29. …was to stand and fight
Finding Fogwell's was a little harder than Vera thought – it took her a while to realize where exactly Matt's apartment was and which direction she had to go. But actually entering the gym was like million times worse. She would stand in front of the door for minutes – except she didn't have that time. For all she knew, he could have already been on his way out by the time he somehow found out she was heading his way. With a deep breath in, she unlocked the door and took a hesitant step in.
The second Vera opened the door, she knew Matt was in – the lights were out, but she could hear the quick heavy blows and she imagined his figure quite vividly. He was panting, violent huffs with occasional grunt echoing in the dark space. She watched him train too many times for her not to notice this was a different kind of exercise – listening to his punches, she knew they were less coordinated and more furious than usual and he didn't place a single kick. It wasn't even an exercise – it was destruction. Vera swallowed nervously, lump in her throat. Matt was out of his mind. The fact that he broke his friend's jaw only supported her theory. She probably wouldn't reason with him at the moment. She considered spinning on her heels and running away; she clenched her fists and took another calming breath to stop the fleeing tendency.
Matt didn't register her or she thought so – when her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see at least shadows and she slowly made her way to him – there was no change in his doing. He might noticed her longer before she entered or he was sure by the time she reached the door and he just decided to ignore her. Or maybe he was so consumed by his fury he really didn't sense her. She didn't know which was worse. But when she sat down on her usual spot for watching him, he still didn't let her disturb him. She sighed, gathering her thoughts and courage.
On her way here, her mind was racing, trying to come up with the best way to approach him – all of her ideas were in the wind by the time she heard his almost desperate fight for breath. Fighting. That was what he knew the best. The easiest way of getting something out of his chest. The smallest problems were those which could be solved with a punch. Quick and effective.
Oh, Matt.
"Did it help?" Vera asked eventually, voice barely a whisper. He would hear her. Whether he would listen to her, that was something else entirely.
He didn't react. Maybe the next sound he made, hitting the bag with even more force, could be considered a reaction. Either way, he apparently wasn't going to talk to her.
"I mean with Brett," she specified, trying not to feel like an idiot talking to herself. "Did it help when you punched him?"
Loud grunt and powerful hook. The chain holding the bag cried. She gulped, mentally counting to ten. She opened her mouth to speak again, change her tactics maybe, but she didn't get a chance.
"Not really."
Vera almost cried when he finally forced those two words out. He actually... they might even have a conversation. Was he giving her at least a chance to explain herself? It wasn't like she could change what she did… and she didn't regret it.
"Yeah. And the bag… does it… help?"
This time, he remained silent. Well, he didn't say anything comprehensible. He just hit the bag with what could be a desperate desire, a violent plea it actually would help. Which meant it didn't. The strong blows in furious pace continued.
Terri told her Matt didn't want her to spy on the worshippers because he thought she had no sense of self-preservation. Considering her next words and the plan suddenly appearing in her mind as she observed him to deal with his inner tension in his own way, he might be even right.
"I think that's because you're not angry with it. Or with Brett, in fact. It wasn't his fault," Vera noted, giving him time to process her words before she would make a literal punch-line. She jumped off the edge of the boxing ring, taking two steps closer to him. Oh god. 3, 2, 1. "Which is why you should punch me."
Instead of another blow, there was only a rustle. She couldn't be sure because of the lack of light, but she thought Matt might missed the bag completely and didn't try to place another blow. Deadly silence fell, interrupted only by his harsh breaths.
Vera cleared her throat. "It's me, right?" she bugged him, taking another step. "It's me you're angry with. And this is what you do – you have a problem, you punch it. That's your cure. You can, Matt. Hit me, I can take it."
Quiet, barely suppressed growl escaped him. He didn't move. So she continued, poking the not so sleeping bear. And she accused him of being suicidal. Vera knew she couldn't take it in fact. She was totally bluffing. Yet, she was absolutely serious – if few punches ended their disagreement, she would let him. Hell, Vera would let him break her own jaw too.
"It was my fault, Matt. I didn't exactly plan it like that, but it was. I was reckless. I was stupid. I wasted your gift – my life, something you left me to protect – and I carelessly put it in danger. You have every right to do it."
The sound in the back of his throat was louder this time. Vera half-blindly reached for his forearm. His muscles were clenched so tightly it had to be painful.
"This, what you're doing right now? That's self-destruction. But it's simple. You know who you're angry with. So punch me. Punish me for almost getting myself killed."
The movement was so fast she never saw it coming. She stumbled backwards as he grabbed her forearms and pinned them against the ring, fingers bruising her skin. Her heart was loud in her ears, actual fright creeping up her spine, making her hair stand on its ends. Apart from their hands touching, their bodies weren't connected, his figure inches from hers, hot breath tickling her face.
Her own breath was caught in her throat, waiting for his next move. She could tell he was fighting with himself – she believed his first instinct was to punch her, the source of his fury – on the other hand, there was one thing she knew from the very beginning and that was the fact he would never hurt her. Despite forcing her next words from her mouth, she encouraged him, gently this time.
"It's okay, Matt. I had my reasons to do it just like you do have a reason to be pissed. I want you to get it out and get it out right without… ruining your body with this nonsense you've been doing here. You want to let it out too. It's a win-win. You can hit me."
It shouldn't have surprise her when he released her hands tentatively and placed them next to her forearms, resting against the edge, exhaling shakily. She allowed herself to breathe too.
"I never want to hit you, Vera. And it wouldn't help either," he whispered, bowing his head. She didn't understand.
"It… wouldn't?" Vera parroted weakly, suddenly without a leg to stand on. But… he was angry. He was- she suddenly couldn't make out anything from his face, from his words, from the tension in his shoulders, nothing. Being suicidal once more, she hesitantly reached for his chin, levelling their eyes. He had them squeezed shut and tears – she earlier thought it was drops of sweat –escaped them. His lips were pressed together, giving the impression of... being held from trembling. Vera was… confused. "Matt, what-"
"Nothing would. I wasn't here," was all he said and she heard him work against a lump in his throat, tight from emotion Vera didn't manage and didn't want to interpret. But she was sure of one thing all of sudden. And oh my god, she should have realized it sooner. Her hand dropped. Of course. This was Matt Murdock she was dealing with. What was the most common emotional status of Matt Murdock? What was Matt feeling even more frequently than anger?
"Well, you were trying to keep me alive-"
"And I failed. Again," Matt exclaimed lowly, voice cold. Frustrated. Hateful. Helpless. Guilty.
"Jesus, Matt." She couldn't find words. Did he think it was somehow his fault? He was furious with himself?! "You realize Stick would kill me if you stayed here?"
Matt winced, letting out a silent sob. He honest to god sobbed and wrapped her in his arms, face burying in her shoulder. A second of panic, startled by his unexpected attack, and she relaxed to his embrace, returning his affection, differently than any time before. This time it was her who enclosed him protectively, hearing his body begging for being held. He almost limbed, accepting her support wholeheartedly and Vera was glad she had the ring behind her – otherwise she would fall under his weight (and she was sure he was still being gentle with her, relaxing his muscles only partly). Her hand found her way to the back of his neck, stroking lightly, kissing his temple.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, saying something she didn't plan on saying that night. She came to make peace with him, but she wanted him to see her perspective and agree with her. She didn't expect to turn it out this way.
His body went rigid at her words. "For what?" he mumbled into her shoulder, not bothering to withdraw.
She sighed, wondering what she was apologizing for. It was a good question. For everything? "For… for hurting you. For endangering something you care for." Small smile crept on her lips as she finally found the right words.
Matt retreated, leaving his hands on her waist, touch lighter. His expression was softer, traces of anger and betrayal still present though. Vera wanted to sing when she saw his eyes for the first time since their first fight. They were full of emotions that were too mingled together to be recognized. A precise reflexion of his inner world, of his soul, the very himself.
He cleared his throat. "Yes. That… that wasn't very nice." His voice was serious, but she noticed the tiny elevation of the corners of his lips. She noticed, because she was waiting for it, hoping for this beautiful miracle.
She nodded furiously. "I know, I know."
One of his hands carefully reached for her jaw, wrap scratching her skin. "I'd like you to treat it better. It's very important for me," he breathed, slightly leaning into her space, giving her chance to escape. Like hell she would. She met his lips halfway, just a small peck.
"I'm bad at it. You better stay and make sure I'm doing it right."
"I will," he whispered back and finally kissed her, salty lips caressing hers with certain desperation, but also tenderness and Vera felt a suffocating weight being lifted from her chest, relief washing over her as she was answering him gratefully.
He interrupted the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry too," he offered kindly and she blinked in surprise.
"For what?" Vera repeated his own question and he smiled.
"For leaving you here- let me talk- and for hurting you as well. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I… I shouldn't have. It won't happen again," he promised solemnly and despite being delighted at his exclaim, she felt a stung of guilt. She wasn't so certain about it. She wondered whether Matt would prefer hearing about all of her escapades at once or whether she should save it for another time. "Vera, what is it?"
She huffed. Damn his super-senses. She licked her lips nervously. "Wanna go home? Or to my place?"
He retrieved. "You wanna say something. Say it," he demanded, hints of bossiness in his tone, irritation bubbling once more.
Vera looked around nervously. "Here?" she squeaked, deciding that no, she did not want to tell him everything at once.
"If you don't mind…" he hummed, reaching for water and a towel, sitting down, resting his back against the ring. She eyed him, indecisive. Maybe she should just… go? "Don't even think about it. Sit down, Vera. Please. I rather… talked here."
She couldn't help it. She chuckled. "Closer to the punching bag?" The fact Matt didn't answer was slightly disturbing. "Also, how do you even know what I was thinking about? Did you learn how to read minds too?"
He grinned, just a fraction of second, the expression almost surreal on his face. "Well, it's true that I am more open to things like this being possible, but no-"
"What the hell does that mean?" she blurted out, sitting down as well. There was no point in running away. He would catch her. Dammit.
"That means that if I meet another guy claiming he punched a dragon to its heart, I might even believe him."
And what?! "What?" She was absolutely taken aback. And totally scared Matt dehydrated himself or something. Because he was talking nonsense.
Matt stopped her possible protest with a simple gesture. "Just… don't ask. I'm sure he will gladly tell you about it by himself. I'm surprised he hadn't already. I don't need to read your thoughts – when you're nervous, you run or babble. I'd like you to babble now. What do you have on your mind?"
Who was 'he'? And what was he shooting up? Or sniffing? Or perhaps he was smoking pot? Whoa, wait, Danny?
And was she that predictable?!
"Vera."
"Uhm…"
"Vera, if you're about to tell me you did another stupid and reckless thing, you better do it fast. The waiting is actually making it worse. I imagined like fifty possible scenarios in my head already and all of them are so you and dangerous that you better come up with something that will surprise me," he exclaimed, deadly serious. And really? It's… she wasn't that reckless. Right?
Okay. Just say it. "Is interrupting an assault with brass knuckles that happen to have a permanent place in my purse – for protection," she quickly added as he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak (or yell), "-on your list? It was a onetime thing!"
His teeth clicked together and he closed his eyes, mentally counting to a million, judging by the sweet time he took. Matt didn't yell. He didn't punch anything. He was fighting with himself though, trying really hard to keep his emotions inside. She hesitantly touched the back of his hand clenched into fist. He must have felt her touch even over the wrap, because after a while, it relaxed.
"Okay. Okay. Onetime thing-"
"I didn't even know about the Worshippers by the time. I wasn't- she was crying, Matt. And he was one guy and she was tiny and I had freaking brass knuckles in my purse. I didn't even plan on using them really, I was hoping he would let her go when a witness appeared, but he didn't and he was hurting her and-"
"Okay. You were playing a vigilante. Once. But that's it, right?" he turned his face to her, lips forming a timid smile, eyes big, kind and... compassionate, she realized. Understanding. He had to understand. It must have been like this for him all the time – hearing the cries, the screams. Vera returned the smile, pecking him on his lips.
"I love you," she admitted, resting her head against his shoulder. "And I missed you, I really did. Yesterday…" and it was hard to believe it was only yesterday, "…it was probably clear as day I did, but I missed this too. Talking to you. Being… being here with you. It doesn't have the same atmosphere here. The spirit."
Matt placed a small kiss to her hair. "You do babble. And I love you too. I'm glad I'm back."
Her smile faded. He was back… what that even meant? "And how are you back? I'm… I'm thrilled, I'm delighted you are, I couldn't wish for more but-"
He sighed and she shut up. "Short version? Big fight, many dead bodies, Stick captured, the rest of us fleeing in different directions."
Vera sat up straight, gasping. "WHAT?!" Stick was captured?! Their leader (?), Matt's mentor, idiot who wanted her death because she was a distraction to his favourite warrior was… captured? "Is he… that means he's… dead?"
Matt shook his head. "I doubt it. They would… uhm." He didn't seem to know how to finish his sentence. His face was emotionless. Vera had no idea what that meant. He doubted they would kill him. Why do you ever capture someone?
"Does that-" she hated the idea, she hated, hated, hated it, and she wanted to scream, because she just got him back and she would not survive if someone came for him as well, because some old asshole ninja got chatty. While being tortured most likely. She didn't give a crap about him, which was probably insensitive, but he did almost kill her. She was entitled. "-does that mean someone would come after you?"
The shake of his head was more distinctive, almost furious. "He won't give us up. He's might be a dick, but this is something he wouldn't do. Maybe not for us, only to piss them off – but still no," he deadpanned, speaking very factually.
Vera didn't care. The outcome was important. He wouldn't tell. "You think… you think someone followed you?" she asked carefully. She didn't want to upset him – however, the question was burning and valid.
"I don't think so. We were trying really hard to mislead everyone. The fact that it's not exactly easy to get from Phnom Kravanh to New York with almost no money probably helped…"
Her head started spinning. Phnom Kravanh. Cambodia. When did they capture Stick? Was it hours, days after she saw the photos? After she got new hope, the assurance Matt was alive?How much time it took this big fight Matt talked about to happen? What exactly he considered a big fight? And how often he fought for his life? Jesus Christ, she wouldn't know half of it.
'You know what I've been through? You have no idea. One day of it would be enough to give you nightmares for the rest of your life', he said. Oh god. The pictures. Torsos without heads. 'People around me were crying in pain, dying.' It was a fucking miracle he was still alive.
Vera threw herself around his neck, colliding with him hard, most likely causing bruises to both of them. She couldn't care less. She pressed her ear against his chest, listening to the startled thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, tears appearing in her eyes. Jesus, she loved that sound.
"Hey, it's okay. We got home. I'm here." His voice was startled as well, baffled, because he couldn't possibly know what triggered her outburst. It wasn't anything he said. Or at least he must have thought so.
"I saw you," she whimpered miserably and his hand stroking her hair stopped.
"What are you talking about, sweetheart?" He caressed her again, readjusting his grip in their bizarre half-hug.
Vera took a deep breath. "I saw you, in Cambodia." His body was suddenly created of stone. The rising of his chest stopped – if she didn't hear and felt his heart beating, she would think he was dead. He knew she was telling the truth – her own heart hammered painfully and fast, but didn't skip a beat when she told him. She continued. "I think you were all in red, it was hard to tell because of the dark. You wore a mask covering your whole face. Unlike the others, you had no weapon. There were so many… so many-" she didn't finish, sure he got the message. He had no doubt now – she did see them.
"H-how?" he choked out, his chest rather jerking than rising periodically, as if he couldn't breathe in properly. She knew that feeling.
"If I tell you, will you stop crushing my wrist?" she offered in light tone despite being on the edge herself. Matt did hold her wrist like he wanted to shatter every single bone in it. He immediately let go. She sighed to his still sweat-soaked t-shirt and shifted to more comfortable position – she rested against his side again, keeping his arm around her shoulders, catching his wrist, stroking it lightly. She took the end of the wrap, untying it slowly – he didn't protest, but his fingers twitched as if he wanted to stop her.
Once more she had no idea how to start.
He finally took a regular breath in. "Vera? I don't really think you can make it worse than it already is." He gave her hair a kiss, moving his wrist in small motions, helping her with the bandage. She smiled for herself and she begun, mentally questioning his claim. She might surprise him.
"So… I received an envelope. With pictures. Photos from a security footage. With a timestamp and a note with the location."
He froze. "From who?" he asked incredulously, traces of fear in his voice.
Uh-uh. "From a friend. I guess," she said, choosing her words carefully. He relaxed again, putting the bandage away. She started working on the other one.
"Stark?"
And oh. That didn't occur to her. It was a logical assumption though. Why didn't she involve the Avengers? Right. Matt didn't want them to mix up with this. Idiot. Though it wasn't like she tried to contact them again after he left.
"No. A different friend. A new one."
The back of his head banged the ring in frustration, hand falling from hers. "Vera. Spill it. Did you befriend another genius billionaire superhero I haven't heard about yet?"
Vera had to appreciate that even though he was obviously tense and worried, he tried to joke. Except, well. "Uhm…"
Matt sat up straight, pulling her up with him, turning to her with pure disbelief. "I was kidding. What the actual hell, Vera?"
"It wasn't my fault!" It kinda was. "And it wasn't him who sent it anyway!"
"Just- hold on. You befriended a billionaire hero and someone who was able to get a security footage from a crappy security camera in Cambodia?" he reassured himself, eyes wide, face absolute shock.
She shrugged in attempt to cool his up 'n down emotions, taking his hand again, finishing her job with satisfaction, claiming the wrap for herself. "Uhm. Kinda, yeah. She's great, by the way. She also sent me wine with cute notes appreciating my qualities. It was really sweet."
"Vera," he practically growled her name impatiently and it was not the funny way of impatience. Like the sexual impatience. Nope.
"Okay, okay. Let's just say that I might be a vigilante magnet in fact. Alright. A guy crushes on my fire escape, so I go there, obviously, because I know of someone who just loves crushing on my fire escape, so sue me for keeping my hopes up-" Matt made an unhappy face, guilt showing once again. But hey, it was the truth. This time, it totally was his fault. "So he has a hood and bow with arrows, obviously not you, so I think, hey Hawkeye is here and he's hurt. So I ask him what he wants and by the time he talks and I'm positive he is not Hawkeye, he's pretty much halfway to my apartment, so… yeah."
Matt was quiet. The tendons in his forearm tensed under her fingers as he clenched his fists. Nothing new. He didn't encourage her to continue, so she gave him few moments to process.
"Alright. Injured archer in your apartment. Go on." His voice was flat. Whatever he felt, he buried it deep down in him, locking it up. Vera was worried what would happen when it blew off. She needed to be gentler with him, take it easier on his heart – she didn't need enhanced hearing to know it was fast and sounding funny.
"Yeah. He just wants to call his team, because apparently that's a thing – you should consider having one as well, by the way –, asking them to pick him up, because his coms stopped working and yeah, he is hurt and can't make it to… their base or whatever." And here came the part which Matt wouldn't like. Probably. She rather decided to graciously leave out the fact Oliver wanted to leave at that point. "He… uhm, he was bleeding, so…. Uhm… I… I stitched him up."
His whole body went limp. "You did what?"
"It was a knife wound, I wouldn't go for nothing major-"
"Knife wound is nothing major?" he parroted weakly, eyes uselessly scanning her face. She was surprised when she looked at his face. He was… mad, probably, but she could actually see hints of… admiration?
"Well… I mean I wouldn't try to fix a bullet wound, or went for it if we was like… stabbed. Anyway. I kinda had a small breakdown after, so he hugged me and I noticed the next day that his day-him was hurt as well, and there were too many coincidences. I sent him an e-mail later, you know, to his civil e-mail address, thanking him and asking about his health and they somehow put two and two together, realized I'm probably dating you, like the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, because I had a small breakdown at the café the day before too and they were there. Uhm. A week later I received a package; wine, arrow head and photos of you, with a note claiming the search was based on body built and fighting style of the Devil. The team of the vigilante has one hell of a blond hacker who did some magic and found you," she blurted out in almost one breath and huffed. She could have probably leave out few details. Too late.
If Matt was an app, he would have loading written above his head. He stared dully, going over everything she said, putting the information together and making sense of it.
Vera did not expect his next words to be what they were.
"I didn't know you could stitch up a knife wound. You never said," he whispered, voice soft.
It was her turn to be taken aback. She thought he may chew her again for what she did. He might sound worried, guilty (because he would find a way to blame himself for… whatever). He would be sad since she admitted she had two breakdowns in two days, well, one day, actually. She did not see that coming.
"You never asked," she murmured back quietly, absently licking her lips as he tilted his head, observing her in awe. "And I didn't know how. Not until recently… well, recently… I mean, we never got to that before I dropped out from college."
"What- then how do you know?" He sounded honestly confused.
Oh. He really didn't know about her sessions with Claire. Or maybe it just slipped his mind, since he never talked about it with her? He had a lot on his plate lately…
"Claire taught me. We started around Christmas-" His lips parted, shocked exhale leaving them. He had no idea. Unbelievable. "-because… you know. What if she was out of town or something? Right? Or she had a shift and you would… uhm… you would be bleeding all over and-" Vera was tangling in her words as his expression was changing into something she couldn't decode. She looked away, having difficulties to speak in sentences. "-and you wouldn't want to- to go to the hospital, because you never want to go. And- and I wouldn't be able to help you which would probably kill me and you. So it was a logical step to ask her to teach me-"
Tender hands framed her face, light pressure turning it to look at him. She kept her gaze down though, suddenly feeling ashamed. It was a stupid assumption, thinking he would even let her to stitch him up – he was supersensitive and hated pain meds and anaesthetics and even though she did fix Oliver's wound, she was a freaking amateur. There was no reason for him to choose her over Claire or taking care of himself on his own when necessary.
"You asked Claire to teach you so you could patch me up?" astonished low voice demanded as his thumbs caressed her cheeks. Amazed. Disbelieving. Touched.
No, you dumbass, I know tons of people like you who need it. Of course I did it for you. Vera nodded cautiously.She refused to raise her eyes. Nope. Maybe if she did, she would see the kiss coming. But she didn't.
Hot soft lips touched hers delicately and she closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. She almost missed his next words.
"What have I ever done," he mumbled to her mouth, his lips sinking into hers deeply, sweetly fondling, as one of his hands moved to the back of her head, pulling her closer.
Something grasped her heart at his tone, but it didn't hurt. She just… she wasn't sure he ever spoke with so much affection. She had to gulp against the lump in her throat when he kissed away the tears of relief rolling down her cheek before he returned to his mission of turning her body into jello just by meeting her lips again and again, until she finally responded with enough enthusiasm. Only then he decided to let go of her cheek and slipped his hand under her top, fingers tracing the skin of her side and reaching for the hem of it – he stopped there, mouth withdrawing for a split second. Her head spun.
"May I?" he breathed and she chuckled, because of course he would ask like that. She remembered the aftermath of their fight in here the first time she did something he considered reckless – at that time he asked her if he might kiss her. The situation changed, but her answer didn't.
"I would appreciate it."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Alternative chapter title – Dialogue heavy no.2. Also Double F; freaking fluff.
Title from Florence and The Machine – Only it for a night
And there's only epilogue left.