Chapter Text
Everything sucks. Life is awful. It truly cannot get worse than this. A car rushes by and splashes cold, dirty, disgusting water against your already trashed shoes. Clutching your broken off boot heel, you squeeze your eyes shut and mutter under your breath, “Oh my god, you’re kidding me.”
Drizzling rain picks up and turns into a steady shower. Adjusting your umbrella, you wave a hand to an oncoming taxi. The hope kindling in your chest is promptly snuffed out when some blond guy just a few feet ahead of you flags it down before it can reach you. The driver stares and shrugs. Fuckin’ asshole.
Then the dude just walks away. Seeing your chance, you half run-walk in soaked and broken shoes. Another person intercepts it, patting Blond Dude on the back. He turns around and- Oh, wow. Wow, he’s hot. His sweeping cane pauses. Oh. Fair enough.
Hot Guy faces Blond Dude and says, “Okay, but call me when you get the-”
The groan could be heard from miles away. “Yes. I’ll call you if we get the new PD file. Jesus, Murdock.”
Hot Guy tilts his head. “What about him?” Forgetting your woes for just a moment, you smirk.
Chipper Blond Dude gives him another slap on the back. “Cab’s here.” The assumed-friend turns inside and calls out behind him. “See you Monday!”
Someone nudges past you, annoyed at your stagnant state. Moving out of the way, you focus back on the car. And someone, who is not Hot Blind Guy, hustles to the stalled cab. Hollering, you hobble forward and chastise, “Hey! Asshole!” But he just slams the door behind him and looks disgusted by your outburst. It drives off. Scoffing, you turn your attention to desolate Hot Guy.
He looks like some sad alley cat, getting soaked by the rain with drooping shoulders. “They just stole my cab, didn’t they?”
Moving closer, you attempt to casually hold the umbrella above both of you. “He sure did.” Your shoulder is getting soaked, but at this point, you don’t care. You’re already damp and uncomfortable. Plus, Sad, Hot Alley Cat Lookin’ Guy seems to need the respite from the rain more than you do.
You look back at the oncoming traffic and wave down at another one, letting someone out just a few yards away. The driver sees your hailing and nods. “Well, I got another for ‘ya. He’s droppin’ someone off, give ‘em a second.”
Damp and dejected, he asks, “Do you need one?”
You shrug. “Yeah, but I can flag down another; it’s no problem.”
“In rush hour? I’m going to Hell’s Kitchen; if you’re headed that way, we could share.”
The cab rolls up and honks. You hesitate for a moment. He probably won’t try anything or be too creepy with someone else in the car. If he does, you’ve got pepper spray. “Yeah, actually. I am too. Let’s go before he drives away without either of us.”
Collapsing your umbrella, you duck in and buckle up. Hot Guy settles in and collapses his cane.
In a thick arab accent, the driver asks, “Where to?”
“Hell’s Kitchen.” Mystery Man rattles off an address and leans back into the booth before turning to you, apologetic, “I’m sorry, is that on your route?” The car moves anyway.
“Exactly on my route. I’m headed just a few streets over.”
A subtle sigh of relief relaxes his tense chest. “Very good.” The wet white dress shirt does wonders in showing his physique.
For some reason, you keep talking even though he probably doesn’t want to chat. “Normally, I’d walk, but uh, my shoe broke. Lost a heel.” You fiddle with the heel of your right boot in your hand. “I wouldn’t get a cab if I didn’t have to.” One of Hot Guy’s eyebrows quirks up, amused and confused. In a low voice, you whisper, not wanting to hurt the cabbie’s feelings. “Cab fares these days, am I right?” Which makes him smile.
He seems to think you’re being sarcastic and plays along. “Oh, yeah. Devastating.”
Your grin falls a tad. Chest getting a little tighter, and your face warmer. You’re not being facetious, but he doesn’t need to know that. Chuckling, you respond, “Exactly.” Biting your tongue, you curb any potential comments. God, you can only handle so much embarrassment in a day. He’s obviously someone who can handle a simple cab fare.
It’s an awkward quiet. Your toes wriggle in your cold, soaked, worn shoes. Neon pink peeks through a hole on the side. You’ve probably glued the heel back on what? Four times now? You should really get better glue. And new shoes. But you don’t just have disposable income. Sure, you could get some new shoes at a thrift store, but the non-disintegrating ones are like a whole fifteen dollars. You could do so much with fifteen dollars. Well, not so much, but–
Jolting forward for a moment, you’re quickly yanked back by your seatbelt. “Oof!” BEEP. BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. The cabbie lays on the horn and starts shouting at some idiot who peeled out of a blind spot. He looks back in the rearview and shakes his head. “So sorry. Idiots everywhere. Everywhere!”
If your shoulder didn’t hurt so much you’d find it funny. “You okay?”
You glance over and nod. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine…you okay?”
He nods too. Just a couple of awkward, soaked bobble heads sitting in silence. Shifting your legs and feet, you cringe at the squelching of your shoes. The only redeeming quality in today is that you’re sharing a ride with Hot Guy.
There’s no need to be too sly, given the whole visually impaired thing, but you still feign an innocence when you look back over at him. Just enjoying the view. His hands tensing and relaxing. Messing with the rods of his cane and fidgeting with the elastic between the joints. It seems to be a familiar, relaxing movement. Looking back up, you study his face. The salt and pepper beard with deep smile lines makes you feel lighter. Forehead creases and wrinkles. He’s emotive, soft, and tired.
Smiling, you look out your window. You hate that he’s making your god-awful day better just by being pretty. Unfair.
“What do you do for work?”
You jump at the question, having grown accustomed to the quiet. “I’m uh, a teacher. Newish, graduated a few years ago. It’s fun. I love it.”
He hums. “What do you teach?”
This is where people can get kind of judgmental. “I teach art.” Not wanting to keep the conversation on you, you ask, “What- What do you do for work? Wait, can I guess?”
His grin grows. “Please do.”
Turning towards him, you revel in the excuse to look him up and down. You spot it and smirk. “Well, you’ve got the suit. Narrows it down to business, finance, and government.”
“So far, so good.”
“The tie is loose, and sleeves are up, so it's high stress. So, probably government.” Hot Guy grins. “But not legislative or executive. More hands-on. Judicial. I’m gonna say…public defender.”
Taken aback, he seems almost nervous when he affirms, “Spot on, very impressive.”
“I’d hope so. You’re wearing your government-provided lanyard.” He throws his head back, laughing. “Otherwise, you’d be in a lota’ trouble for impersonating a government official.”
Smiling, Hot Guy pats his chest and feels the lanyard looped around his neck. “Very perspective.”
“I try…”
“Matt. Matt Murdock. Very nice to meet you.”
Doing likewise, you introduce yourself, then look out the window, watching crowds of people hide under a multitude of umbrellas. You murmur, “Matt Murdock. I love some good alliteration.” Looking back towards him, you ask, “What did you do today, Matt? Anything interesting?”
“Stopped at the courthouse earlier. Waiting on a big case, but we need the documents before starting anything. Fun, government stuff.” Tilting his head, Matt cranes at you. “How was school?”
A slight huff. “When you say it like that, you make it sound like I’m the one attending.”
“Well, you could have gone back to college. How old are you?” Interesting.
“Twenty-five.” You fight the urge to add, ‘A very mature twenty-five. Are you interested in emotionally intelligent twenty-somethings?’ But then again, neither of you is being too discreet, so you push. “You?”
Matt pats down his tie with a sly smile. “Freshly forty.”
You murmur, “Happy belated birthday.”
He smiles, then continues. “My apologies. How was teaching today?”
Matt adjusts his hair; scattered grays shine in the dark mess. Oh god.“As good as it can go for a Friday. A lot of corralling. Today was kindergarten through five, so pretty crazy, but no one died, so that’s a win.”
“Definitely a win. I feel similarly with clients.”
“Oh I’m sure. Sometimes I feel like a lawyer throughout the day. Lots and lots of advising and negotiating. My clients can be pretty strong-willed.”
“That bad?”
“Today I had a kid start crying because I told him he couldn’t drink the paint water. Which made his friend furious. He tried to explain that it was just ‘color water’ and they 'do it all the time'.” You sigh. “That was fourth grade by the way.” Another sturdy laugh fills the cab. “I wish I was joking.”
Peering out of the watery window, you check the street signs. “We’re at eleventh and forty-fifth by the way.”
“Perfect, I’ll cover the drive.”
“Oh! Oh, no. I’ve got it, but thank you.” You really don’t ‘got it’, but accepting handouts makes you feel like the worst person ever.
“I insist. I stole your cab.”
“No, some jackass stole your cab.” Feeling insanely bold, and before all of your confidence dashes away, you ask, “How about instead of paying, I get your number? Is that a reasonable trade?” Your heart is about to pound out of your chest.
For a second, you’re afraid you’ve made him uncomfortable, but the pink nipping at his ears indicates otherwise. He offers a counterpoint. “That’s a very tempting deal. But what if we swapped numbers and I paid the fare? Deal?”
You’re beaming like a fool. “Doesn’t seem remotely fair, but considering the state of my bank account, I’ll allow it.”
“Thank you.”
An amused scoff falls from your mouth. “You’re thanking me for stealing your number and money?”
Smirking, he contends, “Of course. Anytime.”
Shaking your head in giddy disbelief, you pull out your phone, enter his contact information and send a simple, ‘hello :)’ The car’s speed wanes to a stop. “It was very nice to meet you, Matt Murdock.”
“And you, sweetheart.”
Unbuckling, he goes through his wallet and offers a fifty over the divider, which is happily accepted. Nervous, you gently grab his hand and whisper, “That was a fifty, Matt.”
He holds a smug but soft smile, “I know. Thank you for checking.” Putting your hand back in your lap, embarrassment burns your cheeks. Matt fingers a one hundred, but hands you a fifty instead, grinning and saying, “Get some new shoes. Preferably ones with the heel attached.”
You can’t even decline the offering before he’s opening the door. As he gets out you courageously insist, “You’ve got my number. Use it.” but quickly tack on a softer, “please.” Which makes him smile like a madman.
“Oh, I will.” He closes the door and you bring a hand up to cover your flaming face.
In the other, you hold the heel of your boot and a fifty. Twisting both, familiarizing yourself with the textures. Such an odd combination. Shyly, you tell the driver your address.
The cab rolls once more.