Chapter Text
Matt Murdock creeps into Darcy’s apartment like the creepy creeping thing he is.
“Matt, I swear to Thor that had better be you rummaging for my good booze because I’m about to run out there screaming with my bat,” Darcy says quietly from her hideout in her closet.
“It’s me and I was going for the cookies, not the booze.” He says, much louder than her quiet alarm. “Join me?” He hears her put the taser back in her bag and decides that's acquiescence.
The smell of lemons and rosemary overtakes his sense as she approaches the tiny kitchen nook. “I can’t believe you crept in here to scare a year off my life and pilfer my baked goods.”
“I can’t believe you made these and weren’t going to share.” Matt gripes right back.
“Well, somebody chose to go out and play caped crusaders without telling me where he was going.” She hummed and tapped her chin as if in deep thought. “I wonder....who could that have been?”
He freezes and his face closes down. He’s never completely open with her, even in sleep he wears tension like a cowl. But what had been an easy going, almost relaxed face is now heavily shuttered. Darcy takes a step back, physically retreating from the invisible wall he’s now built between them.
Matt carefully puts the cookie tin down on the counter. “You know I’m needed. I’ve never tried to pretend otherwise.”
“Dude, of course you’re needed. That’s not...” She notices he is favoring his side. “Are you hurt? Crap, Matt, are you dripping blood in my kitchen?”
His face tilts as he considers. “I might be.”
“Dammit, Matt. I accept that you’ve got a hero complex. I accept that you can help balance the scales of justice, blah blah freakin’ blah.” She huffs a breath as she pushes past him to the Kitchen First Aid Kit (because, with Matt, you needed one in every room you had.) “What I don’t accept is you coming in bleeding and pretend you’re fine. I need to know when you go out, not to keep a leash on you but so that I can have the damn bandages waiting.”
Darcy pulls out a wad of gauze and pretends she can’t feel the prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes. “Do I need to call Claire?”
“No,” He relaxes an inch. “It’s not that bad.” She approaches him slowly, pulls at the hem of his sweater to reveal a long cut.
“I swear if you say it’s just a flesh wound, I will stab you with my spatula. What the hell happened?” She prods at the flesh gently. It’s not very deep but it has covered the surrounding skin in the warm red of fresh blood.
“Dodged a knife. Must not have dodged quick enough.” The slight hitch in her breath has him closing his eyes against the guilt. “Don’t. Don’t cry, Darce. I didn’t even feel it.”
“I get to cry, Murdock. I get to care.” Darcy punches his left shoulder, up far enough from the wound she feels confident it won’t injure anything further. “Why do you make it so hard to love you?”
“It’s my stunning personality.” He snarks. “I’m sorry, Darce. I shouldn't... I’ll try to be more open. It’s just-”
“Force of habit, I know. Sit your ass down and try not to get any more blood in my apartment.”