Work Text:
Matt knows when he’s in trouble, and he knows when he’s in trouble. As he folds his grappling hook back into his cane, Foggy’s breathing on the other side of the stall door distracting him, he knows that he is 100% without a doubt in trouble.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“Matty, you’re already 17 minutes late. And counting.”
“Thanks for bringing my stuff here. Did she see you come in?”
“Yeah.”
“Foggy!”
“What? Don’t get mad at me that she saw me. Your girl’s sharp.”
“Don’t call her my girl. She’s her own girl who somehow decided that I was worthy enough for her to like.”
“You’ve got it bad.”
“I hate you.”
“You’ve got it bad, and you’re in for it bad.”
Matt fumbles with the lock of the stall door and steps out of the stall in what he hopes is something that looks respectable enough to make up to Kirsten McDuffie for the fact that he is now close to 20 minutes late on a very important night that they’ve been planning for quite some time. “I’m well aware that I’ve quite possibly made a mess out of this night.”
“So go fix it,” Foggy says, as if that’s the easiest answer in the world. Clearly, he’s never been in a romantic relationship with Kirsten McDuffie, Matt thinks, running his hands over his tie just to make sure that everything’s all in place before he goes storming out into the restaurant like the late idiot he is.
“I’m trying,” he irritably replies. “Did she look mad?”
“Yeah. No. Well, she looked more annoyed than mad, but that’s still not good, considering that this is the fourth time you’ll be late for date night with her this month.” Foggy picks up the bag that he brought Matt’s change of clothes in, and he tucks it under his arm. “Seriously, you’re almost 20 minutes late. Your tie looks fine. Just go out there.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“You always do!” Foggy shouts as Matt turns and heads out the bathroom door. As Matt exits the small bathroom, he tries not to notice how strong the lingering smell of Foggy’s chemo is—the smell of the chemo is bad enough, but when it’s mixed with the godawful scent that accompanies the synthetic hair Foggy’s using as part of tonight’s disguise, it’s almost unbearable.
Stop thinking about Foggy, he tells himself as he sweeps his cane in front of him, making his way out to the main dining room. Tonight’s about Kirsten. Make this about Kirsten. Where the hell is Kirsten?
The dining room is a symphony of sounds that melt together in bright, brash collisions that don’t make any sort of music whatsoever. Everything sounds just the slightest bit off and out of sync, and usually, Matt would feel annoyed by this lack of harmony in the way the world works and sounds, but he can’t afford to let minor irritations like the discord of non-matching sounds ruin this night any more. He’s got a lot of apologies to make and a whole lot of explaining to do. Focusing, he dulls out the background sound as much as he can, and he tries to hone in on Kirsten’s heartbeat. He knows the sound of that anywhere, and at the rate they’re going in their relationship, he can pick it up over a lot of other sounds.
He has to slow down for a few seconds while he gets a hold of his bearings. Even though he’s been to this restaurant before, tonight’s whole outing is something new, and he’s just come back from Daredeviling—“It’s such a great verb!” Kirsten passionately insists—so he’s not feeling entirely on top of his game. Right as he’s starting to hope that maybe Kirsten might say his name to let him know where she is in the dining room, he picks up on the location of her heart.
Immediately, he sets out in the direction of it, using both his radar sense and his cane to keep himself from bowling anyone over in his haste to get to her. He doesn’t need to see to know that she’s gazing disapprovingly at him by the time he’s halfway to their table. Furthermore, he doesn’t need to see to know that she’s most definitely not happy with him once he’s arrived at the table and sat down.
“I know. I know I’m late, and I don’t really have a good excuse. I’m sorry,” he blurts out.
“What’s Foggy doing out and about?” Kirsten asks, completely ignoring the question.
“He—I—I needed a change of clothes, so I asked him to bring them. He wasn’t supposed to let you see him,” Matt replies.
“I saw him.” Kirsten closes the menu she’s been holding in her hand, the quiet clap of it resonating through Matt’s ears.
“I was—“
“—out Daredeviling. Yeah. I saw the news on my phone when I decided to Google current events in San Francisco to find where you were,” Kirsten finishes without saying much else. Matt visibly winces at the tone of her voice, and he leans forward.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been hyping tonight up, and then I ruined it by being late. There was—“
“—a cyclist who was getting mugged. Matt, I read about it before you got here. You don’t have to explain,” she says. He listens for any hint of anger or irritation in her voice; technically, both are there. She’s angry, and she’s annoyed, but most of all, she’s disappointed, and that’s the emotion that kills him most of all. He can handle angry Kirsten, annoyed Kirsten, sassy Kirsten, and passive aggressive—heavy on the aggressive sometimes—Kirsten, but what he cannot handle is disappointed Kirsten.
“This is not how I wanted your birthday dinner to go,” Matt says with a low sigh. “This isn’t going anywhere near the way I thought it would, Kirsten.”
He hears her open her mouth to reply, but right at that moment, he hears two rapid heartbeats and two pairs of nervous footsteps as they approach the table. Turning his head towards the sounds, he smells perfume he’s smelled before—he likes it but doesn’t love it—and wine.
“Excuse me, sir, but—but are you Daredevil?” a female voice asks. They’re both females, Matt can tell that much. He barely hears Kirsten’s next to inaudible sigh, but it’s still loud enough for him to catch it. Faltering just slightly, something he’s not even used to doing in the first place, he nods.
“Yes?” he asks, his voice coming out more like a question than a statement.
“Is it ok if we take a quick picture with you?” the same voice asks. Matt wants to say no because he knows it’s what Kirsten wants him to say; honestly, at this point, he wants to say it, too, if it means that it’ll repair what’s happened with the night so far. But on the other hand, he can’t say no. God, how awful would the newspapers look if he told these girls no, and they went on social media talking about how Matt Murdock told them no when they asked for a picture.
“Yes?” he helplessly repeats. Again, he sounds like he’s asking them a question instead of answering their request.
“Would you mind taking the picture for us?” the other female asks. Matt feels his heart sink down to the floor as he realizes that the girl has asked Kirsten to take the picture. Kirsten’s displeasure radiates across the table, but he hears the telltale slap of glass screen hitting palm as she takes the phone from the girl and holds it up.
“Say cheese,” Kirsten flatly orders.
“Cheese!” the girls go while Matt musters up what he hopes isn’t an uncomfortable smile, even though that’s exactly how he’s feeling. The picture’s done in an instant, and he hears Kirsten hand the phone back when an idea pops into his head. He should probably take a few seconds to think over it and see if it really is a good idea, but he’s never been known for his planning and preparation, so he dives in headfirst.
“Hey, before you go,” he quickly interjects in the middle of the girls’ enthusiastic thank yous, “would you mind taking a quick picture of my girlfriend and me while we’re out tonight?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls it his cell phone before holding it out for one of them to take. The phone leaves his hand right as one of them gives a happy confirmation that she’ll take the picture. He looks back in the direction of where he knows Kirsten is sitting. “Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah,” she replies, uncertain. Beaming brightly, Matt turns his face towards where the camera is, and he pastes on a giant smile while he silently begs that Kirsten is smiling, too.
“Got it!” the girl announces. “Such a cute picture!”
“Thank you.” Matt takes the phone back. “Enjoy your evening.”
“You, too, Mr. Murdock!”
The girls leave, and Matt’s left alone with Kirsten. He turns his face back to her direction and waits for some kind of response from her. She’s either even angrier than she was before, or she’s…something. Hell, he doesn’t even know. Kirsten McDuffie is a myriad of things, and he can never figure out just what she is. Truth be told, it’s something he loves about her, something that’s always attracted him to her even before he’d known he was attracted to the fiery young attorney.
“I didn’t think we were going all that public about the whole girlfriend-boyfriend thing. You know, PR stuff,” Kirsten finally says, her tone unreadable. Again, only Kirsten can make her voice so that he doesn’t know what she’s trying to say, Matt thinks.
“It was spur of the moment,” he replies, genuine. She’s quiet for a few more seconds.
“That’s the first time you’ve confirmed our relationship to someone outside of the people who already know about it,” she adds. Matt nods once.
“You are correct.” Nervously, he pushes up his glasses and puts on a face that he hopes looks cool, calm, and collected.
“Why?” she asks. Ok. She’s suspicious.
“Well…” Matt hasn’t been expecting this question, so now that it’s out there lingering in the air between them like an accidentally shouted bad word, he doesn’t know how to answer it. In a way, it’s like the trial when he announced he was Daredevil all over again. He closes his mouth and twists it to the side for a second. “I know you say it doesn’t bother you that people ask for me to represent them, and I know you say that this is your choice to get involved with my operatic life, but I kind of get the feeling that you still feel second to Daredevil. Or like a supporting character.”
She hesitates. “Go on, Counselor.”
“Daredevil’s a duty. It’s a job—it’s—it’s something I have to do.” Matt pauses again as he tries to regroup his thoughts. It’s always strange for him to have to explain what exactly Daredevil is to him, what exactly the title represents. He would have thought that it’d be easier to explain by now, but it hasn’t gotten any easier since the day he started trying to explain it to himself. “You broke up with me the first time because you wanted to be the star of your own life. Right?”
“Correct,” Kirsten confirms without pause. Encouraged, Matt leans forward just a little bit.
“Well, you deserve to be the star of your own life. Here’s the thing: Daredevil is something I have to do, but being with you is something I want to do. The world knows about Daredevil, and only a few people know the truth about you. Tell two girls about you…within hours, everyone will know. Equal footing,” he explains.
“Matt, did that mugger hit you in the head because you’re not really making sense,” Kirsten deadpans in that dry, sassy tone she uses when she’s making it purposefully ambiguous as to whether or not she’s joking around.
“You’re important to me,” Matt admits simply.
“I’d hope so—“
“I’m serious.” Matt’s face goes more somber and less remorseful to show that he really isn’t messing around with her. “You are very, very important to me, Kirsten, and sometimes I get the feeling that you think only Daredevil’s important to me. And that’s not true at all. Ever.”
“Is this your way of making it up to me for being late on my birthday?” she asks. Matt hesitates.
“Yes and no,” he honestly answers. “Yes because I feel really bad about being late, and I know I need to make up for it, and no because I mean every word I just said to you.”
He can’t see Kirsten’s face to know how she’s reacting; her facial expressions are completely lost to him, but judging by the way her heart’s sped up steadily over the past 30 seconds, he hasn’t completely destroyed the evening. Patiently, he waits. He’ll wait for her forever, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. One thing at a time, Murdock, one thing at a time.
“Ok,” she answers after a few seconds. “Court dismissed, Counselor.”
Instantly, Matt’s face lights up with a hopeful smile. “You’re not mad anymore? Just like that?”
She sighs deeply, and he hears her put her elbows on the edge of the table. “The thing about you, Matt, is that it’s really hard to stay mad at you when you have your disgustingly sincere, romantic moments like that. Going public…that’s big. That’s a risky move.”
“So was announcing that I’m Daredevil,” Matt counters, smirking.
“Yeah, and I told you repeatedly that that was a bad idea, so.” The amused sarcasm drips through Kirsten’s words, but at least it’s amused sarcasm and not angry sarcasm. “Besides, if I know you and your history of Catholic guilt well enough, you’ll spend the rest of tonight trying to make it up to me. Furthermore, that means we’re in for some really great alone time tonight. If you know what I’m saying. Right, Counselor?”
Matt’s unable to hold his grin back. “Oh, I know what you’re saying.”
“Good. Always knew you were smart, Devil-Man.” Kirsten goes to pick up the menu when Matt reaches into his inside jacket pocket and pulls out a long thin box.
“By the way, before we order dinner—“
“Today would be nice,” Kirsten interrupts, but he can hear the grin in her voice to know that she isn’t being passive aggressive with him.
“…I have your gift,” he continues as if she hadn’t interrupted. “I want to give it to you now before we eat.”
“Why? Is it food-themed?”
“No. I’m just impatient.”
“You really are the worst at waiting for verdicts,” Kirsten agrees in a thoughtful tone, but again, the smile is evident in her voice, even if it’s a reluctant smile. Matt holds out the box and lets her take it.
“Happy birthday, Kirsten,” he announces as he listens to the small hinges on the box open. He doesn’t know what the bracelet looks like, but Foggy insists that it’s pretty while also still looking professional and like something Kirsten will wear. For the hundredth time, he wishes that he could see Kirsten’s reaction, but instead, he has to content himself with listening to her heartbeat.
In his head, he sees a small silver chain with a tiny silver oval-shaped plate on it. He pictures the plate, the middle of it decorated with fine, delicate dots that read one word in Braille. Her fingers skim over it, reading without comprehending what the word says. When she glances up at him, he can feel the warm heat of her eyes on him.
“Matt, this is gorgeous,” she says softly, somewhat breathlessly.
"Foggy helped me pick it out."
Kirsten takes it out of the box. “Matt...thank you. It's...it's beautiful. It really is. What does it say?”
“You have to ask?” He smiles at her with a beautiful, dazzling grin. “It’s the only word that could possibly fit you.”
Kirsten pauses to think, and she makes a noncommittal, confused sound in the back of her throat. “Perfect?”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Matt drily remarks. “No. But you’re close. It’s something that only a woman like you could be. Something only a woman as smart, amazing, brilliant, funny, and as hopelessly stupid to get into a relationship with me could ever be. Especially now that the media will soon be unable to stop talking about our relationship.”
“Matt?” She’s still confused, and he can’t stop smiling. He holds his hand out to her to signal that he’ll help her put it on her if she wants. Curiously, she hands him the bracelet, and he lets his hands guide him while he fastens the clasp around her small wrist. “So are you going to tell me what it says?”
“Sure, Birthday Girl.”
“So?”
Matt turns his hand over so that he’s holding her hand safely and warmly against his palm. Her hands don’t have the worn in callouses that his do, nor do they have the same heightened sensitivity that lies inside his skin. Her hands are soft and warm, comforting and satisfying all at the same time. He wants to tell her that he’s never known anyone who touches him the way she does, but he doesn’t quite know how to word it. What he does know 100% for a fact, however, is that he’s lucky. Kirsten might come across as small and cute and nothing more, but Matt’s known for a while now that she’s anything but. She’s fierce and larger than life, and she sucks the air out of the room while also filling it with oxygen, if that’s even possible. Hell, she’s possible and impossible all wrapped up together. Still beaming, he squeezes her hand.
“Matt?” she prompts. And when he tells her what her bracelet reads, when he reads the word aloud to her, he knows without a doubt that he doesn’t need his sight to know she’s smiling, too.
“Fearless. It says fearless.”