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I
One night spent in an NYPD prison cell is still an entire night longer than you had ever expected even in the worst case scenarios you regularly construct in your head; because while your work does bring you into contact with shady types, what you do is in no way illegal.
And yet, as you are watching a random news bulletin—your chosen method of winding down at the end of a day—a NYPD team arrives at your door and arrests you on the charge of selling damaging information to criminal elements.
You do deal in information but the police are unmoved by your claim that you had not known the buyers were criminals. So your sojourn in a surprisingly clean prison cell begins.
You know that it might have been worse but that knowledge doesn’t help you relax at all, and you spend the night tossing and turning, and on the whole you catch barely an hour of sleep. By the time the first rays of sunlight filter through the window, you have nearly driven yourself mad trying to figure out who out of your vast and varied clientele has snitched.
Luckily, before you actually do go mad, you are led to an interrogation room where two men introduce themselves as your lawyers. Once the door shuts behind the officer who escorted you there, the blonde man begins speaking.
“I’m Foggy Nelson and this is my partner, Matt Murdock,” he says, gesturing to the dark-haired man by his side.
“I’m ____,” you begin, and hesitate, feeling slightly wrong- footed because you have never seen these men before in your life and you can’t help but feel suspicious. And since you’ve never been one to beat about the bush, you decide to bring up your concern immediately, “I don’t have lawyers. Who are you and why are you really here?”
“We may not be your lawyers but we are lawyers. Certain discrepancies in your arrest brought you to our attention and we’d like to help you,” it’s the handsome one that speaks up this time, Matt, and there is some undertone in his voice that draws you to him though you have only just met him and you can already tell that he likes to keep his secrets. But then again, maybe it is that which draws you- because had you been in his position, you would not have let on what exactly called attention to your case either.
“Okay,” you say—having made the decision to trust them since you don’t exactly have any other options—and taking a deep breath, launch into your story, including a brief summary of your occupation as well as anything else that you feel could be pertinent.
You can tell that neither of them approves of your chosen way of life, but Matt seems far more disturbed than Foggy, as your assurance that you are completely capable of paying for their services seems to have gone a long way with the latter.
So disturbed, in fact, that he stands, as if prepared to politely let you down and leave. You panic—something you don’t recall doing in a long while—and hurry to find some words, any will do really, which will make Matt and his partner stay, and accept you as a client.
“My work is perfectly legal Mr. Murdock, and I assure I had no idea what the buyers were planning to do with the information I got them. I’d really appreciate it if you could take the time to listen to what I’ve got to say. I have no other options- the two of you are my only shot at getting a fair hearing.” You address Matt because you can tell that he is the one who needs convincing, not his partner Foggy, who seems genuinely friendly while giving an impression of open honesty. And perhaps there is a part of you that can already tell that Matt’s opinion of you is what everything hinges on.
Matt seems to be considering your words, his hand on the back of the chair he had just risen from, head slightly tilted as if he is trying hard to listen to some particularly elusive sound. His brow furrows, and you guess he has found what he’s looking for because the next thing he does is nod and sit back down.
“Alright, we’ll take your case,” he tells you, sounding a lot less hostile, and you think you detect curiosity in his tone. Foggy looks a little surprised but he recovers himself fairly quick and turns to you with a smile that does fulfill its purpose of reassuring you at least a little.
“Let’s get you out of here first, shall we?” he asks, and when you agree him and thank him, he leaves the room in search of the officer in charge of your paperwork.
You are left alone with Matt and you both remain in silence for a long while until you speak, determined to at least have a conversation with this man who is the most interesting person you have met in a long time.
“Thank you,” you repeat, speaking slowly with a sincerity that isn’t remotely strained. Matt’s head tilts slowly to the side again and you realize this time that it is an unconscious motion on his part, a habit that indicates something you have yet to figure out.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he begins and seems about to add something else when he is interrupted by Foggy’s return and conversation turns to other matters. The question of the words he had left unsaid, though, troubles you long afterwards.
II
As soon as you leave the offices of Nelson and Murdock and return home, you look into both of them. Your impression of Foggy turns out to be right- his life is an open book, and you find no indicators of anything out of the ordinary. Matt, on the other hand is the complete opposite and soon, you begin to form your suspicions- that he is more than just a lawyer who happened to be blinded in an accident as a child. After that, it takes you no more than a couple of days to figure out Matt Murdock’s secret and once you do, his initial disdain towards you makes perfect sense. The man who spends his nights as the masked vigilante splashed all over the news obviously considers the world and its inhabitants as either good or evil- you do not expect that he can easily understand the shades of grey you live in.
And yet, you are intrigued by him, the impression he has made on you starts at a subliminal level and progresses to the point where all trains of thought lead to him.
So, one night, when you happen upon an email that discusses plans which might put Matt in danger, you don’t hesitate to call him and when—as you expected—he doesn’t pick up, you don’t have to consider your actions for too long. A couple of minutes is all it takes for you to pull on a hoodie and snatch up an old colombina mask and then you are off, taking the fastest route you know to the ramshackle warehouse in the Russians’ territory where a trap has been laid for Matt.
You park your car two blocks away from your destination, tie on the mask and pull up your hood before slipping out and making your way to the back entrance of the building. Signs of a fight become apparent a few feet from your destination- the most obvious one is the wounded man who lies groaning on his side in a puddle of murky water that definitely also has some blood mixed in it, leg visibly twisted out of place.
Matt is already here and you can only hope that he hasn’t gotten too far.
You step over the wounded man—you can call an ambulance once both you and Matt are at least a few blocks away—and find that the door is slightly ajar, its lock broken. Another semi-conscious thug is propped against the wall a few paces into the narrow corridor that you step into.
And at the end of the corridor, a brawl is taking place between five men, one of whom you soon recognize as Matt- he is winning. For now. Quite inexplicably—for someone so conscientiously aware of his surroundings—he does not notice another door open a few feet behind him, nor does he seem to acknowledge the man with a gun who emerges.
Having seen enough, you spring into action, noiselessly sprinting toward this new entrant, and before even a minute passes, you have knocked the gun from his hands- the element of surprise definitely on your side. But that’s as long as it lasts because the guy recovers himself and launches himself at you.
You manage to turn away from the hold he is trying to put you in with a knee to his groin and while he howls with that pain, you shove him to the ground and knock him out with a good punch to the head. Once you look up, you find that Matt has finished with the four men who had been attacking, and he has turned to you now.
“Who are you?” he asks, voice low and dangerous, as he moves towards you, hands curled in loose fists at his sides.
“Listen,” you tell him simply, lips curving into a smile that has a hint of a challenge in it, and you watch as he tilts his head in a manner that is rapidly becoming familiar.
Mere seconds later, he advances towards you, and backs you into the wall with a tight grip on your arms. You don’t know what to make of the fact that the way Matt is towering over you doesn’t quite frighten you in the way you know he wants it to- no, what you feel is something rather different.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses.
“This is a trap.”
“These men aren’t fit to be capturing anyone any more, and there’s no one else here.”
“Step through that door, keep walking, and two rooms away you’ll find these people you claim aren’t here.” You wait, and hope that he trusts you enough to believe that you have the right information.
He lets go of you, and turns away, heading back the way you have just come and you follow him with a sigh of relief. The pair of you remain silent, still watchful of your surroundings until you are safely out of the building, and then Matt speaks.
“Why? Why risk coming here?” he asks, and it takes you a second to realize that the foreign emotion in his voice is worry, mixed with a healthy amount of fear.
“I don’t know any other lawyers who’d take my case. So I’m here purely to protect my interests,” you hope that this half-truth will be enough to convince Matt but even as you speak, you have your doubts because you have discovered that he has an uncanny ability to detect lies.
His mouth twists into a frown but he doesn’t question you any further, instead giving you a brief nod and telling you to leave. You smile to yourself as you turn away, you find it rather sweet that he is concerned about your safety. You have both come a long way from that first meeting in a NYPD interrogation room.
“Wait,” he calls when you’ve barely taken five steps. You stop walking and turn back to him, head tilted slightly in a question.
He steps closer, his posture a little tense, as if he is hesitant about what he is about to do. “Thank you,” he says finally, his voice surprisingly soft.
“You’re welcome,” your reply is equally soft, “but really, for future reference, there’s no need to thank me.”
He smiles at that, lifting one hand a little, and you think that he is reaching for you, to take your hand or perhaps to give you a sideways hug, but you never know what exactly it is because he doesn’t follow through.
“Good night. Drive safe,” he tells you instead, hand firmly back at his side, and you don’t ask how he knows that you drove there.
“Night,” you reply, and when he has disappeared into the darkness of the alley, you whisper under your breath, “Sweet dreams, Matt.”
You speak the last phrase so softly that even someone standing right next to you would not have heard and yet you know Matt probably has, if he was listening. And if, indeed, he was, then you want him to have heard.
III
Over the next few weeks, you see Matt several times but always in a professional capacity, usually at his office with either Foggy or Karen, or both, present as well. And if it wasn’t for the small differences in the way he behaves around you, you would think that nothing had changed between the pair of you.
But he does smile at you more—often when he thinks you aren’t looking—soft smiles that make you blush like a schoolgirl. Increasingly frequently, he takes to sitting next to you, shoulders brushing yours. And when you realize that you don’t even really mind this invasion of your personal space, you know that you’ve begun to feel something for him.
One night, when you are alone at home, digging up information—or trying to—on Wilson Fisk as you have been doing lately in an attempt to help Matt, Foggy, and Karen in any way you can, the realization of just how much has changed is brought home to you.
Because that is the night that Matt shows up at your flat, slipping in through a window to tell you that a man who works for Fisk is coming for you. You don’t have time to question him because moments later, you hear the sound of the lock on your main door clicking. Matt pushes forward, and so you let him handle it, though you do follow him into the living room and therefore witness the fight that ensues.
You watch, unblinking, even as he delivers one final hit to the man’s gut and this time the intruder stays down.
And then, finally, you speak, because you think you know why he has come but you would like to hear your suspicions confirmed.
“I could have taken care of this. Why are you here?”
“I’m just returning the favour.”
“I may not have enhanced senses but I can tell when I’m being lied to.”
“____, I… I wanted to be sure that you would be alright,” he says finally, advancing towards you. You smile, that’s enough of an answer for now. It is only too easy for you to reach up and pull of his mask, drop it on the couch and take his face in your hands. His skin is warm under your wandering fingertips and he leans further towards you with each stroke. The spell breaks when the pads of your thumbs brush over his lips.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, pushing you away, and standing a good distance from you, head bent, hands clenched at his sides.
You don’t ask him the obvious question ‘why not?’ because you already know the answer—he is your lawyer and it would jeopardize his ability to fight your case if he got involved with you—and instead, you ask him something much more important.
“What makes you think either of us can resist the other?”
He looks genuinely shocked at your question, and it takes him the better part of a minute to come up with an answer.
“You’re the one who’s always preaching practicality and logic. I thought you’d agree with me.”
“A month ago, I would have.”
“What happened then?”
“You know what,” you still speak calmly but when he doesn’t respond in any way, you continue in a tone that you know displays agitation to someone as perceptive as him, “I met you.”
He is speechless for a long while, and you wonder how he has missed this because you had thought your feelings for him were only too obvious.
“I didn’t want you to change ___. I would never presume to ask that of you.”
“I know,” you allow yourself a small smile, “oh, don’t look so distressed Matt. The only thing that’s changed is that I care about you now. Everything else is the same.”
He leaves that night with no more words spoken between the two of you, and you let him without further protest. He will come back to you, you hope, when the time is right.
IV
A knock on your front door a few days later heralds the right time that you have been waiting for though you don’t know it when you open the door. Matt is standing outside, in his day wear, with a smile on his face and a bouquet of tulips in his hands.
“What’s the occasion?” you ask with a slight smile of your own, stepping aside to let him in, and as you take the flowers from him, his hands brush yours for a bare second longer than necessary.
He follows you into your kitchen as you find a glass jar and fill it with water for the flowers. He waits till you’ve arranged them to your liking, brought them back to your living room and set them on the coffee table. Only then, when you’ve begun to feel that you may burst with anticipation, does he speak.
“You’re off the hook. The ADA has agreed to drop all charges.”
You don’t ask how he has managed it, that’s not what’s important at the moment.
“Matt, thank you so much. That’s brilliant.”
He is moving towards you, one slow step at a time, and you take one tentative step in his direction as well, just one and then you stop.
“Yeah, it is,” he pauses, head tilting a little to one side in the familiar way that you find rather endearing, and then he goes on, “It also means I’m no longer your lawyer.”
You can’t help the bright, completely uninhibited, smile that blossoms on your face as all the implications of this new development begin to sink in.
“I guess it does,” you reply, slowly, the happiness of your smile seeping into your voice to the point where Matt can hear it. And you take another step towards him.
“So, what do you think ____? Will you go out with me? Say, Friday night?”
“I think we’re a little past the first date stage,” you take the final step that places you mere centimetres away from him and lean up on your toes, lips almost touching his, and for a split second you wonder if your proximity is having as much of an effect on him as his breath hitting your mouth has on you, “don’t you?”
His breathing grows ragged at this and it as all the answer you need. You press your lips to his and he confirms your belief with the fervor of his response. His arms enclose your waist and pull you into him, and you link your hands around his necks, anchoring yourself. You would give anything to have this every day, you think, to kiss him this way, to lose yourself in him. It feels like an eternity when his lips leave yours, and yet you know that you will never get enough of this, never be tired of Matt Murdock.
“You know I love you, ____, don’t you?” he asks, one hand stroking through your hair.
“I do, Matt. What makes you think I haven’t always known?”
He laughs at that, and kisses you again- a quick, fleeting kiss.
“You know I love you, right?” you ask him then, and you know he hears the undercurrent of worry beneath the happiness.
“I’ve known for a while now too, my darling ____.”