Author's Note: Hey all! This is my first Daredevil fic, so it's a short one. I hope you like it! I have some others planed. If anyone is interested in being a beta, please let me know. I don't think I need much in the way of editing, more bouncing ideas off people. Thanks much!
He felt so helpless. He hated it. He even hated the word. Helpless… gutless… brainless… spineless… Just less. Less than a man. Less than he could be. All the words his father would hurl, before he began hurling his fists. Now, Wilson Fisk tightened his own fist.
If there was someone to blame, someone to beat, someone to… to destroy. But, nothing. Only her. Breathing steadily in the bed. In a shitty hospital. The sickening smell of second rate disinfectant invaded his nostrils. It burned, if only it was enough pain to distract him.
The dirty yellow walls reminded Wilson of every time his mom would have to go in. On those rare occasions she was allowed to. A broken rib wasn't important. Bruises didn't matter. Unconscious? Sleep it off. But sometimes… sometimes it was bad enough for her to see a doctor.
The nurses would buzz around, hand her an ice pack, or a kidney shaped bowl for her to vomit the dark blood into. They stood there, clicking their tongues and offering bland, over-used sympathetic expressions. Nothing ever useful. No one offering to stop her from being hurt. Wilson stiffened as the memory over took him.
"Kick him again. Kick him again. Kick him again." He whispered, like a mantra, unaware that he was even speaking.
No more. Wilson shook his head angrily. A thin sheen of sweat was already covering his body, and his breath came short and hard. Painful. The tightening in his chest woke him from his daydream.
Being with her stopped the memories… for a while. He knew he would never be completely free from them. No matter what he did for his city, for his mother, for Vanessa, they would never stop. It was the cursed side of his courage, his strength. Every hero had a weakness. Learning to stand up for himself meant he ruled his destiny, but at a cost. There was always a cost.
Wilson wasn't so naive to believe what he had achieved was cheap. He had worked too hard, lost too much, and killed… well, not too many. If anything, not enough. There would always be others to eliminate. Threats, annoyances, rivals. They would simply have to go.
He chose who lived or died. He chose who stayed in their homes. He chose how much pain a man would experience before being allowed the blessed relief of death. He'd give it up. All of it, to see her open her eyes. To see that half smirk that would quirk up her lips in mischief, and affection.
Perhaps, after this, he would take a vacation with Vanessa. Leave Wesley to deal with his kingdom. The man was nearly perfect. Wilson didn't have to speak his needs most of the time, Wesley was ready to act on it, on anything. He snorted softly, he would have to remember that when the man's birthday came around. There had to be some gift, something that could show the gratitude Wilson was unable to verbally express.
"Vanessa." He murmured, leaning over her prone body and tenderly brushing the hair away from her forehead. "Don't make me beg. I… I…" His hands fluttered uncomfortably to his sides. "Please."