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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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[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 1c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-14 02:51 pm (UTC)(link)The voice of Foggy Nelson rings outside the door, and Wesley closes his eyes, groaning internally. He is still stuck half way to the couch with an armful of unconscious vigilante.
“Come on, Matt.”
In his arms, Murdock begins to stir, and Wesley glances down in alarm, before glancing back at the door.
“I need to talk to you, Matt.”
Murdock twitches, and murmurs something incoherent. Wesley tightens his grip, gritting his teeth as he renews his efforts to move the man toward the couch. His movements are forced to be slow, to reduce the amount of sound they make.
“We need to keep going Matt.”
Outside, Nelson’s voice had taken on a hoarse, teary edge, and Wesley doesn’t let himself think about what may have driven Murdock’s best friend to be so drunk as to and turn up at Murdock’s apartment this late in the evening.
“We gotta nail that bastard to the wall.”
They’re almost at the couch, and if Wesley could just unload Murdock onto it…
“We gotta make him pay… for Elena… for everything.”
Wesley’s heart skips a beat, Nelson’s words stopping him in his tracks. He remembers making the necessary arrangements – the photo of the old lady he had prepared, along with the two thousand dollar offering of cash, the rotted teeth and stinking breath of the man who grinned as he took the money. The words of the newspaper that announced her death…
“Matt! Open the door!”
This is a bad idea, Wesley recognises as much, even if Murdock believes Wesley is who he says he is, it still doesn’t take away any of Wesley’s sins. He had arranged for the death of Elena Cardenas and countless others. Personally saw to the destruction of lives and livelihoods, what makes him think that he will be treated with anything but disgust and hatred?
The loud thumps sound again, and Murdock lurches from Wesley’s arms. Surprised, Wesley stumbles backwards and falls to the floor, losing his grip on Murdock who crumples to the ground without support.
Outside the door, there is silence.
There is no way Nelson wouldn’t have heard that. Wesley curses internally and stares as Murdock curls in on himself, moaning in pain.
“Matt?”
He turns to the door in an instant, desperately trying to think of a plan. There is no way he can open the door, one look at either him or Murdock and Nelson will undoubtedly flip.
“Are you okay in there? Matt?”
Which means he needs to make Nelson willingly go away. Murdock wouldn’t have taken it with him to the warehouse. Where is Murdock keeping his cell phone?
Nelson is now rattling the door handle, and Wesley wastes no time scrambling to his feet and scanning the room, it’s dark, but he can’t see anything remotely shaped like a phone.
“Matt!”
What he does see is the half open door to the roof, and his heart almost stops before he is dashing for the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. He makes it to the door just as the other door across the roof is twisting open, and Wesley yanks the door closed, holding it back at the last second so it clicks instead of slamming shut.
He twists the lock just as approaching footsteps sound from beyond the door, and Wesley backs away with a silent prayer that Nelson won’t notice the blood on the handle. He hops over the railing to speed his way downstairs. They are both fucked unless Wesley finds a way to get Nelson out of here.
As loud knocking commences, Wesley makes his way to the bedroom, heaving a sigh of relief when he sees the small black square of a cell phone resting on the bedside table. A second later Wesley has it in his hand, grinning in victory when he gets past the lock screen without trouble. He finds Nelson’s contact details and shoots off a text message.
Foggy where are you?
The loud banging stops abruptly, and Wesley holds his breath as he waits for the response. With slow, silent steps, he makes his way back to the living room, looking up at the roof access door, then back to the phone in his hand as it vibrates with a new message.
Matt?? In at ur laece I thnk someome broke in.
Wesley lets out a soft breath, and glances over to Murdock, who is curled on the floor and seems to have passed out again.
Did someone break the locks? I’ll be right back
This time, the reply comes much faster.
No I heard a crsssj
What?
was a crash
Wesley leans against the wall, and slides down to the floor, exhausted. What would explain the sound Nelson heard?
Oh that’s probably the fridge
Fridge?
Yeah it makes this big thunk sound when the cooling cycle stops. I think I need to get it fixed.
I though theres someome insifw
The doors are still locked, right?
Yeah
Then it’s probably the fridge. Look, why don’t you go home, Foggy? We’ll talk tomorrow?
Wher r u Matt
I’m still at a bar, was going to ask you for drinks but I think I’ll go home soon
Oho k, see you tomrw
With a sigh of relief, Wesley lets his hand fall into his lap, the phone in his hand finally silent.
Across the room, Murdock hasn’t so much as stirred, and Wesley climbs back to his feet, tucking the phone into his pocket as he moves. He walks around the furniture, and crouches down next to Murdock, pressing a hand to his throat.
Murdock’s pulse is weak, but it’s still there. Relieved, Wesley reaches to lift the man, and drags him for the final stretch onto the couch. Then, he goes to fetch the medical bag, reaching for the light switch as he passes.
Click. Nothing happens.
Disbelieving, Wesley looks up at the light and tries a few more times.
Of course, a blind man wouldn’t have any use for light. The bulb is either non-existent or busted.
Wesley sighs, and returns to the couch, staring down at the unconscious vigilante for a long moment before he goes to pull off the black hood.
Matthew Murdock’s head lolls limply on the armrest, his face exactly as Wesley remembers, only with more grime and bloody cuts.
“You’d better be grateful about this tomorrow morning.”
Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 1c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-14 05:02 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 1c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-14 05:08 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 1c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-14 09:53 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 1c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-15 01:02 am (UTC)(link)[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 2a/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-15 08:12 am (UTC)(link)---
Matt wakes up thinking he’s drowned, memories of violence, of flame, of ringing gunshots, burning human flesh, the shocking cold of fetid water all dancing at the edges of his consciousness. He wakes gasping for breath, swallowing back a whimper as almost every part of his body flares with pain.
His senses reach out, painting an image of his surroundings with the coppery tang of blood mingled with disinfectant, coffee with milk and one sugar, the light rustle of a fine cotton shirt, the friction of skin against glass, the too familiar tick of an expensive watch…
“Mr Murdock, I see you’re back among the living.”
The sound of the smooth voice has Matt’s heart seizing in fear. His memory returns in fragments, but he remembers with startling clarity his despair the moment he recognised the man looming outside was the same man who had tried to kill him earlier that night. That moment of terror and self-loathing, knowing it was his own arrogance and stupidity that had led him to this point, and the fear that came with understanding he had doomed his friends and everyone he cares about.
He would have ran, would have went for his phone, would have done something, if it hadn’t taken every ounce of his strength just to remain upright.
Wesley, lounged on the sofa chair across from Matt, stands up and walks towards him. Matt tenses, relaxing slightly only when Wesley walks right past him to the kitchen counter.
Gritting his teeth, Matt pushes himself upright, ignoring the sharp stabs of pain his body responds with in protest. The blanket covering him falls to his lap as he struggles, and after too long, he is finally sitting up, his breathing laboured from what should have been an easy task.
Wesley, who had simply stood back and watched while he fought his way up, tries to hand him some bitter smelling pills and a glass of water.
Matt ignores the proffered hand, instinct telling him not to trust the man in front of him. Wesley should not be here, if Matt had just been more careful, if he’d just stopped and taken a moment to think before throwing himself into that warehouse, they would not be here.
“It’s an analgesic,” Wesley says, “I’d take it if I were you.”
Matt hesitates, mentally taking stock of his injuries, each bruise and hurt he can feel. Someone had patched him up during the night, and they’d been thorough about it, knew what they were doing. Yet Matt couldn’t find it in himself to feel grateful to the criminal standing in front of him.
“If I had wanted to kill you, Mr. Mudock, I wouldn’t wait until morning to do it with pills."
Matt almost wants to refuse out of pure spite before another spasm of pain changes his mind. He takes the glass of water and the pills when they’re pressed into his hand, but holds onto them, ignoring his burning thirst. The pills can still be laced with something, maybe to lower his inhibitions and make him more agreeable, open to interrogation. Or something worse.
Wesley, who doesn't seem to actually care whether Matt actually takes the pills, settles back into the sofa. “Want some brunch?” Wesley says, annoyingly at home in Matt’s apartment.
“You haven’t killed me,” Matt says instead of answering, his voice hoarse. He holds tightly onto the glass, thinking it can be a weapon if necessary.
“No,” Wesley responds, his tone almost whimsical. “How much of last night do you remember?”
“All of it,” Matt says and immediately realises that’s not true, “Most of it.”
He wants to ask about Foggy, and his vague memories of his best friend’s screaming voice, but the idea of discussing anything about Foggy with this man feels wrong.
“What about your best friend turning up outside the front door demanding to see you?”
Matt tenses, raising his head to face Wesley, his ears tuned to the man’s heartbeat. There hadn’t been so much as a single flutter when he said those words.
That’s what he was doing last night, Matt recalls, listening to Wesley’s heartbeat, waiting to hear a lie. But everything he said had rung true, his promises of meaning no harm, his need of help. It’s what had finally made him let down his guard.
“I convinced him to leave, eventually,” Wesley says when Matt does not respond, and the tone of his voice suggests there is much more to the story.
“If you hurt him…”
“Though you might want to act like you were at a bar late last night, and… now you’re absent from work due to your hangover. Oh, and I also told him your fridge needs fixing.”
The threat Matt prepared dissolves into bewilderment with every word Wesley says. Matt opens his mouth, and then closes it again. “How did you…?”'
“Texting,” Wesley says, shifting and fishing a cell phone – Matt’s cell phone, from his pants pocket. “Since Mr. Nelson didn’t immediately call the police I assume you do regularly make use of speech-to-text software.”
Wesley places the phone on the armrest, and Matt’s breath hitches, realising with cold certainty that the man would have gone through and made note of every one of his contacts, read every recorded conversation. Claire, Father Lantom, Wesley would know of every one of them, and if he leaves, he takes that knowledge with him.
Something must show in his expression, because Wesley chuckles, his voice low.
“And this is the part where I reiterate, again, that I have no intention of harming you or your friends.”
Matt reminds himself to breathe, taking long, measured breaths to bring his racing heart back under control. He needs nothing more than to get rid of the man currently in front of him.
“What do you want?”
Matt mentally cycles through the possibilities, and not a single one is reassuring. Is it blackmail? Does he want to recruit him, perhaps? Make him Fisk’s new attack dog? Or does he want them to take on more cases, work defence for another one of Fisk’s enforcers?
“What do you know about SHIELD, Mr Murdock?”
The non-sequitur throws Matt completely, and he sits there, silent for a long time as he tries to come up with a reason for this question. His ears tell him Wesley’s heartbeat has quickened, that this question is serious, but Matt can’t figure out why.
“It’s a now defunct global intelligence agency?” Matt says, deciding to play along, “They were infiltrated by HYDRA and nearly murdered millions of people before Steve Rogers stopped them.”
Wesley is silent, and, Matt notes with interest the sudden ragged edge of his breathing.
“That’s right,” Wesley says eventually, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against his leg. He takes a quiet breath, and his only heartbeat only quickens instead of calms.
[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 2b/? (Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-15 08:15 am (UTC)(link)“What has SHIELD got to do with any of this?”
“Tell me, Mr. Murdock, how are you able to fight the way you do? You are a blind man, yet you have proven yourself more capable than a dozen trained, sighted men combined.”
Matt’s frown deepens at the deflection. What is it about SHIELD that has Wesley avoiding a topic he himself brought up?
“The chemicals that made me blind also enhanced my other senses,” Matt says, knowing Wesley would have already figured out as much. ”I can hear more, feel more, changes in temperature, chemicals in the air, small vibrations, all of it gives me an impression of my surroundings. For example, I can tell that you dye your hair, but not all of it. Are you going grey, Mr. Wesley? You also favour artisan soap that smells of apple and citrus, though right now you mostly smell like blood and sweat. You like your coffee with milk and one sugar, and that’s your fourth cup today.”
His words are met with silence, Wesley perhaps taken aback, or perhaps mulling over the implications. It’s useless holding onto this secret, that much Matt realises. His best bet is to shock him, impress him, perhaps throw him off balance and reassess his strategy and Matt’s usefulness.
He doesn’t know how much it would turns things in his favour, but at this stage he’s willing to take whatever he can.
“That’s impressive, Mr. Murdock,” Wesley says after some time, not trying to defend the list of habits Matt has picked up on. “But a blind man doesn’t pick up skills like yours without hands on teaching. Someone trained you to use those senses, didn’t they? Just as they trained you to fight. Would that be fair to assume?”
Wesley is in his element, and Matt hears the way his heart finds a fast, even rhythm, overriding any of the panic and emotional weakness that had threatened him earlier.
“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Matt says quietly, wondering if he’s just offered up Stick on a platter.
“I thought so,” Wesley says, leaning back in his chair in thoughtful silence.
Matt hates what is happening, being forced to reveal every one of his long kept secrets to a man who has threatened and killed countless innocent people for a ruthless man. But he knows just as well there is no point in denying what Wesley has already figured out to be true.
Matt sits still, fighting against the exhaustion that has begun to tug at his consciousness. This conversation has already gone on for longer than his body is comfortable with, and shows no sign of ending soon. He tugs the hoodie tighter around himself, ignoring the weight of Wesley’s gaze.
Matt’s opponent shifts, and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You see, Mr. Murdock,” Wesley starts, “I have a few talents of my own. Languages and accents, for one, I’ve always been good at picking them up. Reading people too – body language, microexpressions, even the language you use, the way you phrase your sentences. I can tell what people are really thinking, what they don’t want you to know.”
“Do you want me to find you a job?” Matt deadpans, ignoring the way his heart seizes at the thought that Wesley has read far more into him than Matt has realised.
Wesley laughs, a short, bitter sound. “What I’m saying, Mr. Murdock, is that I was also trained, shaped to be the person I am today.”
Matt remembers their earlier topic, and his stomach sinks.
“The people who trained me? They picked up on my talents, helped me hone them, taught me to use my gifts as a weapon. Does that sound familiar?”
Matt stays silent, waiting, dreading Wesley’s next words.
“And their assignment of choice? Extended, deep cover missions.”
Matt closes his eyes, not wanting to believe a single word that comes out of Wesley’s mouth. He does not want to feel any bit of sympathy for this man, even if Wesley’s heartbeat remains strong and steady with every revelation.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Murdock?” Wesley says, his voice firm and even. “I am… was… an agent of SHIELD.”
And SHIELD’s collapse left him without an extraction plan.
Matt doesn’t need to have listened to action movies and spy thrillers to understand the implications of his words. James Wesley, if he is who he says he is, is a field operative abandoned in the middle of a dangerous undercover mission. Yet instead of fleeing for his life he’d decided to retreat into his role. Now he probably feels trapped, with too many relationships and bad deeds tied to his identity to make a clean break.
Worst of all, Matt knows, instinctively, that Wesley is not lying. Even aside from his steady heartbeat, there is nothing for Wesley to gain by making up a story like this. It can destroy him. Whatever potential allegiance or ceasefire he wants with the vigilante – with Matt, can’t possibly mean so much for him to arm Matt with a lie that will lead to Wesley’s death.
“Even assuming that I believe you,” Matt says in the end, picking his words carefully. “What do you expect from me?”
“Damage control,” Wesley says without missing a beat. “There’s only so much I can do to limit the amount of harm done to innocents, but outside interference from a known threat? That is beyond my control. I can give you names, times, locations, clues which will lead you right to Fisk’s illegal operations. If you disrupt enough of his activities, we will weaken him, and one day, when the time is right, he will land in jail where he belongs.”
“Why not just go to the police?”
Wesley’s eyebrows shoot up. “Do you have any idea how corrupt the police force is in this city?”
“The Feds, then.”
“And put myself in jail?”
“If you work with them they’d give you immunity, it’s been done before.”
“And how long do you think I’d last in witness protection?”
“So this is about protecting yourself.”
“Mr. Murdock,” Wesley says, leaning forward, the picture of calm, “I am not asking for your advice, I’m not asking for your friendship, I’m not even asking for your trust. What I am proposing here is a mutually beneficial alliance. One where you will get to continue to be the hero and save innocent lives from the scum of Hell’s Kitchen while undermining the operations of Wilson Fisk, while having your secret identity being protected by his right-hand man. And one where I will be able to sleep better at night knowing that there is someone like you out there watching over the city and all its oblivious citizens, that the days of the disgusting man I work for are now numbered.”
Wesley pauses, then stands, reaching for his suit jacket. Matt says nothing as the man makes to leave, mulling over the words he’d just heard.
Footsteps against wooden floorboards, Wesley is almost at the door.
“How do I know that you’re not just sending me to take out Fisk’s rivals? Or that you’re not sending me into a trap?”
Wesley stops.
“You don’t, Mr. Murdock. You’re just going to have to use your own judgement,” he says quietly, turning to look at Matt. Then, he hesitates. “Do we have a deal?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s good enough for now,” Wesley says. “Get some rest, Mr. Murdock, I wouldn’t go out in your condition.”
The front door clicks, and then he is gone.
[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 2c/? (Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-15 08:19 am (UTC)(link)There is nothing he wants more in this moment than just to lay back down and sleep for a thousand years. But that’s not a luxury he can indulge in right now. Matt stares at his phone, resting what seems like an impossible distance away.
He looks down at the glass in his hand, and gulps down the water.
Then, he drops the pills onto the floor, takes a deep breath, and leans forward.
His knees immediately buckle, and he catches himself with his arms barely in time to save himself from flopping onto the ground. His muscles and injuries are screaming in protest, though he has no doubt that without the painkillers Wesley gave him, it would all be hurting a lot more.
It’s not far, two, three meters at most.
Slowly, he pushes himself forward, ignoring his body’s disapproval and progressing on sheer power of will. What feels like an hour later, he makes it to the sofa, and finds it’s still warm.
He did smell like blood, Matt’s blood, most likely. The idea that Wesley has spent all night in Matt’s apartment is like a violation, and Matt wonders if the man had gone through more than just his phone. Did he find the hidden chest? The one hiding his father’s boxing robe? Just the thought of Wesley’s hands on the material has Matt feeling sick to his stomach.
Reaching for his phone is much harder than it should be, but it’s not long before Matt has it back in his hand. He lets himself have a minute to breathe before he dials Foggy’s number. It barely rings before it is picked up.
“Matt? I was getting worried, it’s past one o’clock, are you still coming in?”
“Hey Foggy,” he says, clearing his throat when he hears how hoarse his voice is. “I think I’m going to take a sick day, I’m a little worse off than I thought.”
“Do you want me to come over?” Foggy says, the worry in his voice instantly deepening.
“No, no,” Matt says, “I’ll be okay tomorrow, I need to remember not to drink so much.”
“Ha, tell me about it,” Foggy says with a laugh, “I didn’t even make it in until eleven, I wanted to die.”
“You can always just go home,” Matt offers. Simply talking to Foggy has the power to make him feel better, Foggy’s warm enthusiasm a reminder that there are still parts of his life that is normal, safe from the mess and chaos that is the world of the vigilante.
“And have Karen judge me? No thank you,” Foggy replies with exaggerated offence. “I am here to work, and we are going to get those bastards.”
The reminder of Elena is like being doused with cold water. Matt knows, without question, that Wesley is the one responsible for Elena’s death. But if he agrees to work with him… he might be able to prevent another death like hers. The possibility alone makes Matt want to say yes to Wesley’s offer.
Part of him is tired of fighting this battle alone. Last night is evidence enough of just how well he’s doing by himself.
“Yeah, we’ll get them Foggy,” he says, his voice cold. “They’ll pay for what everything they’ve done to these people, they’ll pay for Elena.”
“Yeah,” Foggy murmurs, “We’ll make sure of it.”
Their conversation ends soon after, and Matt is left leaning against the sofa, fighting against the wave of lethargy that’s just washed over him. The only thing keeping him from just curling up on the ground and passing out is the insistent pangs in his stomach, reminding him he hasn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.
Matt slumps against the sofa, considering and dismissing the possibility of returning to the couch, resigning himself to misery. If he just rests a while, he thinks, he should have the energy to return to the couch, and maybe also order himself something to eat.
The front door sounds with three polite knocks. Matt sits there dumbly, almost sure he’s hearing things. Then it clicks open.
The smell of food hits Matt instantly, chicken soup, newly baked bread, and fresh fruit and vegetables. The now too familiar sound of that ticking watch announces the identity of the intruder, and Matt’s mouth falls slightly open.
Wesley makes his way towards the living room, and then stops at the entry, undoubtedly staring at the sorry sight that is currently Matt Murdock.
“You’re back,” Matt manages.
“Yes,” Wesley says, his voice a little choked, “I thought I’d get you some food in case you starve.”
Then, Wesley sets the plastic bags on the kitchen counter, and walks towards Matt, who grits his teeth and lets Wesley help him to his feet. Together, they waddle towards the couch, and Matt finds himself being slowly lowered back onto the soft surface. Then, the blanket is picked up from the floor, and being wrapped around Matt’s shoulders.
Matt sits, frozen in bewilderment as Wesley returns to the kitchen, knocking around the drawers and cupboard until he finds a plastic chopping board. Then, he picks up the bags and returns to Matt, who tracks him warily.
Matt holds his breath as Wesley leans in far too close for comfort and places the board on Matt’s lap, nudging away Matt’s arms that are in the way.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Matt says when he finally finds his voice, opening his legs to let the board balance properly.
“And you don’t have to eat it,” Wesley replies wryly, taking out the carton of hot soup and the bread, placing both on top of the board.
“Here,” says Wesley, and there is the sound of ripping plastic and the sudden smell of disinfectant, a sanitising napkin is pressed into Matt’s hand.
Another plastic container is unloaded from the bags, and when Wesley opens them Matt smells fruit salad. Wesley disappears into the kitchen again, and when he returns he drops a spoon onto Matt’s lap, along with a fork.
There’s more food in the bag, Matt can smell at least two different sandwich fillings behind the layers of paper and plastic. He realises the food belongs to Wesley, who must not have had lunch yet.
Wesley steps away, and there’s the sound of rustling as he picks up the bag again.
“You’re not staying?” Matt asks without thinking.
“Do you want me to?” Wesley replies, and Matt doesn’t miss the tiredness in his voice.
He doesn’t respond, and Wesley take his silence for the rejection that it is. Within seconds, he’s gone again, the door clicking firmly shut behind him, this time, Matt hears the weight of the door lock.
Matt is left sitting with his lap full of food, his mouth watering.
Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 2c/? (Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-15 08:37 am (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 2c/? (Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-15 02:21 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 2c/? (Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-15 03:14 pm (UTC)(link)[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 3a/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-16 12:35 pm (UTC)(link)Also, warnings for canon level Claire/Matt in this chapter.
---
Wesley makes it through the afternoon on coffee and adrenaline alone, prioritising a shower and a change of clothes before getting to work finalising arrangements for the gala that night. Despite his effort to focus on his tasks at hand, his thoughts repeatedly drift to the injured man he left behind.
He’d taken an enormous risk, telling Matthew Murdock the truth about who he is, and Wesley knows with cold certainty that he’s equipped the man with the power to destroy him. Fisk may see him as a friend and a confidante, but only a seed of doubt is needed to dismantle that trust. He’s relied on that fact enough times in his career to know that even the strongest bonds can be shattered with the mere implication of betrayal.
But at the same time, Wesley knows that Murdock is a risk worth taking. A third party, dangerous, incorruptible, no one he’s encountered so far has demonstrated Murdock’s dedication or skill in disrupting this existing status quo. He has the exact amount of mystery, volatility, and blind idealism for the type of misdirection Wesley needs to dismantle Fisk’s empire from within. Murdock will be the perfect scapegoat, a distraction even more effective than the beautiful Vanessa Marianna, while Fisk’s support structure is pulled out from under him.
Indulgence, Wesley finds, be it in sins or virtues, is always what leads people to willingly walk themselves over the cliff. His bribes need only be the promise of something previously thought unattainable, and it rarely mattered whether what is offered is an opportunity or even a person. In the end, it’s only a matter of knowing what gives Murdock that same rush of pleasure most receive from gaining large sums of money. Idealistic men like are not any less predictable than those motivated by greed.
When Wesley is practicing tying bow ties on Francis, he asks Wesley what’s on his mind. Wesley just smiles, and assures him that he’s just concerned about arrangements for the gala. The knot is complicated, and it’s very different doing it for someone else compared to doing it for yourself.
At 4pm sharp, he turns up outside Fisk’s penthouse, and his hands are steady as he prepares Fisk’s bow tie, even if it’s a little hard to remember the moves he just practiced. Leland, as usual, has found another thing to complain about, and Wesley stays silent as Fisk reassures his partner that Vanessa’s continued existence is necessary.
He makes comments when the situation calls for it, and thinks that no one notices the fact he had spent the entire night awake in the apartment of the vigilante they’re trying so hard to kill.
If things go well, he’ll be in bed by midnight, and he thinks it won’t be too hard to hold out until then.
-
At midnight Wesley is staring blankly at a hospital wall, wondering what else can go wrong.
Of all the things to nearly bring an end to Fisk’s life, poisoned champagne had not been on the top of Wesley’s list.
If Vanessa dies, Fisk will tear apart Hell’s Kitchen looking for the people who hurt her.
If Vanessa survives, Fisk will still tear apart Hell’s Kitchen looking for the people who hurt her.
A lot of people are now going to get hurt in the crossfire, all because some idiot was stupid enough to attempt an assassination. Wesley wonders if it wouldn’t have been better if he had followed his whims and drank the champagne too. What a waste of good wine.
He passes time by conversing with Leland, and when his patience runs out he chats with Francis, confirming and reconfirming the security measures they have in place to prevent another attack from happening. Francis’ eyes are worried when he looks at Wesley, and Wesley pretends he doesn’t notice.
The night drags on into morning, and in between cafeteria food and his… something cup of coffee Wesley hides his shaking hands and stays beside Fisk who drowns in his quiet devastation. Wesley reassures concerned parties through phone call and through text, keeping tabs on the police investigation and their private sources for any hint of the attacker’s identity, Leland leaves with his instructions to speak to Gao.
Wesley should go himself, but Fisk needs him at his side.
Mid-morning, he sends Murdock a text asking him if he’d like Wesley to send someone to take care of his wounds.
As expected, he gets no reply.
[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 3b/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-16 12:43 pm (UTC)(link)“Get on the bed,” Claire says with a sigh, hefting her kit and stepping through the entrance, “Do I even want to know?”
“It’s probably better if you don’t,” Matt replies with a grimace, remembering the fire, Fisk, and the strange morning that followed. He still has no idea what he'll do with Wesley's offer, and the likelihood that he'll be forced to say yes is an unpleasant thought to be left with.
“Alright,” Claire says, grabbing Matt’s elbow despite his protests, and supports him until they reach the bed. Matt sits down, and stiffly takes off his hoodie.
Just hearing Claire’s voice, however, puts Matt at ease. In that moment he lets himself focus on the fact of her presence, instead of the warning he has to give.
Claire goes through her supplies, taking out antiseptic along with the thread and needle. When Matt is settled on the bed, she sits down gently next to him, and goes over his injuries with a critical eye.
“Whoever did this is good, these stitches were neat,” she says, examining the deep cut on Matt’s side where stitches have ripped. “They didn’t tell you not to move around too much?”
“They…” An image of Wesley, bent over him and sewing him back together enters Matt’s mind unbidden. “Sort of.”
“You really need to rest,” Claire continues as she starts to prepare, “Let yourself heal.”
“I meditate for that.”
Claire’s head turns a fraction towards him, telling Matt she just gave him ‘a look’. “So, the one who cleaned you up, new friend?”
“No, uh… no,” Matt says, the denial coming easily. As much as he dislikes this topic it’s better than the one he is avoiding. The idea of having anything close to a friendship with James Wesley feels so ridiculous he almost wants to laugh. He does his best to ignore the friction as Claire slowly removes the ripped stitches. “They just… happened to help.”
“And this person had no issue with your… reputation?”
The man had a direct hand in making Matt’s reputation what it is today. “No.”
“Okaaaay,” Claire says, nodding slowly. “So they’re a fan?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Claire lets out a soft sigh. Matt braces himself, and needle pierces skin.
“What’s your excuse to your best friend this time?” Claire says, finally giving up after the lack of straight answers. “You’re not going to explain this away by claiming you tripped.”
“Bar fight, he already knows.”
When Matt realised that he wasn’t going to make it into work that day, he called Foggy. The ensuing conversation is not one he wants to think about.
“He made me apologise for not telling him sooner.” Matt says. Claire is here and the words are falling out of him. Foggy had also wanted to sue the bastards who had done this to Matt, but Matt managed to talk him out of it.
“I bet he did,” Claire says with a quirk of her lips, her voice is soft and it makes Matt smile.
“He cares a lot about you, your friend.”
“Yeah, he came over right away.” Matt says, “I only just convinced him to leave before I called you.”
“You’re gonna keep doing this then?”
Claire’s voice turns accusatory, and Matt ignores the guilt that surges in his chest.
“I can’t stop now, Claire,” he says quietly, “Not after everything.”
“I don’t want to be stitching a corpse next time, Matt.” Desperation tinges her voice. “You should get some body armour, at the very least.”
Matt had been thinking the same thing. There had been some sort of protective layer in the lining of Fisk’s suit that had saved him from injury during their fight. He remembers the sound of metal slicing through fabric, grating against something hard and metallic.
Will Wesley share the details with him if he asks? If Matt wants to he can pitch it as an investment. But the idea of going to Wesley for help, of saying yes and hearing that smugness in his voice, it still turns his stomach.
For some time, the only sound in the room is the whisper of thread pulling through flesh. Matt lets himself focus on Claire, her soft breathing, the scent of her soap, and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. He’s missed her. He’s missed her so much.
“You could tell him, you know.” Claire breaks the silence as she rolls a bandage over his stiches. “You’ll get yourself killed, going at this alone.”
Foggy hates the vigilante, and he’ll hate Matt for being him. “It’ll just put him in danger.”
“You might think that, Matt,” Claire says, frustration pushing overcoming her patience at last, “But he was in danger from the moment you put on that mask. The least you can do is show him respect by telling him.”
Matt is silent, speechless in the knowledge that she is not wrong. But the thought of telling Foggy, of possibly losing him, is too terrifying to dwell on. In the end, the only thing he can manage is a whispered, “I can’t.”
Claire ignores him from that point, and soon, her work is done. She packs up her bag as Matt pulls his hoodie on over fresh bandages, and is almost at the door before Matt works up the courage to tell her.
“Claire, wait.”
Her movements slow, and then stop. “What is it?” she says, turning toward him.
Matt takes a deep breath.
“You might be in danger.”
“Did something happen?” she says, weariness in her tone.
“Yeah. It might be nothing, but… be careful, alright? Call me if you notice anything suspicious.”
Claire lets out a breath, her shoulders sagging, and Matt can sense her fear.
“It’s okay,” she says softly, “I’m taking some time off, gonna leave the city for a while.”
A spike of panic shoots through Matt at those words. He’s going to be alone now, he realises with growing apprehension. No one else will know about him except for James Wesley.
“How much time?” he asks without thinking, forcing a flirtatious grin onto his lips. He hears the quiver in his voice and hates himself for it.
“Why?” Claire asks, defiant, “You going to miss me?”
He almost opens his mouth to say yes, but the memory of Wesley in his apartment comes into his mind, and he can’t forget the way the man had been toying with his phone, had showed off the fact that he texted Foggy and convinced him to go home.
Matt swallows back the words he wants to say.
“It’s probably for the best, you’re not safe staying in New York.”
Claire stands there, and then she nods.
“I meant what I said,” Claire says before she leaves, leaving Matt alone in his empty apartment. “Talk to Foggy, don’t go at this alone anymore, Matt.”
[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 3c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-16 12:47 pm (UTC)(link)Sending Leland home makes Wesley ache for his own apartment. His one stolen nap in the late afternoon has, against logic, somehow only made him more tired. Wesley thinks about his bed, regrets it immediately, then finds a wall to lean on before he makes his next call.
“Hello, Marlene?” he says, forcing cheer into his voice, “It’s Wesley.”
He pushes aside the fog in his head, sagging a little as the conversation continues and they go through the formalities. When Marlene asks about her guests, it takes Wesley a long time to process the meaning.
“Wait, I’m sorry, who came to visit you?”
-
Punching things, Matt has come to find, is an effective form of stress relief, even if it leaves you injured and hurting all over with new injuries on top of old. The violence is an outlet for whatever negative emotions he finds festering inside of him. Anger, frustration, fear, those feelings he can channel into power, fuelling his strength and his determination where willpower falters.
He’s leaping from one rooftop to the next, already halfway home from Potter’s workshop when his phone starts to buzz. When he lands, takes a second to calm his breathing before he answers, thinking it must be Foggy.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Murdock.” James Wesley’s smooth voice sounds over the speaker, and Matt immediately has the urge to punch something.
“What do you want?”
“Are you… are you out on the streets again?” Wesley says instead of answering. He sounds almost outraged.
Matt looks around the dark and empty rooftop, the sounds of wind and city traffic suddenly loud to his ears.
“Well that saves me one question,” Wesley continues.
“That’s none of your business right now,” Matt returns, “I haven’t decided about your offer.”
“I’m usually a lot more patient, Mr. Murdock,” Wesley replies without missing a beat. “That’s not why I’m calling.”
Wesley pauses, and Matt resists the urge to just hang up. Every part of his body is throbbing from the fight earlier, and he does not have the time or the patience to play one of Wesley’s games.
“How much do you know about your friends’ activities?”
Those words grab Matt’s attention. “What are you talking about?”
“Well,” Wesley says, “I just received a phone call describing to me the activities of three very particular individuals. A pretty blonde lady with beautiful blue eyes, a nice blond man with long hair, a bit chubby, and an African American gentleman who seemed ‘very kind and a little bit sad’.”
Wesley’s words are like a hand closing around his throat, and it’s harder and harder to breathe. Why didn’t Foggy tell him? He should have asked, he shouldn’t have just assumed they’d sit back after Elena, not when Foggy had turned up at his door like that.
“What did they do?” Matt forces each word, fury simmering beneath his calm.
Wesley is silent for a moment, and Matt knows he is savouring this moment.
“They found Wilson Fisk’s mother, and paid her a visit.”
“If you touch them-“
“Really? Mr. Murdock? Threats?”
Matt bites his tongue, struggling to regain control of his anger. Wesley is the one in control right now, and he cannot afford to rile him.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Well, I thought you might want to save them,” Wesley says as if it’s obvious.
“And you’d just let me do that?”
“Did I dream up our conversation yesterday morning? Or have you forgotten everything we’ve discussed?”
“Right,” Matt almost scoffs, “You’re the good guy.”
He still has trouble believing any of it.
“I know I might not act like it, Mr. Murdock, but SHIELD picked people like me for a reason.”
The mention of SHIELD has Matt recoiling, and there’s a dissonance in the idea of Wesley being SHIELD that he still can’t reconcile. He’d checked the deep web and the leak sites containing leaked SHIELD files for any mention of a James Wesley, but there hadn’t been a single match. The complete lack of information was not surprising, but it did nothing to assuage Matt’s doubts.
“If you want to help Ms. Page,” Wesley continues without waiting for Matt’s response.
“Come to the warehouse at the end of Pitt Street.”
“You know I haven’t said yes to your offer.”
What could SHIELD have wanted with Wilson Fisk that they’d push him into power? Matt would rather believe that it’s HYDRA who was pulling Wesley’s strings.
“Call it a gesture of goodwill,” Wesley says, “I’d hurry if I were you.”
Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 3c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-06-16 02:58 pm (UTC)(link)