Matt had the tendency to fall a lot as a kid, even before he'd gone blind. He'd be running through the house and trip on a loose floorboard. He'd be playing soccer with some of the neighborhood kids and stumble on all the other straining legs trying to get to the ball. He'd unknowingly lose his footing on a curb when he'd been confident with his cane just a moment before.
But Dad had always been there, back then. He'd pull Matt up, brush off the dirt and dust, patch up his skinned knees, and say, "Careful."
(Careful? He tried, he tried, he said he would be. Except he wasn't. What...?)
"I can't help it, sometimes," Matt would say petulantly. "I just can't."
"You can, Matty. I believe in you. That means something, right?" Dad would say.
"It means everything," Matt says. "I miss you."
(Where's Dad? Why isn't he here? What's going on? Where is he?)
"I'm right here, Matty," Dad tells him, smiling, always smiling, even when it doesn't reach his eyes, but how would Matt know, he can't see, can't see- "I'll always be here."
But something's not right. "But you aren't," Matt says. His breathing is shaky, and it's cold, why is it so cold? "You aren't, you left." He hears his voice break, but he can't seem to feel it, not in his throat.
(His head hurts, his body aches, he feels cold.)
"I won't always be here to pull you back up," his dad had said once. Matt had frowned. He hadn't liked this conversation topic. "But remember what I always say?"
"Murdocks always get back up," Matt says proudly.
"Yeah." Dad laughs a little. His eyes crinkle. "Even when I'm not there to pull you back up, you gotta do it yourself. Even when you can't seem to do it right away, you pull yourself back up eventually, yeah? Keep fighting, Matty."
"Fighting for what?"
Matt blinks through the fog clouding his head. He can't see anything, why can't he...?
Oh.
He continues to blink even though it won't do him any good. He's in a metal chair, his wrists tied behind the chair's back. His neck strains from supporting his lolling head, and he groans as he straightens up.
It's cold.
"You're awake," a voice says, and Matt jerks away from it, still reeling from the concerning blank in his mind. He recognizes this voice; he doesn't want to. "For a second there, I thought you wouldn't," Wilson Fisk continues, as if they are having a pleasant conversation.
"Would've solved all your problems, wouldn't it?" Matt says, voice rough. He coughs a little, trying to clear it.
(What he said was a lie. Foggy and Karen would still be there to fight Fisk, to fight for Matt.)
(Where are they? Are they okay?)
There's a spot on his lower back that particularly aches. He doesn't remember how he got here.
Fisk laughs humorlessly. "I am giving you another chance to reconsider your case against me." Reconsider? Again? Matt's confusion must show on his face, because all of a sudden hands are on his shoulders, shaking him roughly. Matt's breath catches in his throat. "Reconsider your case against me," Fisk says firmly. It is not a request.
"Fuck you," Matt spits out at him. Who cares about disrespect? He's literally been abducted!
Fisk scoffs, stepping back so that his breath is no longer in Matt's face. Matt takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Panicking won't help him. "This is your last chance. I'm being rather merciful, giving you so many. You would do well to appreciate it, Mr. Murdock."
"Well, Mr. Fisk," Matt says acidly, "by now the judge and jury must have noticed your absence at the trial. It's rather suspicious. You're going to prison." Matt would like to give a more eloquent speech when he's absolutely sure of the facts, but right now he's just lost, not that he wants Fisk to know it.
Except Fisk simply laughs. Unease prickles at Matt's neck. "They have noticed nothing. Your colleagues," he says with distaste, "have postponed the trial due to unforeseen circumstances."
Matt grimaces. "They know you have me," he says.
"They know," Fisk confirms. "I told them. They won't go through with the trial if you're here." At least they're not here, Matt thinks.
"They will," Matt says. "They have to."
"They don't," Fisk says. "I am a reasonable man, Mr. Murdock."
"You call this reasonable?" Matt asks, incredulous, and then he's suddenly met with a punch to the face. His head snaps to the side. He tastes blood.
"This is reasonable. You're stopping me from helping the city."
"You're destroying the city."
"I am restoring it. You will not win your trial against me. Your case is weak."
"You don't know what we have."
"You will cancel the trial."
"We will not."
"If you do not, well...I have many ways to convince you, or Mr. Nelson and Ms. Page, to do so," he says, voice suddenly much closer than it'd been before.
Matt leans back slightly in his chair. "I won't," he says.
"Final chance," Fisk tells him. "I would hate to see you hurt."
(There's so much good left in the world; Matt must remember.)
He can't do much, but he can say this: "No."
"Very well," Fisk says, moving away. A few moments later, the sound of a metal object striking the ground rings loudly through the room.
Matt tenses up. He takes a deep breath in, and then lets it out. He'll get back up later.
