Matt takes a heaving breath, his thoughts fragments he scrambles to pieces together. He’s shaking again.
“They are criminals,” Matt says, finding a lifeline in an argument and holding onto it for dear life, “Like you said, these people don’t play by the rules, they understand the stakes.”
“And where do you place yourself, Mr. Murdock, in that paradigm?”
Wesley doesn’t try to justify himself, and Matt wonders if this counts as a victory.
“I am not called the Saint of Hell’s Kitchen.”
Wesley’s lips curve with a smirk. “So you mingle with those you detest, embrace their tactics, and use it against them.”
Matt bears his teeth, knowing exactly what Wesley is trying to do.
“Unlike you, I don’t benefit from my crimes.”
“So you don’t feel any sort of rush, each time you emerge victorious? Don’t feel that reassuring warmth of having rid the world of one more villain each time you put down a criminal? Relief and affirmation when a victim thanks you for your timely intervention?”
Matt grits his teeth, “I also feel guilt for those things.”
“You think I don’t?” Wesley admits the fact with such ease it takes Matt by surprise.
“I can’t say I don’t have my doubts,” Matt says, realizing that his is no a battle he can win, “But I’m not going to help you hurt innocent people, Wesley.”
“I’m not asking you to, Matthew,” Wesley says with a soft exhale, “We have a common cause, and by doing what you’ve always done – taking out criminals – we can work together, to take down Fisk.”
“I won’t step back and do nothing if you do anything like Elena, like those bombings again,” Matt says, stubbornly holding his ground, onto the center of his convictions, the principle he had held from the start.
“And you don’t have to, ” Wesley replies, taking that one step back, acknowledging that Matt’s ideology of is worth, “But I need you to trust me, Matthew. A partnership. It’s all I ask.”
Matt waits, but all the riling, raucous parts inside of him have fallen silent.
“Fine.”
The word falls, and Wesley lets out a breath. Matt focuses on his breathing, on holding onto this calm, accepting this strange new arrangement. Blackmail is not a word he can hold onto anymore, not knowing what Wesley has told him, not when he has been given this new power to destroy the man.
Then this is a partnership, a temporary truce that has led to the creation of an alliance. He sinks a little deeper into he couch, hearing the subtle squeak of leather as Wesley too, relaxes in his seat.
Matt is exhausted, yet it feels like a heavy weight has been removed from his shoulders, and for the first time in weeks, he feels like he can breathe.
“Don’t do this alone anymore, Matt.”
Silence stretches between them, this time, it is companionable. The only thing that stands out in the tranquil night is the steady beat of Wesley’s heart. The scent of pizza sauce and grease still lingers in the air, mingling strangely with something distinctly Wesley beyond the cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne – something sharp, crisp, and cold as a knife’s edge.
“Tell me something, Wesley,” Matt says.
Wesley’s head turns toward him. “What is it?”
“Why me?”
Wesley hesitates, and his Matt hangs onto he moment, the calm before yet another revelation.
Footsteps sound outside the front door. There are three soft knocks, punctuated with the sound of a turning key.
-
There are two people beside himself with keys to his apartment. The first is Fisk, who would be with Vanessa at this hour, the second-
“Mr. Wesley?”
Francis’s voice echoes from the entrance, and Wesley curses internally at the intrusion. He can’t attempt anything when it comes to Matthew Murdock without someone walking in at the wrong moment.
[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 7d/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
“They are criminals,” Matt says, finding a lifeline in an argument and holding onto it for dear life, “Like you said, these people don’t play by the rules, they understand the stakes.”
“And where do you place yourself, Mr. Murdock, in that paradigm?”
Wesley doesn’t try to justify himself, and Matt wonders if this counts as a victory.
“I am not called the Saint of Hell’s Kitchen.”
Wesley’s lips curve with a smirk. “So you mingle with those you detest, embrace their tactics, and use it against them.”
Matt bears his teeth, knowing exactly what Wesley is trying to do.
“Unlike you, I don’t benefit from my crimes.”
“So you don’t feel any sort of rush, each time you emerge victorious? Don’t feel that reassuring warmth of having rid the world of one more villain each time you put down a criminal? Relief and affirmation when a victim thanks you for your timely intervention?”
Matt grits his teeth, “I also feel guilt for those things.”
“You think I don’t?” Wesley admits the fact with such ease it takes Matt by surprise.
“I can’t say I don’t have my doubts,” Matt says, realizing that his is no a battle he can win, “But I’m not going to help you hurt innocent people, Wesley.”
“I’m not asking you to, Matthew,” Wesley says with a soft exhale, “We have a common cause, and by doing what you’ve always done – taking out criminals – we can work together, to take down Fisk.”
“I won’t step back and do nothing if you do anything like Elena, like those bombings again,” Matt says, stubbornly holding his ground, onto the center of his convictions, the principle he had held from the start.
“And you don’t have to, ” Wesley replies, taking that one step back, acknowledging that Matt’s ideology of is worth, “But I need you to trust me, Matthew. A partnership. It’s all I ask.”
Matt waits, but all the riling, raucous parts inside of him have fallen silent.
“Fine.”
The word falls, and Wesley lets out a breath. Matt focuses on his breathing, on holding onto this calm, accepting this strange new arrangement. Blackmail is not a word he can hold onto anymore, not knowing what Wesley has told him, not when he has been given this new power to destroy the man.
Then this is a partnership, a temporary truce that has led to the creation of an alliance. He sinks a little deeper into he couch, hearing the subtle squeak of leather as Wesley too, relaxes in his seat.
Matt is exhausted, yet it feels like a heavy weight has been removed from his shoulders, and for the first time in weeks, he feels like he can breathe.
“Don’t do this alone anymore, Matt.”
Silence stretches between them, this time, it is companionable. The only thing that stands out in the tranquil night is the steady beat of Wesley’s heart. The scent of pizza sauce and grease still lingers in the air, mingling strangely with something distinctly Wesley beyond the cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne – something sharp, crisp, and cold as a knife’s edge.
“Tell me something, Wesley,” Matt says.
Wesley’s head turns toward him. “What is it?”
“Why me?”
Wesley hesitates, and his Matt hangs onto he moment, the calm before yet another revelation.
Footsteps sound outside the front door. There are three soft knocks, punctuated with the sound of a turning key.
-
There are two people beside himself with keys to his apartment. The first is Fisk, who would be with Vanessa at this hour, the second-
“Mr. Wesley?”
Francis’s voice echoes from the entrance, and Wesley curses internally at the intrusion. He can’t attempt anything when it comes to Matthew Murdock without someone walking in at the wrong moment.