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daredevilkink2015-06-01 05:48 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2015-06-01 05:48 pm
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Prompt Post #3
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A Dark Alley and a Bad Idea Part 2.5
(Anonymous) 2016-01-11 05:03 pm (UTC)(link)Matt hummed his reluctant agreement, wondering if Foggy’s patience could be strained that long.
“Foggy won’t mind, trust me.” Long-suffering patience mingled with resignation in her tone. He heard a half dozen untold stories in her heavy sigh and wondered again at what stroke of fate had made him collapse where he had.
Matt didn’t trust anything so benign as coincidence. The Russians and their confederates had been so near to this place, and with Foggy digging up bones in Landman and Zack’s files-
Fisk needed to know this.
“That looks like a deep thought.” Claire paused, and he could feel the way her attention shifted away from the injury to his face. “What did you say you did for a living again?”
Foggy pushed through the door, coffee mugs in either hand, sparing him the necessity of answering. “Coffee? I have a little something in the fridge if you want to try an Irish breakfast.”
Claire hesitated a bare second, reluctant to look away from him, but fatigue won out in the end.
“Matt, coffee?”
“No coffee. No caffeine at all. No alcohol either, Nelson. Bed rest, light meals, lots of water.”
“Well, I mean, whiskey is the water of life…” He trailed off as Claire shifted ominously, “But we’ll stick with conventional water for a couple days.”
“I’ll drop by Thursday to check in. Call if you need me before then.”
Matt knew the comment was directed toward him. Foggy knew it too if his stillness was anything to go by. His chipper voice broke the tension before Matt felt the need to, “Will do. Shall we take our coffee outside and let him sleep?”
The vowels were exaggerated, the wrong syllables stressed. They were certainly going to be talking about him, but Matt found he truly was too damn tired to care.
He allowed himself to drift as Claire put the final touches on her work. By the time she closed the door, he was sleeping more deeply than he had in months.
“What do you think?” Even outside in the hall, Foggy was careful to keep his voice down. It hadn’t escaped his notice how keenly Matt seemed to listen to everything, always with that minute tilt of his head, and a perfectly neutral expression that said the whole of his attention was focused on what he heard.
Claire responded to the urgency of his tone in like manner, face contorting with distaste. “I think you just let trouble in by the front door. Don’t you have a contact at the station? Call the police and let them take it from here.”
“Yes, officers, here is the man I found dying in an alley a couple days ago. As you can see, I’ve patched him up and didn’t even bother reporting it. No need to thank me, really.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that conversation before you called me.” Claire dug her fingers into her temples, doubtless warding off another headache he’d brought on. “Look, Foggy, he didn’t get those scars from sitting at a desk too long. He wasn’t mugged, that was attempted murder, and some of those cuts- he did some damage of his own.”
Foggy’s breath left him on a sigh. It was everything he had considered himself, but hearing it from Claire made it seem that much more pressing. “Well I’m not going to turn him out, I just wondered if maybe you didn’t have an idea where he came from.”
“I don’t know. No tattoos or identifiable markings, but he’s working for someone. God, Foggy, promise me you won’t get yourself hurt.”
“Promise. I’m not taking risks-”
An incredulous snort cut him off, a humorless smile flitting across Claire’s lips.
“And I’ll call if anything changes.” He wasn’t suicidal, but Matt Murdock wouldn’t be anyone’s idea of dangerous for days yet, no matter what Claire thought.
Claire turned to go, mincing down the stairs with uncharacteristic reluctance. She turned back at the first landing, shooting him a final, lingering glance that said she was desperately hoping he had changed his mind. Foggy waved pleasantly, mind already back inside the apartment, fretting over his guest and what sort of arrangements he would need to make to keep up with his work.
For the tenth time in an hour, Wesley glanced at his phone, cursing softly when he saw the screen was still ominously dark. At this rate, it was bound to become a nervous tic.
Murdock had never been out of contact so long before. Punctuality was not one of his redeeming qualities, but over forty-eight hours had passed since his last message. It was an unprecedented lapse, and one Wesley feared might mean his loss. To say that his employer was on edge would be a gross understatement of the facts, and with no way to confirm Murdock’s whereabouts without alerting Anatoly to their work, Wesley was certain all the aspirin in the world couldn’t cure the headache he felt building in his temples.
He slipped quietly into the bright room, navigating his careful way past the wealthy and famous. Fisk did not care for these functions, too aware of what these parasites were doing to his city to ever relax in their company. Still, he had demanded a report nearly an hour past, and Wesley did not have the news he was hoping for.
Wilson Fisk had tucked himself neatly away in a corner, a nearly full glass of white wine in hand and a thin veneer of calm resting over his features. The forbidding scowl lessened somewhat at Wesley’s approach, though the lines of worry etched on his brow grew deeper when he noticed the lack of any relief in his assistant’s eyes. Matt Murdock was one of Fisk’s chosen, among the very few men he allowed the intimacy of his name and home. They had both clawed their way up from the bottom of a very steep ladder, and both were prepared to pay the price for staying on top. It had fostered a curious respect between them that sometimes encroached on affection.
“No news?” Fisk murmured, grip tightening on the glass until Wesley feared it might shatter under the stress.
“None, but perhaps that is for the best.”
Fisk nodded his understanding, but he looked no more at ease than he had a moment ago. “Do you think so?”
“I can’t be certain, but if he were dead I think we would have been duly informed. That we do not have a corpse suggests there is a chance he still lives.”
“Have you checked the safehouses?”
“Of course. If anyone so much as steps through the front door, I will be notified.”
“And the hospitals?”
“Every one within a twenty mile radius of his last reported whereabouts have been checked. If he’s admitted, I will know.”
Fisk’s sigh was more aggravation than resignation, but he nodded his understanding. “Then we have done everything. Now we wait.”
Wesley nodded, turning to take his leave only to be stopped by the heavy weight of a hand on his shoulder. He turned, masking his surprise with a mute question.
“Be careful not to go anywhere alone. Assuming he was successful, there may be consequences.”
“Of course.” At last Fisk’s hand dropped, and Wesley hurried from the room fast as his feet could take him, checking the damned cell once more for anything at all.
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Well that took long enough! Here's to restarting these updates though, and thanks everyone for your patience! :)
Re: A Dark Alley and a Bad Idea Part 2.5
(Anonymous) 2016-01-14 12:32 am (UTC)(link)