Okaaaaay... first time venturing into a solo Daredevil fic (he's made a couple appearances in my Spider-Man stories) so I'm not sure if I got him down right.
So basically I was just minding my own business when I got my sister hooked on the show and she watched the Defenders and gave me an idea for a story. Plot bunnies started running wild and I couldn't contain them, so I'm sorry for others waiting for my MacGyver story. I promise, updates for that will be coming at a more scheduled rate now that I'm settled into my house and have this out of the way XD
Also as a warning, this does take place after the end of "The Defenders" so if you haven't seen that, be aware that SPOILERS LURK HERE. Actually they don't just lurk. They bounce and flourish and own this story :D
Anyway, more AN at the bottom.
I don't own Daredevil :(
"Get Maggie. Tell her he's awake."
The voice sounded distant to Matt, echoey, like whoever was speaking was down a tunnel. He knew that wasn't true though, because he heard her heartbeat close by, and he felt the added weight by his legs. He tried to move, roll over, sit up, anything, but every movement made him hurt. With a soft moan, he gave up and let the sweet embrace of unconsciousness claim him again.
The next time he woke, it was someone different in the room with him. She smelled different; like lavender and vanilla, and her heart rate was slightly more elevated than the previous woman.
"You're alright," she whispered. Her hand moved and grabbed a rag, dipping it into a bowl of water. She squeezed the excess liquid out, and each drop that fell back into the bowl sounded like a piece of glass shattering in Matt's ears. Finally she brought the rag over and gently dabbed Matt's chest. As soon as the liquid touched his bruised and broken skin, an involuntary hiss escaped his lips before Matt could stop it.
"I'm sorry," the woman muttered, but she didn't stop. "We need to keep these wounds clean. You were in bad shape when you were brought in. Blood loss, broken bones, a fever-"
"Who are you?" Matt interrupted. He had the strangest feeling that he knew the woman, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He figured it was because all the pain his body was experiencing, but still. There was something about this woman that was sitting funny with him.
There was a pause before the woman answered. "I'm … Sister Margaret," she finally answered. The pitch of her voice alerted Matt that something was off, but she wasn't lying. She was Sister Margaret. "You're at the Lady of Grace convent. You're safe."
Matt almost laughed that once again, he'd somehow ended up being taken care of by nuns. "What happened?" His head was pounding, and Matt could feel himself slipping back into dreamworld, but he fought against it as hard as he could. Something was off, and he needed to know what was going on. Words tumbled out of his mouth, but they came out in a jumbled heap, one word barely legible from the next.
Sister Margaret picked up another washcloth, dipping it in the water as well. The droplets hitting the water weren't as loud this time, which Matt was grateful for, and the cool water felt nice when she laid the cloth on his forehead. "Shhh, just rest. Everything will be explained soon." Her voice was barely louder than a whisper, but Matt could hear her perfectly. In his bleary state, he could at least remain grateful that his other senses, while seeming to be on the fritz slightly, were still functioning as normal as could be expected.
"Foggy. Karen. Claire." Matt was struggling to stay conscious. "I need to … need to get ahold of them. They don't … I … They don't know where I am." Suddenly another person's face popped into his mind. "Elektra?"
A second hand gently cupped the side of Matt's face, and he flinched slightly.
"You're alright. That's all that matters." The woman's thumb moved back and forth across Matt's cheek. He didn't know why, but the touch felt … right. Familiar. It was the last coherent thought he had before he once again slipped back into the arms of sleep.
The next time he woke up, he felt more awake, though he still felt like he'd been through a meat grinder. Thankfully, he was alone in the room, and he didn't have to worry about pretending not to know his surroundings. There was a table to his left, with a string of rosary beads on it, along with a cross hung up on the wall above his bed. Aside from those few things, there was one small chair in the corner of the room he was in, but that was it. The rest of the room was barren.
Slowly, Matt began sitting up. His whole body was sore, and he made a mental note that getting three-hundred feet of building debris dropped on himself was one of the more unpleasant things he'd been through. Not that he'd expected to survive.
As much as he wanted to move faster, his body would physically fight him whenever he tried. He gradually brought his legs over the side of the bed and put his hands on the bed, bracing himself so he remained upright.
The woman before had told him what injuries he had, but Matt took a mental stock of himself anyway. He could feel each and every cut and bruise on his body, each stinging and pulsing. He also counted three broken ribs, along with two cracked ones. Every inch of his body felt like it had been raked over by a claw, and his heightened senses just made the feeling ten times more prominent.
As he stood up, his head began pounding, and he had to stick his hand out and place it against the wall to combat the dizziness and nausea that assaulted him.
Add concussion to that list, he thought to himself. Once the dizzy feeling passed, he started shuffling around the room, too sore to even pick up his feet fully off the ground. He made his way over to the door, but as he reached for the handle, he picked up on footsteps coming his way. The soft scent of vanilla mixed with lavender washed over him, and he knew it was the woman from the last time he woke up, Sister Margaret, coming down the hallway. He took a few steps backwards as the woman neared the door.
When the door swung open, Matt got his first clear image of her, not that it was detailed. She was average height, wearing a nun's habit, and judging by her heart rate and the way her bones creaked slightly, he guessed she was probably in her mid-to-late fifties. He really had no idea what she looked like, but that didn't matter to him. By the way she held herself, Matt could tell she was reserved, and he would even go so far to say nervous as she entered.
She let out a small exclamation of surprise when she saw her patient standing by the doorway.
"You startled me," she said, walking in further. She had a tray of food, and Matt couldn't help the rumble his stomach released when he smelled the broccoli and cheese soup, paired with the warm roll. He wasn't sure when the last time he'd eaten was.
"Sorry," Matt said softly.
"Here," the woman said, setting down the tray of food on the table and walking over to her ward. When she gently grabbed Matt's elbow, he once again had the strangest feeling that he knew whoever this lady was. It was maddening that he couldn't remember where he knew her from. He was usually much better at remembering things like that. He knew for sure that she wasn't one of the nuns from the orphanage, but other than that, he had no idea where he could possibly know her from. She helped guide him back to bed, walking slowly with him to make sure he didn't topple over.
"You shouldn't be out of bed," she chastised lightly.
"Needed to stretch my legs." They reached the bed and she helped Matt sit down, even though he knew exactly where he was.
"Well, you really should be careful. Here, sit back." She eased Matt back into the bed so that his back was against the backboard, sitting upright. Matt heard the light padding of her footsteps as she retrieved the tray of food from where she'd set it, and there was sudden pressure on the mattress to the side of his legs. "Don't move your legs," she cautioned. "I've got this tray of food, and we wouldn't want it spilling everywhere." She grabbed his hand and placed a spoon in it, then closed his fist around the utensil.
"Hey, uh, Sister Margaret, right?"
The woman sat back in surprise. "How could you tell?"
"It's uh, your voice. I've got a good memory for voices."
Sister Margaret inclined her head. "Well, that's me. What do you need?"
"Listen, I was wondering. Is there a phone I can borrow?"
With that question, Sister Margaret shifted away from the blind man slightly. It wasn't a response Matt was expecting, and his face scrunched up in confusion slightly.
"I'm sorry. Our electricity has been on the fritz ever since that quake, and I don't think our landline is back up yet."
Matt didn't even have to listen to her heart to know that was a lie, but he wasn't about to call her out on it. He once again had the feeling that Sister Margaret was hiding something, but he decided not to force the topic for the moment.
"What happened? To me?"
"You were found, trapped under a mound of rubble. The debris you were caught under formed a pocket around you. It's the only reason you're alive."
"Was … was anyone else, uh, found?"
"No, I'm sorry. Was there someone else down there with you?"
"Why didn't you take me to a hospital?" Matt didn't answer the question about whether he was alone or not.
"Well … the people that found you, uh … said you were very insistent about not going to one."
"I was awake?" Suddenly Matt realized what must have happened, what they must have seen. "You … do you know … about me?"
"That depends."
"Depends? Depends on what?" Matt's heart was racing.
"On if you're going to kill anyone who knows your secret."
Matt choked out a laugh at the absurdity of the comment. "No," he assured her. "I'm not going to kill anyone."
"Alright, then yes. We know who you are."
Matt let out a groan and leaned his head back against the wall. "How many people know?"
"Just us sisters here. The people who pulled you from the rubble left your mask on."
Matt groaned again.
"Your secret is safe with us, I promise. Don't worry, Matthew. No one else will know."
Matt's head swiveled sharply towards the sister's voice. "How did you know my name?"
There was the briefest moment of hesitation, which most people wouldn't have caught. Matt Murdock was not 'most people' though, and he definitely heard the pause. More than that, he heard the lie building in the pause.
"I told you, we know who you are."
"You said you knew who the other guy was. You never said anything about knowing my name."
"You woke up momentarily when you were first brought in. There wasn't much that we could make out, but we did hear the name Matthew, and I figured I would take an educated guess."
Matt almost called the sister out on that blatant lie, but she stood up and made her way towards the door, and Matt had another question he needed answered before she left.
"How long have I been here?"
She paused and looked back at him, her hand on the doorknob. "You were found and brought here just under a week ago."
"A week?" Matt asked incredulously, trying to sit up further. Sister Margaret anticipated such an act though and had already moved back to her patient, placing her gentle but firm hands on his shoulders to keep him in the bed.
"Stay down, Matthew. You're not well enough to be up and about yet."
"I can't stay here," Matt muttered. He tried to move his legs, but the tray set above him rattled with the plate on it, and he stopped himself before he knocked everything over.
"Well you can't leave yet, that's for certain," Sister Margaret said evenly, keeping her hands in place. They stayed there until Matt finally stilled enough for the nun to feel comfortable letting him go.
"I know this is a lot to take in, but please. Eat your soup, try to get some rest. It's the best thing for your health right now."
Matt didn't want to eat, but the sister stayed there, and he could her expectancy was practically tangible, so finally with a soft huff, he picked up the spoon and placed it in the soup before him. He didn't eat right away though; instead, he swirled the utensil around for another minute.
"If you don't mind me asking, Matthew?" Sister Margaret began. She paused, waiting for Matt's signal to continue, which he gave with a nod of his head. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to ask anyway.
"Your eyes … they're non responsive, which leads me to believe you really are blind, but …"
"But how can a blind man do everything you've seen the Devil of Hell's Kitchen do?" Matt finished. Sister Margaret nodded, then remembered her patient's disability.
"I'm sorry, yes. That is my question."
Matt let out a long sigh. He didn't like explaining exactly what his powers were, especially since people didn't believe him at first. Either that, or they got upset. "It's … it's complicated. And something I'd rather keep to myself for the moment," he added. "I'm sorry Sister, I just—"
"There are some things that you need to keep for yourself. I understand that."
That was the first time she had been completely honest with him. That made Matt think that she knew firsthand what she was talking about. Still, there was something more there that he could sense in her voice. Longing curiosity, maybe? Or was it something deeper than that? The two of them sat there in silence for another moment before Sister Margaret patted his knee gently. She stood up and made her way towards the door, where she turned around one last time.
"I'll be back in a little while to pick up the dishes. Take as long as you need to eat, but just remember: you need your rest. Your body's been through an awful ordeal, and the best thing for it right now is sleep."
Matt nodded contritely, and he did stay in bed. He even took a few bites of soup, which actually helped him feel much better. But that only lasted until he heard the nun turn the corner at the end of the hall. That was when he pushed the food tray past his legs and once again slowly sat up. His head swam with the effort it took to accomplish even that small task, and Matt realized if he was going to be able to do anything, he'd actually need to finish whatever food the sister had brought him.
With a sigh, he reached out and grabbed the bowl of soup, lifting it up and bringing it over to him. The clanking of the spook against the bowl was louder than it should have been as Matt's hand shook under the weight of the bowl. For a moment, Matt fought the urge to throw the dish in frustration. He hadn't felt this weak in a long time. Not since he'd first lost his sight. Sure, there had been other times when he'd felt helpless, but he'd had other things going for him then. His full strength, his heightened senses, and … and friends. Now? Now he didn't have any of those. He felt as weak as a child. His senses, while they were still heightened, seemed to be on the fritz, one minute too attentive for him to concentrate on, the next minute making him feel like just another blind schmuck who didn't have super powers. As for friends …
Matt had pushed everyone in his life away. Foggy, Claire. Karen. At the thought of the blonde woman, Matt's heart skipped a beat. No matter how much he tried to push thoughts of her away, it never worked. Even remembering how harsh she sounded, her cold words when he asked her to come with him to the precinct couldn't make the feelings for her go away.
Matt's hands shook as he raised the bowl of soup to his lips and drank the liquid down, chewing the broccoli and carrot chunks as he reached them. Eventually his hands stopped shaking as bad, and he reached out for the roll he'd also smelled. It was warm and soft, clearly homemade, and was gone within about three bites.
Once his food was eaten, Matt decided to try and stand. He was still sore, but with the food in his system, he wasn't as weak as before, and he was able to move around much easier than he had earlier.
He focused on the noises outside the room. For the time being, his senses were agreeing with him, and not bombarding him with information he didn't need at the moment. He heard several of the nuns in the kitchen on the other side of the convent, preparing meals for the soup kitchen. That was good information, to know that he was near a soup kitchen. It wasn't what he was looking for though.
He focused even more, tilting his head as he concentrated. He picked up a conversation between a couple of the nuns, and it piqued his interest.
"— he knows?" one of them asked.
"No. At least, I don't think he does. Poor Maggie though. Do you know how she's doing?"
There was a soft chorus of negative answers to the sister's question, and Matt would have kept listening, but suddenly he picked up on something else, another noise that he'd been looking out for. The gentle click of someone picking up a phone off the cradle. Bingo. It was what he'd been waiting for. He carefully moved forward, heading for the door. He needed to find that phone.
He opened the door carefully, keeping an ear out for any sign of someone coming his way, but there wasn't anyone nearby. The sister who was using the phone bid farewell to whomever was on the other end of the line, and Matt focused on the reverberation the machine made when the phone was set back in the cradle. That was what he followed as he slowly made his way down the hallway, one arm wrapped around his tender ribs and midsection, while his other hand was placed against the wall as a support.
His senses were still slightly muddled, but his perception was good enough that he could avoid any objects in his way with relative ease. It took him a few minutes to find the phone, but he finally discovered it. It was sitting on a small table near the end of one of the halls, thankfully not too far from his room. Matt picked the phone up off the cradle and dialed a number he knew well, trying to decide whether the feeling in his chest was hope that the person would pick up, or wouldn't.
"This is Foggy Nelson."
Crap. It was at that moment Matt realized he'd wanted to get Foggy's answering machine.
"Hello?" Foggy sounded impatient. "Listen, stop calling me! Take me off your list, or whatever it is that you guys get my number from. I'm sick of scams, 'winning' a trip to a hotel where you'll probably knock me out and steal my kidney, or being told my car's warranty is going to expire. Guess what, jerks? Joke's on you, cuz I don't own a car! So stop. Calling. Me."
Matt could tell his friend was about to hang up, and for a split second Matt couldn't decide if he wanted to let him or not. Finally though, Matt spoke.
"Foggy?"
Through the phone, Matt could hear Foggy's breath spike, and he even heard his friend's heart accelerate.
"Who is this?" Foggy's voice had taken on a colder, sharper edge.
"Foggy, it's me."
"No. No, screw you, whoever you are. This isn't funny."
Matt heard a slight hitch in his friend's voice, indicative of Foggy's emotions getting the best of him.
"I don't know who you are, or what made you feel like you needed to do this, but it isn't funny. If you call again, I will find any loophole I can to make sure you get charged with the maximum amount you can be charged with. Don't screw with me man. Not about this."
"Foggy, I swear,—" Suddenly Matt picked up on another heartbeat closeby. "Listen, Foggy, I've gotta go, but I promise, I-"
"What are you doing?!" Sister Margaret asked as she hurried over and saw what her patient was up to. She pulled the phone out of his hand and put it back in the cradle, harder than was necessary. The clang as the phone was set down echoed through Matt's eardrums. "You're supposed to be in bed, resting!"
"I needed to move around," Matt argued.
"And you just happened to find the phone?" she accused.
"One that you said didn't work!"
"Because I knew you would do something stupid like get out of bed if I told you we had one that worked."
"I have people I need to make sure are safe!"
"And what if you'd fallen down and hurt yourself? What if no one had heard your cries for help?"
"I would have managed." Matt almost sounded like he was sulking, like he'd been caught doing something wrong. Which technically, he had.
"Unbelievable," the woman muttered. "You're just like Jack."
Matt started at the mention of his father's name. "What?"
Sister Margaret didn't answer his question about his father. Instead, she continued her tirade. "So, what are your plans now then? You're just going to leave? You're still injured, Matthew."
Murdock was still trying to recover from his father's name drop, and he stuttered over his words momentarily before he finally pushed past the shock. "Look, I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I've got people out there, people I've got to make sure stay safe. If there's ever anything I can do for you though, you know who I am. You know how to get ahold of me."
Sister Margaret fumed for a few moments before throwing her hands up in exasperation, an act that wasn't lost on Matthew, though he didn't let on that he knew what she was doing. "Alright, you want to leave? Fine. Be my guest. I probably have it coming anyway."
Matt opened his mouth to ask what her last sentence had meant, but he paused. Pieces of the curious puzzle he'd found himself in when he first woke up were starting to fuzzily fit themselves together, though the picture still wasn't perfectly clear. He almost didn't notice when she began moving away, back down the hallway. Her footsteps were forceful and determined, but Matt could also feel a sort of fragileness emanating from her. "Wait," he muttered, not loud enough for her to hear. Matt sat there for a moment, his head tilted to one side as he worked through the pieces of information he had at his disposal.
Suddenly, everything clicked. Why her touch felt so familiar, but he was sure he'd never interacted with her before, the strange lies she'd told, and now some of the other things she'd said were confusing to Matt ... He had a feeling he knew why this woman, this nun seemed so familiar, and the idea made him feel like he'd been punched in the gut.
He took a few halting steps down the hallway after her, but he could hear her getting further away, and his limping wasn't fast enough to catch him up with her in time. He needed to know the truth now, so he just called out again, louder this time, "Wait!"
Thankfully she paused, which gave Matt a little time to get closer to her. He stopped about ten feet away. She had her back to him, and Matt could feel her tension. With his head tilted to one side, Matt opened his mouth. He could taste the word on his tongue, but the thought of saying it scared him. Not just scared him. It terrified him. He closed his lips, trapping the word inside before it was unleashed on the world, never to be taken back. Once it was spoken, there was going to be an answer, and he wasn't sure what his reaction to any answer would be.
He berated himself silently. He'd faced Wilson Fisk, Frank Castle, a resurrected Nobu, and the entirety of the Hand without freezing. Why was this so hard? He could hear Sister Margaret's heart beating slightly faster, but she didn't move or say anything. Finally, Matt opened his mouth again.
"... Mom?"
The woman in front of him hesitated for just a moment before she slowly turned around. Her hands were clasped together and she began wringing them gently as she replied. "Hello, Matthew."
So ... thoughts? I'm mainly intending for this to be a one-shot, just to kind of tide people over until we get S3 of Daredevil, but if you guys like it enough, I do have a plot idea that I've been playing with, so let me know if you want more. Be warned though, most of my stories are mostly written by the time I start posting chapters. This one is not. If you want more, it will be a true WIP fic for me, but I'd be willing to do it if you guys wanted it :)
Honestly I never know if I keep anyone in character or not, so if you think something can be improved on, I'm all ears. Constructive critique though please! No flames :)
Anyway. I've got another Daredevil story in the works as well, and that one already has a sequel that has to be written. If you're also reading my MacGyver stories, like I mentioned earlier, don't worry. Those will keep coming. I just have started branching out my writing into other fandoms recently as well.
Tldr; if you want more to this story, let me know, and if you follow my other stories, I'm still posting to them as well XD
Let me know what you guys think please!