Matt woke with a start, panting and gripping the sheets. He scrunched his eyes closed to block out the fire-like visions that had haunted his dream as he ran both of his hands through his hair, deliberately taking calm, deep breaths to slow his pounding heart. After what seemed like a couple of minutes, he looked towards the bed to his left. Though he could not see her, he knew Claire was lying on her side, hugging her pillow like she did every night. He could tell by the slow and steady breaths and the beat of her heart that she had not been disturbed by his nightmare. He leaned back into the pillows, taking in the image of her sleeping form that he built using the rest of his senses. Her warm breath tickling his arm, the floral scent of her hair, still damp from the shower, the sound of the sheets rustling whenever she shifted in her sleep; these things helped paint a picture almost as clearly as if he were seeing her with his eyes. He moved his right hand towards her face, pushing a lock of hair away while he rubbed his thumb along her cheek, ever so softly, so as not to disturb her peaceful slumber. He watched her sightlessly, he did not know for how long, hoping in vain that sleep would reclaim him. It rarely did after one of his nightmares. But he was content just being there, basking in what was as close to silence as he ever got.
That is, until a sound from another room grabbed his attention. He was not the only person awake in the apartment.
He slipped out of bed quietly and padded out their bedroom door and across the hall, easing open the door to the second bedroom. As he entered, he flicked the light switch, not for himself, of course, but for the room's occupant.
Sophie's soft baby gurgles and cooing increased in volume as her father came near. It had not been crying, but her quiet, contented noise that had alerted Matt that she too was suffering from insomnia.
"Hey, there." Matt cooed in return as he lifted the infant from her crib, pulling her close to his chest so her head could rest against the thin fabric of his t-shirt. She gargled back in greeting and babbled on, sharing with Matt what must have been very pressing information. "Is that so?" he replied. He carried over to the armchair in the corner where he sat, leaning against the back of the chair so Sophie could rest on his chest, as she continued on their conversation. It was mostly one sided with the exception of Matt's occasional "really?"s and "mm-hm"s. With the hand he had on her back, he stroked his thumb back and forth soothingly, much like he had to her mother's cheek earlier. The little girl seemed to get out all she wanted to say, and her breathing soon evened, matching her father's that lifted her up and down with the rise and fall of his chest.
Matt was honest when he told people that he missed his vision. It seemed ridiculous to lie and say that he had no wish to see. But, for the most part, Matt had come to terms with his condition. He learned to accept what he had lost and appreciate what he had gained. Though if given the chance he would definitely take the opportunity to see again, he had reached a point in his life where he rarely felt the aching desire to be able to see, the moments that had plagued him shortly after he became blind where he would give anything to see, just for one second.
But during moments like these, as he held his sleeping daughter in his arms, he felt it. That fierce wish that, as a blind person, he was never supposed to admit to. He knew what she looked like, had touched her small, delicate features and created a picture in his mind of what was without a doubt was the most beautiful thing he had never seen. And though he was holding the most beautiful sight in the world, he would never be able to see it, not like others could. And that irony did not escape him.
But as he had since he was nine years old, Matt found other ways to see. As many new parents often like to watch their babies sleep, so did he. Because while he could not see the most beautiful thing in the world to him, he took comfort in her presence using his other senses. He could smell her sweet baby scent, feel the softness of her skin and the small tuft of hair on her head. But the way he liked to see his daughter best was by listening to her. The light, fast beat of her little heart, like the fluttering of butterfly wings. The wispy sound of her breath. And, of course, their private conversations of babbles and gurgles. To him, these sounds were like his favorite song, a beautiful little symphony, a constant reminder to him that she was, in fact, real, and not merely a figment of his imagination.
As Matt listened to Sophie's song, his muscles relaxed and his mind was put to ease. Little was able to comfort him on the nights he woke up, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. But the calming sounds of his daughter's presence eased his troubled mind. He had considered abandoning the Daredevil when Sophie was born, doing whatever was necessary to protect his family. But in reality, they served as a reminder of how important the work he was doing was. The best way for him to protect them was to protect the city and be the person that they needed him to be. He knew a day would come when he would hang up his uniform, when the balancing act would become too much to handle. But for now, his life made sense. And so he leaned back in the armchair, holding his daughter, and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.