Chapter Text
Matt Murdock knew he had a soul mark. He’d feel the skin over his wrist prickle whenever he romantically engaged with someone else. He knew he had a soulmate. It just made Matt so furious that the tattoo of his soulmate’s first words to him weren’t raised. He didn’t know who his soulmate was, much less what they were supposed to say to him. He’d almost had Foggy read out the words to him in college when they were appeared with a burning fury on the morning of his twenty-first birthday. Matt ended up deciding not to have Foggy read his words for him in the end, not particularly wanting to fuck with the system. He was so glad that Foggy didn’t read his words, especially when he took on the vigilantism and persona of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. He didn’t want to know if his soulmate could potentially be one of the thugs he was beating up, or one of the crime lords he was hunting down. Daredevil had become his life, and he’d rather die as Daredevil than live as Matthew Murdock.
Or so he thought.
After Fisk, Agent Nadeem, Agent Poindexter, and the subsequent chaos, he was more thankful for Karen and Foggy than he ever had been in his entire life. They teased the idea of Nelson, Murdock, and Page, but it became a reality, moving back in to their old shitty office space and setting up shop not a two months later.
Their first case was a call from a blocked number. After furrowed brows and sideways glances, the call was placed on speaker.
“Nelson, Murdock, and Page, how can we assist you?” Karen politely asked the caller, who immediately responded.
“Yeah yeah, skip the niceties. You know who I am, and you probably know what I want.” Came the voice of Tony Stark, who sounded more bored than anything.
“What lawsuit is being held over your head this time, Mister Stark?” Foggy responded in good fun, and Stark sighed.
“It’s a PR nightmare. I’ll have a driver pick you up from your address at three this afternoon.”
Before a conversation could be held about who would be going to represent the firm, Foggy sealed the deal.
“Matt… you should probably go. You have experience in areas with powered people.”
At three o’clock, a sleek, ergonomic car pulled in front of the building. Matt listened closely to the man’s heavy footfall, and the slight jump to his heart.
“Happy Hogan. I’ll be taking you to the Compound.”
Matt nodded, and the door was opened for him. He felt around, adding to the façade of being blind, his fingers brushing the pleather upholstery. The door was shut behind him, and the overwhelming smell of new car flooded his senses, just as he heard the driver’s door shut, and he heard the chauffeur turn toward him.
“If you need anything, just let me know. It’s not a long ride.”
Matt could only nod, and he could hear the engine purr as they merged into the New York traffic. The ride was smooth and Matt listened to the honking and shouts of his city faded, giving way into the quiet surroundings that smelled of pine and other earthy aromas. Matt guessed that they were at least twenty minutes outside the city when the car crunched over gravel and pulled around a bend, before shutting off. The chauffeur-- Happy-- opened Matt’s door for him, who unfolded his cane and began tap tap tapping his way down the gravel drive, listening to the almost nonexistent echos reverberating off of some sort of large structure. Happy led Matt through one of the doors, whether it was one the side of the building or the front, Matt didn’t know. He could feel the openness of the corridor that he was in, and began tapping his cane on what sounded like marble floor. Happy had already left him to his own devices, so Matt began touching walls and listening to the reverberation from his cane to any objects in the room. There were at least two pleather couches in some sort of sitting area, and as he continued to walk, he found several other rooms. Conference rooms with glass walls, engineering bays, and even some sort of sparring room were passed, until he entered a large open space. Granite countertops of a bar distinctified the kitchen area from the general lounge area with a television on the far wall. Faintly, Matt could hear an unsteady heartbeat that stuttered with every breath, and he could identify it as one Tony Stark approaching his location.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, because Pepper is… not a happy camper.” The billionaire sighed, placing a stack of papers on the countertop beside him. Matt frowned as he felt them, noticing no raised bumps for him to feel.
“Do you have digital copies? I can’t… feel them.”
“I think you can read them just fine, can’t you, Daredevil?” Tony’s voice sounded nonchalant, but Matt couldn’t let the billionaire know of his vigilante lifestyle. Not only would he never hear the end of all of the upgrades and improvements to his lifestyle, et cetera, but he’d also likely be harassed to join the Avengers, something which he didn’t want to do. He’d rather focus on his city, and his city alone-- not aliens and discourse between any remaining members of the Avengers that Stark hadn’t cut off.
“I cannot help you if I cannot read the documents, Mister Stark. Do you happen to have a digital copy? Because if not, I’ll call Miss Potts myself and ask…”
“Really, Stark? I thought we’d had a talk.”
Matt furrowed his brows and cocked his head, listening to someone new enter the room. The guy’s heartbeat was painstakingly normal, and Matt crossed off potential remaining Avengers off his mental list.
“Barton, I don’t recall ever asking your opinion.”
“Well, too bad. Accommodate for those of us who have disabilities, and maybe we’ll get along a little better.” The guy snarked in response, and Matt recalled reading about Barton before. Clint Barton. Archer. Avenger. Dog lover. What threw Matt off was the fact that the guy was disabled, because he didn’t sound like it. His heart beat just fine. No missing limbs, and he knew that the guy could see. Upon listening more closely, however, an almost inaudible shrill noise was coming from beside the archer’s head.
He was deaf. He had hearing aids.
Stark let out a disgruntled noise and turned to stalk off somewhere, snapping Matt out of his trance. He was left alone in the presence of the archer, who just let out what sounded like a disappointed sigh, more than likely shaking his head. A silence crossed between them, and Barton moved into the kitchen, starting up what seemed to be a coffee maker.
“I get it. I’m disabled too.”
Matt felt his forearm burn, and his heart began to race. A shudder passed through his body, rattling his spine and wracking his brain. The brewing of coffee and the rhythmic tapping of Barton’s fingers against the granite became all too loud. The call of his phone telling him Foggy was trying to contact him. He shakily picked up the phone, and despite Foggy’s voice being all too loud, it still brought a mild sense of comfort to him.
“Matt, how’s everything going with Stark?”
“I’m leaving now. He’s... sending over the information.” Matt rushed out and hung up the phone. He frantically felt around with his cane, listening to the echoing off the wide corridors and praying that he could find a way out before having to speak to Barton again. He stumbled over to the set of doors from which he’d entered, finding Happy. The chauffeur said nothing, but pulled the car around and began driving back to return Matt back to the office.
So Matt sat. In silence. Trying to push away the anxiety that had gripped his body and terrorised him when Clint had spoken to him.
“I get it. I’m disabled too.”
Even as the genuine sincerity of the archer’s words echoed in his mind, Matt felt blood roar in his ears and his mind grow fuzzy. His heart rate sped up once more, just as he felt his body burn hot. Instinctively, he touched his wrist, feeling the prickling of words underneath the calloused pads of his fingers. The fog faded from his brain as he sobered, his heart slamming against his ribcage as he realised that he knew what his soulmark said, and had known from the moment those words fell from Clint’s lips.