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Matt was supposed to be detoxing. Cleansing himself spiritually of all that shit in the past. To be a brand new Matt. One that could be relied on by his friends. One that could be depended on to protect his city.
And he was. But some people would probably say mingling with aspects of your past could only be debilitating to his detox. And he would agree. However, it didn’t feel wrong. It never did. Even when he knew, from an objective perspective that this was bad, it only ever felt right. Which is why he couldn’t stop himself from sniffing her hair. Not in a creepy way, but in a I’m-blind-and-my-sense-of-smell-is-heightened-and-smelling-people-is-part-of-how-I-“see”-them way.
She didn’t smell like her usual brand of shampoo and conditioner. It was cheaper. Probably the kind the hotel provides. Still, underneath that, she still smelled like herself. Not just the faint trace of her signature scent, jasmine and sandalwood, but of the smells only she could make. The smell of her skin, the smell of sweat produced in an adrenaline fueled moment. He could practically taste it.
He could hear her breathing. A moment ago, it was the kind of breathing that gives away when she’s in the heat of the moment. Now it was the long deep breaths of after. When the action was over.
Something was missing. The silence of it was louder than anything else. Her heartbeat. It was gone. Taken from her. And the thought hollowed him out. As if his own heartbeat had been robbed from him. Usually it would be strongly thumping along, louder and stronger than most. He could pick it up at a distance usually. He had ingrained the sound of it and its beats to his memory like some people memorize favourite songs. He missed it like some miss old friends. Sometimes when he thought about the fact that it had been taken, he’s filled with such anger and rage. Sometimes, he grieves. And other times, he misses it silently.
Given all this information that he's picking up, he should be able to see Elektra. His version of seeing anyways. And he does see things. Some things don’t change. Her breathing, her smell. He has to adjust to the lack of a heartbeat. It throws him off but he can still feel her, the woman he knows, existing without it. He doesn’t need her heartbeat to know when she’s lying. He can still tell with the waver in her breath, the change in her tone, and the tilt of her head when she’s being dishonest.
Some things he can’t see. So much of his vision of Elektra has to do with taste and touch, that’s just the way they are. That was once the way he felt he could see her most, the most true version of herself, when he was touching her. He still partially thinks that’s true, but that’s a dangerous thought. He hasn’t touched or tasted her in quite a while, and, for the sake of his detox, that should remain unchanged.
Still, the Elektra before him was not the exact same Elektra he knew. Not the Elektra he met in college, not the Elektra he knew before she died, not the Elektra she was before she died (the second time). How pathetic was it then that he still wanted to reach out to her, to graze his hand across her face, to check her body for any changes since the last time, to hold her and be grateful that she was alive again, not even fully knowing who this Elektra might be.
How pathetic was it that her existence, the feel of her before him, could still fill him. Fill him, not with something simple, like joy, excitement, gratitude, desire, or even anger, resentment. But fill him, make him full and whole in ways he can’t explain. She does this so easily and flawlessly. When she’s gone, he tries to fill it himself, and many times he can convince himself he’s done it right. And then she comes breezing into his life when he least expects it and fills that spot in him like it was made just for her, making his poor attempts look like a child’s with a puzzle.
He wonders if everyone has someone in their life, or someone that is supposed to be in their life, that has the ability to shake and rock the ground they stand on, simply by existing.
Elektra stretches out her neck, sais in hand, “They can’t have gone far. Ready for round 2, Matthew?”
He can sense her happiness radiating through her being. She always was more satisfied in the middle of the fight, the hunt. But this was different. This Elektra was one free of the trappings of her old life (lives). She answered to no one but herself. He could sense that change within her. He could hear it, smell it, practically taste and touch it. He tries not to read into the feeling of peace that washes over him at the feel of her contentment. Matthew can’t help but think that maybe this is the way it was always meant to be. All the hardship and pain she (they) have had to endure, to achieve this end. Their version of a happy ending. That saddens him on a level, but maybe they both came out better on the other side.
Matt breathes her in one more time, all of it, the past and the future, deep into his lungs and hopes to keep that part of her there. How pathetic is it that he’s already memorizing every bit of this Elektra, ingraining her into his soul like he’s done in the past. That’s very obviously bad for his detox. And yet, he is rejuvenated, his entire body singing. Absolutely pathetic. He can’t even stop the smile on his face.
“Ready.”