Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Matt should be studying for the Bar exam. But he’s decided to take the night off when he remembers there being a lot of chatter on the streets. 

The voices that whisper. Through the vents. On the winds. His ears like radar, catching the utterances and hissings of the snakes in the underbelly. 

They’re nervous. 

He’s just not sure why. 

————-

“You know—“ Foggy says, slapping a newspaper down in front of him and thumping his finger against it, “I keep saying our world can’t get weirder. Then it does.” 

Matt blinks. And waits. Foggy’s one of the good ones. He doesn't forget that Matt can’t see what’s on the newspaper. He treats Matt like a normal human being. Ever since college he’s been like that. He’ll tell him. 

“They found him.” Foggy says, a large deep breath following. 

“Found who?” 

“That old war guy, you know, Captain America? They found him in the freaking ice somewhere wherever up in the arctic. They found his old plane and lo and behold he was still inside .” Matt doesn't comment that bodies usually reside where they died when buried and frozen and lost in ice for decades. Minor detail. 

Matt blows out surprised air, “geez.” He feels the way Foggy moves through the room and opens his fridge. The crinkle of water bottles fills the room alongside the way Foggy’s shoes slide gently on his floor. 

“Are you wearing new cologne?” Matt asks, his nose wrinkling. 

Foggy laughs, “Nah, new deodorant. Geez, did I put on that much?” 

“Nah, just noticed the difference.” Then Matt runs his fingers over the paper, although with the tiny print and the way they ink newspapers he knows it won’t tell him anything, “they gonna have a big ceremony? I bet people in Brooklyn are losing their minds.” 

“Oh for sure, Wells was practically dancing when he was selling me the paper, you know his dad was an Irish immigrant, raised in Brooklyn, he said they’re going to throw a parade to ‘bring him home’ bigger than Mardi Gras.” 

“I’ll bet. Traffic’s going to be a nightmare that day.” 

“I wonder when they’ll have it?” Foggy wonders, “and where he’ll be buried. That little church has that sign where he attended as a kid, wonder if they’ll claim him.” 

“Figure the national cemetery—“ Matt comments shrugging, “the Army’s going to want him there.” 

“Ohhhh.” Foggy huffs out, “that’s true.” He can sense the shift in air as Foggy’s longer hair swings back and forth as he shakes his head, “Brooklyn’s going to lose their shit.” 

“Brooklyn’s always losing their shit.” 

“Ha.” Foggy barks out. Then he’s quiet and Matt’s reminded that Foggy is a sentimentalist at heart, “It’s sad though. He was alone all that time.” 

“He was dead, Foggy. He didn’t care.” 

“Yeah, I know, but I mean…” Foggy’s water bottle makes a sound as he drinks from it, “he died saving New York.” There’s a tone of awe, “both our families were around when he went down. If he hadn’t sacrificed himself, we wouldn’t be here. And he won’t ever even know what he did. Who all he saved. How much he changed the world. Just kinda sad when you think about it. You know he was like… 26? Barely older than us.” 

That causes Matt to pause. Sure he knows who Captain America was. Sick kid from Brooklyn turned War Hero. Nose dive in the arctic to save America which helped save the world. He read some of the comics when he was young, watched some of the old cartoon reruns. He may have even had an action figure given to him from his dad. His dad was a big Cap Fan. He never stayed down, Matty. He always got back up. Even when he was sick he could take a punch. He had the spirit of New York in him.  

Sometimes Matt had pictured Captain America as this larger than life middle aged tank of a man. Kind takes you out of the reality that this was a real guy. Cartoons and comics make him feel like… a fictional person. 

“That’s…” air escapes his teeth, “that is crazy. Died really young.” And he can sense Foggy’s nodding.

“Guess most guys died young in the war, weird to think if it had been us.” Not only is Foggy a sentimentalist, but he’s imaginative.

“I think I woulda been 4F’d.” 

Foggy’s snort of laughter makes Matt at ease. Most people don’t like to joke about his blindness. Foggy knows Matt’s easy going. “True, but maybe if you grew up then, you would’na gotten blinded. Not too many toxic waste trucks driving around back in the old Hell’s Kitchen days.” 

Matt tilts his head back and forth, a grin on his face, “touché.” He laughs, “guess we woulda signed up together.” 

“Nah, screw you, I’m waiting to get drafted. Then I’m calling myself in as my lawyer.” 

Matt laughs out loud and Foggy joins him. 

——————-

He’s not sure why his senses pick it up. He’s not even close, maybe a couple blocks away. 

But the sound makes his back go rigid. A grating rip followed by a thousand grains of sand shattering and sliding across a smooth surface. A thump. 

He tunes out everything else. 

Honing in on that one sound. Sweeping. Sounds of sand being shuffled. The thump of something heavy against something metal. He’s moving, leaping across the closely situated rooftops and coming to a sliding halt on the roof across from the gym. 

Fogwell’s. His dad’s old gym. 

And that sound. 

A sound he’d only heard one other time in his lifetime. 

But he has to check it out to confirm. 

Slowly he approaches from the backside and uses his ceiling access to slip inside the building. Then he silently makes his way down the hanging metal gangplanks until he gets to the office. He listens. No one is there. No heartbeat, no breathing. 

So he lithely leaps to the floor and follows the smell of freshly ripped leather. A strange pungent smell that differentiates itself from the other pungent smells of a gym. 

The smell leads him first to the punching bag. It hangs motionlessly and doesn’t actually seem to be the source of the smell. Another scent lingers. Someone’s soap or cologne— no, it’s soap. It’s not aromatic enough to be a cologne. 

And there’s no residual heat on the bag. No one’s fists transferred energy here. He crouches, feeling the ground. He’s surprised when he feels nothing but clean glazed concrete. 

Then he starts to scour, feeling around and finding nothing, not even a grain until— Matt grins, a spare few grains must have skittered further and into a corner and gotten missed. He rubs them between his fingers and then decides to follow the scent of the soap.  It leads out the back to the dumpster where the ripped leather smell returns.  

He’s lucky the dumpster is half full and he can lean over the edge, reaching down until his fingertips find it. 

A ripped open punching bag. 

There’s a few reasons this fascinates him. 

One, it takes years and years to wear down a punching bag. Especially a thick old leather one like this. He can feel the softness of its skin. And gyms, particularly Foggwells, were meticulous about keeping their bags oiled and in good shape. Stitched tight and repaired when necessary. They were expensive and replacing them was a pain. Equipment or a team of guys had to hang them up. 

When they break or rip, they’re usually taken down and repaired as best as possible. And this was just thrown away. But as his fingers inspect the tear, he understands that this was a catastrophic rip. Irreparable. Must have been some punch, or perhaps a faulty seam. 

Mystery solved, he heads back to this corner on the rooftop to listen to the sounds of Hell’s Kitchen. 

—————

The voices are back. The underworld scrambling and hissing and in general freaking out. Not all of it, just a portion. Matt hasn’t learned the organization's name, but he knows they’re old. Tied deeply along the roots of some government organization. A bad apple in a barrel of espionage and national security. 

He keeps his ears wide open, trying to figure out why they’re scrambling so he can use it against them. But they’re slippery. 

————-

“Whatever happened to that Captain America parade?” Matt asks one day as they’re going over old cases that may appear on the exam, “never heard anything else.” 

Foggy’s head shifts up, and Matt feels him shrug, “you know? That’s a good point. I dunno, I haven’t heard anything either.” His head tips and Matt hears the tap tap tap of his pen, “how long does it take to prep a body?” 

“Depends on the damage I guess.” Matt answers. Tapping his foot along to the beat of Foggy’s pen, “and probably the red tape is keeping things tied up.” And then, as someone who knows what it’s like to fear people knowing his gifts, a horrible thought enters his mind, “hopefully they’re treating his body with respect…” 

Foggy sucks in a sharp breath, “what?” 

“You heard about Banner right? Guy who messed with the serum and then went on a rampage in Harlem?” 

Foggy snorts and he can imagine the eye roll that accompanies it, “yeah, unsurprisingly I heard about it.” 

“Now they have—“ the words feel gross coming out of his mouth, “the source. Probably a few scientists who want access before they bury him.” 

While Matt’s a realist, Foggy has a deep seated faith in humanity, “what? No. They wouldn’t do that. He’s a human being, not a science experiment!” 

“Just giving options for why we haven’t heard anything. Could be nothing.” 

And Foggy’s voice is sad when he responds, “can dead people get a lawyer?” 

Matt’s grin is sad, “probably not ones owned by the government.” 

“He’s not a lab rat.” Foggy says through gritted teeth, “they better be respecting him.” 

Matt doesn’t respond. Because it’s doubtful. 

————-

Another day. 

Another ripped punching bag. 

A fresh one hung and the floor cleaned by the time Matt gets there. 

————

“I asked Wells, says he hasn’t heard anything either. He’s worried it means they won’t let them bury him in Brooklyn.” Foggy shifts through the myriad of textbooks looking for the grand jury testimonies they’re supposed to be going over that day, studying at Matt’s apartment. “They’re starting a petition.” 

“He didn’t have a will?” Matt asks. 

“Dunno, didn’t learn that in history class.” 

Matt shakes his head and his fingers cease their run over the braille. “I don’t even remember learning about him in history class.” 

“Really?” Foggy asks, sounding surprised, “my teacher loved him. Wouldn’t shut up about world war 2. I know tons of useless facts about the guy.” 

“My history teacher was German.” He lets out a chuckle, “maybe it’s a sore subject.” 

Foggy throws a crumpled up piece of paper at him and he lets it knock him on the shoulder. “That’s a horrible joke.” 

“Thank you,” Matt jokes with the tip of his head like he’s bowing, “thank you.” 

—————

After the third bag is ripped and replaced, Matt is annoyed at whoever is going through Jones’ supplies like that. Maybe whoever it was was using metal-knuckled gloves to feel big and strong, causing the bags to give in. 

It doesn’t really make sense, but he has no other explanation. 

—————-

The explosions reverberate through the whole city. Maybe their goal was Lower Manhattan, but the damage was spreading northwest towards Hell’s Kitchen and slowly creeping towards the rest of the boroughs. 

Matt and Foggy are together when the first strike happens, and they spend the next few hours trying to help those in firing zones into basements or fallout shelters. He grits in frustration as he has to pretend to use his cane lest he be suspicious. But thankfully total chaos tends to distract people, and he doesn’t get any questions for why he seems to know exactly where he’s going. 

“Holy shit!”  Foggy is shouting, and Matt can hear him running towards him and feel him waving his phone. “He’s alive!”

Matt, wiping sweat from his brow, feels the air buff against him as Foggy slides to a stop, sweat and adrenaline rolling off him in waves. The buzzing of the phone’s mechanics whir back and forth as Foggy waves it again, “Captain America is alive! That’s why they haven’t buried him!” 

Matt grabs Foggy’s shaking arm, “What the hell are you talking about Foggy.” 

“They’re showing news coverage! The aliens are attacking Stark Tower! Iron Man and Thor, and Hulk and some other people are fighting and Captain America! Shield and all!” 

“It’s not just a guy wearing his outfit?” Matt asks, ever the skeptic.

Foggy pauses, and disappointment curls off him at not having thought about it. “You know, now that you mention it… the suit is different than his World War 2 one… maybe now that they got the shield back, they’re just having some other guy dress up as him.” 

“Kinda creepy, knowing they just found his body and looted his personality. You’re saying he’s using the shield?” 

“Yeah, pretty good with it.” 

And Matt thinks about himself and the Hulk and the fact that just less than a year ago an alien/god person was fighting a robot in New Mexico. “Maybe it really is him.” 

Foggy’s heart rate picks up in excitement, “man, what if it is?” 

An explosion a block over cuts their conversation short.

—————

Hell’s Kitchen barely escapes. Building after building burnt to a crisp or knocked down by the wild mechanical things Matt could feel gliding through the air and crushing anything in its path. 

The shelters left standing are at capacity and people are sleeping in the streets for weeks after. They do what they can, but it’s not much. 

—————

It’s by chance that he’s close enough to hear the bag start to rip. 

The sound makes his sense fire and instead of waiting to hear the sand, he runs, finding himself behind Foggwell’s in seconds. He utilizes his senses to lead him in the building using the back hallways until he reaches the entrance to the main gym. Whoever it is is sweeping. 

Matt pushes the door open so slowly that the old hinges stay quiet. 

His senses sweep the building and he knows they’re alone. 

Matt stalks forward, quieting his breathing and rounding the corner. He hides behind a pillar and throws out any ability he has to get a read on the person. 

The person’s heart beats like thunder. Low and deep and constant. Like a storm approaching that you can’t avoid. Matt’s brow furrows as he notices that he can barely clock the person’s breathing. 

The sweeping is a soft sound, then they’re walking out the back doors to the dumpster. Matt uses the absence to slink back, climbing up high and getting to a perch that hides him in the shadows. 

When the man, it’s definitely a man, walks back in, Matt listens. No music, no sounds really. Just the barely audible sound of the broom being replaced to the closet and then the guy walking towards the lockers. 

He’s only in there for a second before he comes back and walks up the steps to the offices. Matt hears the jangle of keys dropped off into the mailbox slot and then the man is descending the steps and out the front door that locks behind him. 

The keys means Matt has to reevaluate what he knows. 

Old Man Jones must have a deal with this guy. 

And there had been nothing on his knuckles. Just tape. 

Matt needs more time to study this guy. Figure him out. 

————

“I’m just saying, if we fail the exam, we can blame it on PTSD from the Battle of New York.” Foggy says with an air of teasing. 

Matt shakes his head and then winces, forgetting the hard crick he’d gotten in it after his late night brawl with some idiot trying to terrorize his girlfriend. 

“Yeah.” He manages out, “us and the rest of New York.” 

“You heard about the cleanup?” 

Matt lifts his head, the tips of his fingers sore from reading so fast and so much, “what?” 

“The rumors are, some team or group is cleaning up at night when the construction crews go home. It’s at random, can’t figure out where they’ll strike next, but whoever is doing it, is helping the crews work faster by moving chunks of concrete or debris so the trucks can move freely and not have to wait for the cranes, and just doing things in general to help.” 

Sometimes Matt is so buried under the scum of Hell’s Kitchen he forgets that there is still good in New York. “That’s really awesome.” He responds, “love hearing that people are trying to do the right thing.” 

“Wish we knew who they were.” Foggy says, rubbing his fingers together and making the air around them shimmer back and forth, “I love a Good Samaritan.” 

“Mhmm…” Matt says, already distracted, his fingers resting back on the page. 

—————-

He thinks back to which days he found the bags in the dumpsters and heads to the gym early. He waves to Old Man Jones who waves back. There’s a few patrons. They’re new, and they avoid him like he has the plague. It’s to be expected. He walks with the cane, and people get nervous around the cane. 

He plants himself at the small weights station, knowing that people will believe he’s capable of that at least without question. 

An hour passes and he hears Old Man Jones call that the gym is closing. 

“You mind if I stay a bit longer?” Matt calls back, “Been awhile.” 

He can hear the hesitation, “Oh, the gym has a previous engagement.” 

He grins, “engagement? You holding weddings now?” 

The Old Man laughs, “no, just someone who likes to work out in private. But he won’t mind coming back another day. Batlin’ Jack’s boy is here. You take precedence.” 

Matt waves his hand, “I mean, if he doesn't mind we can both work out.” He gestures at his eyes, “think his privacy is all set.” 

He feels the shrug, “I’ll ask ‘im, let you know.” 

Not 15 minutes later he hears the door open and barely audible steps up to the office. 

Wondered if you mind if someone else works out while you’re here?

Oh—

The voice is a low rumble, soft and warm. 

That’s okay, I’ll come back another night. Thanks though. 

He’s— 

And he hears the way old Man Jones shifts in his chair, the hinges squeaking, 

His name is Matt. He’s blind. Not sure your reasoning for staying private, but he can’t see ya. But if you wanna come back, that’s fine too.

He keeps his face away from the offices, but he has his cane is perfectly visible from the windows. 

Oh. Okay. 

He hears the same steady footsteps descend and head to the locker room. 

Matt moves a bit, making it look like he’s active, but he’s really just feeling, sensing the room. 

When the man exits, he’s at the punching bag, wondering if the man will ask him to move. 

He doesn’t. He keeps a distance from him and goes to the padded corner, getting on the floor and starting on some push-ups. Matt still hasn’t gotten close enough to gauge his size. His heart rate barely elevates as he passes 50 push-ups. Not even at 100. So… the guy is healthy. Very healthy. 

There’s a part of him that feels foolish. Why is a guy who is a complete and total stranger such an interest to him? 

Causing a bag to break? His dad would say with a grin, That’s when you know you got it, kiddo. Being the one who finally beats that leather into submission? Human tenacity triumphing over industrial strength manufactured crap? His dad would be shaking his head, us Murdocks, we got the devil in us. We’re bag breakers, Matty. Don’t you ever forget it.

That sound. He’d only heard it once before. His dad had done it just shortly after he’d gone blind. A hard won victory after a grueling session at the bag. It was old, the bag was ready to go, but the gym hadn’t replaced it yet, they’d been strapped for cash at the moment. It had been covered in duct tape and every Tom, Dick, and Harry had been going at it, hoping to be the one to cause it to spill its guts. 

But none had. It had been hanging in there. 

Until his dad. 

45 minutes at the punching bag, pure adrenaline and force radiating out from his dad. His heart rate had been scarily high, breathing a ragged sound of exhaustion, but still he’d fought. He’d kept at it. Until the tape gave way and his dad hit the weakest point of the leather with his bloody knuckles. 

The satisfying rip and splatter of the sandbags, excess sand and rags spilling on the floor, the sound of success. 

People had clapped, men at the gym had congratulated him and his dad had grinned the whole way home. Didn’t complain a lick when Matt had forced his hands into the freezer to help the swelling. 

We’re bag breakers, Matty —

This guy had broken no less than three bags. In just a few weeks time. Not for show. Not for an audience or recognition. 

Quiet. And alone. 

He’s an unknown and Matt hates unknowns. 

So he plans. 

—————

“Where the hell are you going?” Foggy asks, and Matt can sense the way he’s tapping at his watch, “We take the Bar in less than three weeks!” 

“I gotta go do this thing.” He says evasively, grabbing his cane, “I’ll be back in a few hours.” 

He can hear Foggy start to protest but he’s already leaving. 

————-

After the last patron leaves, he moves an unweighted bar onto the ground, sort of hidden behind a pillar. He needs a way to make contact. 

After a while the man arrives and Jones asks if he’s okay with Matt being there again. The man must agree because he goes to the locker room again. 

Matt stays away from the punching bag this time, staying at the weights and working out until the guy exits. He hears the tape unwind as he wraps his hands. 

He waits expectantly, anticipating the man to wail on the bag. But instead he doesn’t. The air shifts and moves as he lightly fights against it, obviously working through some sort of rhythm or routine. But there’s no way he’s breaking bags like that. 

So Matt makes his first move. He sets the weights back in place, leaving his cane resting against the bench, and he starts to walk towards the old water fountain. 

He knows this won’t feel pleasant, but he goes for it, letting the tip of his foot catch on the bar, and letting out a surprised sound as he falls forward, not catching himself as he slams, sprawling against the hard ground. 

The air leaves his lungs and he gasps, chest and knees aching from the impact. He’ll heal tonight, but man that smarts. 

“Are you okay?” 

Matt flinches back, caught off guard by the contact of a hand on his shoulder. 

The man’s arm yanks back as if burned, “sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you, sorry—“ 

“What—“ and Matt finds himself speechless. The man had been across the gym, maybe 50 ft away, and he’d covered that in half a second. “You—“ he can’t seem to speak, had he misjudged the distance? 

“Sorry,” the man repeats, “are you alright?” He can feel the man looking around, “oh—“ he can hear annoyance appear in the man’s voice, “some jackass left a bar on the ground, that’s what you tripped over. I’m sorry.” 

Four apologies in a minute. Must be some sort of record. 

“That's alright,” Matt says with a huff, rolling over and making a show of rubbing at his wrists, “used to stumbling. Sorry to cause a scene.” 

The man’s shoulders seem to move up and down softly, “no scene. Just me.” 

“And you are?” 

A millisecond of a pause, “Grant.” 

“Grant.” That’s a lie. He can hear it in the way the man’s heart beats a touch faster, “nice to meet you, I’m Matt.” He extends his hand and a solid hand meets his, shaking his firmly. And Matt finally takes a read on him. The way the man breathes, shimmering the air tells Matt the guy is freaking massive. The way this guys’ body practically oozes life and vitality almost overwhelming his senses. Matt sits up, pulling his legs in front of him and shifting his neck back and forth. 

“You work out here often?” 

He feels the man nod, then freeze. And Matt wants to grin, people are so used to nonverbal communication. “Yeah.” The man finally says, “yeah, once a week or so. Blow off some steam.” 

“Tough job?” 

Another pause, and this time Matt feels an absolutely crushing wave of grief emanate from the man. He has to steady himself and not react. 

“Yeah.” Grant says, his voice a touch rougher, “you could say that.” 

“Well, Fogwells is a good place to help with that.” 

The man offers a hand and then he pauses. Then Matt feels great amusement as he senses the man mock hits his own forehead for doing something nonverbal again. The man re-offers his hand and clears his throat, “can I help you up?” 

“Sure.” Matt extends his hand, as if he isn’t aware of where the man’s hand is. The firm grip returns and he’s hauled up. “Thanks.” 

“O’ Course.” 

The way those words sound makes his mind itch, “you from Hell’s Kitchen?” 

Another pause. “No.” 

“What brings you to Fogwells?” 

The man sucks in a deep breath and even though Matt can’t see it, he feels the way the man thumbs towards the offices, “family friend of Jones.” 

The answer confuses him. If he was a family friend of Jones… Matt’s sure he would have gotten to know him. He’s been coming to Fogwells since he was in diapers. And he’s never seen the guy around. By his voice.. he can’t be that much older than Matt. “Oh really?” Matt questions, “you know him well?” 

“I uh,” the man hesitates, “I knew one of his family members, while back. We were good friends.” 

Matt’s pretty sure Jones hasn’t had family that’s been alive in a while. Maybe he means one of Jones’ step kids. “Well, glad to have you in the family.” Matt gestures to the gym, “I basically grew up here.” 

“Oh really?” The man seems to relax now that he’s not the subject of the discussion, “you like to box?” 

“Yeah, I do. You?” 

“I’ve grown to appreciate it.” The man says evasively, “good way to train.” 

“Train?” Matt latches onto the word, “what are you training for, a match?” 

“No.” The man says quickly. “Just want to stay in shape.” 

Another lie, but well hidden. When people lie, they usually release a fear hormone, the worry of being caught. But this guy gives off nothing. Just the slightest uptick in his heart. 

“Well,” Matt says with a grin, “that’s great, if you ever need a sparring partner, you let me know.” 

“Oh—“ the man says, “I don’t think—“ 

Matt lets his grin falter, “I know. I get it.” He gestures self-deprecatingly towards his face, “no one wants to hurt the blind guy.” 

Genuine surprise radiates off the guy, “what? No, that’s not it! I—“ then his voice stops, like he was catching himself from saying too much. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

Matt presses, “because I’m blind? You think I’m not capable?” 

“No.” The man says in a very sure tone, “I promise that’s not it—“ 

“Then what is it?” 

He can tell that the man does have a reason. One he’s unwilling to share. And something starts to click in Matt’s mind. Maybe this guy’s enhanced. Like him. It would explain the broken bags… 

When he doesn’t speak, Matt lifts his hands in a surrender gesture, “it’s fine. I’m the one barging in on your private work out sessions anyways. Thanks for helping me up.” Then Matt walks away, back towards his cane, where he pretends to search for it and then uses that to get back to the water fountain. The man hasn’t moved. 

When Matt goes back to the weights, the man unwraps his hands and leaves without a word. Matt waits till he’s halfway down the block to follow him. 

The man’s heartbeat is unique enough to follow, until he realizes he’s getting on the subway. 

“Shit—“ Matt curses, walking quicker, swinging the cane back and forth. But the doors hiss close before he can manage to get inside. The slow drum of a heartbeat fading away. 

————-

The man doesn't show up the next week. Jones waves goodbye after waiting a few minutes. 

Matt curses his luck and beats at the bag. 

————

When he doesn't show up two weeks in a row, Matt catches Jones. “Hey, you seen Grant around?” 

He can hear Jones yawn,  “Grant who?” 

Okay, that’s to be expected if the guy gave a false name. “The guy who rents out the gym in private, I worked out with him a few weeks ago.” 

“Oh, is Grant his name?” The man’s shoulders move the air up and down, “never gave a name.” 

There’s a twist. “He said he knew a family member of yours. Was good friends.” 

That makes Jones pay attention, “he did? I didn’t know that. The kid never said.” 

Kid. Interesting choice of words. “How old is he?” 

“Dunno, didn’t ask. Looks around your age, maybe a bit older.” 

“Okay, thanks.” Matt walks out of the gym and he throws out his senses, letting them reach far and wide, trying to get anything. But there’s nothing. Just the normal sounds of the city. 

————-

He and Foggy lay on the ground of his apartment. They’d just gotten home from the exam, exhausted and anxious about whether they’d done enough to pass. 

Only time will tell. 

————-

It’s absolutely pissing rain from the sky. Which is probably why he’s able to hear the sound. 

A deep sound like the ground is rumbling. He tunes out the rain, and because it’s a deluge, there’s very little else to tune out. And there it is. Like someone is dragging something heavy on the concrete. His watch reads 2:11a.m. 

Matt’s not even sure why the hell he’s out here at this time. But crime doesn’t stop because of the rain. And more people are likely to get mugged in these weather conditions. Less passerbyers to stop it from happening. 

Plus their results are supposed to come in in the next week or so and he can’t even pretend he’s not nervous. 

He makes his way, leading him closer to where Hell’s Kitchen meets Manhattan proper. His perch on the rooftop overlooks an intersection. He can sense the chaos that still is this area. Two of the higher old historical buildings had been crashed through by one of those flying things and now the concrete and bricks and all their debris were still filling the streets. 

The sound is closer, and he has to descend to find it. 

The sound is more distinct now. Concrete being moved, dragged somewhere. He hears it slide muffled over a manhole cover and keep moving. Then it stops for a minute or two. Then continues. There’s fabric. Matt’s not sure why. He can hear it rustling under the concrete. 

The routine repeats itself but not evenly. Not consistently. Drag, drag, pause, pause, drag, pause.

He furrows his brow and moves towards the noise, keeping to the darkness and thankful for the rain that mutes the sounds. He finally turns a corner and crouches, listening. 

A pile of rubble. Dragged into a burned out hull of a store is the first thing that catches against the senses he throws out. An oddly orderly pile of rubble—

— Good Samaritans—

Matt perks up, maybe he’s about to encounter the team of people helping clean the city. 

So he switches to listen for heartbeats. 

And only finds one. 

One that makes him stand straight and rigid. 

Low, deep, steady. Beating like a drum. 

He’s moving, sliding up behind one of the bigger pieces of rubble as the man is dragging— now that he’s closer he can sense what the man is doing. A huge piece of fabric is loaded with massive chunks of concrete, and the man is dragging the multiple tons of weight towards the storefront. Another heart enters Matt’s field of hearing and the man immediately drops to the ground, waiting until the young man walking, staring at his phone, passes and turns a corner. Then the man is up again and pulling his load into the store front. 

Matt patiently listens as the man lifts each chunk, setting it carefully onto his already large pile and then repeats the process. More chunks of concrete, metal debris, pieces of stoplights and jagged metal of supports. All carefully arranged in the empty storefront for a crew to come collect. Matt has to keep shifting back as the man works with a speed that screams enhanced. And everytime Matt hears a heartbeat approach, the man drops. So he’s strong and he has good hearing. 

It grows more interesting by the second. 

The rain starts to lessen and Matt moves back, making sure he can’t be seen as the dawn starts to work its way towards them. His foot crunches a piece of unseen gravel and the man pauses, looking his direction. Thankfully he’s hidden behind a half crumpled news stand, but as the man starts towards his direction, he runs. 

—————-

When he gets home he starts scouring whatever reports he can find. Cursing the ones that don’t have an audio option. But eventually, after a few hours, he starts to get a general framing of where the Good Samaritan has worked. And another hour or two later Matt sits back with a huff, his mental map of the city revealing something interesting.  

The man has been working to clear certain paths. Ignoring the main downtown where the businesses and corporations are, and clearing the streets and alleyways that lead to hospitals, schools, and churches. And usually in the poorest areas. 

And the mystery of this man grows, like a seed sprouting and taking root in the back of Matt’s mind. 

—————

Foggy’s up state for a few days visiting distant family while they wait for results and it gives Matt the freedom to scour the city. 

And it does no good. He can’t seem to track him. 

Until the man finds him.

———

Matt’s beating off three guys, dodging and rolling in the bank as they try to rob it and kill him at the same time. The lights are flashing, but the alarm sound had been cut before hand, so no alarm had been sent out to the police. 

Matt hears the click of a trigger and moves, knowing that hesitation means pain and possibly death. The bullet cracks into the old marble behind him. He snatches something off a desk, a pen, and hurls it at the man. It strikes him in the eye, causing him to howl and drop the gun in pain. It goes off again, sending a bullet through a glass window. Matt prays there’s no one outside. 

He’s just managed to toss one guy into a counter so hard he knocks out when he hears the doors shatter. 

It’s a millisecond of confusion until the man he had sensed to his left is flying out the shattered doors and skittering into the street. Then Matt’s scrambling, jumping up as a fist comes his way. “Whoa—“ he gasps out and he leans back, his legs carrying all his weight as he’s angled parallel to the floor. 

Hands quicker than Matt’s ever experienced reach for him again and he leaps, flipping himself backwards out of reach. The last conscious goon is grabbing bags and trying to escape. And Matt only has a half a second to process the heavy metal phone box being ripped off the wall and thrown, slamming into the man and making him drop where he stands. 

It’s silent for a second and the man’s massive form turns slowly towards him. 

And the heartbeat registers. 

Grant. 

“Give up.” The man’s voice says, “or I’ll make you—“ 

Matt stands down, straightening and lowering his hands, “I wasn't robbing the place, I was fighting them.” 

“Convenient answer.” 

Matt grits his teeth, “you see that guy?” He points to the knocked out one lying beneath the teller counter, “you think I did that to a partner for fun?” 

“Where do I know your voice from?” 

Dread fills him, he has his black mask on, but being recognized is his worst fear. Puts so many people in danger. 

So he fights fire with fire. 

“You ripped that phone from the wall like it was a post it note.” The man turns to absolute stone. “You’re enhanced aren’t you?” 

The man doesn't answer that question, “call the police.” 

“Don’t have a phone on me.” A lie, but he’s trying to figure out this guy. 

The man makes an irritated noise in his throat. Matt can hear the man’s cellphone in his pocket, but he doesn't pull it out, walking instead towards the teller’s office and yanking at the landline there. Matt hears the familiar beep beep beep of 911 being dialed. 

Then the man leaves it ringing and walks out the door. 

Oh no. He’s not letting him get away this time. “Who are you?” 

The guy doesn’t stop and Matt has to jog to keep up with his massive strides, “I’m not going to leave you alone until you answer. Are you enhanced, and if so, how?” That question causes the man to pause, his stride lilts as he changes directions and continues to ignore Matt. “You’re the one cleaning up the streets aren’t you?” 

That makes the man turn, “why fight in a mask that blocks your vision?” 

The question makes Matt pause, and, for reasons that are unbeknownst to him, he decides to drop all pretense, “you know why.” 

Then the man fully stops, He feels the way the night air shifts as the man turns to study him. And it must click because Matt feels the way the guy lifts his hand and waves it slowly in front of Matt’s face. 

“The gym.” The man says finally, “you were the guy at the gym.” 

Matt nods, and in a move that surprises himself, he pulls off his mask. 

“You’re blind?” The man asks, and he can sense the way he turns to study the bank, “how?” 

“Enhanced. Like you.” 

Suspicion emanates from the guy. And he turns back around, “then you should know how to be more careful.” His voice is careful, calculated. 

That makes Matt bristle, “I was doing fine! I had them on the ropes.” 

The words make the man’s heart rate elevate, tension radiating off his massive frame. “Bullets flying out of windows is not having them on the ropes.” The man comments. 

Matt growls, “that wasn’t my fault, idiot dropped his gun.” 

And maybe Jones said he wasn’t too much older than Matt, but he sounds practically 80 when he responds, “well, be more conscientious next time.” 

Matt feels his mouth drop down in disbelief as the guy strides away. 

Three things make his mind reel. 

One, this guy doesn’t seem to care at all that Matt’s enhanced and fighting while blind. Or he doesn’t believe him… he’s not sure which one is more likely. 

Second, the guy is obviously wary to answer questions about himself, but he’s obviously very capable. Why hasn’t Matt heard of an enhanced like him around the city before? 

Three, why is he so anxious to leave?

He runs after him, “seriously, who the hell are you?” He snaps, “you can’t just go around giving orders—“ again something about the phrase makes the man’s heart rate go up, “and I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never come across another enhanced.” 

“Why does it matter?” The man asks in exasperation. “You wanna tell me your tragic backstory and we can commiserate?” The guy huffs and keeps walking. 

“Tragic?” The word slips out of Matt’s mouth, yeah maybe his life story sucked but he’d never thought of the word tragic. “What happened to you?” 

And the man reacts like he’s annoyed at himself for speaking, Matt can hear the way he brushes his hair back angrily, “nothin’, just go home.” 

Matt stops, letting distance grow between them, all while tracking the guy’s heartbeat. After a few minutes he follows. Running parallel and keeping a mental track of subway stops just in case the guy gets on one. But he walks and walks. Miles of city streets till he crosses over into Brooklyn. Matt follows him until he hears the buzz of an apartment building entrance door and keys jangling. 

He nestles in an empty flat across the way and closes his eyes, curling up in a corner to rest and wait. 

When morning dawns, he listens as the guy leaves, barely any sun out. 

Matt waits a few minutes and scours the building and the rooftop for the man’s distinctive heartbeat. But he’s officially flown the coop. So Matt uses his charm and the very obvious fact that he’s blind to get into the apartment building. Then, using the mental map he’d garnered last night, climbs four floors until he’s in a hallway with 6 doors. He eliminates the right side, the guy’s window had been facing the river. After listening, there’s only one apartment empty this early on a Sunday. 

Matt very carefully lets himself in using a few skills his father had taught him many years ago, and then he’s inside. 

And it’s empty. 

Well. Not empty, just sparse. A bed, one chair, a refrigerator that sounds older than Matt. A smooth laptop rests on the tiny dining room table. Something strange stands next to it, his fingers feel the rough wool. Military dress uniform. He can tell by the medals and the feel of the fabric. 

So he’s enhanced military. The Abomination runs briefly through his mind, but no… Foggy had said that guy was relatively small before he transformed. And he wasn’t enhanced when he wasn’t the Abomination. Pretty sure that guy’s in jail now, too. 

Using his senses, he searches. The soap he had smelled all those weeks ago resides in a little dish in the bathroom. One toothbrush, one hair brush and a small bottle of hair gel. 

He goes back to the laptop, careful not to touch and leave a fingerprint smudge. There’s a folder beside it, and his fingers brush against it. He tries to feel what the barely raised ink might say, but it’s like it’s old. The ink is deteriorated. 

Somehow he feels left with more questions than answers. 

The sun starts to really shine in, and he takes his cue, leaving everything just so.

————

A knock on his door makes his head pop up from where he’d been dozing on the bed. Barely sleeping at all last night was taking its toll. 

He fumbles to the doorway, grabbing his cane for appearances and his hand stopping just before he grabs the handle. 

And the voice follows very quickly after Matt’s register of the heartbeat. 

“I know you’re behind this door. And if you don’t open it, I will open it for you.” 

Matt’s really not afraid of much. Stick had beat that out of him a decade ago, but the thinly veiled threat is enough to make him shiver. 

He opens the door and the man’s annoyance buffets him back a step, “it’s not so fun when someone else barges into your house is it?” 

Matt winces, “uh—“ 

“You don’t think I couldn’t smell you in my home? Touching my stuff? What do you want from me?” 

And Matt gives up all pretense. “I don’t know.” 

The man scoffs, “everybody wants something from me.” 

That phrase makes Matt pause, “Everybody wants something… from you?” He repeats slowly.

That causes the man to freeze, the annoyance is brittle as it waves off him. 

He starts to turn, but Matt’s not finished now that they’ve started. “Wait—“ He reaches out, and the guy flinches back, Matt pulls his hand back and they stand there in an awkward limbo. “How’d you find me?” 

The guy’s back is to Matt. “Not too many fake blind guys named Matt in Hell’s Kitchen that box.” 

“Ah...” Matt responds, then his mind catches up, “wait fake?” 

“I didn’t mention anything about you being a liar. Just wanted to find where you lived to tell you to leave me alone.” 

Matt bristles, “a liar! I’m not lying!” 

“You’re not blind.” 

Matt feels his eyes narrow, “I am blind.” 

And the guy swings at him, his massive frame barreling towards him, fist raised and Matt knows if it makes contact he’s going down for the count. It’s more reflexes than anything that make him move, yanking himself back and out of the way.

The man doesn’t try again, just straightens. The soap smell spreads as he shakes his head, “yeah, sure, ‘enhanced’.” Matt can feel the air quotes and the sarcasm in his tone, “just admit you can see. Why the rouse?” 

“It’s not a rouse!” Matt insists, “it’s… I—“ Matt looks around, “can you come in so I’m not having this very private conversation in a public hallway?” 

The man must be curious because he comes inside. Matt leads him down the little hallway until it opens into the space. The flashing billboards that Matt tunes out makes the man pause. He can feel the way the man is grimacing, like he’s in pain. 

“My sighted visitors complain about that a lot.” Matt says pointedly. 

“Must make rent cheap.” 

Matt turns, halfway to the fridge, “you tight on money?” 

Only people who know money struggles comment on cheap rent. 

A long sigh that sounds disproportionately sad to the words he says, “used to be.” Then the man is turning his back to the window, “why did you pretend to trip that day in the gym?” 

Matt grits his teeth. Couldn’t he have chosen different words? Ugh. He sighs, “I was curious about you.” The man doesn’t ask why. Which is curious. “And I did pretend, but I am blind.”

“You dodged my punch. You saw it coming.” 

“Correction, I felt it coming.” 

And he’s grateful that the man has stopped labeling him a liar. “Explain.” 

“I told you. I’m enhanced. Toxic waste in my eyes from an accident when I was a kid. Went blind. Some crazy old guy trained me how to maximize my other senses.” 

Again the man doesn’t call him a liar. “And now you stop bank robberies?” 

Matt lets his annoyance out, “among other things. Someone has to fight to keep this city alive.” The words are harsh, even though he knows this guy is working towards that too. In his weird secretive street cleaning initiative. 

“So you really can’t see my face?” 

What a strange question. Matt shakes his head slowly, “no… I can sense your presence, hear your heart, feel your movements. But no, I can’t see your face.” 

The man oozes relief, “then why the curiosity?” 

“You kept breaking bags. Got curious how someone could do that over and over. You said you're enhanced?” 

“Yeah.” That one word carries with it the weight of the world. 

“You didn’t ask to be enhanced?” Just a guess, since he sounds so down about it. 

There’s a long pause, then the guy's voice is a deep rumble of chuckle that has absolutely no humor in it, “you know, funnily enough I did sign up for this. Just… more than I expected.” 

“You in the same trials as Hulk or Abomination?” 

The man’s shaking his head, “no.” 

He says no more and Matt’s sure he won’t get an answer, so he changes the subject, “why are you spending your nights cleaning up the streets?” 

The confusion is clear as the man stares at him, “how’d you—“ 

Matt grins, “you and me are cleaning up the streets two different ways. Caught you moving rubble that one really rainy night.” 

“Rain’s easier to work in.” The man says as if he’s focused somewhere else, “don’t have to hide as much.” 

“Why do you have to hide?” 

There’s a pause and the guy seems like he’s trying to think of a good reason, then he settles on one, “same as the reason you wear a mask to hide your face. Enhanced, remember?” 

“What, you don’t want to join the avengers? Get a stupid name and a big flashy costume?” 

The man snorts and then falls quiet. After a few seconds the guy turns back towards the windows, and his voice is quiet, “you really were just curious about me breaking the punching bags?” 

“Fogwell’s is home. I grew up in that gym. I was worried you were misusing property, but also yeah, breaking bags is a big accomplishment. Didn’t know you were enhanced.” 

“I bring my own.” The man responds, “I bought a stash of them. Old ones. Don’t use Jones’.” 

“You bought a stash of punching bags?” 

“Easier than repairing them at the rate I go through ‘em.” 

That’s a sentence that should sound like a brag. But the guy’s not bragging. He sounds annoyed at himself. 

“Why not pick a different hobby?” 

A wave of grief rolls off of the guy, making Matt’s throat dry. 

“It’s just familiar.” 

“How ‘bout we spar.” Matt offers, “you and me in the ring next time.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Matt grins, “why? Cuz I’m blind?” 

He feels the way the man glares at him, “if I hit you… it would hurt.” 

Somehow Matt knows the guy is underselling himself, but honestly he’s up for the challenge. “You’d have to land a punch first. Which is unlikely.” 

And something about that challenge makes the man stand taller, radiate mirth, “oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay. Next Tuesday. 8:30.” 

Matt reaches out his hand for a shake and a solid hand clasps his, shaking its excitement rolling off the guy for the first time since he met him.

——————

Chapter Text

“So,” Matt starts as they’re both wrapping their hands, “you gonna tell me your real name?” 

He can feel the chagrin rolling off the massive frame next to him. “Would it really bother you if I didn’t?” 

Matt shrugs, standing and resting his signature red sunglasses on the bench, “I mean, I can deal. Just figured if I was going to kick your ass and take your name I need to know it.” 

The man lets out a laugh, a genuine one that has Matt surprised with how warm and lighthearted it sounds. “Let’s just say, if you kick my ass then I’ll tell you my real name.” 

Matt grins, “that’s a bet I’ll take.” 

He can’t see the smile on the man’s face, but he can feel it. 

—————

Matt’s breath wooshes out of him as he ducks a barrage of blows, flipping up and around, using the man’s knee to get leverage off of and try to cling to his back before springing off to the other side of the ring. 

The man turns, his body shifting the air as he swings around. Matt’s lucky this guy’s heart beats like a drum because he can’t even register the guy’s breathing. Only the whistle of air alerts him to the oncoming fist and he leans, avoiding the blow and slipping under the guy's arms and around his back, kicking at him. But his back is like kicking a brick wall and Matt feels the way the shock reverberates up his leg and to his spine. “Ah—“ he lets out a gasp and then ducks as he feels the swinging kick that would have knocked him in the chest. 

The man pauses, as if registering Matt’s noise, “you alright?” 

Matt doesn’t answer, just pounces forward, landing a jab against a torso that feels like sheet rock. 

“Geez!” Matt growls out, shaking his fist, “what the hell are you wearing! Body armor?” 

For some reason the man sounds guilty, “no.” 

Matt straightens and he feels the guy do the same. Maybe it should be awkward but Matt doesn’t care, reaching out and placing his palm against the guy’s chest. The man stiffens, like he’s not used to being touched. And Matt can feel the warmth and the heat. The blood pulsing quietly beneath the shirt and his skin. There’s a bit of give because skin is soft, but then it’s like a brick wall, firm and unforgiving. 

“Geez, what the hell kind of workouts gave you muscles like this?” 

The man steps back just an inch, effectively detaching himself from Matt’s touch, “a really painful one.” Then it’s like he’s said too much, “it’s just my job. Have to stay fit.” 

“Well, I want to know,” Matt says with a grin, “always looking to strength train.” 

The man crouches again and Matt gets into a mirrored defensive position, “so, how are you fighting?” He asks, “I know you said you’re enhanced, but describe what you mean.” 

The grapple a few more times, each landing a few hits that don’t seem to do much damage other than be uncomfortable. Then Matt’s crawling across the guy’s back and kicking his knees to buckle him. The guy goes down but spins quickly, tangling his legs with Matt’s and bringing them both crashing to the mat. 

“I can hear your heartbeat. Your breathing. I feel the way the air moves around you as you swing. All my senses alert me to the way you affect the earth around you. Giving me a vague shape, allowing me to fight.” 

The man is shaking his head, hair scraping against the mat, “that’s incredible. Truly.” 

And the guy’s heartbeat tells him that he means it. Anyone who has come up against him has been afraid. Their heart rates betraying their fear. This guy couldn’t care less. 

“What about you?” Matt asks, untangling his legs and standing, feeling the way the guy mirrors his movements. “What are your enhancements?” 

Unease rolls of the man in a wave, and it confuses Matt. 

“What have you noticed?” The guy asks, his voice trying to be lighthearted but misses just a touch. 

“Well,” Matt says, before lunging, trying to get the drop on him, but the air swirls and the man spins out of his grasp. “You’re obviously fast—“ he throws two punches and then a kick, the man uses his forearms to block the punches and shin for the kick. Then the guy jabs left— oh it’s a fake, man he’s good, Matt barely dodges the right hook and just when he thinks he might be able to get a hit the the ribs, the man drops, hitting the floor, and twisting, throwing his legs up to catch Matt in the chest, “ oof—“ Matt breathes out, “you’re strong.” Matt listens to the heart rate again, not elevated, not pounding. Neither is his breathing quickened, “you’ve got to have some type of endurance. You’re not even winded yet.” He hears the derisive snort of air that exits the man’s nose, “you can see, and I’m thinking you can hear really well too.” Then Matt grins, “I’m really hoping you’re ugly, or else it doesn’t seem fair.” The man startles, straightening and Matt pauses, is that embarrassment he feels filtering the air? Like a slow smoke, radiating through the room, the guy’s throat makes an odd sound. “what, let me guess, you like to workout in private cuz you’ve got buck teeth and a hunchback?” 

“Something like that.” The man whispers back, only the tiniest bit of humor included. Okay. So the guy is sensitive about his looks. 

Matt can avoid that topic, “well, so to recap, we’ve got strength, speed, energizer bunny endurance, hearing, is that it? Any other abilities I should know abo—“ 

A kick to the back sends him sprawling and his face colliding with the mat. He flips over quickly but a foot is pressing him against the ground, not hard enough to do damage, but strong enough for Matt to know he could be held there if the guy wanted. 

“Yeah,” the guy says, and Matt can hear the teasing in his voice, “what happened to kicking my ass?” 

Matt’s stunned. “How—“ he feels caught off guard. Something that hasn’t happened in a long time. 

“Rule number one about fighting someone. Don’t tell them your abilities.” 

The foot gets removed and Matt sits up, irritated, “we weren’t fighting. We were sparring.” 

The guy laughs, “sure, yeah, but you seem like a talkative guy. Want to make sure you don’t get killed giving away your secrets.” 

The guy is joking with him, but Matt’s still in shock, “how did you do that? Manage to slip behind me?” 

“You told me what you can hear—“ the man says, “so I stopped breathing, I slowed my heart rate, and I moved slow enough not to disturb the air.” 

The ease in which he admits to that makes Matt want to shiver. But he doesn’t. “Well shit.” He huffs out, “I’m not making that mistake again.” 

The guy laughs, “wouldn’t work in a fight. I move too much, but while you were monologuing, I had the time.” 

Again Matt’s jaw drops open in surprise and the guy laughs that nice laugh again, “maybe you’ll get the drop on me next time, huh, Matty?” 

His chest constrict, heart rate elevating at the nickname, the name no one has called him since he held his dying father in his arms. So easy, so familiar off this guy’s tongue. He feels the outstretched arm and he grasps it, allowing himself to be hauled up. 

“You okay?” The guy asks, probably hearing his pulse racing. 

“Yeah, just—“ Matt can feel the pure force of life radiating off this guy. “Just haven’t had my ass handed to me in a while. Kind of a good reminder.” 

The guy is grinning, Matt can just feel the sunshine warmth of it, “happy to help. Anytime.” 

“Next Tuesday, same time?” 

The man is nodding and then stops, “can you feel me nodding my head?” 

Matt laughs, unwrapping his knuckles, “yeah, I can.” He almost wants to mention he can smell the guy's shampoo as the air moves through his shaking head. But he takes the guy’s tip. Don’t spill all your secrets. 

“Okay,” the man responds, “see you next Tuesday. Maybe bring a fighting spirit this time.” 

Matt drops his jaw in disbelief as the guy laughs. 

————-

Foggy looks up, a grin on his face, “I passed!” He shakes the paper, “take that dad!” He points at Matt, “open it! What are you doing, let’s go!” 

Matt rips through the envelope and hands it to Foggy, “what does it say?” 

Foggy’s breathless as he reads, “we both passed!” He’s shouting and Matt’s grinning and Foggy’s tugging him by the hand, “this calls for celebratory shots at Josie’s!” 

—————-

Three weeks of Tuesday fights have left Matt sore but elated. The guy is an excellent fighter, proficient in many different forms although Matt has a feeling the guy is learning them as time is passing. So maybe his job is some sort of stunt work or maybe he’s still in the military and he’s being trained for stuff. The guy is a quick learner though. Matt likes having a partner to fight with that he doesn’t really have to hold back. 

Obviously they avoid heads, necks, and spines. 

Foggy keeps asking where the hell he’s going but he manages a decent excuse every time. 

He’s walking up towards the gym when a sigh of exasperation comes through the air. He pauses, listening. 

“Yeah.” The voice is annoyed, “I understand. 0800 tomorrow. Got it.” 

It’s Grant. 

0800.

So still military then. Interesting. 

Matt turns the corner and senses the guy standing outside the door, shoving his phone in his pocket as he pushes open the gym door. 

Matt enters and he’s already taping his knuckles. 

“Ready to finally get your ass kicked?” 

It’s an old joke. Matt hasn’t won yet, but he hasn’t really lost either. 

The man sighs, “yeah, it’s now or never.” 

He pauses, feeling the way the warm moist air of the gym drives away the chill, “what does that mean?” 

“I’m moving to DC.” The guy says, “so I won’t be able to come down here for these little spats of ours.” 

The genuine disappointment in the guy’s voice warms him. They haven’t really said anything but he can tell they’ve both enjoyed the routine of the fight.

“New job?” 

“No, just relocated.” 

“I’m assuming you’re not going to share details.” 

“Has my ass hit the floor yet?”

Matt flips him off and he hears the guy laugh. “If you don’t want to go…” he says quieter, grabbing the tape off the bench, “why go?” 

There’s a deep sigh, “it’s complicated.” 

Military contract then. No choice. It explains the sparse apartment. If he’s always on the move.

“Well, if you ever make your way back to New York. You know where to find me.” 

“On the ropes.” The guy says with a huff, some humor returning, “that’s where.” 

“We will see,” Matt challenges. 

—————

The next Tuesday Foggy asks if he’s going to ditch again. 

“Not tonight.” Matt says. They head to Josie’s.

—————

Matt hears the same channels rumbling and whispering. Something big is happening. Except, instead of nervous, they seem excited. And that makes him nervous. 

—————

“Karen!” 

Matt hears the call before Foggy even crosses into the office space, “turn on the news!” The door bangs open, “shit!” Then Foggy’s catching himself and turning towards the small TV they have plugged in by the coffee machine, “turn it on!” 

Karen, grabbing the small remote and pointing it towards the TV, shakes her head, her strawberry shampoo wafting out from her, “what is it?” 

“Black Widow released all of SHIELDs files!” 

Matt feels his mouth gape and he and Karen are walking towards the TV, “what?” They both breathe out. 

“Look!” Then Foggy, ever mindful, “listen!” 

—- Strange rumblings and reports are afoot in DC as Shield’s confidential files were just minutes ago released nationwide. Trending on several different media sites and— The news anchor pauses and Matt leans forward, “what’s happening?” 

“She’s being handed new papers,” Karen answers back, he can hear her and Foggy’s hearts racing. 

I’m just getting word that three new Shield helicarriers are— 

“They built new carriers?” Foggy asks, “since when?” 

“After Loki they probably wanted to be prepared.” Karen says quietly as the news anchor starts to try to explain. 

Three new helicarriers are launching, and we now have confirmation through the documents, that Head of the Security Council, Alexander Pierce, is actually a double agent for— the news anchor chokes out a surprised gasp, — Hydra? The old Nazi organization?

Matt feels his mind reel, Foggy’s sucking in a breath then letting out a slow, “whhhaaattt thhheee heeeellllllll.” 

Sources are confirming that— More information must be pouring in, — the men responsible for the freeway incident just days ago in DC are also Hydra, and they are—  

Another interruption, 

There’s footage now— The woman says, we’ve got live cameras on the carriers, and sources are confirming that Captain America and an unknown winged accomplice are attempting to—

Matt waves his hands, “I thought Captain America was here in New York?” 

Foggy and Karen gasp.

“What!” He asks, “what happened?!”

“The carriers,” Foggy replies, “they’re shooting each other down—-“ his voice trails off as he must be watching the footage and it’s rare that Matt is frustrated by his lack of vision but this is one of those times. 

“And?” He asks, prompting them. 

Karen gasps, “They’re falling—“ she makes a stuttering breath in, “oh my gosh. One just hit the water—“ 

“Holy shit—“ Foggy is repeating, “the other two carriers are falling apart, and—“ they both gasp again as they make noises of surprise, “shit, that debris is hitting everywhere!” 

“So…” Matt asks, “was Captain America trying to stop the carriers? Or help them?” 

“I don’t know—“ Foggy says, “they haven’t said.” 

We’re going to be standing by live as this mess unfolds. Government and national security is at risk with these documents for grabs, we will be keeping you up to date as this story continues.

“Pull up the documents.” Matt orders, “is Fisk anywhere in this?” 

“Hydra?” Karen says in disbelief, “like how? Didn’t they die with that psycho Schmidt in world war 2?” 

Matt can hear Foggy typing on his phone, “oh shit, it was Operation Paperclip, the whole, taking in Germans and their knowledge thing—“ Matt can hear him mumbling as he reads faster, “geez, they’ve been infiltrating Shield this entire time, they built the helicarriers too—“ Foggy’s voice gets tight, “as a way to take people or threats off the map. No jury, no judge, just execution style.” 

“Holy shit.” Karen says and he hears her stand and start to pace, pushing back her hair, “so—“ 

All three carriers are now destroyed and on the ground, Shield headquarters is partially destroyed and there’s no word on Captain America, Black Widow, or the man in the winged suit. Authorities are on the scene now—

The interruption quiets them. 

“Avengers: 2.” Foggy says quietly, “Villains: 0.” 

“But were they on the carriers?” Karen asks, “no one could have survived those going down!” 

They stay quiet because they don’t know the answer.

————-

Somehow the world spins on. 

Just like New York, clean up gets underway and Shield is dismantled into different factions. Or disassembled completely. Black Widow testifies and walks out of court. Word is that Captain America is alive, though no one has seen him as of yet. So Matt wonders if that’s true or just to keep up morale. 

It takes a while for all the pieces to fit together, but Matt realizes the channels he’d been listening to, where their ties belonged, were Hydra. They were alive and well in New York too apparently. 

Although now they seemed scattered. The documents that the widow leaked condemning them all to be brought to the light sooner or later. 

Most got caught, but Matt’s sure some went to ground, so he keeps his ears open. 

————-

“I’m just saying,” Foggy just says, “we’re never going to get that guy to talk. He’s like a brick wall.” 

Matt sighs. They were stepping through Grand Central Station, having visited a witness at a prison further away than they usually had to travel. 

“Mom, I swear! It was him, you hafta believe me!” 

“Whatever you say sweetheart.” 

“It was him!” The child’s voice whines as Matt listens to them pass, “it was C—

All passengers on the Harlem Line Departures, traveling to Crestwood, please head to track 28–

“—he’s going to stonewall us and then make our client look like an idiot on the stand.” Foggy is still talking, “I say we cut our loses and hope for a deal.” 

They step out of the doors and Foggy’s about to hail a cab when Matt’s hearing pricks his senses. He raises his head, zoning out all unnecessary sounds until he isolates the one that caught his attention. 

A heartbeat. 

Low and steady and strong. 

He turns, zeroing in on the source, he walks towards it, feeling pulled, like it’s a Sousa March and he has to keep up with the beat. 

“Matt?” He hears Foggy call, “where are you going?” 

But he turns the corner and—

“Grant!” 

The heart rate changes briefly before settling, “Matt?” 

“It is you! You’re back from DC?” 

They step off the main sidewalk, closer to the large marble walls, “yeah, I—“ his voice is strained, “just got back a few days ago.” 

“Job relocation?” 

“Uh…” the man says, a tint of irony in his voice, “more like… Job implosion.” 

Military. DC. Job implosion. Matt wants to grin but he doesn’t. He’d bet anything this guy worked or used to work for Shield. Covert government espionage operation. No wonder he was a private guy. Hopefully one of the good ones. Previous experiences say probably. 

“Matt!” Foggy’s voice approaches, “what the hell!” Then he hears Foggy’s intake of breath, “uh, hi?” He turns to Matt, and Matt can feel the anxiety rolling off Foggy, “one of your work partners?” 

AKA someone who knows he’s the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Uh…” Matt starts, “kinda, Grant, this is my firm partner, Foggy Nelson. Foggy, this is Grant…” He trails off, never having learned the guy’s last name. 

He can hear the brief handshake, “nice to meet you Mr. Nelson.” 

“Yeah,” Foggy says slowly, “nice to meet you too.” Then his tone gets wary, “I know you from somewhere? I swear you look kinda familiar. Voice too. We meet before?”

Anxiety rolls off Grant like a tsunami, “no, I don’t think so. It was nice seeing you. Maybe I’ll stop by the gym, huh? The usual time? See you around.” 

And just like that he’s gone, around the corner, heart beat disappearing. 

Matt turns to Foggy with a head tilt, “you recognize him?” 

Foggy shrugs, the motion sending his cologne over, “I mean, he had a hat and sunglasses on, so I couldn’t really tell, but he just seemed familiar. Maybe he has one of those faces.” 

Foggy’s waving him over to a cab he’s flagging down, the sounds of the city all back in place. Something about the interaction makes Matt’s neck hairs stand on end. 

He just doesn't know why. 

—————-

“So, you back here permanently?” 

He hears the whirl as Grant spins around. Matt grins. He’s been working on that. Slowing his heart rate and breathing to sneak up on people. 

“Shit.” The guy says, “I didn’t even hear you.” 

“That was kinda the point.” 

He hears the tape drop to the bench. “I’m back for now. Don’t really have a timeline.” 

Matt’s not sure why he says those words in an ironic tone, but he doesn’t question it.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re back so I can officially kick your ass and learn your real name.” 

The guy is shaking his head, “why is knowing my name so important?” 

“Why is keeping it a secret so important?” 

“Let’s just cut to the mat and you can whine about still not beating me or learning my name after.” 

Matt grins, “you’re on.” 

————-

Something’s different. Matt notices the difference in fight styles almost immediately. Instead of being up against a freight train, which is how Grant used to fight, using force, now the guy moves like a cat, light and limber, slipping around punches and flipping away from what might be bone crushing kicks. 

So wherever he was, he was training. 

But as the fight progresses, both of them starting to breathe heavier, Matt notices another change. 

It’s subtle at first, mixed in with the adrenaline and life radiating off the guy. 

Frustration. 

Anger. 

The man seems to be attempting to hold it in, but it’s seeping out, filtering the air like a smoke that causes Matt’s concern to grow. 

Finally Matt slams on his back and he doesn’t make a move to get back up. 

The guy straightens, “you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Then Matt tilts his head, making sure he’s facing and focusing just above where he can hear the air passing through the guy’s nose. “Are you?” 

“Yeah.” The answer is too quick. “I’m fine.” Forced. 

“Uh, huh.” Matt responds, “sure.” 

The guy huffs and starts unwrapping his hands, “I’ll see you next week.” 

He’s gone before Matt can even say, “okay.” 

————-

Matt thinks the guy’s bad day has turned into bad weeks. 

The next Tuesday finds him in the same mood. 

Matt doesn’t comment. 

—————-

“Where are you going?” Karen asks, the Chinese food wafting from the bag in her hands. 

“His little fight date.” Foggy responds, already tossing his files aside and grabbing forks.

“Fight dates?” Karen asks, setting the plastic bag down. 

Matt rolls his eyes, shifting his bag on his shoulder and grabbing his cane, “just a guy I spar with at the gym. It’s nothing.” 

“How have I never noticed?” She asks, separating out the little white to go boxes.

“Just started up again,” he hears Foggy snap chopsticks in half, “no promises on saving you any.” 

“You better.” Matt responds, “or I’m leaving closing arguments up to you.” 

Foggy laughs and Matt makes his way out to the hallway.

————

It must be a really bad day. 

Matt can’t picture the guy's face, but he’d picture a tired expression and glazed eyes just from the aura radiating off the guy. 

And because he’s having a bad day, he’s distracted. 

And Matt learns something that pisses him off. 

The guy has been holding back. 

Matt dodges the fist only barely. He thought they were evenly matched, and in some ways Matt is more flexible or flowing in his movements. But not today. Matt can feel the frustration and confusion and desperation rolling off the guy, and he’s more lethal when he’s distracted. Punches that would have been mildly annoying are now definitely leaving bruising, and the crushing freight train of force is mixing with his new modern fight styles and it’s everything Matt can do to just stay out of his grasp. 

And he manages to avoid the barrage for a long time. 

Until he’s too tired. And a punch that he would usually dodge hits its mark. Sending him absolutely sprawling against the ropes. 

He doesn’t get up. Just groans and rolls onto his side and takes a deep breath, trying to see if his jaw is cracked. 

A worried aura is dropped in front of him, “Matt? Matt! Are you okay?” Warm hands are gently holding his face, inspecting it, and Matt winces at the twinge in his jaw, the hands retract. “oh shit, I’m so sorry!” 

Matt works his jaw, popping it and grimacing at the pain that flares and then settles. “It’s all good. Geez, man. You been holding out on me.” 

The guy goes silent, “what do you mean?” 

“I’ve been fighting you for over a year now. And I’ve never gotten a punch like that. I’m thinking you’ve been holding back.” 

The guy relaxes briefly before setting on the mat beside him and huffing, “well. I generally prefer my friends without internal injuries. So yeah, I meter my strength.” 

“Friends, huh?” 

Anxiety and embarrassment fill the air, “oh— uh—“ 

“Just messing with you man. I appreciate not receiving internal injuries.” Then Matt reaches out and shoves his shoulder, “and glad we can be friends even if I don’t know your name.” 

The guy just chuckles briefly and Matt can feel him nodding, “I didn’t mean to use that much force, I’m really sorry.” 

“You’re distracted.” 

“Huh?” 

“Something’s been bothering you since you got back. What is it?” 

There’s a long silence. The only sound their breathing and hearts. 

“Just not the way I expected my life to go. You know?” The man’s voice is soft and sad. “Had a lot of plans. Dreams. Things I wanted to do with my life. People I wanted—“ his voice gets rough. “Friends and—“ 

“A girl?” Matt asks, teasing.

And there’s something tragically sad about the guy’s next words, “there was.” 

Matt tenses at the grief. Maybe she died…

“Anything I can do?” 

“You’re doing it.” The guy responds, clearing his throat. “Just letting me be me. No judgment or assumptions. Helping me feel like at least one part of my life is normal.” 

There’s a ton of context Matt knows he’s missing. Even if his previously guessed pieces of the puzzle are correct. 

“People tend to make assumptions about you?” 

The man snorts as if that’s the biggest understatement of the century. “Yeah.” He says darkly, “you’ve got no idea.” 

“You could give me an idea. Maybe I could be of more help. I’m a really good lawyer.” 

The guy laughs, “I’ll keep that in mind. But no, I’m good.” He knows by now that Matt can feel his movements, reaching out his hand, “let me help you up.” 

“Least you can do for dislocating my jaw.” 

“I’m sorry—“ 

“I’m just joking.” Matt assures. “Calm down.” 

—————

The guy’s phone rings. 

Which is interesting because Matt knows for a fact he’s never heard it go off before. 

It’s an old song that Matt doesn’t recognize, no words just music, and the guy grabs it quickly. “Hello?” He says as he walks into the locker rooms away from Matt’s range of hearing. 

But Matt’s curious. 

So he breathes deep, slowing his heartrate and slipping up to the offices where he knows there’s a hallway with a storage room and then a little cleaning closet where the vents connect down below. 

“— two hours.” 

He catches as he settles down to listen. 

“— busy. He can wait.” A frustrated sigh, “yes, Sam is looking.” A long pause. “I don’t know, I don’t know. He’s trained to hide in case you’ve forgotten—“ 

A sigh of what Matt would describe as fond annoyance, “yes, I’m safe.” Another pause, “why does it matter?” He hears a sad sort of chuckle, “yeah, that was kind of the point. You think I can’t spot a tail? I may be old but I’m far from blind.” It sounds like an inside joke he’s missing. “Next time you try to tail me, Nat. I will lead you to Staten Island and trap you there. Got it? Let me have this little bit of space and regain some sanity. Lord knows Tony takes the majority of that away and I need all the help I can get.” 

Matt can hear the end of the conversation nearing, so he slips back down. 

So now he has three names and none of them are Grant’s. Tony, Sam, and Nat… most likely short for Natalie or Natasha, are common enough names that it doesn’t help the identity case. 

He’s unwrapping his hands slowly when the guy walks back out. “Everything okay?” 

He hears the guy grab his jacket and sling it on, “unfortunately I’ve got to go. But I should be back for next Tuesday.” 

“Sounds good. See you then.” 

—————

Matt’s on the phone this time when they are wrapping up. “No—“ Matt sighs, “Foggy, you just need to press—“ he laughs at the sound of Foggy cursing, “I left the fax number right—“ 

Grant holds out his water bottle, “brought you some water.” 

“Thanks.” Matt responds, “Foggy, I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Calm down.” 

——————

“Come on!” Foggy pleads, “they’re going to be on a float, we have to go!” 

Karen is laughing, a muffled sound since she’s trying to hide it behind a hand. 

“They’re just people.” Matt says with a reproachful tone. “Not gods.” 

“Technically, Thor is a god.” Karen corrects, then she laughs, “just saying.” 

Matt throws a glare her way, not sure if it helps since she just laughs more. 

“I’ve only seen him in his iron man suit on the news! And it’s the first public sighting of Captain America since the shit show in DC!” 

“I won’t be able to see them.” Matt says with a hand wave, “just go without me!” 

“But it will be a business venture!” 

“How?” Karen asks. 

“We can give Iron Man our business card!” 

Both Matt and Karen laugh. 

“When is it?” 

“Four weeks from now.” Foggy says, the sound of a flier in his hand, “coincides with the anniversary of the Battle of New York.” 

“But macabre.” Karen comments, “isn’t it?” 

“I think it’s more of a New York requested thing than an Avengers planning it thing.” 

“The money made from the businesses along the parade route are donating it to the charity that was set up for the victims.” 

“Oh,” Karen‘a voice is thoughtful, “I guess that’s nice.” 

“So we’re going?” Foggy’s voice bares a smile, “yeah. We’re going to go.” 

————- 

“I’m too tired.” Matt explains as he approaches him in the gym. “Please can we just go eat at some terrible diner while I down 6 cups of coffee?” 

They’ve never done anything outside of the gym. But Matt had a bad round with three idiots 2 days ago and he’s still healing. And he’s just home tired. 

“Oh,” the guy says, trepidation starting to wave off him, “we can just reschedule.” 

Matt frowns, but his voice is teasing, “what am I too ugly for you to go out in public with?” 

“No.” The man says and Matt can just hear the eye roll, “I just…” 

“Just what? Don’t like food?” 

“No.” Another annoyed eye roll he’s sure is thrown his way. 

“Are you too ugly to go out in public?” 

“Matt—“ 

“I’m going to keep asking questions until you just agree.” 

“Fine.” The man huffs, “geez. Is that how you win fights, annoy them into compliance?” 

“I mean,” Matt says with a smirk, hearing the guy grab his coat and what sounds like a hat off the bench, “whatever works.” 

“Where did you want to go?” 

“Bar or food?” Matt offers.

“Food.” 

Okay… not a drinker. Interesting. “Let’s go, there’s a place nearby that is delicious and terrible for you.” 

“Sounds good.” The guys laughs. 

————

“I’ll have the French toast.” The guy is ordering, “can I get extra eggs and potatoes instead of the meat? And do you guys have sweet tea?” 

“We do.” 

“Great, can I have a glass of that?” 

“Of course,” 

“Thanks, Ma’am.” The guy says. 

“Sure thing, sugar.” The waitress, a woman named Wendy says. “It’ll be right out.”  And Matt’s senses prick in disbelief. She’s flirting. 

She collects the menus, Matt had ordered first, and he leans across the table, shaking his head, “you son a bitch. You’re a liar.” 

The man chokes on his water, “excuse me?” 

“You’re good looking aren’t you?” Matt grins and leans back, “should have known.” 

“What?” The guy seems genuinely caught of guard, “I don’t—“ 

“Well, I’ve been coming here since I was a kid and I haven’t ever heard her flirt with a customer.” 

“Oh,” the guy sounds like he’s out of his element, fumbling, “it’s not like that, she’s just bein’ nice.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

“So what’s got you tired?” The guy asks, changing the subject. 

“This group of poorly organized, yet highly violent drug traffickers are really being a pain in my neck. They keep multiplying. Everytime I take one out, it’s like three more sprout, and I know it’s them because they’re stupid enough to carry guns branded with their group’s symbol.” 

“What’s the symbol?” 

“It’s the mast of a ship, and a tree on the sail.” Matt grins, “by the feel of it, it actually seems like a cold design.”

“And you know where they operate out of?” 

“Some factory on the wharf, but I haven’t gotten that far. Foggy and I are trying to work the legal side of the case too.” 

“Oh? And what would you need to tie them down legally?” 

“Anything really—“ 

The plates arrival interrupts their conversation and they grow silent, eating.

—————

“Was this you?” Foggy asks, accosting him as he enters the door. 

“Was me what?” 

“I didn’t know you’d gotten access to the factory! This is perfect. Now we can—“ 

“Foggy, what the hell are you talking about?” 

“The package you left on Karen’s desk…”

“What package?” 

He hears Foggy shuffling. “There’s security camera footage, bank statements, offshore accounts and then a roster of their names, it’s everything we need—“ Foggy pauses, “this wasn’t you?” 

Matt’s frozen, “what? No! I hadn’t gotten close yet—“ 

Foggy taps the desk, “was it Karen? Did her contact come through?” 

But Matt knows that’s not it. “I have to go.” 

He’s gone as Foggy shouts, “go where?” 

————-

It’s fully furnished. Smells like a cat lives there now. And someone who cooks with way too much cumin. 

No military clothes, or single bottles of hair gel. 

He’s moved. 

Matt’s feet hit the pavement and he sighs, “shit.” 

————-

“You moved.” 

“Uh… yeah.” 

“Was it you?” 

“Was what me?” 

“Did you deliver that package to us? With all the evidence?” 

“Nope.” The man says perfectly calm. “Wasn’t me.” 

Matt can’t tell if he’s lying. 

“So I just tell you about my troubles and then coincidentally a few days later it gets cleaned up?” 

The man turns to him, Matt can feel the shrug, “I guess. It wasn’t me.” 

“Bullshit.” 

The guy rolls his shoulders, “just called in a favor with a friend.” 

He’s stunned momentarily, then he sighs, the warmth of the gym already making him loosen up, “well thanks.” 

“No problem.” Then he can hear the humor, “but it was kind of selfish of me.” 

“Oh? And how’s that?” 

“If you’re tired and beat up, then we can’t spar. I take care of that and then we can fight again.” 

Matt grins, “well then I guess that makes you a selfish bastard.” 

The guy laughs that warm laugh, “there you go, you figured out my real name.” 

Matt laughs back as he starts wrapping his hands. 

————-

What was tha—-

Matt’s senses and train of thought gets obliterated as a punch lands to his solar plexus. 

He crumples and groans. 

“What the hell!” The guy says frantically, dropping to his knees and placing hands to see if he cracked anything, “why didn't you duck? You should have moved! You had plenty of time!” 

Matt’s sucking in air, “something—“ he groans and turns, laying on his back in a huff, “something caught my hearing. I swear I heard a third heart beat.” He pauses, listening, but there’s nothing now. Just the two of them. “So strange. I swear I heard something.” 

He can tell that the guy tilts his head, listening too, “I don’t hear anything.” 

“Maybe I caught someone walking by the gym.” He gets up, “can we be done now? I’m bruised like a peach.” 

The guy laughs. 

—————

The anger at something that must have just happened is still radiating off the guy the next week. 

“Diner.” Matt says, “I’m not fighting you like this.” He starts to protest but Matt waves his hand, “uh-uh. I choose life.” 

—————-

Wendy flirts with him again, and this time says something interesting, “you sure look familiar, sweetheart.” The voice is flirtatious and interested, “you sure you’re not an actor or a model or something?” 

“No, ma’am.” The guy replies, “just one of those faces.” 

Maybe he has one of those faces, Foggy had said. 

Wonder who he bares a resemblance too.

“Damn.” Matt says, “‘actor or model’? You’re seriously underselling yourself aren’t you.” 

The guy groans, “please shut up and eat your pancakes.” 

Matt smirks. 

————

He’s proud that by the end of the meal the guy seems more light hearted and even gives a chuckle or two. 

As they exit, about to head their separate ways, Matt turns, throwing a punch towards the guy and feeling the rush of air as the man spins, avoiding the blow and tossing one back. They trade a few more fake blows, before he manages to land one on the guy’s arm. 

“Ow,” the guy mocks, “take it easy there, killer.” 

Matt barks out a laugh and waves, extending his cane. “See you next week.” 

The man waves and is gone. 

Three minutes later as he rounds a corner he knows he’s being followed. 

He turns, ready to drop his cane and get ready to fight when a metallic whir startles him and suddenly he’s being slammed back against a brick wall, cold metal throttling his throat and crushing his windpipe. 

He kicks out, landing hard blows. But the person holding him doesn’t react. Matt tries to pry at the metal thing, only to be surprised by the finger shapes. 

A metal arm? 

“ударь его еще раз и я убью тебя.” 

A bone chilling voice speaks to him in what he’s 99% sure is Russian. He doesn’t speak Russian. 

“What?” He gasps out, landing a knee against the guy’s chest and shoving him away, “who sent you!” 

Then the metallic whir is gone. 

Matt stands there, rubbing at his neck. 

And his only thought is that someone from the Russian Mob knows he’s the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

But why didn’t he kill him then? Or try?

He grabs his cane off the cement and takes the longer route home, listening for any sound. 

————-

“Do we know anyone who speaks Russian?” 

Foggy swallows his bite of Vietnamese noodles and yawns, “I don’t think so, why?” 

Matt doesn’t want to worry him. “Heard someone say a phrase, wondered what it meant.” 

“Just google translate it.” Foggy offers, already getting distracted again. “Just speak it to your phone. Probably won’t be perfect, but it will give you the gist.” 

Matt pulls out his phone and speaks the approximation of the words he heard that are seared into his memory. 

The automated voice speaks back in too chipper of a voice for the words it says. 

Hit him again and I’ll kill you. 

Foggy’s looking up, Matt can feel his stare, “what the hell was that?” 

“A threat.” Matt responds. 

Foggy’s voice gets suspicious, “oh and this just happens to be a phrase you overheard?” 

“Yep.” Matt lies with a grin. 

Foggy doesn’t know he can feel the way he flips him off. 

—————-

Hit him again and I’ll kill you. 

The words rattle around in Matt’s head. 

Hit who? He tries to remember the last Russian he tangled with. It’s been over a year. Maybe a friend of a Russian. He tried to catalog who all he’d had encounters with but no one makes sense. 

It makes him nervous. He starts being extra careful, listening to everything to not have the drop gotten on him. 

—————-

It’s another week of normal until Matt can’t take it anymore. “You know any Russians?” 

The man’s stature goes rigid, anxiety rolling off him, “why?” 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The man stays silent, “look, I just need help tracking down a guy—“ 

“A guy?” 

Matt quirks his head, “yes. A guy.” 

The man relaxes, “oh, okay. Yeah, what’s he—“ the man stops. 

Matt grins. “Almost slipped up, huh?” People asking him the phrase ‘what did they look like’ never ceases to amuse him. 

A long sigh, “yeah, sorry. What can you tell me about him?” 

“Well, he’s Russian and has a metal arm.” 

Two hands grip his arms, holding so tightly it makes him want to squirm. “What?! Where?! When?!” 

“What?” 

The hands grip harder, shaking him, “where! Where did you see him! When was this?!” 

And Matt takes a deep breath, “Grant. Let me go.” 

He’s let go instantly, blood pounding back into his arms and he rubs at them. The man in front of him is practically radiating tension, so strong it almost buffets him backwards. 

But he doesn’t ask again. He waits for Matt. 

“This was almost three weeks ago. Outside the di—“ His brain fritzes. Outside the dinner. Where he and Grant mock fought.

Hit him again and I will kill you

It’s a stupid question now that’s it’s so obvious, “you know him.” 

The man starts walking towards his stuff on the bench, “I have to go.” 

Matt whirls around and grabs at his arm, “not without explaining.” The man rips his arm out of Matt’s grasp, “why did he threaten me about you?” 

That makes the guy pause. His shoulders so tense Matt’s sure they might shatter. “What?” 

And Matt repeats the phrase he’d been threatened with. Having studied and ensured he knew how to say it properly. 

“ударь его еще раз и я убью тебя.” A sharp intake of breath alerts Matt’s senses. “You speak Russian?” 

The guy’s throat is dry, “conversationally.” 

“Enough to understand threats.” 

“He threatened you?” The guy asks, as if he can’t process their conversation.

“Yes. With a metal hand around my neck.” 

He can’t see the widened eyes, but he can picture them. “He choked you?” 

“Well.” Matt thinks back, “no, more like held me in place.” Then he blinks, “okay, no yeah, he choked me.” 

“Why?” The guy asks as if he would have the answer, “that doesn’t make any sense!” 

“You’re not making any sense.” Matt retorts, “who the hell was he? Why do you have ties to the Russians? What’s going on? What are you involved in?” He sucks in air, “were the friends you called in for the factory job the Russians? ” His voice gets sharp, “tell me you don’t owe them a favor!” 

“I can’t—“ the guy starts, then waves his hand, grabbing his jacket, and sliding it on too forcefully. It rips. “Shit!” The guy explains, “I have to go.” 

“No way!” Matt snaps back, “you’ve got to tell me what’s going on! If you’re in trouble I can help you—“ 

The biting sarcastic and agonized laugh that escapes the man’s mouth makes Matt’s blood run cold. 

“Think I’m past the point of help.” The man says flatly. Then he’s gone. The door swinging shut. 

Matt bursts out the door to follow him, but there’s nothing. He’s already gone. 

————-

He doesn’t show up the next Tuesday. 

Matt’s not surprised. 

—————-

Or the next. 

And now that he doesn’t know where the guy lives or anything, there’s nothing he can do but wait. 

—————-

“I don’t care about the deposition!” Foggy is whining, “I wanna go to the paraaaade.” 

“Matt? Why is Brett faxing over police records of people with prosthetics?” 

The paper dispenses and he grabs at it, “can you read it? Does it say anything about any records of a Russian with a metal arm that has a record?” 

“Russian with a metal arm?” Foggy asks, “like the Hydra guy?” 

Matt spins slowly, “what?” 

“The Hydra files that were dropped. Their like… scary assassin? The Winter Soldier right?” Neither Karen or Matt speak. Foggy huffs, “what! I liked going through those! It was interesting!” 

Matt steps closer, “what is the winter soldier?” 

“He’s like the ghost story Hydra used to scare people. He was Pierce’s attack dog. Didn’t anyone else read this stuff? He’s the guy Captain America fought on the freeway in DC.” 

Matt’s mind is whirring. 

Is Grant Hydra? Is that why the Winter Soldier is protecting him? 

Damn. 

Matt would have bet money he was Shield. Knew Matt’s secret. Seemed like a good guy. 

Okay, maybe he’s getting ahead of himself. Maybe he’s just tangled up in bad company. Doesn’t mean he’s Hydra. 

ударь его еще раз и я убью тебя

But why would the Winter Soldier want to—

Karen’s voice is fading as they’re walking out the door. “wait, I remember that news article, isn’t that also the guy who was from the 40’s too? Captain America’s best friend?”

And a really eerie feeling fills him. Oh. 

Oh. 

Strength.

Speed.

Endurance.

Brooklyn. 

DC.

Shield.

Tony. 

Nat.

Gran—

He runs to the door, “Foggy!” 

Both Karen and Foggy stop, turning to face him, the air moving with a mix of her perfume and his cologne, “what?” 

“What’s Captain America’s full name?” 

But it’s Karen who answers. “Steven Grant Rogers.” She pauses, “why?” 

It’s like getting punched again. 

By Captain America himself. 

——————-

Chapter Text

“Oh, now you’re excited to go to the parade!?” Foggy accuses as Matt walks at a fast clip, his cane passing faster than normal back and forth. 

An idiot. 

He feels like an idiot. 

Matt knows that it makes sense why he didn’t guess. But he still feels like it’s one of those stupid things he should have just known. The life radiating off the guy? How massive his aura and the way he moved the air. His heartbeat and his skills. 

You know, funnily enough I did sign up for this. Just… more than I expected.

Geez, Matt puts everything Gran— Steve said into the context of who he is and it becomes so glaringly obvious. 

Except for one thing. 

How massively unhappy the guy was. 

Is. 

Even before DC, Matt frowns. Although it’s no wonder he came back a mess. Finding out your best friend was tortured and had his brain fried for 70 years? Fighting him to the death on a floating warship? 

Shit. 

He’s got a lot to say, or yell, at the guy now that he knows. 

“Dude,” Foggy calls, he and Karen falling behind, “where’s the fire?” 

—————-

He gets to the street that Foggy and Karen had planned to watch from. There’s already massive crowds and music spilling from every corner. Vendors are out, carts and tables outside of stores. Matt weaves, probably too easily between all of it, and manages to snag a place along the street that no one has claimed. 

Except he has no idea what the hell he’s going to do when he senses him near. Yell? Throw something? Probably not. 

Right now won’t be the time he confronts him. He’ll wait for now. 

——————

When Iron Man flies overhead he hears the repulsors. When Thor calls lightning from the sky, he smells the ozone. When the chants of “Hawkeye” “Hawkeye” “Hawkeye” start, his ears listen for the ‘twang’ of the bow and he hears it. 

The charged electronics on Black Widow catch his attention. 

But then it’s the low rumble of excitement and the heartbeat that tells him Captain America’s float is on the way. The pride of New York. Their very own superhero. The first. 

And the first to lay down his life for the city. Only to be raised from an ice grave. 

“Cap!” “Cap!” “Cap!” Is the chant that he hears. The way the vibranium shield affects the air as it is held and shifted and raised smells and interacts differently with his senses than the other metals. But that heartbeat reverberates in his ears, loud and constant. Matt focuses his hearing towards the man. 

—geez, Cap. Can’t spare a smile for even the kiddies?

The mechanized voice of Tony Stark hits his ears. 

And a female responds, can it, Stark. 

He must be picking up an In-Ear that the team is wearing. 

Steve’s voice comes through next, more easily heard since it’s not through a machine. No, he’s right. 

Matt hears a cheer go up, and he assumes Steve had started smiling. 

He wonders why he didn’t feel up to smiling before. 

—————-

Foggy and Karen want to go for drinks at Josie’s but Matt begs off. “I’m tired.” He lies, “just go on without me. I’ll join next time.” 

They wave him off and he goes back to the office. He pulls up documents on the Winter Soldier from the shield file dump and he listens. He wants to vomit. He wants to throw things. He wants to fight every hydra operative and make sure they spend multiple life sentences in prison. 

He can’t imagine how Steve feels knowing this was happening to his best friend. 

So he walks. 

Walks all the way to downtown Manhattan. 

Turning on the street where the entrance to Avengers’ Tower resides. 

He stands outside the doors and contemplates how he wants to get his attention. 

He decides the back doors. 

—————-

Access Denied.

He ignores the calm British voice that speaks to him. Backing up and melting into the shadows. He waits. He’s patient. 

————-

Not even an hour later he’s rewarded with someone exiting. He follows him out to the back parking garage and silently extends his cane. 

Swishing it quickly back and forth he collides into the back of the man, making him startle from his silent approach. His hand sinks into the guy’s pocket as he makes impact. Then he’s pulling back and apologizing.

“Oh, excuse me!” He responds as if startled, “I thought I heard someone!” He makes a show of fumbling with his cane and glasses and coat, “could you help me? I’ve been wandering for hours but I can seem to find the exit to the street? I walked up the wrong ramp or got turned around, I’m so sorry I’m new to New York and I just have no bearings!”

His senses listen to the man, wondering if he’s going to sense the ruse and sound the alarm. But as with most humans, they take one look at his cane and assume he’s helpless. “Sure thing, man.” The guy’s voice says slowly as if Matt professed to being dumb instead of blind. “I’ll walk you to the stairwell that leads down to street level. Okay?”

“Oh thanks, you sure don’t understand how much I appreciate it. Thank you so much.” 

Once the guy believes he has been delivered safely. Matt books it down the ramp and to the ground level back doors where the dumpsters and loading trucks go. He swipes the badge and the door beeps green. He grins as he enters into the quiet hallway. 

With his ears perked for every sound, he slips around doors where people are inside rooms talking about technology he can’t even begin to comprehend or discussing future plans for green energy. Then he finds the stairwell, waving the badge again and slinking up as many flights as he can manage. 

He’s a bit peeved that none of the doors or signs have braille. Not a very accessible workplace. 

He makes it pretty high up in the tower before it goes south. He only has a split second of warning before a heartbeat registers and he knows he’d been made. He ducks, something whooshing over his head. 

“Stay right there or I will fry you.” A calm female voice says. 

“Yeah.” A male voice joins the fray, a heartbeat joining hers, “what she said.” 

“Why did Tony Stark design these walls thicker?” He asks, the question coming out of nowhere. But his mind is whirring. He’d barely heard them before they were in the same 12 feet as him, which means abnormally thick walls. Metal plated. It has to be. 

“Uh,” the male’s voice says, “what?” 

“Who are you and why the hell are you breaking into the tower?” The woman’s voice asks, and now that she’s speaking longer he can place it. 

The Black Widow. 

Which probably means the man is another avenger. Doesn’t sound like Steve, or what he’s heard of Tony Stark’s voice or Thor. Which means Bruce Banner or Clint Barton Aka Hawkeye. He deems that most likely. 

“I’m here to see Steve.” He answers simply. 

“Steve?” The man asks as if the word is foreign to him.

“So you broke in?” She asks. 

“He’s been avoiding me.” 

“What?” The guy says in disbelief, “who are you?” 

He pulls out a sentence he’s been rolling over in his head ever since he made the connection, “Next time you try to tail me, Nat. I will lead you to Staten Island and trap you there. Got it? Let me have this little bit of space and regain some sanity. Lord knows Tony takes the majority of that away and I need all the help I can get.”

There’s a long beat of silence and he waits, not defensive or in any stance. Just patient. 

“What’s he talking about, Nat?” Clint asks. It’s definitely Barton. 

“Tuesdays.” Natasha Romanoff says softly, then her voice gets sharp, “he was with you all those Tuesdays?” 

Matt nods, “we sparred. At a gym.” 

Another silence, and he knows they can see the cane folded up in his hand. “Cap… sparred you?” 

Matt grins, “why? That surprises you?” 

“Uh yeah,” the man says with humor, “kind of!” 

“I’m more than meets the eye.” Matt responds, “is he here?” 

“JARVIS?” Barton asks, “Is Steve back?” 

Indeed, Agent Barton, he’s in his quarters. 

Matt gestures, “lead the way.” 

—————

He follows them in an elevator till he can hear the way the building sways in the wind. 

Then a ding and they’re stepping off into a place that is too echoey for Matt to feel at ease. 

“What is this place?” He asks. 

“Common room, for his floor.” Barton responds. “How did you meet Steve?” 

“Officially when he helped me stop a bank robbery.” 

Again that weird silence. “When was this?” Agent Romanoff asks. 

“I don’t remember exactly, before he moved to DC. Not too long after the Battle of New York because it was shortly after I caught him clearing the rubble up at night.” 

Barton’s voice gets a strange tone to it, “clearing… rubble?” 

“Yeah.” Matt answers, and then he hears the silence and he’s confused, “the rubble from the invasion.” Still silence. “From when Loki—“ then their silence clicks. “You didn’t know.” The silence is all the answer he needs, “he didn’t tell anyone he was going out at night and clearing rubble?” 

Angry footsteps stomp away from him. He hears three bangs, followed by a voice through gritted teeth, “Cap, open this door!” 

A door clicks open and suddenly the heartbeat is there, loud and present. That strikes him as odd… that means Steve’s door and walls are thicker or insulated for noise. He wonders why. 

“What’s wro—“ then Steve’s voice cuts off, “who—“ then a surprised noise, “Matt?” 

“Yeah.” Then all of his annoyance comes flooding back. “Hey, Grant.” 

The confusion rolling off the other two collides with the wince he can feel that Steve gives. Then he hears Steve sigh, “how’d you figure?” 

“Turns out when you start asking around about metal armed Russians the name the Winter Soldier pops up pretty quick.” Agent Romanoff sucks in air sharply and Barton stiffens, “didn’t take too long to jump from point ‘a’ to point ‘b’ from there.” 

Steve’s voice is full of sorrow, “have you seen him again?” 

“No.” Then he frowns, “what is going on? Why is he protecting you?” 

“What?” Natasha asks, “protecting you?” The scent of her hair swings as she whips around, “what does that mean?” 

Matt furrows his brow. They didn’t know he was out stopping crime, or sparring with him, or cleaning rubble, or the sighting of his assassin best friend. What did they know? 

“I thought Sam was looking for him in—“ 

“I already called Sam.” Steve says flatly, “Bucky may be in New York. Or maybe he took off. I don’t know.” 

“Why didn’t you tell us you were cleaning up rubble?” Barton asks. 

He can feel the glare Steve gives him. “Had trouble sleeping those nights.” 

And it’s not really that Steve’s heartbeat reads a lie. Just definitely not the whole truth. 

“Okay,” Barton starts again, “bigger question, why are you sparring with a blind guy.” Then there’s a pause, “no offense.” 

Matt laughs, “no offense taken. I am indeed blind.” Then he gestures to himself, “you heard of the trial of Wilson Fisk?” 

He can sense the recognition, “oh shit, you’re one of the lawyers!” 

Matt nods, “yep, and—“ he points to Steve, “you can tell them.” 

“He’s the daredevil living in Hell’s Kitchen. You know the vigilante?” 

He can sense their disbelieving eyes. He just grins. 

“And how is that supposed to work?” Clint asks. 

He hears Steve huff out a humored sigh, “trust me, he’s skilled.” 

“Still never beat you.” Matt concedes. 

“True,” Steve responds, “but you tried your best.” 

Matt scoffs but he can feel the disbelief and confusion at their interaction. 

“So when I asked you if you wanted to be an avenger with a big ugly costume and a stupid name…” Matt lets out an amused sound, “you already were—“ then he gets quiet for a moment before it clicks, “how long were you even out of the ice before you were beating the crap out—-“ then something else hits him, “holy shit!” He’s gape mouthed, “Old man Jones is a grandkid of—“ 

I knew one of his family members, while back. We were good friends.

Gabriel Jones. One of Captain America’s old team. The Howling Commandos. 

“Is that why you picked that gym?” Matt finishes.

Steve’s voice is quiet, sad. “He looks like him. A little.” 

“What are we talking about?” Barton asks. 

“How long after you woke up?” Matt pushes, not answering the agent’s question.

There’s tension in the room, emanating from all three of the avengers. 

“Two days.” Steve says quietly. 

Matt frowns. He’s had Foggy describe the footage. Captain America tearing through the city and stopping in Times Square. 

One day panicked. Next day pummeling a bag. 

Coincidence he thinks not. 

“Why’d you quit coming?” Matt accuses. 

“I gotta shift my focus.” Steve responds, “I need to find Bucky.” 

“And you think he's still in New York?” 

“I don’t know.” Steve responds, “he could be anywhere.” 

And yet he was watching Steve long enough to see Matt and him interact. Matt has an inkling that it’s most likely he’s still roaming the streets. 

There’s very little that Matt is better at than listening to the streets. 

“If he’s here in New York, I’ll find him.” 

“No.” Steve orders, “it’s dangerous.” 

“So are you.” Matt says flatly, “and so am I. And her and him,” he points to the other two, guessing their location off their breathing. “I’m not trying to find him to fight him.” 

“He’s not—“ Steve’s voice is dry. 

“I know.” Matt cuts him off, “I read about his mental conditioning.” 

“I can’t ask you to—“ 

“You’re not asking.” Matt sighs, “I’m telling. Besides, like when you—“ another memory clicks, “oh for—“ he slaps a palm to his forehead, “are the avengers the one who helped with that factory intel?” 

“That was Natasha.” Steve responds, “you remember them?” He directs the question to where the Agent stands. “With the ship logo?”

Her voice is in amused disbelief, “this is where you got that job? I was so confused about that.” 

“Damn.” Matt grins, “Black Widow. That’s cool.” 

He can feel her smirk. 

“I’m still lost on the whole…” he can feel Barton gesturing, “blind thing.” 

Matt sighs and shifts into a defensive stance, “want to test it out?” 

“Matt—“ Steve cautions. But Agent Barton is in motion, throwing a light punch. It’s easily ducked as it isn’t intended to do damage but Matt transfers a one-two to his chest and then snags his foot, flipping him on his back and stepping back. 

“What the hell?” Clint asks, but his voice just sounds excited, “how’d you do that if you can’t see?” 

Matt grins, “someone really wise once told me to not give away my secrets.” 

He hears a soft laugh from Steve and the way the air shifts when both of the Agent’s heads move as if snapped, zeroing in on the sound. 

It makes Matt think that maybe he doesn’t do that very often. 

————

It’s while they head to the common room that the elevator dings, “why the hell did I have an active then canceled intruder alert?” Matt feels the shift of the air and cologne as Tony Stark enters the room. Matt can feel him glaring at the group. Then he focuses on Matt. “Who the hell are you?” 

“I’m Matt Murdock.” He says in response, “of Nelson and Murdock.” Matt gestures to Steve, “I’m going to be James Barnes’ lawyer.” 

——————-

The room goes very quiet and he hears the way their hearts react. 

Steve moves to stand in front of him, “Uh. What?” 

“After what he’s been through and what he was coerced and tortured into doing, he’s going to need a good lawyer.” Matt responds simply. “I’m here to work pro bono.” 

“Matt—“ 

“Steve.” 

“We don’t even know where he is.”

“For now. But eventually we will, and I would like to represent him.” 

“I have lawyers.” Tony Stark says with a snap, “seriously who the hell are you and how did you get into my tower?” 

Matt is observant. But he’s also far enough removed that he can use clear ‘vision’. While going through those files… he’s pretty sure they missed a big mission. A monumental piece of Barnes’ history that will probably make Tony rescind his lawyer offer. 

“Be that as it may, I’m offering my name. And—“ he pulls out the stolen badge, “tell your employees to not underestimate someone just because they’re blind.” He flicks the badge at Barton, who he can hear snatches it out of the air. “Is there an easier way I can contact you if I run into him? Besides breaking into what I assume is one of the most secure buildings on the planet?” 

He can feel Steve’s huff as puts out his hand, “give me your phone.” 

Matt hands his over. He hears numbers being entered and then it’s back in his palm. “I’ll be in touch. And hey. Maybe if you let me kick your ass in broad daylight he’d come running.” 

He means it as a joke, but Steve’s vibrancy changed, “you think that might work?” 

“Steve—“ Natasha cautions. 

“Just a thought.” Matt offers. “I’ll see you around. Hopefully next Tuesday.” 

He’s walking towards the elevator, hearing the gears and whirs of the machinery as it’s called, when he turns, “Mr. Stark?” The man, who is still exuding an immense amount of confusion, “Why are the walls thicker on the higher floors?” 

“Oh—“ the question catches him off guard. Just as Matt intended. “Uh—“ he can feel the way the man glances around. And he feels the tension as Steve shifts his weight. 

Ah. 

So Steve has already guessed. 

“Just to make sure everything’s secure.” 

“Ah,” Matt says out loud. “Is that security in addition to the cameras and microphones I assume are embedded in every room?” 

Another silence. 

So Tony Stark doesn't want Steve and his serum enhanced hearing to accidentally overhear anything private. But Tony records all the goings on. Interesting. 

“Interesting.” Matt comments before stepping into the elevator. “See you around, Steve.” 

Then the doors swish closed. 

—————-

“It helps me.” 

Matt raises his head, his ears catching the approach of the man. “What helps you?” 

“The thicker walls.” 

Matt leans back, the wooden bench behind him. “Oh. So you requested them?” 

Steve sighs, and Matt hears him set his gym bag down. “No.” 

“You think Tony Stark did it out of the foresight and kindness of his own heart?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Thought Captain America didn’t lie.” 

He can feel the glare. “I’m not.” 

“You are lying—“ 

“No.” Steve snaps. “I’m not Captain America. I’m just Steve.” 

The words sound harsh. Like he’s had to convince everyone he’s ever known of that fact. 

So Matt backs off. “Okay. Steve.” 

“You really think it would draw him out?” 

One track minded. Okay. 

“I mean,” Matt starts, wrapping his knuckles, “I’m pretty sure he’s—“ his brain fritzes. 

I swear I heard a third heartbeat. 

His own words all those weeks ago. 

Matt had been operating on the fact that Barnes had only witnessed them outside the diner. But now… Maybe he’s been watching them at the gym too. 

They’d only sparred once in between Matt getting threatened by Barnes and Steve ditching their weekly meetups. 

“Think I’m past the point of help.” 

Matt recalls Steve’s words when he’d figured out Barnes was in New York. 

Oh geez. 

“Let’s just…” Matt’s not sure what he wants to say yet. Maybe it wasn’t Barnes. Maybe it was some random guy passing the gym. He doesn't want Steve on alert. So he takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “Let’s just spar. I need to let off some steam.” Steve seems about ready to ask him another question but he waves it off, “I’ve got ears on the streets, Steve. We will find him.” 

The silence lasts the whole fight. 

—————

Two Tuesdays later is when he hears it. 

Every since he’d had his revelation that maybe Barnes was trailing Steve still to this day, he’d had his ears and senses as wide as he could without raising suspicion. He still fights as best he can, but with his focus drawn he has taken a few extra hits. 

Then he hears the third heartbeat. 

He’s thankful his blindness means he doesn’t feel the desire to look at where the sounds are coming from. 

But definitely above. One of the large old skylights. 

He listens for a minute, placing it against Steve’s, noticing the similarities, although Barnes’ seems to beat faster, more like a Floor Tom drum than Steve’s Bass drum. It’s oddly similar yet different enough for Matt to find amusing. 

And Matt’s more impressed with Barnes’ choice of perch. Steve’s hearing is amazing. But he’s not actively trying to hear extra sounds. And his senses sure aren’t pointed at the ceiling. 

Matt’s are everywhere. 

Except now… Now that he knows Barnes is watching. 

Time to get feisty. 

He pulls every sense down to his center, focusing only on the fight. He ignores all other sounds except the beat of Steve’s heart and breathing. Using that, he dodges, kicks, rolls, punches, and fights to the beat of their dance. He can sense Steve’s surprise, his confusion and then concern. But Matt smiles and lands a solid uppercut that makes Steve stagger back from the force. 

Steve stands stunned for a split second before wiping at his mouth. Matt can smell the blood. 

Perfect. 

“Geez.” Steve says with a humored huff, “you really want to kick my ass tonight, don’t you.” 

Matt nods, “Indeed. Are you going to keep chatting away? Or are you going to fight me?” He shifts, ready for the next round. He can feel the grin on Steve’s face. 

“Oh. You asked for this.” Steve says, the amusement clear. Matt feels the rush of air as Steve charges him.

He grins, time for a show. 

——————-

Chapter Text

After the fight, in which he gets several good shots in against Steve.  Matt can sense the grin the guy sends to him, “man, you been holding back all this time?” 

Matt laughs, in truth he’s exhausted and his nerves are on a razor’s edge. It had taken everything in him to land those shots and put on this show, “no, just a lucky night.” He lies, keeping his breathing steady and heart rate calm. 

Then Steve falls quiet and Matt can sense a sort of conflict warring before Steve takes a deep breath and starts talking quietly, “I was… worried.” 

Matt blinks, not expecting the non sequitur, “about…?”

“I didn’t hide my identity because I wanted to trick you.” 

That thought had never even crossed Matt’s mind. “I know.” 

“I just wanted— wait, you knew?” 

Matt laughs, “No, I didn’t know, I’m just saying, when I figured you out, I didn’t think you’d done it as a funny prank, I figured you had your reasons.” 

“I did. Do.” 

“I do have some questions about some of the things you said though.” 

He can feel the wince from here, ”see, there’s the problem. Because you didn't know who I was, I was loose lipped.” 

Matt snorts, “I don’t think I would have ever described you as ‘loose lipped’.” There’s a silence and Mat thinks back, “‘I think I’m past the point of help’.” He tilts his head, “your words, not mine.” 

Steve’s aura of tension is radiating, “those were some bad days. I’d just… Found out Bucky was alive. Had been tortured. That I could have saved him, if I’d just taken one fucking second to look—“ The way the words cut off tell Matt he hadn’t meant to say as much. 

“Your fault?” Matt is shaking his head, “how is that your fault?” 

“Listen,” Steve starts, “I appreciate your concern but this is not something I need to talk about again.” 

Hmm. Matt wonders who has poked this bear before. 

“So…” Matt raises up a hand in surrender, “Is it my dad’s fault I’m blind?” 

There’s a pause, “what?” 

“My dad chose to take me to that street that morning. He looked away, dealing with some stuff and I ran out in the street to push an old man out of the way of an out of control truck. So is it my dad’s fault? Or maybe the old mans?”

“Matt.

“Steve.” No response. “No one is past the point of help.” 

And it’s the long suffering sigh followed by the muffled words, “I know.” Matt imagines Steve’s face is in his hands. 

“You know my dad was a big fan of you?” 

He feels the hesitation, “of me?” 

“Yeah, you’re a fellow New Yorker. You remind me of him, and—“ the pieces really click together for the first time in Matt’s head, “I think that’s cuz he tried to emulate you. Never backed down from a fight, always stood back up. Never stopped swinging.” 

Somehow crushing guilt filters through the gym, “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Yeah.” Steve responds quietly, “I’m sorry. I gotta go.” Then he’s up and out of the gym before Matt can blink. He hears the door swing shut and he’s left confused. Why would he need to be sorry?

—————-

He’s not sure when it will happen, so he keeps his senses on full alert. 

And there it is. The angry heartbeat. He starts walking faster. 

The heartbeat speeds up. 

The Winter Soldier is on the hunt. 

And something about that makes his adrenaline spike. 

He takes off running, cane forgotten and he hears the flash of the faster footfalls. 

Turning left and right and leaping around corners and leading him to a place he feels safe for the confrontation to happen. 

He’s almost to the warehouse he wants when he makes a miscalculation. 

This isn’t Steve. 

A knife shings through the air and he has a millisecond to throw himself sideways to avoid the blade as it flies past him. 

Then he hears the click of a gun and his mind goes on combat mode, dodging each shot and working his way back closer to his assailant. 

When he knows he’s within easy hearing distance, he calls out, “James Barnes!” The next shot hesitates. Giving Matt enough time to get even closer, “James Buchanan Barnes, I am not your enemy.” 

Another knife flings past and he ducks, rolling closer and popping up close enough for him to feel the man flinch back. 

“Bully—“ the man grits out. 

Confusion fills him, “what?” 

“You’re a bully!”  A fist comes flying and he dodges and weaves, barely avoiding the barrage. 

“I am not!” 

“Pick on someone your own size!” The guy snaps out. 

Something about the conversation prickles in his mind, more context he’s missing. “Steve and I weren’t fighting.” He tries, guessing more than knowing what to say, “we were sparring.” 

He feels the air shift as long hair shakes back and forth, “You hit him. I told you I’d kill you if you hit him again.” 

“He hit me back.” Matt adds, “because we were training. Sparring—“ then words Steve had said come back to his mind. “Boxing.” He points to the man who stands, shoulders tense and breathing tight, “you and Steve used to box right? During the war?”

“Steve’s too small to box.” 

Realization clicks in Matt’s mind. Addled brains make for unreliable conversation partners. 

“Oh.” Matt says slowly, “and how small is Steve?” 

He can hear the man’s jaw working, fingertips pressing against the handle of the gun. The metal arm makes clicks and whirs as he tightens his fist, “barely 100 lbs soaking wet.” 

That phrase rolls off of Barnes’ tongue. Something he must have said a thousand times. 

“And where is Steve now?” Matt hears the guy pull out a cell phone and he wants to scoff in disbelief. Not only is Barnes following Steve, he’s tracking him. “How are you tracking him?”

“Compass.” Comes the aborted reply. 

“What?” Matt doesn’t know what he’s referring to. “What compass?” 

“Carries it. He always carries it.” Then the footsteps are backing away. 

Matt steps forward, “don’t leave, I want to talk to you, to help you.”

“Stop hitting Steve.” 

“The Steve I was hitting is almost 300lbs of pure muscle.” Matt comments, “you sure you’re thinking of the right guy?” 

“Shut up!” The man cries out. But it’s more of a cry of despair than an angry command. 

“Come on, you must be hungry, right? Steve eats a lot. You must need too to. Will you let me take you somewhere?” 

“L-Leave him alone.” Barnes grits out, “I mean it.” 

“He doesn’t need your protection.” Matt says, more to ruffle his feathers than of truth. 

“He’s always getting in trouble.” The man says with a snap, “I watch his six.” 

“In the war?” 

“Always.” 

“Okay, then let me take you to him.” 

The rigid terror floods Matt’s nostrils, “no. No. I can’t. He’s not safe.” 

“Not safe from…?”

“From the asset.” Then the man bends forward, groaning, “me. He’s not safe from me.” 

That makes Matt’s eyebrows furrow, “and why is that?” 

“I almost killed him.” The man admits as if facing the gallows. “I punched in his face and shot him three times. I stabbed him. I fought him.” 

Too specific to be a lie. Matt bites at his tongue before guessing based on the information he can remember, “this was in DC?” 

The man is nodding, his hair smells of alleyways and sweat. 

“How about…” Matt steps forward, hands up in surrender, “you come to my place. You shower. I get you clean clothes and food and then you can go on your merry way. No strings, no traps.” 

“Always traps.” 

“No.” Matt says confidently. “No traps. I know Steve is worried about you. He’s looking for you. You know that right?” 

“He can’t find me.” 

“Okay, I’m not going to argue about that right now.” Matt says, “but if you won’t let him help you, will you at least let me?” 

A long pause before a quiet, “why?” 

And that question practically breaks Matt’s heart. “Because you’re a human being who deserves food, a shower, and a place to sleep. And I can help. So I want to.” 

Barnes is about to bolt. Matt can feel the way his body preps, adrenaline spiking and muscles tensing. “I’ll tell you all about Steve.” Matt throws out as a last ditch effort, “Anything you want to hear. I can answer any questions you have. Whatever you want to know.” 

“Do you know about…” the man sounds hesitant, “me?” 

Matt wants to slap a palm to his forehead. Of course Barnes would be confused about his past as well. “Yeah.” Matt lies, he doesn’t know much, but he knows someone who does. “Yeah, I have a friend who can answer a lot of questions. Anything about you or your past that you want to know.” 

“No traps?” 

And Matt imbues his words with every ounce of calm and honesty that he can. “No traps.” 

—————

As they walk, Matt tells him that he can come anytime. He can use his shower or eat his food. Anytime. Doesn’t matter if Matt is home or not. 

“Why?” 

Matt grins, “I already told you.” 

“You like to help poeple?” 

“I do.” 

“You help Steve?” 

Matt huffs, “I freaking try. He’s not an easy one to get to accept help.” 

And Matt hears the first sound of humor out of Barnes’ mouth. An agreeable huff.

“He always been a pain in the ass?” Matt tries, latching onto the change in mood as he grabs a towel and a pair of pants and shirt for the man. 

“Since birth.” Barnes says back. 

“Figures.” Matt responds. Then he hands the clothes to Barnes, “I’m going to heat up some food. Anything in particular sound good? Or you allergic to stuff?” 

“No.” Barnes says softly, “whatever you make I’ll eat.” 

“Sounds good.” He points, “showers over there.” 

The soldier pads softly to the door and disappears. Matt starts cooking. Eggs and onions with beans and rice. He tries to think of anything filling he can add in. He heats up leftover Teriyaki Tofu that Karen had ordered and then he’d stolen because it was so good. He heats up some hot chocolate, something he hasn’t made in ages but he has the powder. Mixing it with milk to make it heavier. 

“How do you cook blind?” 

He startles. The man is suddenly there, and he feels his adrenaline pounding at the appearance. 

“Shit—“ Matt breathes out. 

The man winces, hands whipping up in worry, “sorry, I’m sorry—“ 

“How the hell are you so quiet?” Matt asks, “the only other person—“ He pauses. This skill must have been learned.  “You used to sneak up on Steve didn’t you?” 

Barnes breathes out a humored air, “punk could always hear us coming. Commandos and I used to practice being quiet to try to get the drop on him. Only I started to succeed after my capture at Azzano...” 

The words die off as if Barnes is surprised by them. 

“How often do those memories pop up?”

Barnes is scrubbing at his face, “more and more each day without the machine.” 

Machine. What a nice word for a hellish contraption.

Matt turns and dishes up a heaping plate. He turns, sets it in Barnes’ hands and then grabs the large mug of hot chocolate, “here. Eat every scrap. And there’s more if you want it.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Barnes says, then adds softly, “thanks.” 

“I’m used to my own kitchen. But also, if you knew I was blind… why were you mad about me fighting Steve?” 

Barnes tilts his head, “never associated the lack of something to be a limitation.” Matt hears his metal arm whir. “I watched you for a while afterI saw you with Steve, never saw your blindness cause a deficit.” 

Something about that sentence makes Matt want to smile. A sentiment not shared by many if any. 

“If you watched me… Why did you view me as a threat?” 

“Saw you take down four thugs with batons. Then you’re beating on Steve—“

“More like he was beating on me—“ 

“You got some licks in.” A Brooklyn accent is there, more pronounced, “and it’s hard in here—“ Barnes is gesturing to his head. Matt can smell his own soap on the man infiltrating the air, “not a lot makes sense. It’s like I’m putting together a puzzle in the dark.” 

“Okay…” Matt says slowly, “that’s fair.” So Barnes has been following him solo too, not just when he’s with Steve. And Matt didn’t even know. He represses the urge to shiver. “Eat.” Matt commands gently. He hears the scrape of a fork against the plate and it falls quiet. Then Matt remembers his plan, “you mind if I call a friend to come over? He knows anything I don’t about you and Steve. Promise he’s a friendly.” 

Barnes shrugs and he wonders how much of that is actual trust versus the ability of having a choice beat out of him. 

“Okay.” Matt responds, grabbing his cell. 

“Matt?”

He knows Barnes can hear Foggy’s voice. “Hey Foggy, you busy?” 

“Working, research. What’s up?” 

“I have someone here who has some questions about history things, you up for the challenge?” 

“Google isn’t cutting it?” 

Matt laughs, “bit more personal.” 

“You know I hate when you’re cryptic.” 

“Then come over and find out why.” 

There’s a long suffering sigh and Matt is reminded for the thousandth time that he doesn’t deserve Foggy Nelson as a friend. 

“I’ll be there in 15. There better be Thai food.” 

“I’ll order some right now. Thai tea?” 

“Is the sky blue.” 

“You got it.” He hangs up and he can sense Barnes’ eyes on him. “Go ahead,” Matt says slowly, “you can ask.” 

“Who is that?” 

“Franklin “Foggy” Nelson. Business partner and friend.” 

“He’s not going to have a problem being in the same room as…” his voice trails off and Matt wonders what cycle of words is running though his mind: assassin, murderer, threat, robot— “me?” 

Matt shakes his head, “no.” He chuckles, “honestly I think he’s going to be starstruck. He loves history and knows all about you and Steve.” 

“Can he fight like you?” 

And the question is hanging in the air, unspoken. 

Can he protect himself from me? 

“No.” Matt says calmly, “but I won’t let you hurt him.” He pauses and thinks for a moment, coming up with the words, “Foggy is… well, Foggy is my Steve. I won’t let anything happen to him.” 

And this Barnes seems to fully understand. 

There’s a small silence before he hears curiosity enter Barnes’ voice, “what’s a Thai tea?” 

Matt grins, “it’s something you gotta try. I’ll order you one. Have you ever had Thai food?” 

Barnes is shaking his head no, then he clears his throat, “no.” 

Matt smiles again, “let me make a call.” 

—————-

The food arrives two minutes before Foggy does. The smell wafting through the apartment. And even though Barnes just ate, Matt can hear the sound of his stomach rumbling. But he’d planned for that. There’s four extra entrees in the bag. 

He hands over the drink that Foggy had once described as a burnt orange looking drink. And he waits as he hears Barnes try a sip. 

“It’s…” the man is thinking, “strange.” He takes another sip, “it’s good.” He sips again, “yeah, that’s really good.” 

“Thought you’d like that.” Matt says with a grin. Then he hears Foggy’s footfalls outside the door. “One second.” 

He feels the way Barnes stiffens and he holds out a reassuring hand, “don’t worry, Foggy is the nicest.” 

When he opens the door, Foggy stands there with a raised eyebrow and the tie hanging loose around his neck. “This had better be good.” 

“You remember how I go sparring every Tuesday?” He gestures for Foggy to come in, walking him down the hallway.

 “Uh, yeah.” 

“Well, just recently I figured out who I was sparring against.” 

Foggy pauses and he can sense the huh? “You didn’t know who you were fighting against?” 

“Well,” Matt says with a sigh, “I knew he was someone that wanted to keep his identity hidden. Just didn’t know why. He gave me a fake name and I was none the wiser. Until…” 

They round the corner and Matt can hear Barnes’ heartbeat pounding. 

Foggy stops at the sight of the man in Matt’s living room and it’s quiet for 20 seconds. Just the three of them standing there. 

Until Foggy’s voice whispers out of him in disbelief, “Sergeant Barnes…” 

Something like relief uncurls in Matt’s stomach. And he feels the relief emanating off of Barnes too. Not the Winter Soldier or an assassin or the Asset. Just Sergeant Barnes. Foggy rounds on Matt, “you were sparring with Sergeant Barnes this whole time and you didn’t know!?” 

“Actually,” Matt winces, “I wasn’t sparring him. I was sparring…” he rubs at his eyes, “his best friend. The guy we ran into outside of the train station?” Foggy is still silent, mind whirring, “if I said that guy and this guy had a lot in common would you figure it out faster?” Silence. He’s not sure what Foggy’s expression is. “Big, blonde, all American?” Foggy is sputtering. “Yep. Him.” 

“You were sparring with Captain America?” 

Matt nods, “yep. Felt like an idiot when I finally figured that out.” 

“When’d you figure?” Matt’s about to tell him when Foggy laughs, “the parade!” He’s chuckling, “Oh man, I wondered why you were so jazzed after complaining the whole time, oh shit! That was years!” He laughs again, “you really had no idea?” 

Matt frowns, “none.” Then he gestures to Barnes, “Foggy, this is James, James, this is Foggy.” 

Foggy bounds forward and extends a hand, “so cool to meet you. Like blown away, how are you?” Then Foggy tilts his head and shakes it, Matt can smell his aftershave, “that’s a stupid question. Don’t answer that. Are things getting better?” 

“Uh—“ James starts, and Matt can sense the confusion but also amusement, “I don’t know.”

“Well whatever you need, you let us know. I don’t care that you’re Brooklyn, us New Yorkers gotta stick together. Whatever you need.” 

And true surprise wafts off of Barnes, “thanks.” 

—————-

Foggy rubs his stomach and groans, “I haven’t gorged like that in awhile. Who wants the last of my rice?” 

Matt waves his hand and points to James. “Barnes?” 

“I mean…” there’s a reluctance, almost a terror, “If no one else wants it.” 

Foggy’s already plopping it in front of him, the coconut fried rice fragrant through the room, “have at it. I heard Captain America has to eat like a truck load of. Food, so you probably do too, make sure you’re eating enough.” 

Matt grins, sometimes, rarely, Foggy does remind him of Mr. Nelson. Hard faced up front but wouldn’t let anyone starve on his account. 

“Thanks.” Barnes whispers out in disbelief, the metal hand snaking out to grab the container. “I always wondered why I was so hungry. I didn’t know the reason for years.” 

Foggy’s nodding, “yeah, Matt said you had questions, I know a lot, and what I don’t, I know people who know. What questions do you have?” 

“Do I got any family left over?” 

The question stuns both of them, before Foggy’s pulling out his phone, “I know you had a sister right? Bet records would tell us.” 

“I tried the library.” Barnes says softly, “couldn’t figure out the electronic record system.”

Foggy’s typing but he looks up, “I thought you were trained on advanced technology?” 

Trained. What a funny word. But maybe a kind one instead of forced, tortured. 

“Advanced being the keyword.” Barnes says with a huff. “The computers at the library are ancient.” 

Matt laughs as does Foggy, “that I can believe.” 

Foggy makes a sound of success, “you’ve got two nephews and a niece, and one of them has twins. One boy, one girl.”

“My sister?” 

“She died of cancer a few years back. I’m sorry.” 

“Her husband?” 

Foggy taps a bit more, “records say he was in a hospice home and—“ there’s the weight pause, “he’s gone too. I’m sorry.” 

“So the only person alive who knows me from before I was a killer is Steve.” 

And Foggy, bless his bold heart, “we know you.” He gestures to Matt, “and sure we’ve only been around barely 2 decades to your like 10 but we’re those really open minded type. Matt flips around in the dark in a suit beating people up for fun.” Matt huffs out a laugh and he can just feel Foggy positively grinning, “we’re not ones to judge.”

He can hear the way Barnes swallows hard, “thanks.” 

“What else? Hit me with another one.” 

“What’s left of Hydra?” 

Foggy grins, “Not much, but—“ and then he launches into detail about the public cleanup happening worldwide, “Cap and Black Widow have been testifying and ensuring those people get locked up. And there’s going to be trials happening for awhile. But of course, your inside knowledge would be crazy helpful.” Then Foggy, ever aware, “if you wanted. No pressure.” 

“Yeah…” Barnes says slowly, “not sure about coming back publicly.” 

Matt leans forward, “ever?” 

His voice is raw, “the things I’ve done—“ 

“They forced you to do.” Foggy clarifies.

“I still did them.” 

“We’re not going to sit here and argue that you didn’t.” Matt says, “but we can argue duress. And that’s not nothing. Especially not in your case.”

“Argue duress? My case?” 

Foggy waves his arm, the ice in Thai tea rattling, “we’re lawyers. And We. Do. Justice.” He says in a pompous tone. Then he laughs, “I don’t know if you’re ever going to want to go public, but if you do, there'll be a whole lot of people by your side. Including…” Matt hears Foggy look around, “one blonde super soldier?”

“No.” Barnes says sharply. “I’m not using him as leverage to get clean.” 

Matt already can guess why, but he asks anyways, “why not?”

“I’m not going to dirty his reputation trying to clean mine.” 

Matt sucks at his teeth, “so you’re both idiots. Good to know. Foggy, log that for future knowledge.” 

Foggy chuckles quietly and he can tell Barnes is half glaring, half curious. His voice is quiet when he does speak, “you think Steve is an idiot?”

“Think?” Matt huffs, “I know. He’s the same as you. Won’t ask for help. Stubborn as hell. Mad at the world. For good reason mind you. But still. Neither of you willing to give an inch, but hoping the other will. Like I said. Idiots. Well meaning, but still foolish.” 

Barnes’ voice is raw, “Steve needed help?” Then even more raspy, “he’s mad at the world?”

“Waking up almost 70 years in the future will do that to you.” 

“I was reading about that.” Barnes responds, his mind sounding elsewhere, “in the museum. What happened?” 

Foggy briefly explains the Red Skull fight and the Valkyrie. Then Foggy’s voice dies off, “wait a minute.” Matt hears Foggy stand, excitedly pointing at Barnes, “you knew Agent Carter right? She’s alive! And in DC!”

“Peggy Carter is still alive?” 

“Yes!” 

Barnes’ throat works heavily, “Does Steve know that?” 

Matt hears Foggy take a deep breath, “yeah, I’m sure he does.” 

“He really loved her.” 

That admission startles both of them. “Steve loved—“ Matt’s voice cuts off as a memory surfaces. 

Just not the way I expected my life to go. You know?” The man’s voice is soft and sad. “Had a lot of plans. Dreams. Things I wanted to do with my life. People I wanted—“ his voice gets rough. “Friends and—“ 

“A girl?” Matt asks, teasing.

And there’s something tragically sad about the guy’s next words, “there was.” 

Foggy breathes out a long breath of air, “wow, that… that sucks.” He shifts the conversation, “did you have a girl?”

Barnes is shaking his head. “No one serious. I dated a lot before getting draf—“ his voice cuts off and Matt can feel the tension start to roll off Barnes. “Don’t tell him.” He can hear the metal arm working. Matt’s senses scramble as Barnes rubs roughly at his face, the metal and the flesh in cacophony, “don’t tell him.” 

Foggy oozes confusion, “don’t tell him what?” 

Barnes stands, then he sits, his blood pulsing, “he’ll be so mad.” 

Foggy is tense, but Matt can tell he’s not trying to be, “mad about what?”

“That I stayed.” 

Matt’s not sure where this is going, “stayed? Hey, whoa, loosen up—“ the metallic gears whir and hiss as Barnes clenches on his head too hard, Matt can hear the sound of Barnes’ skull creaking under the pressure, “James, stop.” 

“They told me I could go. After Azzano. After Zola. But I stayed. Even thoug—“ There’s a brief moment where he goes so rigid that Matt worries he might crush his skull, but slowly, he relinquishes the death grip, and his breathing elevates and then tapers off. His heart rate reduces to normal and he sags back to the chair. “This is why I can’t let him find me.” 

“Because you stood up and stayed still for two minutes?” Matt chides, “yeah, real dangerous.” 

Barnes’ face snaps to his, he can’t see the expression but he can feel the annoyance. 

“I’m not safe.”

Matt does a comical slow turn to Foggy, “are you hurt? Am I hurt? Did you see him hurt either of us?” 

Foggy’s voice is teasing but kind, “I mean, he almost knocked me over with the gust of air as he stood up, but I withstood it.” 

“This isn’t a joke.” Barnes hisses out. “I’m not stable.” 

“And who the hell is?” Foggy asks, “you’ve got the most reason to be unstable. And yeah, maybe you are, but isn’t that why you should ask for help? Isn’t that a good enough reason to reach out and say, ‘hey, I could use a little help here?’” Then Foggy’s voice gets serious, “when I found out Matt was Daredevil I was pissed. Furious.” Matt’s nerves dance, remembering how much that rift had hurt both of them. “Why had he kept something so… so dangerous from me. So vital to his being from me. It’s like I didn’t know him at all. He had this whole secret life and I was just this putz who was, excuse my language, but blind to it.” Foggy’s wiping away the condensation on the cup, “Why didn’t he trust me? I could have.. I don’t know, not punched people but helped, I could have supported or researched or… I don’t know, maybe talked him down off those high ass ledges he stands on listening to the whole city.” Foggy snorts out a disbelieving humored huff, “I don’t know. It doesn't matter. I just wanted to be a part. It hurt more that Matt kept me at arm’s length than it did what the secret was actually about…” Foggy sets the cup down and wipes his damp fingers on his pants, “catching my drift yet?” 

“You think I should let Steve help me.” 

“Ding ding ding.” Foggy says with a grin, “we have a winner.” 

“And if I hurt him again?” 

Again. 

Matt remembers Barnes’ words. Shot him three times. Stabbed him. 

“Seems to be doing just fine.” Matt responds cautiously, “doesn't hurt easy.” 

“I almost killed him.” 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I could have.” 

Foggy sighs, “but you didn’t, man.” He waves, “this is about the helicarriers right? Weren’t the reports that Steve ended up on the shore of the Potomac. You dragged him there. You saved him.” 

“After—“

“After you had your brain fried to kill him. Yeah I know, and look, you still didn’t.” 

“But I could have—“ 

“Yeah, and I could have won the lottery with that ticket I never bought, or been born with a propensity to dress in leather and beat people up. It is what it is, you can’t live your life focused on what was. You gotta see what could be. Your whole future ahead of you. You’re free.” 

Barnes swallows hard and his voice is like broken glass when he speaks, “To do what?”

——————-

Chapter Text

They’re stunned by the question. 

Until Foggy takes a deep breath and Matt hears him lean forward, “what did you want to do before you got drafted?” 

Barnes’ hair wafts his shampoo as it whips up, “you know I was drafted?” 

Matt tilts his head in curiosity, he hadn’t known that. But Foggy is nodding, “your enlistment number, started with a three. People ended up figuring that out. And you just confirmed earlier.” 

No one serious. I dated a lot before getting draf—

Oh. 

Foggy leans back, “did Steve know you were drafted?” 

“Not back then. Thought I’d joined up. Didn’t want to tell him otherwise, since he wanted to go so bad. I—“ Barnes’ face is pained, “I guess he probably knows now if other people figured it out.” 

“What did you want to do before you left for war?” 

Barnes’ eyes get far away, “I uh…” he sighs, “I wanted to write.” 

“Write?” Matt hears himself ask.

The man is nodding, Matt can feel the way he’s slowly shifting in his seat, as if he’s embarrassed. “I read The Hobbit … and I just…” his voice changes, sounding younger, “I felt like I’d escaped into another world. I kept that book with me. Took it to Europe on the battle fronts. Read it cover to cover so many times that I actually had most of it memorized. When we were trapped behind enemy lines or told to sit tight, I…” He can hear Foggy’s heartbeat increasing, and he can feel the smile that’s accompanying it. Barnes' voice radiates a sense of happiness it hasn’t before, “I would recite it. To the men. Like I was telling a story. So many couldn’t read or read well, and even more hadn’t ever had money to buy a book for fun. Just to read. So I got to share that with them. I wanted to brighten up the darkness that we were in. And telling that story, or any story really… It did that. And so even during the war I wanted to write.” 

Foggy’s reaching into his leather satchel, Matt can smell the leather polish. Then he hears the click of a pen and some scratching of writing. 

“Here.” Matt feels the air shift, and Foggy’s handing something to Barnes. 

“What—? No, I can’t take this—“ 

“You can. And you will. Look, your name’s already in it.” Matt hears the soft shuffling of pages and the shushing of fingers on paper. “Wherever you are, whenever you can, write stuff down. Memories, stories, whatever you want. Get practice. I know writing things down helps me, and if it’s something you want to do for the future then you should start now.” 

True gratitude filters Barnes’ voice, “thank you…” 

Foggy’s grinning, he can feel it, “of course. And if you ever need another one. I’ve got tons. What did you want to write?” 

“I don’t really remember.” Barnes admits, “but I know there was a moment…” He laughs, a soft sound barely audible but it’s there, “Steve was drawing and I told him if we made it back to the mainland and if the war was over, we should go into business. You know, comics or something. I do the writing, he could do the art.” 

Matt shifts, leaning forward, “Steve… draws?” 

The smell of his shampoo infiltrates his nose as Barnes looks at him, nodding, “yes, he wanted to be an artist before the war,” then he pauses, his head turning to Foggy, “right?” He sounds panicked now, like he can’t believe he can’t remember, “I’m pretty sure. Steve loved to draw, he wanted to go to Auburn, the arts school. But he couldn’t afford it—“ 

“Must make rent cheap.” 

Matt turns, halfway to the fridge, “you tight on money?” 

Only people who know money struggles comment on cheap rent. 

A long sigh that sounds disproportionately sad to the words he says, “used to be.” 

Foggy’s nodding, “yeah, I remember my teacher talking about that. Steve Rogers lived below the poverty line before signing up for Project Rebirth.” 

Barnes snorts, “below the poverty line is putting it a nice way. My parents were well off, and he would refuse every cent we offered. I used to slide coins into this jar he kept in a cabinet or bills into his wallet but he’d always figure it out and give it back. Then my ma started making food and dropping it off when he wasn’t home but he would return that too. Stubborn idiot.” His aura changes to one of frustration, “once, we were going to visit some family in the Midwest, and I was all worried about leaving him alone, cuz when Steve’s alone is when he gets in the most trouble.” Foggy huffs out a laugh but Barnes continues. “Steve had been sick and hadn’t had any money for food. So my ma made this stew and bread and a block of cheese and put it in the small barely functioning icebox in his apartment. And she begged him to keep it and eat at it while we were gone.” 

He pauses, and both he and Foggy remain quiet. 

There’s a long deep breath and then he’s talking again, quieter, “when I got home the pot had been washed and returned and Steve said it was very good and he was very grateful. He was sick again, looking frail and gaunt but that was pretty normal for the change in the season we were experiencing.” 

Another long silence and Matt feels the heat from the lights of the billboard playing across his skin. Barnes is staring out at it, he can tell. 

“Two months later…” he starts, “I was stopping by Steve’s rat hole apartment to change a lightbulb he didn’t know I knew had gone out. His eyes were shit and I could always tell when it went out because he had to do his work only during the daylight and he would get behind.” His voice sort of cracks and he fights to keep talking, “but after finishing, I walked out and the neighbor on the ground floor, she stopped me… she asked if I was a Barnes.” His voice takes on an eerie quality, as if he’s watching the memory replay in that moment, “I told her yes, and she thanked me. Cried and cried and thanked me. And I didn’t know why. I didn’t know why .” 

Foggy’s aura of tension radiates and Matt wonders what expression on Barnes’ face is making him feel that way. 

“I tried to ask why, but she barely spoke English, and I didn’t speak Irish. Next time I saw Steve, I tried to ask him but he just acted confused. He’s a good liar, or… not that he’s a liar, he’s just good at making everything seem like no big deal. He pretended to be confused.” He sighs, “but I knew something was up. So I brought my ma over once. Didn’t go up to Steve’s, instead I knocked on the neighbor’s door. My ma wasn’t Irish, but she and Sarah had been friends long enough that they’d each become conversational in each other’s native languages before Sarah died. The woman was overcome. Crying and thankful and just overjoyed to meet my ma.” His voice gets raw, “you know why?” 

Matt has a guess. Foggy’s voice is quiet, “why?” 

“Turns out…” Barnes responds in annoyance, “the day we left, the woman’s child had fallen ill, and her husband hadn’t been able to find work. This was during the depression and jobs were scarce.” He clears his throat, “the woman explained to my ma that Steve had heard her child cry and had come down to see if they were okay. When the woman apologized for the noise, explaining that the child was ill and probably hungry, Steve had left—“ Matt’s lips set in a thin line, knowing exactly where this is going. “And came back with a giant pot of stew and bread and cheese.” Foggy’s breathing shifts, and Barnes is now standing, facing the window fully, “he told the woman that his friends, the Barneses, had made a whole bunch of extra food and that there there was no way he could eat it all before it went bad. So he gave it to them.” His voice is sharp like wire. “He gave all of it to them. We were gone for a week .” His metal arm is whirring, “and I came back, stupidly believing him. I thought he was sick . No.” His hands grip his head again, “he’d starved for a week. Alone. Just to help some people he only barely knew.” Then he turns quickly, his feet shifting against the wooden floor, “that’s why I can't ask him to help. He’ll give and he’ll give and he’ll do everything in his power to make sure everyone else is okay before he even blinks at himself. And I can’t. I can’t do that.” 

Matt doesn’t know what to say. 

“What if he wants to do that?” Foggy asks. 

“What?” 

“What if…” Foggy stands, walking softly towards where Matt can sense Barnes is standing, “what if Steve wants to give and give and give. Why is that a bad thing?” 

“Because he has no self-preservation! He needs to think about himself for once .” 

And God bless Foggy Nelson. Because the next question makes Matt understand his plan. 

“So you want Steve to be happy?” 

“Of course.” 

“And don’t you think Steve knowing that you’re happy and healthy and safe… wouldn’t that make him happy?” 

A sharp glare is sent. He hears Foggy’s laugh. “Maybe caring for people… is how he cares for himself.” 

“That’s not healthy.” Barnes snaps.

“Never said it was.” Foggy admits. “But you’re obvisouly going to be priority number one…” 

Matt cuts in, “If Steve is anything like I think he is. He’s never going to give up looki—“ 

Matt’s phone rings. He shuffles it out of his pocket and answers, “hello?” 

“Matt? ” 

Matt stiffens and he knows it’s too late. Barnes’ arms hisses and whirs at the sudden tension radiating through it at the sound of Steve’s voice. 

“Hey Steve.” He responds casually. “What’s up?” 

There’s a long pause then Steve speaks calmly and slowly, “I was wondering if we can meet for sparring at 9 on Tuesday. Instead of 8:30?” 

“Sure.” Matt agrees easily, “got a hot date?” 

Steve lets out a forced chuckle and Matt can hear a strange quality to his voice. He’s moving, Matt can hear that. Maybe he’s on a mission or something. “Nope, just something that’s going to push me later.”

“Well, yeah, it’s no problem.” 

“Okay, great, thanks.” Then Steve is gone with a click and Matt drops his phone into his pocket. 

Foggy is sitting again, “where are you staying?” 

“I move around.” 

“Stay here.” Matt offers, “no point being homeless.” 

“I don’t like to stay in one place.” Barnes protests, “it’s not safe.” 

“Safe for me? Or for you?” 

“Either.” 

“Who is after you?” 

“I don’t know.” Barnes admits, “but it could be anyone. Now that those files are public. People know what I’ve done. How I can be used.” 

Matt pauses, frowning, “used?” 

“Yeah,” Barnes answers, “the words.” 

“Words?” 

“I can’t let anyone know the words.” Barnes is saying, then he’s pacing, “I’ve stayed too long in New York. I should leave and make sure there’s no one left who knows the words.” The last of his voice cracks off and Matt can hear the strange sensation of Barnes falling off the edge. His train of thought derailing. 

“Listen,” Foggy says, seeming calm but Matt can hear the uptick in his heart rate, “whoever it is you’re after, we can get them legally. Don’t go adding to your body count now that you’re free. We need your post record from Hydra to be clean.” Foggy’s voice is calm and practical. 

“Clean?” Barnes repeats rasping. 

“Barnes,” Matt says, and his instinct is to stand in front of Foggy, to block him, even though Barnes hasn’t moved. Something is shifting mentally in Barnes, like a tectonic plate, “stay with us. Whatever you’re worried about, we will help you.” 

A soft thud draws their heads towards Matt’s room. Foggy, who couldn’t hear it, looks at them in confusion, “what?” 

Barnes is wide eyed and stepping back. 

Matt winces, “shit.” 

The door slides open and Steve stands there, staring at them. His eyes find Barnes immediately, and relief and grief and crushing concern fill through room. 

“Buck.” Steve says, “you’re here—“ Barnes is ready to bolt. He takes a step back and Steve mirrors it, stepping forward. “Do you know who I am?” 

“No.” Barnes commands, his voice strained, “stay away.” 

“I’m Steve.” He responds, “please, don’t run—“ 

Barnes moves, shifting into a crouch, faking to attack and then bolting towards the front door. 

Steve moves quicker than Matt has ever seen him go, running, leaping over his old leather sofa and snagging the back of Barnes’ jacket. 

It rips under his grip and both go stumbling. 

Barnes tries to run again but Steve twists, grabbing his metal arm and holidng tight. 

“Let go!” Barnes growls out, his eyes looking wild, “now!” 

“No. I’m your friend!” 

Foggy’s heartbeat is through the roof, but he’s just watching, backed away. Matt doesn’t know whether to intervene or not. 

Matt feels it a second before it happens. The shift in the air, the building of energy. 

Barnes does something, shifting his metal arm to discharge an incredible amount of electricity. Steve cries out in surprise, but he doesn’t let go. “Buck,” he sucks in air, “please—!” 

“You fed that family!” Barnes shouts, eyes glazed as if he’s struggling to be present, “you lied, you always lie!”

Steve seems genuinely taken aback, his heart rate shifting strangely and his head tilting, his voice confused, “what?” 

“Don’t—” Barnes huffs out, yanking his arm and this time getting it free. He whirs it in a circle. Matt hears the circuitry reset and Steve is standing, ready to reach out in case Barnes runs. “You need to stay away from me!” 

“No! I won’t do that! Wherever you run I will follow. I want to help —“ 

Desperation rolls of Barnes, “You can’t help me!” 

Matt doesn’t need to see Steve’s expression to know that his face falls and heart wrenching grief rolls off of him in waves, “what… what do you mean?” 

“I don’t need or want your help—“ Barnes bites out, “I read the files. I went to the museum! You asked me to go on that mission. You left me to die in that gorge. So leave. Me. Alone .” The room drops 20 degrees and Steve’s heart is pounding. The anguish is so pungent it almost makes Matt gag . 

And then Barnes is gone and Steve is still frozen. 

Foggy steps forward and moves in front of Steve. “Hello, sir, I’m Foggy, and I know you don’t know me, but I do know that he didn’t mean that. He’s just using whatever he can to keep you away from him. I promise, he’s—

“Right.” Steve cuts him off, his voice like razors, sharp and brittle. “He’s right.” 

Foggy’s shaking his head, “no, he’s not, he thinks he’s protecting—“ 

But Matt’s not listening. He’s running. 

——————-

It’s a good thing Barnes’ mind is a bit erratic. Matt can follow the smell of his own soap easily. 

He catches up and although he doesn't relish the thought, he tackles Barnes onto the pavement. 

Barnes fights, shoving and punching and kicking and it’s a long dance between them. Matt only survives because of his weekly spars with Steve. They do move similar even if they have a few sharp differences. And thankfully, Barnes is weaponless at the moment. Besides his arm. 

Which lands a shove against his chest that sends Matt flying. He lets out a pianed sound as he thuds against a trash can and crumples.

When he shakily sits up, he expects Barnes to be gone, but the man is there, staring at his arm like it’s a foreign thing attached to him. 

“See?” He hears the man whisper out, “I can’t be trusted.” 

“So?” Matt grits out, getting to his feet and using the trash can as support, “everyone has the days they struggle. Maybe you will for the rest of your life. But you absolutely will if you…” he groans, feeling his ribs protest, “if you push people away. You don’t think I get it? You don’t think I’ve been worried what would happen to Foggy if people knew who I was? That’s why I didn’t tell him. I thought I was protecting him , but that just made things worse! I know how it feels to want to protect someone so bad that you hurt them to do it. But it’s never the right choice to push people away. Never.” 

“You don’t know what I’ve done.” 

“I do.” 

“You don’t—” 

“Howard, right? Maria? Those were their names?” 

Barnes crouches, head in his hands again, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” 

“You didn’t have a choice.” 

“Steve will be so mad—“ 

“Steve will not be mad. He may be sad, but he’s already sad. You leaving isn’t going to help that.” 

“Tell him…” Matt steps forward, sensing the way Barnes shifts and seems to straighten, like he’s pulling himself together and getting ready for a fight, “Tell him I didn’t mean what I said. But that he shouldn’t come looking.” 

Matt grits his teeth, “tell him yourself—“ but before the words are finished, the man’s heartbeat is gone.

—————-

Matt hides his discomfort as he walks back into the apartment. 

Steve is gone and Foggy is sitting there looking helpless. 

“Where’d he go?” 

Foggy sighs, “I don’t know, he was about to go after you when he got a call. I just heard the word ‘scepter’ and ‘Sokovia’.” Matt senses Foggy’s grimace, “he looked like he was being torn in two, man. Deciding what to do.” 

“Shit.” Matt sighs. 

“What happened to Barnes?” 

“Took off. But he told me to tell Steve he didn’t mean what he said.” 

“I tried that.” Foggy says, “don’t think it sunk in.” 

There’s a long silence and then Foggy turns in the chair and reaches, grabbing the take out containers and gathering them, “you think Steve will give up?” 

Matt shakes his head, a slow somber feeling pervading the room, “no. He won’t.”

———————-