This fanfic is set just after the end of season 3 of Daredevil, with Fisk finally incarcerated, indefinitely this time, and Matt, Foggy and Karen on good terms.
Chapter One
Matt Murdock sat on his sofa fidgeting with the set of keys in his hand. He could still smell the old fashioned scent of Fran's Lily of the Valley hand cream. He was going to miss her. She had lived in 6B, the apartment opposite his, for decades, long before he had moved in, but had died of a heart attack three days ago. Matt had been home at the time. He had heard her cry out, heard her fall; heard her heartbeat slowly fade as he had searched frantically for the spare key she had given him in case she ever lost hers.
He swallowed sadly. And then he had heard that warm familiar heartbeat grind to a halt as he had rushed into her apartment. He had tried desperately to revive her but to no avail. The paramedics had told him there was nothing he could have done. They had even applauded his attempts, especially considering he was blind.
Fran hadn't quite been a mother-figure, age-wise she was probably closer to a grandmother-figure, but there had been times when he could have almost viewed her as one. She had never been too overbearing, or too invasive of his life, but she had been a constant presence, always asking how he was if they bumped into each other in the hallway, enquiring after his work (and his love life!), baking him the occasional casserole when she felt he was looking a little peaky.
And he had always felt a sense of comfort from the familiar sounds and smells that came from her apartment. The old movies and records she liked to play; the rhythmic click clack of her knitting (both he and Foggy had been gifted with several sweaters and scarves over the years); the baking she did for her church and its many charitable events. There was always the delicious aromas of freshly baked bread, cakes and cookies drifting across from her apartment. You didn't even need heightened senses to acknowledge them. Foggy used to literally salivate as he was coming up the stairs to his apartment and always made as loud an entrance as he could when knocking on Matt's door so she would hopefully hear and bring him a sample of whatever she had just baked. He just couldn't resist. And to Foggy's delight, she just couldn't resist indulging him.
His shoulders heaved. He hadn't realised the extent of his affection for the dear old lady until very recently. It had been the day he had finally returned to his apartment after his long recovery following the collapse of Midland Circle. She had hugged him with such an intensity that it had taken him aback, but what had surprised him even more was that it had been mutual. And there had been no where were you or whys, no questions whatsoever, just happiness that he was back.
A sad smile twitched at his lips. She had been such a Daredevil fan too. Ever since he - Daredevil - had saved a couple of her church friends from a mugging. She had sung Daredevils praises to him and Foggy ever since. He became her hero. She told them he made her feel safe. That he made Hell's Kitchen feel safe. Unfortunately, Daredevil couldn't save someone from the ravages of old age, as much as he would have liked to. Fran was gone.
And now he was waiting to pass the keys on to her granddaughter. Travelling all the way from England to arrange the funeral and settle her grandmother's affairs.
Miranda Carson.
It was strange really. He almost felt as if he knew her. Fran was always singing her praises too. Almost every encounter he had with Fran was wrapped up, however briefly, with a little update about her granddaughter and what was happening in her life. He sometimes felt a little uncomfortable just how much she shared, and yet, at the same time, he felt he would have missed it if she suddenly stopped sharing them.
He knew that she was a successful artist who had won awards for her deep soulful portraits. He knew that the reason Fran always flew to England and Miranda never visited her was because Miranda was terrified of flying. He even knew that she was recently divorced after discovering her husband had cheated on her with her best friend.
"My poor Miranda," Fran had sobbed the day she had received the news. "He broke her heart, that son of a bitch. They both did."
He remembered he had felt genuinely sorry for a woman he had never met and his fists had itched to make him pay.
Matt stood up, slipped the keys back into the pocket of his sweatpants, and sauntered over to the fridge to get himself a beer. He had decided to work from home today so he wouldn't miss her. He had even popped some basic groceries into Fran's apartment because he suspected, after such a long, no doubt stressful, flight, she wouldn't want to go shopping. Fran had always been such a warm friendly neighbour, the least he could do was reciprocate the same kindness to her granddaughter.
His head twitched, his heightened senses suddenly picking up the woman's arrival. He lowered the beer bottle from his lips. She was struggling with her suitcases at the main door. He heard her mumble "bloody door" but her English accent sounded exotic and refined despite her cursing. He wanted to go down and help but he knew that a blind man suddenly rushing to her aid would seem a bit odd.
She slowly ascended the stairs. He could hear her suitcases scrape and bump against each step. He could also hear a few more curses. The closer she got the more he could sense her distress. She was exhausted and close to tears. He heard her drop her suitcases outside 6B and let out a sigh of relief.
"Please be in, Matt Murdock," she whispered, glancing towards his own door. He knew why she was concerned. She was several hours late. Though he didn't know why, he guessed it was a contributing factor to her current stress levels.
Her initial knock was tentative but she quickly followed it with one that was harder, more desperate.
To his surprise he felt rather hesitant himself; suddenly uncomfortable that he knew so much about her. Would she be angry that her personal life had been shared so freely. Moreover, that he had listened and continued to listen. He could have found ways to end the conversations with Fran. Pretend he had to be somewhere, or that he was busy. But Fran had loved talking about her granddaughter so much and he never had the heart (or inclination!) to stop her.
He dragged a hand through his hair, knowing he couldn't keep the poor woman waiting forever.
When he finally opened the door he was met with the salty tang of restrained tears, the inevitable layer of sweat after so many hours of travel on a warm day, and an underlying scent of mint that might have been her shampoo.
Her relief at seeing him was palpable in the air.
"Hi! I'm -"
"Miranda," he finished with a smile.
"Yes. Yes, that's me," she flustered, caught a little off guard. "Thanks for hanging on to the keys for me. I hope it hasn't been any trouble."
"No trouble," he reassured her, instantly charmed by her accent. "How was your flight? Fran mentioned that you don't like flying."
She tensed at the mention of her grandmother and he mentally berated himself for mentioning her so soon. The tang of salt intensified but she managed to keep her emotions in check.
"She told you that?" she asked, surprised, but let out a sigh. "Yes. Absolutely terrified. I've spent hours trying not to hyperventilate." Her heart rate picked up at the memory. "It didn't help that the flight was delayed, which is why I'm so late, sorry. Thank god there was no turbulence. I think it would have finished me."
"I've never flown anywhere myself," he confessed, though didn't go as far as admitting that he had never even left New York. "I don't think I'd find it particularly pleasant either."
"Because you're blind?" She tensed again and he could sense her discomfort. "Oh god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to assume. I've…it's just that…well, I've never met a blind person before…I hope I don't say or do anything that offends you." She shook her head despairingly. "Although I'm probably doing it right now."
He smiled to reassure her. "No offence taken. It can be rather daunting for people when they meet me for the first time. Just treat me like you would anyone else."
"Of course," she blurted uncomfortably. "Yes, of course I will." After a moment of strained silence she said: "Anyway, I don't want to hold you up if you're busy."
He held the keys out for her. "I'm not busy."
When she took the keys from him their fingers brushed ever so slightly. Light enough that she probably wouldn't even have registered it, but he was conscious of it himself.
"I've put some basics in the apartment," he added. "Just eggs, milk and bread. There seem to be plenty of tins and jars though." He made sure not to mention Fran this time.
"Thank you. That's very kind." She took a steeling breath and forced a smile. "I remember when I used to visit as a kid, Nanna always had stacks of tins. It was like she was stocking up for a Nuclear Winter or something."
This surprised Matt, who assumed she had always been terrified of flying, and it must have shown on his face.
"I didn't always mind flying. I didn't love it but it was tolerable. But when I was in my teens, fourteen or so, I can't quite remember, we had such bad turbulence on the way home that it terrified me half to death. It coincided with a plane crash that killed everybody on board. I haven't been able to set foot on a plane since."
She squared her shoulders. "Until now. I knew I had to come this time. I would never have forgiven myself otherwise." She chewed down upon her lip and those tears were pricking at her eyes again. "I hated not being able to spend more time with her, here in New York. I always felt that I was letting her down."
"She loved visiting you in England though. She was excited for weeks."
"Yes, yes she did." There was appreciation in her tone, relief that he had mentioned it. "And I loved having her. I was excited for weeks too!" She shrugged. "And more recently we've been able to have Zoom chats, which are more personal than a phone-call. Thank you, by the way, for helping her set up the laptop."
"That was mostly Foggy," he confessed.
She smiled. "Ah, Foggy. I've heard so much about him. About you both actually. Nanna was always singing your praises. She called you her good boys."
He returned the smile. "Same here. Fran mentioned you a lot too…actually I…" He faltered, wondering whether he should say it.
"You?" she prompted curiously.
He shrugged. "I almost feel as if I know you."
She let out a little laugh and he was pleased to note that her stress levels were dropping a bit. "Do you know, I do too. Feel I know you, I mean. You and Foggy. Oh god, what has she been saying about us both?"
"All good at this end," he laughed.
"Same here," she mirrored his own words.
There was a more comfortable silence this time. Finally their smiles faded.
"Well, I'd better go. You'll have to let me know how much I owe you for the groceries."
"Nothing," Matt insisted. "Given the amount of baked goods your grandmother has given me and Foggy over the years."
"Well, it was a nice thought. And right now I'm gagging for a cup of tea. Nanna preferred coffee so one thing I did remember to bring from home were plenty of tea bags."
He smiled. He already loved the sound of her voice, the quirky way she said certain words.
FOGGY. FOGGY. FOGGY.
"The man in question," Miranda teased. "I'll let you get that." She turned away as he reached down for his phone.
"Nice to finally meet you," he called as she turned the key in the lock of 6B and opened the door.
She reached down for her suitcases. "You too."
Matt brought his phone to his ear as he returned inside his own apartment.
"Hey, Foggy. What's up?"
"Is she there yet?"
"I've just given her the keys."
"What's she like? Is she like Fran? Well, not physically like Fran. Not that you can see her…in the conventional way at least. You know what I mean."
"She's very…" Matt hesitated thoughtfully. Fran had not exaggerated in her praise. Miranda Carson had been instantly likeable, which given the day she must have had, was a good sign.
And that accent. He would be lying if he said he didn't find it attractive.
He certainly hoped he would have the opportunity to get to know her better.
'Matt? You still there buddy?"
"Very...English," he finally said with a smile.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed! Reviews are much appreciated!