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[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 2b/? (Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)

[(Anonymous)]

Matt frowns, more and more confused by the situation.

“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.