In which Matt is still hung up on his ex, but not in an 'I still want you' way
"Why do you fight?" Natasha asks him one night.
Matt drowns out the sound of sirens with the sound of her heartbeat. He tells her, "Because someone has to."
"But why you?"
He stills, turning her words over in his brain. She doesn't seem to be asking in frustration, or concern. Not like Foggy had, at least. She seems to be asking out of curiosity.
And that's what compels him to be honest.
"I have the right abilities, the right training. I hear…so much." He sighs. "How can I not do anything? Who else is going to listen?"
She pats his chest, and then rests her hand there. "You're a good person, Matthew," she says wistfully.
Matt frowns. "You're saying that like you're not."
She draws her hand back but doesn't step away. "It's not like that," she starts haltingly.
Well, Matt just has to make her sure of herself. "It's not," he confirms without hesitation.
"My brain knows that."
"But?"
Eventually, she tells him about the red on her ledger, and lets out a bitter laugh when Matt calls it bullshit.
Matt very much does not want to hear that laugh ever again.
"Is this a form of penance for you, then?" Matt asks. How does he make her see what he sees in her?
"Not quite," Natasha says after a few moments of deliberation. "Are you punishing yourself?"
Matt grimaces. "I don't have the correct words right now to articulate how wrong you are about yourself," he declares, "but give me a few days, and I'll have them ready." He wants to make this right.
"I'll hold you to it," she says, softly, so softly. Matt doesn't know what to do with this softness. "You didn't answer my question."
Am I trying to punish myself? Matt thinks. "I'll let you know when I have an answer."
Elektra is in his apartment.
Matt is very tempted to just stay over at Foggy's for the night.
He opens the door anyways, because his dad hadn't raised a coward.
Elektra tries to recruit him to do something for her, but he's only half-listening. He runs out of patience fairly quickly and interrupts her mid-sentence. "Nope. Absolutely not. Get out." He points to the front door, in order to make the sentiment more clear.
"But Matthew," she says. Matt decides right then and there to let Natasha know that she can call him Matt, the next time they meet.
He doesn't know why he's thinking of Natasha right now.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a huge sigh. "Elektra," he says testily.
They have a battle of wills, and eventually Elektra stands to leave. "I missed you," she says at the door.
Her heart beats truth, and Matt is really trying to ignore that. "I didn't," he tells her shortly.
He makes sure the door is locked behind her, but she can probably get through anyways.
"Matt, you look like you have a headache," Foggy tells him the next morning.
"I blame Castle for that," Matt says frankly. Ha. Frankly.
God, he needs sleep.
"Tough case, I know," Foggy says, pulling out a chair to sit across from Matt, the two of them separated by a table full of various files and briefs and other relevant information, "but I think there's something else?"
Matt hesitates, and apparently it is visible on his face.
Foggy sighs. "Matt, I know about your nightlife now. You don't have to keep hiding things from me. I don't even think it would keep me safer."
Matt swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and chokes out, "Thank you for not getting angry at me when I told you."
He can practically hear Foggy's eye roll. "We've gone over this. You don't have to keep thanking me for that. That's what best friends do. Also, I'm pretty sure I did get angry."
"'Cause you were worried, not 'cause I lied."
"Matt," Foggy says, "I'm listening. What's up?"
"The ceiling."
"Your powers of deflection grow stronger day by day."
Matt snorts, which had definitely been Foggy's intention, if the happy leap in his heartbeat is any indication. "Elektra's in town. Showed up at my apartment."
"...How does she even know where you live?" Foggy asks incredulously.
Matt shrugs.
Foggy considers for a few moments. "Is she still in town?" he asks, standing up abruptly.
"Uh, probably. Why do you ask?"
"I need to go punch someone in the face."
"Wait, Foggy—"
"How's your availability for the next few days?" Clint asks.
"Why do you ask?" Matt says suspiciously.
"No reason." There's definitely a reason.
"I'm pretty busy, actually. Foggy and I are working on what is probably the biggest case of our careers."
Clint groans in utter frustration, though Matt has no idea why.
A few nights later, both Elektra and Stick show up at Matt's apartment, which is truly the highlight of Matt's week. Truly. Two people he despises coming to his humble abode at the very same time is exactly what he'd asked for.
But Elektra is injured, so Matt supposes he has to be more merciful than he'd like.
He grits his teeth and tries not to listen as Stick uses his homemade concoction to heal her, and it's only afterwards that he notices his fingernails have drawn blood from his palms.
He wipes his hands against his pants and sits stiffly, facing away from his bed, where Elektra lays.
When Stick finishes, he walks towards Matt. "Never thought you'd back down from a fight," he says.
"It's not my fight," Matt says.
"It's your city."
Matt laughs. He can almost taste the bitterness in it. "Whatever this is, it's part of your war." He buries his face in his hands and realizes too late that he's smearing blood on his cheeks, his chin, his forehead. "How do you guys even know each other?"
Stick chuckles. "Kid, you are not going to like the answer."
The next day, Matt flees from his apartment before Elektra wakes up, so he's early to the courthouse, for once.
He's maybe a little more vicious in court than he usually is—even Frank seems surprised by how verbally violent he is—but it works in their favor, and soon enough, the first day of the trial is over with no major mishaps.
"Make sure to get some rest," is all Karen says, pulling him into a hug before starting to walk home.
"You, uh, need to beat up some punching bags before the next day of court?" Foggy asks quietly as Matt instinctively grabs hold of his arm. "Curb! And I do mean punching bags, not, like, people."
"I need to beat up myself," Matt mutters.
"What? Why?!"
Matt hadn't meant to say that out loud. "For being so gullible," he grumbles, trying not to pout.
Foggy stops and turns so that they are facing each other. "Is it Elektra again? Or is it the new girl in your life?"
"What new girl?"
"Black Widow!" Foggy hisses. Matt's brain freezes for a bit.
"No, Natasha's—great. She's great, a lot more than great. As far as I can tell, she hasn't gotten to know me under false pretenses or anything."
"...That's oddly specific."
So Matt tells him about everything that's been going on, because he trusts Foggy, because sometimes, Foggy's presence and support feel like the only constants in Matt's world.
He's afraid of change, is the problem. Change tends to hurt him.
Foggy lets out a considering hum. "Are they still at your apartment?"
Matt tilts his head, narrowing his focus. "Only Elektra. Stick's gone."
"Well, better than nothing," Foggy declares, one of his hands curled into a loose and not at all proper fist.
Matt blinks, a little alarmed, as Foggy starts marching in the direction of his apartment. "Foggy, no!"
"Foggy, yes!"
Matt manages to convince Foggy not to punch Elektra in the face, but only just.
Foggy does verbally eviscerate her, though.
This is why Matt loves him.
"We did everything right," Karen says agitatedly, "and he's still going to jail?"
"Frank fucked it up on purpose," Matt says, hoping this doesn't bite him in the ass later on. "We tried our best. He just…he didn't want to be saved."
"From the law, that is."
Matt nods. "So…beer and takeout at my place?" He's only offering because Elektra is gone now, hopefully for a while.
"Please."
When they arrive at his place, Matt goes into his room to change out of his suit and tie and immediately feels a little nauseous from the smell. "Fuck," he mutters.
It's not even an unpleasant smell, is the problem.
"Matt?" Foggy asks, voice dripping with concern. He peeks into the room.
Matt gestures at his rumpled sheets, as if that is an adequate explanation.
"Your bed?" Foggy tries. "What's wrong with your bed?"
Matt swallows. "It still smells like— I need to change the sheets."
He's really trying not to freak out here.
Foggy notices, because he says, "Let me help."
Matt has no idea what he did to deserve him.
Later, Karen asks, "Has someone been here?"
"Why do you ask?" Matt says, resigned. He picks at his rice and fumbles a little with the chopsticks.
"There's a sword in your bathtub."
"Ah."
"Fucking Elektra," Foggy mutters.
Karen swallows some noodles. "Elektra?" she asks.
"Oh my god, you don't know the Matt lore," Foggy says. "You need to know it."
"That's why I'm asking," Karen says, amused.
"Matt's ex, back in college. Total bad influence. I've always hated her."
"Almost flunked out of law school because of her," Matt admits with a grimace. Because of my own idiocy, he thinks.
"Yeah, eventually she fucked off, Matt got his shit back together so well he graduated summa cum laude, and we thought that was the end of it."
"And now she's back?" Karen asks, concerned.
Matt stalls for a few precious seconds, taking a swig of his so-called shitty beer. Finally, he says, "Turns out she was also trained by Stick, and everything back then was a setup."
"No."
"Yes."
"Scary ninja lady," Foggy confirms, "though I think she was actually fond of you."
"Not sure if that's good or bad." Matt sighs. Please don't worry.
Karen reaches over to squeeze his hand, and Matt sincerely hopes he doesn't see Elektra again, because he already has everything he needs.
As the night goes on, Foggy and Karen end up more than tipsy, and all of them do feel better together, so they stay the night.
"You sure you don't want the bed?" Matt asks. He points at the couch. "I've definitely bled on that more than once."
"You guys can share the bed," Karen tells them dismissively. "My back can deal with this for one night. What I can't deal with is your kicking."
"...I kick at night?"
"You fight ninjas in your sleep," Foggy confirms.
"That tracks."
He hasn't shared a room with Foggy since law school, but it's surprisingly comforting now.
"So…how's the new girl in your life?" Foggy asks, rolling over to look at Matt.
"I don't know," he says honestly. "I just…I don't know."
"I don't hate her."
"I don't want a repeat," Matt says nonsensically.
A pause. Foggy lays a hand on Matt's shoulder and says, "I don't think it'll be."
"How do you know?" Matt asks. It's not that he doesn't trust Natasha. He just doesn't trust himself.
"You talk about them differently," Foggy says, surprisingly solemn even though this conversation had started out light. "Elektra's always seemed predatory. Romanoff seems…softer, I guess. Not a word I thought I'd ever use for Black Widow, but here we are."
Matt sighs, curling into himself slightly. "It's so unfair to compare them."
"But you've been hurt before, so that's normal." It's absurdly soothing to have his faults thrown in his face in this way. "I don't know as much about them as you do, so I'll let you be the judge of character. But if this is not about them and turns out to be about you denying yourself something good, then we're going to have a problem."
Matt smiles tiredly. "What kind of problem?"
"The kind where I take you to court."
"Murdock vs. his lack of self-esteem?" Matt reaches up to squeeze Foggy's hand. "I think I might lose."
"Not if I'm your lawyer," Foggy declares.
"Go to sleep, Counselors," Karen mumbles from the couch. "I know we've got tomorrow off, but we all need our beauty sleep."
Alright then.
I'll be in Hell's Kitchen with Nat for lunch, Clint texts him the next day with no explanation.
Matt doesn't know where exactly they are until he walks towards a café he frequently visits and recognizes their voices.
He remembers Clint texting him nearly a year ago, asking about good food places in Hell's Kitchen.
So you've been playing the long game, Matt thinks as he gets closer and closer. He's still a block away when he pauses.
He's not eavesdropping—invasion of privacy and whatnot—but his ears perk up when Natasha laughs and he really wants to know why.
If he walks in there, he's certain she's going to find out who he is.
And he's okay with that. After so many revelations thrust upon him, he's looking forward to asserting his own agency.
Am I trying to punish myself? he thinks again, and probably not for the last time.
At the moment, he decides that the answer is no.
Maybe, he needs to let himself have this.
"Hey, Clint!" Matt says brightly, practically shoving Clint to the side to make room in the booth for himself.
"Ow! What the— Matt?" Clint says, audibly wincing.
He really hadn't been expecting Matt. Matt would like to take offense at that, but he can't honestly say that he'd expected this, either.
Matt folds up his cane with a flourish, hitting Clint's arm in the process, and says, "Yup. How's it going?"
"Dude," Clint says, rubbing at the spot Matt had hit him, "what did I do?"
Matt shrugs. "I've lost count."
"I'm being framed."
(Matt swears he can hear the gears turning in Natasha's brain.)
Matt grins. "I know a very good lawyer who can help you wi—"
"Oh, shut the fuck up," Clint says, annoyed but smiling.
Matt lightly bumps shoulders with Clint. "Nice to see you again too."
"You're not the one doing the seeing here."
Matt laughs, because they're ridiculous and chaotic and Matt had missed feeling like this, like the world is not ending all around him because of him. Clint snorts, Matt continues laughing, and for some reason, that is what snaps Natasha out of whatever silent, thought-provoking trance she's been in.
"Matt," she murmurs, as if testing out the name.
"Yes?" Matt says sweetly, 'cause at the end of the day, he's a sap.
Clint makes gagging noises beside him, and Matt elbows him in the ribs at the same time that Natasha kicks him under the table.
Clint hunches over a little from pain, but ultimately remains unrepentant.
"Do you want a coffee?" Natasha asks. "Clint's paying."
Clint sits up straight. "I am?"
"I'll take one, if you're offering," Matt tells her.
"Good. That's…good," she says softly. She reaches over to grab his hand, holding it in both of her own. She pokes at his knuckles, and he turns his hand over to lace his fingers with hers. "You haven't been going out much."
"I've been fighting a battle of the legal kind the past few days."
"Really," Natasha says with some interest. Matt swears he can feel the heat of her gaze on his face.
"I'm literally right here," Clint says.
Natasha flags down a waiter. "You got the menu memorized?"
"I'm a regular," Matt says noncommittally.
"I'll take that as a yes."
They're still holding hands.
Matt doesn't plan on letting go.
Of course, things don't always go to plan.
Everything seems to be looking up for Matt. He even plans to call Natasha later on, just to talk more, just to hear her voice.
He finally gets home and promptly gets shot by a poisoned arrow.
There always has to be a give, is the thing. Matt got his powers at the expense of his sight. His dad had defeated Creel, and died in the process. Matt gains people only to lose them.
"What did you do?" he gasps out. He can taste the blood in the air, mingling with his lungs. He was just a kid.
"This is who I am," is all Elektra says before Matt passes out.
The thing about that is they're not alike at all, Elektra and Matt.
Elektra accepts what she's doing, views it as inevitable. Matt doesn't. He acknowledges that what he's doing isn't much better, but he's always trying to improve. Natasha, even, is always trying to make up for past mistakes. She's appropriately remorseful—maybe too remorseful—for things that may or may not be her fault.
So when Elektra brings up running away together, Matt says, "No, absolutely not. You didn't just ruin my life, you're actively ruining it."
"Maybe I'm the only one who understands both sides of you," she says, hand ghosting along the side of his face.
He flinches back. "That's not true. You know nothing about me, apparently."
And maybe he knows nothing about her, either, because she dies for him, and now her blood coats his hands and he can't seem to wash it off, even days later.
Shit, he thinks, ignoring Natasha's calls and Clint's texts and Foggy's growing concern. Maybe it is me. Maybe I do fuck up everything I touch.
Guys I lost track of where we are in the Daredevil timeline so I now declare it to be DD S2, and you can't prove me wrong because I'm the writer lol
Happy Lunar New Year!