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Tony feels older these days. He’s not really a hundred percent still after Siberia, physically or mentally. His arm still aches like a son of a bitch even after a month. Pepper made the comment more than once that he’d feel better if he actually did the physical therapy that’s been recommended, but he’s still stubbornly doing a half-ass job of it. Mentally, well that is a shit-storm that he hasn’t really even begun to broach. He did let himself be strong armed into one session with a shrink—the best, he was assured—only to find himself staring at the woman wondering how to explain even a fraction of the crazy things he’s lived through over the past few years to someone. In the end, he’d walked out of her office feeling worse than he had when he walked in. Now, as he walks out of the courtroom to go to the bathroom, he doesn’t have a smile or witty remark for the press jammed into the hall. He just walks down the blocked off hallway feeling like he’s the one who’s a hundred years old, not Steve.
When he gets to the end of the hallway, he sees an ‘out of order’ sign blocking off the bathroom entrance and rolls his eyes. He’s willing to bet there’s one on the other side of the floor, but going back that way would mean fighting his way through the reporters. Two months ago, he would have waltzed through the crowd, shooting each camera a smile and nodding his head to deflect a million questions. Things have changed. He heads to the elevator around the corner and presses the call button.
While he’s waiting, he reaches in his breast pocket for his phone only to find it’s empty. He lets out a low curse as he recalls seeing it sitting on the table next to lawyer’s briefcase. Again, he quickly debates going back towards the mob scene to retrieve it, but the elevator dings and the doors swing open before he can decide to do so.
As Tony steps into the car, he spares a quick glance to the man already inside of it. He almost backed out when he realized that there was already someone inside, but his eyes land on a long, white cane in the man’s grasp. Now that he’s deemed it safe to step inside, he keeps looking more out of curiosity. The guy’s good looking, Tony realizes a second later. Dark hair, pale skin with a bit of stubble shading his well sculpted jaw. He’s really good looking, Tony amends in his mind. The bruise blooming beneath the frames of his red tinged glasses on the left side and his horrible cheap suit don’t diminish how attractive he is. Idly, Tony wonders how good he’d look completely nude on his expensive sheets back at the tower. ‘Young Tony’ would have been already making his move, but ‘old Tony’ was too worn out to even open his mouth to flirt. Instead, he watches as the other man pulls out his phone and pushes an earbud in, oblivious to Tony’s inner musings.
The elevator car jerks to life as the door closes, and Tony wonders when the last time the fucking thing was serviced. No sooner had that thought entered his mind than there is a sudden screeching noise followed by a harsh shuttering. The car lurches to an unsteady halt and both men nearly fall over with the force of it. The lighting above them flickered ominously before going out entirely.
“Are you alright?” a deep, voice asks roughly from the darkness.
“Fine,” Tony lies. Being suddenly thrust into a small, dark space without access to his suit or phone already has his mind racing a bit. Though his panic attacks had been mostly managed between New York and Sokovia, the events in Siberia brought them back with a vengeance. The best thing he can do is take a breath and repeat: “I’m fine.”
There is a bit of a snorting sound from the other man, but he doesn’t dispute Tony’s claim. Tony makes a step toward the control panel, and there’s a distinct crack beneath his shoe. “Fuck,” the stranger mutters harshly. “I take it by the sound that my phone is pretty much toast?”
“It’s hard to tell in the dark,” Tony bites back. He picks the device up from the floor and gingerly touches the screen, hoping for a sign of life from it. It must have gotten dropped when they jerked to a stop, and even if it had survived the fall, Tony’s shoe killed it.
“It’s dark?” the blind man asks.
“Lights went out, too,” Tony supplies.
“Great,” he grumbles. “And my phone?”
“I’d say it has ceased to be,” Tony replied, doing his best Monty Python.
“It’s an ex-phone,” the other man finishes with a dark laugh. “I’ll take a look at the panel.”
Tony opens his mouth to say that he doubts some random guy in an elevator can fix it if he—Tony Stark, tech genius—can’t, but then it occurs to him that the buttons are labeled in Braille. In this case, a blind man would have an easier time hitting the emergency call button than he would. Tony reaches out for the railing behind him and takes a step back. He feels the other man’s shoulder brush by him. There are a few quick ‘clicks’ as the blind man pushes the button and then nothing.
“So our good luck continues,” Tony snarked.
His blood pressure had gone down marginally when they were talking, but he feels it rising. Suddenly, his ribcage feels too small for his lungs. He vividly remembers the dark vastness of space and the feeling of falling. The odds are very low of the elevator spontaneously falling, but what if it does? His hands begin to tremble. Then there is a strong hand on his shoulder, rubbing small circles.
“Just breathe. Nice and easy. Just take slow breaths in and out. In and out,” the stranger says over and over. His voice is so calm and soothing that Tony finds himself obeying. After a minute more, he feels grounded again.
“Thank you,” he murmurs uncomfortably. Now that he’s feeling better, he’s aware that the stranger is sitting so close to him that their thighs brush. “My name’s Tony, by the way.”
“I know,” the blind man says with amusement in his voice. “You do enough interviews these days that I recognized your voice. I’m Matt.”
Tony lets out a snort. “Ok, I was intentionally being vague by not giving a last name, but there’s not reason for you to follow suit.”
“What would it matter if I did?” Matt counters. Tony doesn’t have to see the smirk on the other man’s face to know its there. People are usually too awed by him to give him shit, and an hour ago Tony probably would have taken his head off for it, but somehow Matt’s teasing feels good.
“For starters, I am going to have to know who to send a new phone to,” Tony says, leaning his head against the wall. “Also, if I buy you dinner, it’s nice to know what name I should expect to see printed in tomorrow’s paper.”
The body beside him goes stiff. “The last thing I need is my name in the papers again. And, seriously, don’t worry about the phone. I’m smart enough to buy insurance on the damn things.”
“What were you in the papers for before?” Tony asks, ignoring the obvious distraction about refusing the new phone.
“I had a couple of huge cases in the last year. One went well, and I was a hero. The second went to shit and killed my reputation. Not that you’ve read about either of them, I’m sure.” Matt sighs. “I’m sure you could have just figured it out anyway, but my last name’s Murdock.”
“Nelson and Murdock,” Tony blurts out. “I read about the Fisk case when it all went down. And the Castle fiasco, that almost got my attention on another level. If I recall, the Punisher went full psycho in the courtroom. I’m not sure how that’s your fault.”
“It was, but it’s over now. Nothing I can do about it but move on,” Matt says philosophically. He sounds defeated in a way that resonates with Tony.
“That’s something I’m very well acquainted with. Picking up your shit and moving on is an art form.” Tony didn’t add that it was an art form he was perfecting as he went.
“I guess it’s no surprise that I read the papers, too. I can only guess how rough everything’s been,” Matt commiserates.
Tony turns the broken phone over in his hands a few times. “What kind of phone was this, anyway?”
“Iphone,” Matt answers a bit sheepishly.
“Next thing you’re going to be telling me that Cap is your favorite Avenger,” Tony grumbles.
“He is,” Matt says the words so softly that Tony almost didn’t hear them. “I chose the iPhone because it had better accessibility features at the time. Now that I need to do some homework, maybe I’ll find out that the StarkPhone’s improved.”
The StarkPhone was one of his companies best sellers to the general public, but in reality, he had little to do with its mass production. His own phone was something that he’d designed himself with the intentions of making it untraceable and unhackable while allowing him direct access to his suits and Friday. He had no idea how the mass produced Starkphone matched up to the iPhone in accessibility features for the blind. It hadn’t ever really crossed his mind until that moment.
“Tell me what you want. I’ll build you a custom phone myself. I’m sure the new model could use a spruce up in that department, and it’ll give me something to do for an evening,” Tony says, already mapping out a few things he thinks could be helpful. “Obviously, voice commands, audible interface, Braille options...what else?”
“You don’t need to make me a phone, Tony,” Matt tells him with a hint of stubbornness mixed in.
Tony grins. He knows stubborn all to well. “Need to, no. But you just told me my company was doing something second best. You have to know that isn’t going to fly. Even if you’ve only seen my interviews a few times, you have to know I’m not going to settle for second best.”
“Third.”
“Excuse me,” Tony demands.
Matt laughs. “Third best. Android still offers better assistive apps.”
“Ouch.” Tony lets out a disappointed sigh. He’s going to probably have to raise a little hell to fix that, and more than likely, Pepper’s going to have a fit. Rather than thinking too hard on that, he swaps back to the other topic that singed his pride. “And you’re a Cap fan, too. Mind telling the one and only Invincible Iron Man about that?”
Matt laughs again but this time it’s an uncomfortable kind of laugh. “I was a poor, disabled kid who grew up in an orphanage. Knowing that Captain America didn’t have it much better at one point in his life, but still managed to make a difference...well, that meant something. I respect the hell out of all of you, and I suppose I should have been thanking you from the moment I recognized you—don’t think I don’t realize that. It’s just for me… especially as a kid, Captain America was hope.”
The weight of Matt’s words fall on his shoulders heavily. It wasn’t that Tony wasn’t already well aware of exactly what it meant to have a hero in Captain America. Despite being rich and abled, as a kid Tony had found hope too in Steve Rogers. Then as an adult… He shouldn’t have asked Matt about being a Cap fan. “I get it,” Tony says with a shrug.
“My best friend told me the armor is pretty sweet though. I think you won him over with flashy red paint,” Matt tells him, elbowing him in the side lightly.
“The armor is sweet! Also, I will have you know the paint job is perfection.” Tony laughs. “You should let me show it to you when we’re out of here. We can drop by the tower on the way to dinner.”
“I can’t go to dinner with you, Tony.”
The refusal only makes Tony more determined that he will taking Matt out.“Why not?”
“I just can’t,” Matt sighs.
“I’m better looking than Cap, if that changes anything.” It’s a lie. Even Tony objectively knows that, but if adding a little shine to things helps his cause.
“I know you are.”
Matt didn’t sound like he was lying when he says it, but it still makes Tony blink a few times before he gets his mouth working. “How would you know?”
“I wasn’t the best at science, but even before I lost my sight, I remember your picture in the magazines they used to have us read in school. You were the only thing that got me to pay attention in that class, actually. I was too young to realize exactly why you were fascinating to me, but I was fascinated,” Matt admits. “Plus, I tend to prefer brunettes.”
Tony lets out a breathy laugh. “How old are you exactly?”
“Thirty-one. And you?” Matt asks impishly.
“If you were fascinated by me, shouldn’t you know?” Tony shoots back
“Touche!” Matt cries. “I said I was fascinated, but I wasn’t quite a stalker.”
“Forty-eight,” Tony answers. “Is it an age thing?”
Matt sighs again, but this one is more exasperated. “It’s not an age thing. I just don’t think I want to have my name out there because of who I date—even if it’s only for one date.”
“Fair enough,” Tony agrees. “But I think you’re assuming I can’t be discreet.”
Before Matt can answer a light flickers on above them and there is a static-y voice coming from the panel. It takes almost half an hour before they are able to get out of the elevator with the help of New York’s finest. As soon as the doors are open, Matt somehow manages to disappear in the shuffle while Tony is getting his picture taken with the firemen who “rescued” Iron Man. By the time he starts looking for him, Matt is long gone and Tony is forced to head back to the courtroom.
A thirty minute recess in his case had suddenly become a two hour delay. Thankfully, the judge acknowledges that the situation was beyond Tony’s control, and they schedule. In the meantime, Tony is just glad to be out of the courthouse for the evening. His brief time with Matt in the elevator wasn’t unpleasant, but he’s drained. The continuation of his sexual harassment suit would have only made him feel more like shit. The worst part about it is that the case is complete bullshit that should have been settled out of court, but his accuser is looking for her fifteen minutes of fame. He doubts it will last much longer, but the whole thing is just a cherry on top the shit sundae of his life in recent months.
He goes back to the tower straight away after the courthouse and immediately shuts himself in his work shop. His mind is finally able to shift from all of the crap that has been rolling around inside of his head and on to something useful. Coming up with a modified phone for Matt wasn’t exactly difficult for a man who’d designed countless suits and other complex systems. After brushing up on what is currently available on the market in smart phone technology for the blind, he even adds a few flourishes that he thinks may actually prove helpful. It’s a small distraction for him, but a distraction nonetheless.
At about six in the morning, he finishes the phone and flops into a comfortable armchair he keeps in the lab for all-nighters. “Friday, bring up everything you can find on a Matthew Murdock, attorney at law.”
The search brings up a few in the New York area alone, as the name isn’t all that unique, but it only takes him a minute to find the right person. Tony scans through everything from school records to his father’s obituary. What catches his attention first is the reports of Matt’s accident. He reads through a news article about a brave young boy who pushed another man out of the way of an oncoming truck only to be blinded by spilled chemicals. His stomach clenches as he remembers how Matt talked about Steve—a poor kid, trying to make a difference, indeed. After that, he revisits the police reports on Jack Murdock, Matt’s father. The former boxer was gunned down just outside of the complex that held his last fight. He hadn’t even been thirty yet and left behind a blind child who would go on to live in an orphanage. The next few files are Matt’s school records. It turned out that Matt was an excellent student. Then come the articles on the Fisk and Punisher trials. It’s hard not to wince as several articles drag Matt’s name and that of his former partner through the mud. One writer even goes on to call Nelson and Murdock “amateur lawyers looking to extend their time in the spotlight” and blames them directly for the mishandling of the entire thing. Though there is a slight turn about in the next series of pieces after the misconduct in the D.A’s office was revealed, the damage had mostly been done. All in all, he can’t blame Matt for being hesitant about having his name in print again.
Tony reclines in the chair and falls into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, he’s in court on time and feeling marginally better than he had the day before. Just as he knew it would be, the suit was dismissed with only a short deliberation from the judge. There is a good chance that an appeal will be filed, but Tony is more than happy to let his lawyers field that, if it comes. He already knows that the woman in question has every talk show and faux news program clamoring at her door for an interview. She’s going to be busy for quite some time, and it may even distract her from pushing the whole thing further.
It takes Tony several tries before he’s able to dodge the press. He even swaps cars in a parking garage and pays a look-a-like to drive his Bentley back to the tower. Thankfully, the extra effort pays off, and Tony parks his rented Honda on a side street near Matt’s apartment. He keeps telling himself that he’s just here to drop off the phone, but even he knows that’s bullshit.
Matt’s building is in sad shape. True, it’s a lot better than dozens that he passed along the way, but it’s a far cry from Tony’s tower. He’s not ignorant of his own snobbery as he bounds up the stairs after shorting the security panel outside (he doesn’t take the chance for Matt to turn him away). It takes him a minute to get the courage to knock on Matt’s door.
“Who is it?” Matt calls from inside.
Tony’s voice feels tight, but he manages to make a joke anyway. “Santa Claus.”
There’s a brief pause on the other side, and Tony wonders if he just should have mailed the fucking phone to begin with. Just when he is about to say something else, the door opens. Matt’s not wearing his glasses. Tony would have been waxing poetic about the amber-gold of Matt’s eyes, but he’s instantly too distracted by the fresh round of bruises that stretch from the left side of Matt’s chin up to where they intermixed with the fading ones around his eye.
“Jesus, what happened?” Tony asks, less than tactfully.
Matt shrugs. “I fell.”
The lie only pisses Tony off. “Bullshit meter’s going off the charts on that one. Care to try again?”
“I may have run into some trouble last night,” Matt grinds out through a clenched jaw.
“And by trouble you mean, someone beat the fuck out you?” Tony’s gut reaction is to drag Matt’s ass to one of his doctors and have him checked out—probably for the second time—because he is now intimately familiar with exactly how bad of a beating it would have had to have been to make marks like that. Knowing that the lawyer probably wouldn’t appreciate the concern, he sighs heavily and goes with plan B. “Did you file a police report?”
Matt shook his head. “No need.”
“Here I thought I was the king of stubborn asshole land,” Tony muttered with a bow. “I cede my thorn to you, your majesty.”
“What are you doing here, Tony?” Matt pinches the bridge of his nose and moves round the corner, seemingly inviting Tony to follow.
“I told you; playing Santa Claus. I brought you a new StarkPhone. I threw it together myself, and I’m sure there are things that will need tweaked. Still, I think in a day or so you’ll be swearing off Apple products for the rest of your life.” Tony pulls the phone out of his messenger bag along with the Braille instructions that he had printed up for it. “I contacted my R&D team that handles the StarkPhone, too. Their director’s number is already programmed into the phone. Anything that needs changed or that you think you would like to see added, give her a call. She’ll either handle it within twenty-four hours or contact yours truly.”
“Why are you doing this, Tony?”
Those eyes of Matt’s might not be making actual contact with Tony’s, but damn if the look he was giving wasn’t effective. It was part kicked puppy and part pissed off doberman. Tony finds both sides of it to be annoyingly attractive.
“Told you,” he says, turning his attention to the massive billboard outside of Matt’s window, “I owed you a phone.”
“You’re not used to rejection, are you?” Matt asked.
“Not when the other person actually wants to say yes, no,” Tony remarks with a bit of a dark laugh. “You can’t tell me that you didn’t feel any chemistry back in that elevator, Matt. You may be a lawyer, but if the last five minutes are any indication, you’re a shitty liar.”
“I don’t need more complications in my life. As much as I may be attracted to you, I can’t do this right now.” Matt takes a long breath and leans against his kitchen counter.
“So you are attracted to me?” Tony prods, crossing the distance between them.
Matt tenses when Tony gets close enough that their breath mingles, but he didn’t pull away. “How could I not be?”
Most of the time, when Tony kisses someone, it’s a calculated thing. He’s either trying to get his way or simply trying to find an out. Kisses have never been his end game. They’ve always been a means to an end, never something that he thought much of. Kissing Matt is different. He stills in Tony’s arms only momentarily before burying one hand in Tony’s hair and while its twin wrapped round the older man’s waist. His lips move slowly and gently. It’s not the teeth and tongues colliding kind of kiss Tony is so experienced in, and God does he want—no need more. When Matt pulls back, his lips feel bereft.
“Come back to the tower with me,” Tony pleads. “We can get inside without anyone knowing. I’ll have a chef brought in from any restaurant you want.”
Matt closes his eyes and bows his head just a little. “I can’t.”
“All right,” Tony says with a sad smile. “I’ll accept no for an answer tonight, but I will ask again.”
A dark brow shoots upwards. “And if I say no again?”
“I’ll just have to keep asking.”
“I thought you gave up your title in the land of stubborn assholes?” Matt smirks.
“Nope, I lied. I am taking it back. If that is what it takes to get a date, I will gladly bear the weight of the crown,” Tony replies flippantly. For all the laughter in his voice though, Tony is more serious than he’s been about anything in quite a while. “Sure you won’t just give in and make it easy on me?”
Matt shakes his head.
“In that case, I am leaving the phone and the guide on the table for you. I also took the liberty of adding my own number—you know, just in case,” Tony murmurs with a sigh.
On his way out of the apartment building, Tony shoots a look over his shoulder. He wonders just how much effort its going to take to get Matt out of this shitty building and into his bedroom back at the tower. The distinction between ‘effort’ and ‘money’ is clear in his mind, because he already knows the money route will fail spectacularly. Matt Murdock is going to be a challenge, and Tony is going to enjoy every minute of it.
“Friday, bring up a list of flowers known for their fragrance,” he says as he slides into the driver’s seat of the Honda.