
Matt sobers. “Uh, not exactly.” He needs to get off this topic, now. “How far into the galaxy do you usually look?”
“The radiotelescope guys look right back in time, as far as we can look. But I kind of like our neighbourhood - our solar system. Each planet in our solar system is a whole world. Well, obviously they literally are worlds. They’re suspended, hanging in the enormous void of space. They look so serene, from Earth, as they hurtle through the endless blackness, but they’re dynamic and complex. Did you know that the Great Red Spot on Jupiter is so large that two Earths could fit side by side inside it? It’s an enormous storm that’s been raging for at least 150 years, probably much longer.”
Matt shakes his head. “I don’t know much about any of it.”
“We’re all so far from each other, and together at the same time. Once you leave our solar system it’s 25 trillion miles to the next one.”
“The next galaxy?”
“The next solar system. Our galaxy is fifty-two thousand light years across.”
Matt shakes his head. It’s too big a number to make sense.
“We’re bound by gravity to the rest of our solar system. There are so many stars and planets out beyond the Kuiper Belt,” Foggy continues, “And we’ll never be able to reach them. We can’t even see most of what we know is out there, we just have to make an educated guess at it, work it out from the clues.”
Matt half-smiles to himself, and takes a sip of his drink. “Seeing and knowing are two different things.”
“Uh, yeah, of course, I didn’t mean to--”
Matt cuts him off with the wave of his hand. “So you took the class, and fell in love with astronomy?”
“Oh no, that happened much earlier. Growing up in the city I never saw that many stars, you know? When I was eleven I went away on summer camp to this place upstate. We stayed in these little cabins in the woods by a lake, just outside a small town. It was weird - so quiet, but sometimes you’d hear a wild animal. And at night, the stars! I didn’t know the sky could be like that. Like grains of sand scattered across a velvet blanket. I’d sneak out in the middle of the night when the sky was truly dark, and the entire sky was covered with stars. The trees were only visible as the places where the stars weren’t.
“I discovered later that Aboriginal people in Australia, who live in the desert where obviously it’s really dark and the sky is very clear, have constellations that are the darker areas between the stars. The reverse of us who live with more light pollution. All people look up at the stars. We all wonder.”
Foggy suddenly sounds like he’s come back to himself, remembered where he was. “I’m sorry, I’m doing all the talking and this is probably really boring.”
“No,” Matt says quietly. “It’s not. I’ve never heard a description like this before. I-” He cuts himself off, unsure how to carry on without making himself sound wistful, and smiles. “I like it. I like listening to your voice.”
Foggy makes a quiet, pleased sound. “That’s a great line. I feel like I should be saying things with gravitas, or beautiful things. She says nothing at all, but simply stares upward into the dark sky and watches, with sad eyes, the slow dance of the infinite stars,” he quotes.
“Now that’s pretty,” Matt says.
“It’s Neil Gaiman. And he’s right, about the stars and planets dancing, caught in each other’s gravity.”
Matt smiles. “So then, tell me,” he prompts, gesturing upwards. “What’s there to see tonight? You said Venus?”
“Let’s see.” Foggy stands and goes again to the telescope. Matt hears the quiet scrape of metal as Foggy adjusts the focus. “There’s Jupiter. It’s high and bright right now. And Venus and Mars.”
Foggy’s quiet, and Matt considers how far away his focus is. It’s hard for Matt to have a clear impression of anything beyond the reach of his hands - when he’s not touching something it could be anywhere, just out of reach or miles away. But Foggy looks at planets thousands of miles away, places he can never touch but he knows.
“Sometimes it’s better not to use the telescope at all,” Foggy says. “The Leonids meteor shower is going to arrive in a couple of months, and that’s better observed with the naked eye.”
“What are meteor showers like?”
“Fireworks. Bright, white hot stripes painting the sky. Streaking across the heavens.”
“But no boom.” Matt places his empty glass on the small table next to the bottle, and his glasses alongside.
“Good point! And several nights in a row. I’m looking forward to it.” Foggy sounds like he’s turned back to the telescope.
Matt stands, the whisky now making him loose-limbed and easy, and walks slowly towards Foggy. His hand is slightly extended, reaching for the tune Foggy’s humming under his breath - it’s Drops of Jupiter. He clears his throat. “And what do you see, closer to home?” His voice is low and husky.
Foggy jumps and turns and his arm bumps Matt’s hand. “Oh! Um. Well.” Matt hears him take a quick breath, as Matt brings his hand to rest on Foggy’s shoulder. “I can see at least one beautiful thing.”
“That’s very cheesy,” Matt says, sliding his hand up to Foggy’s neck, then further to cup his cheek. He fans his thumb across to Foggy’s mouth, finding a goatee, and feels Foggy lean in to match him. “But I like it,” he breathes.
Foggy makes a small noise of pleasure for the brief moment that his warm, soft lips are pressed against Matt’s own. Matt brings his other hand to Foggy’s face, sliding both hands back and finding that Foggy’s hair is pulled back into a low pony.
“I didn’t think long hair would be allowed, Professor?” Matt asks.
Foggy huffs a laugh. “It’s Doctor to you, and anything goes these days.” He rests his forehead against Matt’s. “I like you,” he says, breathless.
“Really,” Matt says, one eyebrow lifted.
“I promise I’m usually better at… Words. And things.”
“What sort of things.”
“Oh, I can totally show you. But I feel obligated at this point to tell you that my super has a CCTV camera on this rooftop, and he is probably watching us right now because that’s the kind of guy he is. So, maybe we could take this back downstairs? If I’ve wooed you enough with the stars.”
“I could stand to hear more,” Matt says. “But yes, let’s go inside, and continue the story there.” And Matt follows Foggy again, drawn along by his gravity. He wonders what happens to a comet that gets caught in a gravitational field it can’t escape, wonders if he’s going to find out.
Just a fun Nelson, Murdock & Page fic. Read it here, or on AO3.
“It’s your turn.” Foggy was sure that it was.
“No. It’s your turn,” Matt said firmly.
“Hell no. I took it last time. You know, after that fender bender thing.”
“Foggy. That was last week. I did it yesterday.”
“Aw man. No way. Please Matty, I don’t think I can.”
“What kind of man are you? Oh yeah, a man without extremely sensitive taste buds.”
“You have no way of knowing how sensitive my taste buds are.” Matt did that thing where he tilted his chin down and ‘looked’ at Foggy over the rims of his glasses, and Foggy groaned in frustration. “The thing is, Matty-Man, I just don’t want to. I don’t want to have to-”
Matt lifted his hand and made a slicing motion across his own throat and Foggy paused, listening. Matt picked up a sheet of paper from the coffee table in their waiting area and started running his fingers over it, a moment before Karen opened the outer door and swept into the office, looking as gorgeous as ever. Foggy cursed internally.
“Morning, guys,” she said, leaving her handbag on a chair and hanging up her coat before making a beeline to the coffee maker.
Foggy smiled weakly and watched as Karen heaped several spoonfuls of coffee into the machine. He stole a look at Matt, who still had the same sheet of paper in his hand, and a look of dawning horror on his face. Turning back to Karen, he could see that she was still loading the machine with coffee. She put the spoon down and folded the top of the packet over, before filling the machine with water and turning it on. Then she turned around and seemed to notice for the first time that they were both studying her. “Everything okay?”
Foggy nodded, tucking his hair back behind his ear. Matt gave himself a small shake, and renewed contact between his fingertips and the paper that he held, hand moving quickly. Karen walked over to stand beside Matt, and looked down at the sheet of paper. “Matt?” she asked.
Matt’s hand stopped moving, and he looked slightly stricken. “Ah,” he tried. Foggy looked properly for the first time, and saw that he was holding a printed piece of paper, that it was upside down, glossy, and advertising Christmas lights. Matt shrugged. “Maybe you could tell me?” he said, passing the leaflet to Karen. She took it, laughed and punched him lightly on the shoulder.
“What’s up with you two, today? Oh, has Mrs Flint been flirting with you again?” Mrs Flint was approximately 107 years old, and seemed very interested in getting to know Foggy better.
“Yes!” Foggy said. “That is definitely it. Charming old ladies… charming us.”
Matt pulled a face, swallowed and turned away. “Sorry,” he said, grimacing. “Had a late one last night.” He was already moving towards his office. “If you need me, I’ll just be…” The door closed firmly behind him. Karen gave the door a look.
“Traitor,” Foggy whispered.
“What’s going on?” Karen’s head whipped around, and Foggy died a little inside.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Foggy waved her off, and she gave him a look of skepticism before walking back to the kitchen. In his pocket, Foggy’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Matt.
MAN UP FRANKLIN
“Fuck you, Matt.”
Karen was watching him from the kitchen, through slitted lids, one hand on her hip. The coffee machine bubbled ominously beside her. Foggy sighed, and hung his head. Then he looked up and smiled at Karen.
“You know I love you, right, K?”
“What did you do? What did Matt do?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Matt,” she called, but Matt’s door stayed shut.
Foggy walked over and reached for one of her hands, although she was reluctant to give it “Kare-Bear. Light of this office, cleverest of investigators, charmer of the masses.”
Matt’s door opened a crack. “She of the crack-shot,” Matt whispered loudly. The door shut again with a thump.
“Yes. Badass Karen, who we all fear.”
Her mouth twisted as she tried not to smile. “So much for the Man Without Fear.”
“Well yes, we know he sucks.” Foggy took a deep breath. “Wehateyourcoffeeandwecantdrinkitanymore.” He closed his mouth and clapped both hands over it, watching her face for a reaction.
Karen looked down at her suddenly-abandoned hand, then back up at him. “Huh?”
Foggy repeated his admission, this time muffled behind his hands. In response, Karen glowered at him.
“Matthew Murdock, stop hiding and get your ass out here.” They waited several seconds, but there was no response. “I’m waiting.”
Slowly, the door creaked open, and Matt sidled up beside Foggy, head down and hands behind his back. Karen glared at him, then at Foggy. She lifted her eyebrows in question, and he decided it was time to admit defeat.
Foggy rubbed his hands over his face, then dropped them and shrugged. “Matt and I, we’ve been sneaking out and getting coffee, behind your back. Taking turns.”
Matt turned towards him, mouth open to object, but Karen raised a quelling hand. “You’ve been cheating on me with Starbucks?”
“No, not Starbucks. Gloria’s. On the corner.”
“Gl--” She shook her head. “Why?”
“Because your coffee is a crime towards humanity,” Matt said. “What, are you going to contradict me, Foggy.”
“That might be taking it a little far, Matt,” Foggy said.
“It’s undrinkable.”
“ Matt! ”
“Look, you don’t get it. I need coffee to function, but I also have some respect for myself and lately, Karen, your coffee has been unbearable. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to hurt you, but I can’t lie any longer. And I can’t suffer any longer. This has to end.”
“Well,” Karen said icily. “If you put it that way. Message received.” her gaze skipped between the two of them, then she turned off the coffee pot, scooped her handbag off the floor, and walked into her office, closing the door quietly behind her.
A heavy silence hung in the air.
“You’re a horrible person, Matt.”
“Me? You’re the one who told her!”
“I didn’t try to destroy her in the process!”
“You guys are always saying I need to be honest with you! So I was… being honest.” Matt had a sheepish look on his face
“Dude. Being honest means not hiding injuries and ninja wars from us. It doesn’t mean telling your friends you hate them.”
“I didn’t say I hated her.”
“No, just that she was committing human rights offences.”
“But was I wrong?”
“Look man, we agree on the coffee. But the delivery? You went way too far this time.” Matt’s head was turned towards Karen’s office. Foggy leaned closer and whispered, “Is she crying?”
Matt shook his head. “No, she’s just looking at her phone. She… she doesn’t even seem upset.” He took a step forward, tilting his head to the side and frowning slightly. “She actually seems happy. And… she smells like coffee.”
“Huh?” Matt faced Foggy for a moment, then the front door. There was a knock, and the door swung open to reveal a delivery man clutching a cardboard box to his chest.
“Nelson and Murdock?” he asked? Foggy lifted a hand, and the man thrust a clipboard at him. “Sign that. Where do you want this?”
“Just there’s fine. Thanks.” And the man was gone. Foggy looked at the box on the floor, then back at Matt. “It’s not going to explode, right?” Matt shook his head, not entirely confidently, so Foggy shrugged, picked the box up and carried it to the kitchen bench. He slit the tape on top and lifted the flaps, read the words on the box inside, and started laughing.
“Foggy? What is it?” Matt asked.
“Well played, Page. You can come out now,” Foggy called.
Karen appeared in her office doorway. “Did it arrive?”
“Yeah, it did,” Foggy said, still laughing. Karen skipped over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“What arrived?” Matt asked again, irritably.
“Oh Matty, this is going to make your year,” Foggy said. “Come and check it out.” He lifted the shiny espresso machine out of its cardboard and styrofoam packaging, and placed it on the bench. Matt touched it hesitantly, then more confidently, smiling as he recognised it. “It’s the same as your one at home, right?” Matt nodded, face split in a wide grin.
“Fill it with water, Foggy,” Karen ordered, heading back to her office and returning a moment later with coffee beans, which she handed to Matt. “Choose your grind. I wouldn’t want to risk getting it anything other than perfect”
“Karen,” Matt began.
“I know, you’re sorry. You can make it up to me by making me a flat white.”
“Yes ma’am,” Matt said, getting to work. His face was flaming.
Foggy patted him on the back. “Don’t sweat it. I mean, I know we were starting from a pretty low place, but I don’t think it’s accidental that Karen’s coffee has become progressively worse more recently. She set us up.”
“I admit nothing. But I think it’s a justifiable business expense,” Karen said, with a wink.
This is my Daredevil Exchange 2020 @daredevilexchange gift for @enfernalinferno, to fill the prompt ‘Insomnia.’ I hope you enjoy. Read here, or over on AO3.
Circadian
Matt didn’t have a clue what time it was, but he knew it was late, maybe around midday. After a good week or so where he felt like a functioning member of society, he’d been slipping again. The nights had become longer and later, coinciding with wakefulness and high energy, until suddenly here he was, sleeping away the morning.
He pushed back the layers of drowsiness and swiped at his nightstand, knocking his phone onto the floor with an alarming crunch. With a groan, he rolled onto his belly and hung his arm off the bed, sweeping the floor with his fingertips until he located the phone. The crack across the screen was slightly longer, but it seemed to turn on as usual, announcing the time as 1:17 p.m. “Fuck.” There were two messages from Foggy.
8:55 a.m.: Hey buddy, you joining us?
9:03 a.m.: You’re probably still asleep. Let me know when you get this, so I know you’re not dead
Matt swallowed and licked his lips before dictating a reply. “Sorry Fog, slept in. How’d it go?”
Matt’s stomach growled. He couldn’t remember if he had any food in the apartment. He scrubbed a hand across his face, fingers rasping against his stubble, then then shuffled to his feet and went in search of coffee.
Fifteen minutes later Matt was seated at his dining table, nursing the last traces of heat fading from his empty coffee cup, and cursing past-Matt’s abysmal grocery shopping. He was startled from his seat by a knock at his door, followed by a jangle of keys in the lock. “It’s Foggy and Karen. I’m letting us in,” came the call, and Matt sank back into his chair, turning to face the hallway. “I brought celebration food!”
“What are we celebrating?” Matt called back.
“A deposition to be proud of!” The door closed, and two sets of footsteps made their way down the hall.
Matt smiled with relief. He’d been concerned about this particular deposition. Another step closer to helping their client. “I expected nothing less,” he said, as Foggy rounded the corner.
“Don’t get up on our account, Murdock,” Foggy said, reaching out and mussing up Matt’s hair as he passed on his way to the kitchen, take-out bags rustling. “I know it’s the middle of the day, but Thai is good at any time.” Foggy opened the back cabinets and started pulling down plates and dishing out the food.
Karen sat down at the table and leaned in, whispering, “Are you okay, Matt?” There was concern in her voice. “You look kind of rough.”
Matt shook his head, wishing he had his glasses on. “I’m fine. I just slept late,” he said. Karen made an uncertain noise, her head turning towards Foggy, who appeared not to have heard them. “So, tell me more,” he prodded.
Foggy placed two plates on the table, then turned back to get his own. “You should have seen Hogarth’s face, Matty. She knows we’ve got this sewn up.” He slid into the seat on the other side of Matt, gently cuffing Matt in the shoulder.
“Hogarth was there?” Matt asked, picking up his fork and prodding at his pad thai.
“Well, no, not for the deposition,” Foggy said. “The new hire, Fonti? It was her. But I saw her briefing Hogarth outside afterwards, and when she saw me Hogarth looked like I’d just killed her cat. I think we’re going to avoid a trial.” Matt nodded. A settlement was what they were hoping for - a settlement in their client’s favour. “Oh, but, the old guy, Mason? He couldn’t make it today, and they’ve had to schedule him for tomorrow afternoon. What time was it, Karen?”
Karen pressed the back of her hand against her mouth and swallowed her mouthful before responding. “Three p.m.”
“You’ll be able to make that one, Matty. Want to take the lead?” Foggy asked.
Matt shrugged. “Sure. Unless you think you’re on a roll?”
“Nah, Buddy. You can take it. It’s about time you did something around here,” Foggy said, without heat. Still, Matt felt a pang of guilt, and clearly it showed on his face, because Foggy’s tone became more serious as he said, “Hey, I’m joking. We’ve been over this. Eat your Thai and be happy, or else.”
Matt nodded and turned back to his food, noting that Karen’s breath had become shallow, her heart rate pitter-patter fast, like she was worried.
_____
Matt had managed to fall asleep somewhere after dawn, only just waking in time to make it to their three p.m. meeting. Thankfully, Foggy was waiting outside with a coffee in hand, which he thrust at Matt with the command, “Drink.”
“You’re a lifesaver, Fog,” Matt said, juggling his cane for a moment before Foggy took it from him.
“Chill. We’ve got a few minutes.”
Matt nodded, and took a calming breath before blowing on his coffee. “Karen?”
“Finishing something. She might join us later.” Foggy rocked back on his heels, humming a Hamilton tune.
Matt cleared his throat to ask, “So, Fonti. Do I need to know anything?”
“Nah. Pretty run of the mill, I’d say. Although definitely not attractive. Not at all.”
“Fogs. You’ve got to stop objectifying every beautiful woman you see.”
“Hey! I’m just doing the job for both of us. Although, I’d really like you to explain that to me, sometime.” Matt raised a questioning brow and Foggy waved a hand in his general direction. “The… freaky-senses-beautiful-woman-radar-thing.”
Matt just grunted and shook his head in response, dedicating himself to his caffeine fix before they headed inside.
As Matt shook Amelia Fonti’s hand, he could tell two things. One, that she was indeed an attractive woman; and two, that she was in some way thrown off balance by Matt. He couldn’t immediately tell if it was attraction or uncertainty with how to approach his blindness. Neither was his problem.
Civil litigation was one of Matt’s strengths, and he approached the deposition with a well-worn confidence. Mason initially seemed pleased to be able to tell his side of the story, but quickly realised that Matt wasn’t his friend. He soon became less cheerful, giving short answers. This suited Matt fine, because he was getting the information he wanted. But Fonti seemed to be reacting strangely, temperature rising with a flush and heart rate jumping, whenever Matt was particularly incisive. It didn’t seem like annoyance or frustration.
Inside thirty minutes, Matt had everything he needed so he and Foggy thanked Mr Mason and Ms Fonti, and headed out to where Karen was waiting. They had all started to walk off, when Matt heard Fonti calling his name. He let go of Foggy’s elbow and turned to face her, a neutral smile on his face.
“Mr Murdock,” she said breathlessly, “It’s Amelia Fonti.” Matt nodded politely, as though he couldn’t be expected to recognise someone he’d just been in close quarters with for over half an hour.
“I just wanted to say,” she continued, “What a wonderful job I think you’re doing.”
“Oh,” Matt said in surprise, momentarily startled. “I, ah, thank you. Foggy and I do like to think we’re making a difference.” He inclined his head towards where Foggy was standing, to the side and just behind him. Foggy seemed tense.
“Oh yes,” she said, “I suppose you could say that. But no, that’s not what I meant.”
Matt frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“I mean,” and here she paused, clearly thinking of what to say. She took a deep breath and started again. “I just mean, I think you’re inspirational. Being so confident when you’re, you know.”
“I’m afraid I still don’t know what you’re getting at, Ms Fonti.” Although, of course, he did.
Fonti stepped closer, resting a hand lightly on his forearm. “That you want to practice law, when everything must be so hard for you.” She dropped her voice to just above a whisper. “When you can’t see.”
By this stage, Matt had heard more than enough. Shucking her hand, he stepped back, shook his head slightly, and said, “If you’ll excuse me, Ms Fonti.” He turned his back to her and walked away, cane swinging slightly more forcefully than necessary.
She stepped forward, “Mr Murdock!” But Foggy blocked her path, hands in his pockets, cutting her short.
“Matt’s a damn good lawyer, not your inspiration porn,” Foggy said. He turned away to follow Matt, but giving him some space.
Matt heard Karen sidle up beside Foggy and ask in a whisper she didn’t know he could hear, “Is Matt okay?”
“Yeah,” Foggy said shortly. “He’ll be fine.”
“He doesn’t seem fine.”
“He’s probably pissed, but he’ll get over it. It’s not like it’s the first time. He’s blind, sure, but that’s not all he is and he doesn’t want to talk about it that much. Let’s get back to the office.”
____
Vaguely, Matt became aware of distant banging. Or, not in fact particularly distant. And he hadn't been asleep very long. Groggy, he levered himself off the couch and went to open the door for Karen. She never was one to give up.
"Matt?" she asked, uncertain. "Were you asleep?"
"Was," Matt said abruptly. "Come in." He gestured her in, then made a beeline back to his couch, scooping the blanket off the floor as he lay down.
She followed him cautiously, her heels making sharp tok sounds on the hardwood and slowing to a stop as she hovered near him. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"
"No. I just need to sleep." Matt pulled the blanket over his shoulder, turtling into it. The blanket had been a gift from Foggy's parents, and Matt associated its softness with their kindness.
Karen turned her head, inspecting the apartment. "In the middle of the day? It's so bright."
Matt snorted. "I hadn't noticed," he said. He could feel sleep sucking at him.
Karen shoved his shoulder, then sat down on the coffee table, dropping her bag on the floor. “Matt,” she said.
“Mmmm?”
“What’s wrong? Can I do something to help?” She was leaning towards him, her hair swinging in front of her.
“Nothing’s wrong. I told you, I just need to sleep. Stay, if you want, but please be quiet.”
She was still, probably watching him, and mercifully silent. Then she stood, slipped off her shoes and settled into an armchair, rummaging in her bag for her laptop. Matt took this to mean she was sticking around. Not that it was necessary.
When he woke some hours later, she was gone. The apartment was cooling from the warmth of the day, and Matt could hear the sounds of a city moving from rush hour to happy hour. He changed from his sweats and tee into his nighttime gear, then paused in his bedroom doorway, scanning his apartment for what had changed. There it was, on the coffee table - a case file affixed with a braille note from Foggy.
Matt made himself a coffee and sat at the kitchen table to drink it while he skimmed through the notes inside the file - there were printed copies of the depositions Foggy had been taking, with braille duplicates. Then he fired up his laptop and ordered takeout, and retrieved some electronic notes from the firm’s server. He listened to the notes while he ate, and even had enough time to make some preliminary thoughts and send them off to Foggy before he heard the first scream. He pulled on his mask and boots, and slipped into the night.
_____
Matt liked it when his sleep cycle matched everyone else’s, when he woke as the city eased into consciousness and he could take his time getting ready and checking the news instead of bolting from his apartment. Sometimes he and Foggy would walk together to the office, Foggy providing his usual mixture of gossip he’d heard, descriptions of the humanity around them, and worry for Matt, which usually expressed itself as merciless teasing.
When they entered the office on this particular day, Matt was laughing, trying to defend himself from Foggy’s claim that all Daredevil really had going for him was his ass.
“Morning, guys. What’s so funny?” Karen sounded bemused.
“Back me up on this, K,” Foggy said. “Daredevil’s butt is his most distinctive feature, right?” Matt made for his office, stashing his cane behind the door, then standing in his doorway, hands in pockets.
“Ah...” Karen said. “I suppose? I mean, it’s not like we can get to see much of the rest of him.”
“Exactly! Who wears a piece of fabric over their face, anyway? I mean, really, what’s the guy hiding.”
Matt shook his head. “Maybe he’s just shy, Foggy. Karen, what time is my first appointment?” He heard Foggy enter his own office, muttering under his breath about ‘flaunting that ass.’
“Right, yeah. Mrs Pagalay. She’ll be here in about forty-five minutes.” Karen picked up a folder off her desk and walked over to Matt. “Here’s her file.”
He flashed her a smile as he reached out to take the file. “Thank you, Karen.”
“Good night, Matt? You look… refreshed.”
“Yes, thank you,” he said. She was loitering, hands clasping and unclasping. Matt raised his eyebrows. “Was there something else you needed?”
“What? Oh, no. No. I just. You know where to find me if you need me.” She walked quickly back to her desk, sitting down and tucking stray hair behind her ear.
_____
Days later, and Matt was dragging his groggy self up the stairs. He’d hoped in vain to attend a meeting in the morning, although he and Foggy had both known it was futile. He just needed to get his brain working in time for their 2 p.m. hearing, and he really hadn’t slept long enough.
Foggy and Karen were in Foggy’s office. It sounded like they were on a break, not discussing work. Matt knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he had never claimed to be a paragon of virtue, and so he lingered on the landing, a floor below the office.
Karen was laughing as Foggy regaled her with the college story of Minnie. Matt remembered Minnie fondly - she had a warm voice and she smelled nice, and she seemed really keen to spend time with Matt, sitting next to him in Negotiation Workshop. He’d been working towards asking her on a date after finals, but after they’d handed in their written analysis she’d just… disappeared. She’d punched him lightly on the forearm and walked away. He’d known she was in other classes, but she’d never said hello to him again.
“It dented Matty’s pride. He was used to girls fawning over him, not using him for his brain.”
Matt’s pride hadn’t been dented. Bruised, maybe. Matt had been young. He’d partied, he’d got to know lots of pretty girls, and usually they were keen to get to know him better.
“Did he have a lot of girlfriends?”
“Not girlfriends, exactly. Just… girls. Many girls.”
“Women,” Karen said, firmly.
“Yes. Women.”
“Matt doesn’t have a secret girlfriend, now, does he?”
Foggy snorted. “I doubt it.”
Karen hummed, thoughtfully. “I just feel sometimes like he’s hiding something. You know?”
“What? Matt. No, no. Don’t be silly. It’s Matt.” Foggy started shuffling papers on his desk.
“It’s just that, you know, he’s not here as much as you. You’re always here by nine, but Matt’s stumbling in at 11, 12… He’s not working another job, is he?”
“No! Of course he isn’t. You know how committed he is to Nelson and Murdock.”
“You think?”
“I know, Karen. I also know he has other stuff going on, and I’m okay with it. And I know he’s not moonlighting at another firm. Or hiding a lover.”
“Okay. Got it.”
Matt pulled out his phone and sent a text to Foggy, asking him to let him know when it was safe to return, turned on his heel and headed back down to the street, in search of quality coffee.
_____
Generally speaking, Daredevil had little to do after 2 a.m. Since the office opened at 9 a.m. this meant that, periodically, Matt Murdock had a prime window of opportunity to work undisturbed, while still being able to access all the usual resources. Foggy had joked that they didn’t even need to spend more keeping the lights on, when they both knew that that was pretty much the point, with Matt’s sleep cycle. Matt could enjoy the relative peace of an empty office, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be disturbed. Reduced traffic meant fewer distracting vibrations, and Matt could more easily lose himself in his work.
So it was that Karen managed to startle Matt for the first time ever, as he sat at the conference table with both earbuds in. She had walked in, seen a shadowy figure in the morning half-light and screamed in shock. Matt was on his feet in moments, knocking over his empty coffee cup in the process, before realising who it was and that there was no genuine threat.
“Sorry, Matt,” she said, stopping in the doorway, hand pressed over her heart, then turning on the light. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”
Matt skimmed his hand over the table to locate the coffee cup, and shrugged. “Thought I’d get an early start.”
“How long have you been here?” She walked back to the coat rack to hang her coat, then to the kitchenette to start fussing with the coffee machine.
Matt stood up and followed her. “A few hours.”
“Hours? You’ve been here all night?”
“I guess.”
“You keep a pretty strange schedule.”
“I know.”
Karen took his mug, and placed it together with one for herself on the bench. “You know, Matt, I’m not telling you how to live your life, but it’s easier on Foggy when you’re around more.”
“I know that, Karen.”
“You can say it’s not my business,” she said, waving a hand around. “But it kind of is when I’m here and I see how it affects him. How it affects both of us.”
“What are you trying to say, Karen?”
Karen carried over Matt’s mug and lifted his hand, pressing the mug into it. She didn’t drop her hand from his. “Matt, if you’ve got a problem with alcohol, there’s help available,” she said earnestly.
“What?”
“Your drinking. You come in late. Sometimes you don’t come in at all. You’re asleep in the middle of the day.”
Matt started laughing, and she let go, stepping back. “I don’t have a drinking problem,” he said.
“It’s not funny. When it affects your life like this, it is a problem, Matt.” Karen turned away, fixing her own coffee.
“It’s not alcohol.” Her silence radiated skepticism, so he schooled his face into seriousness. “I’m not an alcoholic.” He took a sip. Her coffee really was awful.
“I’m not an idiot, Matt.”
“I never said you were. Look.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair then gestured helplessly. “It’s… it’s a blind thing.”
"What? Being blind makes you a flake? Come on, Matt.”
“No, really.” Matt shook his head, then waved at her. “Your brain uses light cues to reset your internal clock.” He gestured at himself. “Mine doesn’t.”
“Oh. Oh.” Karen turned around, leaning against the counter. “You've never said whether you have light perception, or not."
Matt sighed. "Well, I don't. It doesn’t matter for most things, but it messes with my sleep cycle. I knew I was going to be awake all night, so I came in to get my work done."
“You couldn’t get to sleep?”
“Nope. It’s like insomnia that shifts forward a bit every day. That’s why my schedule always changes. I really can’t control it.”
“Can’t you take something for that?”
“I don’t really want to take any medication. It doesn’t usually work well for me.”
“I’m sorry Matt. I just… I thought it was something else.”
“Clearly.” Matt shrugged. “I probably should have mentioned it, I just didn’t think to. And Foggy has known me so long he just knows, you know? He’s great about it, but not everyone is. It can be… disruptive. There’s more than one reason Landman and Zack was not a fun time.”
“I guess so.” She nodded thoughtfully, then pushed off the counter again, turning her entire body to face him. “I shouldn’t have questioned you. Can we pretend this conversation never happened?”
“Sure thing.” Matt could hear Foggy coming up the stairwell. He’d be expecting a handover from Matt, and Matt’s early departure from the office. Mercifully, the phone started ringing and Karen went to answer it. Foggy came in, and joined Matt in the kitchenette. "Morning," Matt said.
"How's it hanging, Matty." ”
“Good. Want to join me in the conference room?”
“Caffeine first, but yes”
Matt carried his cup back, took a seat and waited for Foggy to join him.
“Shut the door.” Matt listened as Foggy paused in concern, then slowly shut the door.
“What did you do this time?” Foggy asked.
“Nothing!” Matt protested.
“I don’t know why you would expect me to believe that. Spill.” Foggy sat down opposite Matt, hands clasped around the coffee cup on the table in front of him. “How bad is it?”
“It’s really not me. It’s Karen.” Karen herself was off the phone and seemed to be idly moving papers around on her desk, while shooting looks towards the conference room.
“Oh god, I think that’s worse,” Fogy said.
“Possibly.”
“Okay. I’m wearing my listening face.” Foggy took a quick gulp of coffee. “Hit me.”
“Karen’s too perceptive. She asked me today if I’m an alcoholic.”
Foggy burst out laughing. “I hate to break it to you, buddy, but you kind of are.”
“Not helping, Fog. I thought she was going to ask about… the other thing.”
“Moodkill, Matty.”
“I know. She thinks I’m flaky, and that I’m not around to help you enough.”
“Yeah. She said the same to me.” Foggy tapped a finger on his mug. “Wait, did we to tell her about the sleep thing?”
“Apparently we forgot.” Matt shrugged. “I think she went with that as an explanation, but yeah. We have to be careful.”
“We both know that your hours are not an issue for me. Right?”
“Right,” Matt affirmed.
“But I think a lot of keeping… him under wraps is going to be up to how bruise-free you can keep that pretty face of yours.”
“Fog-”
“Seriously, Matty.” Foggy took a big gulp of air. “I know we’ve been through this. Just… stay safe, okay?”
Matt fought down his argument, and nodded. “Okay.” He forced a smile, then gestured at the paperwork in front of him. “Let me get you up to speed on this, then I’ve got to go home to bed.” The thought of bed made him yawn.
“You got it, Matty. Can’t let you miss your beauty sleep.”
This is my @daredevilexchange pinch hit gift for @context-is-for-kingpins! To fill the prompt “Only those who will go to far can possibly find out how far one can go” - T.S. Eliot. It also fills the ‘Damages’ square on my @daredevilbingo card.
It follows on from my other gift, Desolation, although the two works can be read individually. Enjoy!
Read it on tumblr, or on AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/22139266)
***
Jessica wakes with her face pressed against the mattress. She opens her eyes and swipes her hair back from her face, the room sliding into hazy focus. There’s bright light scything in through the curtains and across her bare floorboards, making her squint.
“Morning.”
Jess frowns, then rolls onto her back, the sheet twisting in her legs and impeding her progress, and she has to fight against it. Matt is lying on his back, hands clasped behind his head, eyes open and focused on some unseen middle distance. The light probably isn’t bothering him, the asshole.
“Oh. It’s you.”
Matt snorts a laugh and turns his head to her. “Wow. Am I that forgettable?”
Jess shoves him away, half-heartedly, and flails her arm over the side of the bed. Her hand knocks the neck of a bottle, and it falls on its side with a hollow clunk, then spins slowly across the floorboards and under the bed. She groans, and disentagles herself from the sheet then stands up and crosses to the door.
She glances back to Matt, who has turned his face back to the ceiling. He’s obviously still listening to her as she leaves the room to raid her desk drawer. Prize found, she pads back to the bedroom to see Matt’s now closed his eyes.
Jess drops down on the bed, jostling Matt, who grunts in protest. She leans up against the wall and taps the bottle against Matt’s shoulder, but he shakes his head.
She shrugs and unscrews the cap to take a swig of bourbon, then wipes the back of her hand across her mouth.
“You know, I saw Nelson a few months back. He looked like someone had killed his cat.” She takes another mouthful of the good (bad, very bad) stuff. “Or his best friend.”
“Fuck it.” He opens his eyes, sits up next to her and swipes the bottle. “Are we talking?” He drinks, and grimaces.
“So did you go off to find Jesus, or something?” Matt cocks his head and pauses, considering, long enough that Jessica feels an urgent need to backpedal. “No, forget I asked.” She reclaims the bottle.
“Any time you want to meet him,” he says with a slow smile, “Let me know.”
“Fuck you.”
“Sure, if you want.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“I don’t think it’s sunk in, yet.”
They’re quiet for a few minutes, Jess watching dust motes dancing lazily through the air. Matt’s listening. He’s always listening, but he doesn’t tell her what he hears.
Eventually, he takes a deep breath and says, “I didn’t really plan anything, I was just surviving. Wasn’t thinking far ahead.” He holds out his hand for the bottle, which is emptying quickly.
“You were a dick.”
“I know. But I was…” He’s looking more glazed than usual, lost in his head and sliding a thumb around the edge of the label on the bottle.
“Trying to be a hero?”
That startles a laugh out of him, and brings him back to her. “I’m no hero.” His face becomes serious again. “It was more about doing what I could, when I had the chance.”
“You almost went too far, once.”
He shrugs. “I survived. And you don’t know until you try.”
“From what I hear, that fucked you up.”
He turns to her sharply, brows drawn. “What do you mean? You been looking me up? Again?”
“Once I heard a rumour you weren’t dead, I had to be sure.” She waves a hand, dismissively, then plucks the bottle from him. “Don’t worry, Hornhead, I respected your privacy.”
She looks at Matt, still scowling, the way the light brings out amber in the stubble along his jaw, and feels a twist low in her gut. She should get curtains. Then he half-smiles, as though he knows she’s looking, and it strikes her that he’s as naked as she is.
Why the hell not.
Jess takes another gulp of the burning liquor then pulls her feet in and rises onto her knees, lifting one leg and turning so she’s straddling Matt’s legs. There’s a flash of mild surprise across his face, then he reaches for the bottle. While he has a drink, she reaches down and gently squeezes his cock through the sheet, massaging and coaxing it to attention. He jumps slightly, then leans back, the bottle in a slack hand. She swipes the bourbon again and drains the bottle before setting it on the nightstand. Then she frees Matt’s cock from the sheet, shuffles forward and presses the now-firm tip to her clit. Matt grunts in encouragement and cups her ass in his hands.
Jess leans forward with one hand on the wall above his head, the other seeking tingles of slippery warmth as she masturbates with his cock. Matt’s hands roam over her body, up and down her sides, cupping her breasts then squeezing at her hips. She slides him down, his tip just parting her labia and slipping in slightly, and he groans, his head lolling back and exposing the whiteness of his neck. She leans in and licks his neck as she strokes her hand downwards and gives his balls a squeeze, noting with satisfaction the twitch it produces.
“Jess.”
“You still wanna fuck me?”
“Yes,” he pants. “God, yes.”
“How about I fuck you.”
“Yes, please.”
She plays with him, with herself, some more, until she’s filling up with warmth. She’s close, so close. All it will take is…
Matt has magically produced a condom, from fuck knows where, and is holding it between two fingers. Jess snags it from him, rips it open and slides it on. Then she guides his cock, takes him deep inside her with one stroke and they both gasp. She leans down and he lifts his face to hers, meeting her part way, hungry for her and kissing her firmly, roughly. He cups her face in both hands as she ruts against him, fucking him hard. She pants harder, chasing the cresting wave until she groans and there’s an explosion of pleasure, rippling through her as she surges again and again. Matt comes straight away, as though he’s been waiting for her, bucking and moaning in relief, and pulling a hilarous sex face. Jess collapses against his chest and they pant together as Matt strokes one hand down her back.
He laughs. “What brought that on?”
“Do I need a reason?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
She lifts her head to look at him again, a sheen of sweat on his brow. It’s not like she ever knew him that well, but she’s never hated him as much as she made out. Now, in the daylight, she can see what she couldn’t by night, the sparse greys at his temples, the deeper creases around his eyes. Whatever happened to him, whatever he doesn’t want to talk about, it’s not her problem but she can see it’s changed him. Why should she care, anyway.
Matt’s stomach rumbles loudly, and they both laugh. “Got any food?” he asks.
“Do I look like someone who eats my five-plus a day?” He doesn’t reply, just cocks a questioning eyebrow and she sighs and rolls off him, sprawled on the bed.
“So, Jessica…” he begins, then stops.
“Don’t you talk for a living?”
He scrubs a hand over his face, and begins again. “I can’t drink this much on an empty stomach. So, is going to get food with me something you’d like to do, or would you rather I fuck off?”
She considers the question. All her instincts say no, that they’re both too fucked up to spend time safely together, that they’ll tear each other apart on their ragged edges. But maybe… Maybe the gains justify the damages.
Written for the Daredevil/Defenders Exchange, for the prompt, ‘Desolation.’ This also fills the ‘It’s nice to see you again’ square on my Daredevil bingo card @daredevilbingo.
Read it here on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435688/chapters/51076810
“Are we done, Detective?”
“You’re free to go, Miss Jones. But don’t go too far. And tell us if anything pertinent comes to mind.”
“I know the drill.” She pushed up from the table. “I’ll let myself out.”
In the hallway. “Jessica.”
She shoved straight past, not looking at Danny. “No. I’m done.”
“Jess. Jess!”
“Let her go.” That was Luke.
Just walk. One foot in front of the other. Through one set of doors then the next. Down the steps, towards her apartment. Scuffing, sometimes, on the uneven sidewalk. This was not how it was meant to go. Just once couldn’t it be okay? Couldn’t everything just fucking work out? She walked away from the precinct as fast as she could, without drawing attention. There was plenty of action, a few blocks away people, ambulances, police cars. All clustered around that building. But what was the point? The damage was done. He was gone.
She wasn’t fucking going to cry over some loser she’d only known a couple of days.
Not a loser. A person with a life. Fuck.
She needed something normal. Like bourbon. And a blackout.
A week later, she got a text.
Hey Jess, Luke & me R going 2 meet up, maybe meditate then spar. Wanna come?
He must have been fucking high.
She rolled over and shoved her phone away. When she woke up, she blocked his number.
Luke found her, eventually, weeks later, in a dive bar.
“How many places did you search in, asshole?”
“How are you, Jess?”
“I do better without small talk.”
He nodded. “Mind if I stay here and drink?”
“It’s a free country. For the moment, anyway.”
She swirled the pisswater in her glass and threw it back. It seared in her veins. She kicked idly at the bar and focused on the task at had. Which was, of course, forgetting. Always trying and failing to forget.
“You know,” Luke started, but she cut him off.
“What do you want with me, Cage? Cos I don’t have anything for you. Nada.” She spread her hands, showing him her empty palms.
He turned towards her. “Jess,” he said, quiet and low. Then he stopped and dropped his head, breathed in and out. “I don’t know. I don’t know that I want anything, I just…”
“Say hi to Claire for me,” she said, voice flat. She slipped off her stool and threw some crumpled bills from her pocket onto the bar. Pam swooped in without seeming to move, sweeping away the money, giving the bar a cursory wipe and vanishing again.
“She left.”
Jess shrugged. “People leave.”
“How’s Trish?”
“We’re not doing this.” One foot in front of the other, out the doors.
Out into life that never gave her a fucking break. Life that startled her with its beauty, with its hidden depths and its sheer persistence. It might be just chance and time that allowed life to start in the first place, but once it started and had a toe hold it was really hard to snuff out. Life of infinite, branching variety.
Life that gave and took away. Life that gave Trish the ability to help people, the brains to do that wisely, and the mother to screw her head up.
Life of cruelty.
Life that fucked over the one person Jess really loved.
Jessica couldn’t save her.
Jess stood there on that bare and freezing dock, watching the helicopter disappear, and she felt herself, paper thin, tear in two.
When she finally saw him, she froze for an instant in shock. She had heard he was back, impossible not to know. But he was also in her dive bar, just outside the kitchen. It wasn’t by accident.
He didn’t acknowledge her presence as she slid onto the bar stool beside him and nodded at Pam, the bartender. It was only after she had a glass in one hand and the bottle on the bar in front of her, and she’d taken her first slug, that she swiveled to face him.
“I could have used a lawyer who wasn’t completely deranged.”
Matt laughed hoarsely, didn’t turn her way. “That might have ruled me out. It’s nice to see you again.” He had one hand resting on his cane, folded up on the bartop. That didn’t seem sanitary.
“You’re fucking hi-la-ri-ous.” She swiveled back.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“I might, if she wasn’t dead.” She stared at her own reflection in the grimy mirror above the bar.
Matt shook his head and turned part way towards her, face tipped a little down.
“I’m sorry, Jess.”
“Your dead dad. My dead mother. Whatever.”
“No, I mean I’m sorry. For everything.”
She breathed in sharply through her nose, held it, breathed out slowly. Shrugged. Drank. “You’d better not be a zombie ninja. Cos I have had it with that shit.”
“Not a zombie. The ninja part?” He tapped his fingers on the cane.
“Yeah, well, I think we both know better than that.”
“Stick,” he began, swallowed. “And Elektra. They…”
“There’s a lot of people in that club.” She held up her glass, and he clinked his against it.
“Do you really need a lawyer? I’m practicing again.”
“I know you are. And it wasn’t for me.” Jess emptied her glass. “It’s too late, anyway.” Her traitorous heart was beating hard in her chest, and she knew Matt could tell. She topped up both their glasses, slopping a bit on the bartop.
They drank in silence for a while, and slowly Jess relaxed. Her chest hurt a little, but he was so warm and alive and he wasn’t expecting anything of her. Occasionally, he’d tilt his head and half-smile to himself.
“Hear anything interesting?” she asked.
Matt huffed. “Depends on your definition. But, since you ask, want to get out of here?”
She turned to study him, the cocky smirk, one elbow leaning on the bar. Why the fuck not. “Sure. My place. Yours gives me the creeps.”
