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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 5a/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-01 09:33 am (UTC)(link)-
Wesley’s consciousness returns in fragments.
A steady, mechanical beep is the first thing he registers, then the feather-light weight of the blankets covering his body, the hazy, sweet scent of flowers, his limbs feel weighted down with lead, yet he feels adrift as though he is lying on top of clouds.
Someone has trapped his fingers in a tight grip.
Wesley’s eyes blink open, and he stares up at the pale ceiling, slowly trying to gather his disjointed thoughts. His first instinct is, disconcertingly, disappointment at waking up at all, and he pushes that aside in favor of more practical considerations. He has the faint memory of waking once, twice before, when he tried to take a breath and choked on something hard and unforgiving fixed in his throat. An anguished roar still rings at the edge of his consciousness, had it been Fisk?
It doesn’t hurt, Wesley thinks through the haze. This is nothing like that time in Macau. His only discomfort is his dry throat.
He turns his head to examine his surroundings and finds Francis perched at the edge of his chair, head hung, one hand clinging to Wesley’s in a pale grip. The rustle of hair and fabric has Francis looking up in alarm, his eyes widening with the horror when his gaze meets Wesley’s. Francis withdraws his hand like a startled rabbit in the next heartbeat.
It had been his duty to protect Wesley. Francis, who has always been loyal and without fault at Wesley’s back, now sports a terrible bruise on one side of his face.
The jumble of emotions Wesley feels at seeing his bodyguard and driver here at his bedside is not something he has any desire to dissect. Any guilt or affection is just another inconvenience to be filed away at the back of his mind. One emotion he does allow himself to embrace is relief, Fisk had not gone too far in his rage.
Wesley smiles weakly, trying and failing to be reassuring with the way Francis’ expression twists with heartbreak. He tries to speak, but Francis is already rambling before he can get a word out.
“You’re awake! Mr. Wesley, sir, I’ll go get the doctor immediately, and I’ll inform Mr. Fisk.”
Then, Wesley can only watch, with his mouth half open, as Francis almost runs for the door and disappears through it.
He remembers everything about that night – Page, the warehouse, the gun, Murdock – and wishes he doesn’t. He’s done his share of lying while drugged, but it’s not a challenge he enjoys.
Wesley lets out a quiet sigh and closes his eyes. He needs to plan, come up with something least likely to get everyone killed.
He falls asleep before the door opens a second time.
-
The next time Wesley wakes up, Fisk is there.
He is still floating, the painkillers the hospital steadily pumps into him the only thing saving him from screaming in certain agony. It takes him a moment to make note of Fisk there at his bedside. The man has folded himself into a plastic chair that is far too small for his bulk, and stares sullenly at a spot on Wesley’s bed, looking far too much like someone has kicked his puppy.
He compulsively studies his employer; one habit among a dozen others so deeply ingrained even a heavy cocktail of hospital drugs cannot suppress. Though his vision is blurred, Wesley can see the fury simmering beneath Fisk’s sorrow. It’s in the line of tension along Fisk’s shoulders, and the coiled fist the same shape as the bruise that marks Francis’ face, the way Fisk’s lips purse together and tics in an almost snarl every other minute. First Vanessa, and now him, Wesley can’t imagine the past few days have been easy.
Wesley watches, silent in his apprehension. Fisk has been already pushed to the edge, and he can bring no good news for him. The next few minutes will decide not just the fate of Karen Page and Matthew Murdock, but also his own.
Fisk’s gaze drifts toward Wesley, and then he straightens, his eyes lighting up when he sees that Wesley is awake. Wesley tries another smile, and this time it works better than it had on Francis. Fisk’s shoulders sag with relief, and his mouth twitches with the beginnings of a smile.
“Sir,” Wesley says, his voice a scratchy whisper. He winces at the sound of it, and his throat tickles, threatening a cough.
Fisk is already reaching for the bedside table, and there’s the sound of clinking as the man fishes out a chip of ice from the water jug, which he carefully offers to Wesley on a spoon.
“I’m… very glad to see you awake,” Fisk says with his familiar stutter. “Wesley,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
Wesley lets Fisk feed him the ice, and sucks on it coolly, the melting water a welcome relief for his parched throat. He senses the maelstrom of emotions coming from his employer. The knowledge of Fisk’s turmoil calms him, the current scene an echo of countless others he’s become skilled in negotiating. All he has to do is lie, he thinks, lying is easy.
“What…” Wesley begins, playing his thoughtfulness for confusion, “What happened?”
Fisk looks up at him then, his mouth opening and closing as he summons up the courage to admit aloud what Wesley has just gone through.
“You were… attacked,” Fisk says, “They found you in a warehouse, you had been shot.”
Wesley frowns, staring at the wall with a mask of blank confusion. “Oh.”
“We’re trying to find out who attacked you,” Fisk continues, “If there’s anything you remember…”
That is an excellent question Wesley doesn’t know how to answer. He needs more.
“How… how long have I been…?” Wesley’s eyes slip closed and he forces them open again, outwardly as disoriented as the drugs are making him feel. Tendrils of exhaustion are already grasping at his consciousness, and he taps Fisk’s sympathy for all it’s worth. “Um…”
Fisk’s gaze flits away again, guilt weighing the lines of his face. “It’s been five days since we found you.”
Five? Wesley blinks in surprise, it’s never taken that long for him to wake up before. But then again, maybe that was SHIELD’s medical technology at play.
“There were… some complications, we almost lost you, Wesley.”
Five days, and Fisk still hasn’t found his attackers, which means…
His weakness is not entirely an act, and Wesley’s mind works furiously against the tranquil numbness the drugs in his system are trying to enforce. It means that he doesn’t know about Page, that Marlene’s reasons for calling Fisk that night must have slipped through her memory. It means that at the very least Murdock’s friends remain safe for the time being.
That is, unless all those people are dead, and this is Fisk’s way of testing Wesley’s loyalty.
Fisk’s imposing figure looms over Wesley’s bed, and Wesley remembers with startling clarity the depth of rage and violence which his employer has always barely kept contained beneath the surface. How would he react if he confirms that his most trusted right-hand man – his best friend – is a traitor?
The bloody and mangled corpse of Anatoly Ranskahov floats to the front of his mind.
It would be too simple for him to simply tell the truth, and damn Murdock and his friends to a painful death. He could spin his insubordination as a calculated risk, a stupid attempt to wrangle the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen into their control. It is both the simplest and the least appealing option, and it means turning his back on everything he’s worked towards in the past few years, betraying his only ally at the risk of his own life.
So, the alternative, embrace his talents and make up a story about what happened. Fisk has many rivals and Wesley knows all of them well, including the ones who were popular enough during their prime to still have connections in this city. It won’t be hard to fabricate a kidnapping and an attempted murder.
“Wesley?”
There’s a tremor in Fisk’s usually gruff voice that makes Wesley’s stomach twist.
“I-I’m sorry, sir,” Wesley responds in a hurry, selling distraction as exhaustion, “The, uh… the last thing I remember…”
Wesley considers pressure of the bandage around his head, the five days it’s taken for him to wake. He needs to take a chance.
“I don’t… we were in the hospital,” Wesley says, letting a hint of distress slip through his usual control, “I was calling… um…”
He licks his lips, staring at the wall as he pretends to struggle with his memory.
“The senator, to cancel your meeting with him.”
Wesley looks up at Fisk then, anxiety coloring his expression like an eager pup seeking his master’s approval. He lets his expression fall when he finds Fisk staring at him with his mouth fallen open, devastation on his face.
“I can’t… I can’t remember anything after that,” Wesley murmurs, looking away in the next instant with obvious guilt. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“No,” Fisk growls, his voice soft, “No, we will find them, and they will be sorry.”
It worked.
Wesley is careful not to let his relief show as Fisk leaves him with reassurances and orders to rest. He asks more questions, digging for as many details as Fisk is willing and able to relinquish. He walked off by himself after calling Marlene, he’s told, and he would have got taken afterwards. Fisk doesn’t think it’s the same people who attacked them at the benefit, though he refuses to explain why. Throughout it all, Wesley maintains his act of confusion and restlessness.
And Fisk buys it, all of it, without as much as a hint of hesitation or doubt.
Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 5b/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-01 09:35 am (UTC)(link)Stepping carefully along the narrow ledge, Matt approaches his goal, focusing on the weakened heartbeat of the room’s occupant, the slow drip of the IV. There’s no familiar tick of a Cartier watch or the musk of cologne to tell him he has it right, but there isn’t anyone else here who is under as heavy guard.
There’s someone else in there, on the far side of the room away from Matt’s window. The person’s breathing is even and his heartbeat firm and strong, a guard. Fisk is really taking no chances when it comes to Wesley’s safety.
For a moment, Matt considers what James Wesley must have done to earn this level of protectiveness from a man like Fisk. Does Wesley really have no issue with betraying someone who has placed their trust in him so heavily? Is this what he’s made a career on as a SHIELD Agent?
The bed is close to the window, and the breathing of the man lying on it tells Matt he is awake. Matt closes his eyes and thanks God for small mercies. He shifts to the side, positioning himself at an angle that can only be seen by someone looking out the window from the bed. Then he reaches out, and taps once on the glass.
The breathing of both people in the room pause, and there’s a moment of uncertain silence before the person by the door begins to move toward Matt’s window.
“I was just knocking against the bedframe. It’s okay, Francis.”
Wesley’s voice sounds, hoarse and quiet, and far from the smooth baritone Matt remembers. The footsteps stop, and its owner hesitates before returning to his original post.
He has the right room, Matt thinks with a quiet sigh of relief, fixing his grip and his balance so he doesn’t fall off the side of the building. Now if Wesley will just get the guard out of the room.
Minutes pass, and Matt presses his head against the wall, wishing he had worn an extra layer. Finally, Wesley’s voice sounds again.
“It’s a bit stuffy in here, could you open the window, Francis?”
Matt swallows a curse.
“Yes sir.”
The footsteps sound a second time and Matt scrambles to pull himself up another story. His arms are growing tired from continued effort, and Matt grits his teeth as he makes it up just in time for the window below him to be thrown open. There’s a small explosion of warm air escaping into the night, and every sound from the room becomes clearer.
The man returns to his post, and Matt chooses not to move for fear of the sound attracting more attention.
Another ten minutes pass, during which Matt’s arms and legs begin to go numb from the strain. If Wesley doesn’t give him an opening to go in soon, he’ll have to come back another time.
Just as Matt is starting to have serious thoughts about his apartment and his bed, Wesley acts.
“Francis, I need you to go to my apartment,” Wesley orders coolly, “I need you to bring back some books.”
“Sir?” the man by the door replies, “I could send-“
“No, I don’t trust anyone else with access,” Wesley interrupts before Francis can get out a finished sentence. “There’s two on my bedside table and another one on the coffee table. Can you bring them for me?”
The unexpected order has Francis gaping for a moment, before he nods. “Of course, sir, anything you need.”
The guard moves toward the window, and Wesley’s voice sounds again.
“Just close it when you get back.”
Francis hesitates again, looking towards Wesley and then the window, before he nods and turns toward the door.
“Leave the others outside, I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Yes sir.”
The door opens, then clicks closed, and Matt drops onto the window sill below, landing inside the room with a small leap.
On the bed, Wesley’s head turns toward him. There are cuts and bruises along his face, the worst injury hidden under a thick bandage, and his exposed skin colder than it should be. Matt remembers with sudden guilt that he is part of the reason Wesley is hurt this badly.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Wesley murmurs, the corners of his mouth lifting with a smirk.
Matt had lasted one week before he made the call to Claire, asking her yet another favor to find out where James Wesley was transferred to after arriving in Emergency. Adding to his guilt, she’d given him her assistance without protest, calling her work while away in another city.
That entire week, he had been restless and high-strung, not knowing whether to expect Fisk’s men on his doorstep at any moment, or if Wesley had even survived what he went through at Matt’s hands. The vigilante had stayed away from both Ben and Karen, only meeting them (and even Foggy) once to deliver vague warnings about the danger they’re in. Matt had forced himself to stick to routine patrolling, breaking up armed robberies and assaults.
Meanwhile, Fisk’s plans were moving forward. For that entire week, Matt felt powerless.
“I had to make sure you’d be in a state to talk,” Matt returns coldly, his voice soft to avoid attracting the attention of the guards outside.
“Since you haven’t started threatening me with violence, I assume Ms. Page, Mr. Nelson, and Mr. Urich are all doing well?”
“They’re… doing okay, given the circumstances,” Matt says. He’d kept an eye on Karen in the days that followed the shooting, she had been antsy, nervous, but seemed more concerned with making sure Matt and Foggy were alright than anything else. There’d been a few nights at the bar where they all had a few more drinks than wise, but Karen seemed to be fine. Ben too, was back in his office, and getting on a little better with his editor now that he spends more of his time doing the articles the paper wants.
“Thank you,” Matt says. Despite knowing Wesley had set up that scene in the warehouse specifically to trap him into saying yes, Matt can’t help feeling grateful. Wesley’s night had not gone to plan, yet he did not betray them.
Wesley regards him silently, his demeanor unreadable. “No, I should be thanking you,” he says eventually, “You saved my life, Mr. Murdock.”
“I just hope I don’t come to regret it,” Matt says, falling too easily back into animosity.
His words are met with a chuckle that ends in a pained gasp. Wesley’s head lolls against the pillow as he takes a slow, controlled breath.
“Do you… ever get tired of that? Being suspicious all the time?”
“With you I think I have good reason to be.”
“Considering I’m lying here because of you? I thought I’d have at least earned a modicum of trust by now.”
“You’re only here because you chose to put a loaded gun in front of a terrified woman who you chose to intimidate alone in an unguarded warehouse.”
“I’m not claiming that was a smart thing to do, Mr. Murdock,” Wesley responds, exhaustion coloring his tone, “But the alternative was to kill her.”
“Because you couldn’t have warned her? You couldn’t have warned me, instead of kidnapping her in front of her own building?”
“And what would you have done, Mr. Mudock? Put on that scary mask to intimidate her in your own way? Do you think she would have learned if you had only given her a stern talking to? When the death of her colleague, when her near-brush with death while in custody didn’t teach her that lesson?”
Wesley sags against the bed, but his words are cold and harsh. Every one of Matt’s enhanced senses tells him of Wesley’s pain and exhaustion.
“You of all people should understand, Mr. Murdock,” Wesley murmurs, “That sometimes only a show of force… can save people from themselves.”
They’re only excuses, Matt knows… thinks he knows as much, yet he can’t help but remember the threats of violence he’s made to countless people just to deter them from committing their crimes again. They had been criminals, yes, but so many had also been homeless teenagers, jobless parents – people forced by circumstance.
Matt falters, the righteous rage that had simmered inside since the shooting dissipating into confusion and frustration.
Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 5c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-01 09:49 am (UTC)(link)“Then you’ve made your decision?” Wesley says with a soft sigh, his eyes falling closed, and then opening again.
He’s pushed Wesley beyond his limits. Guilt reemerges, unbidden, Matt resists it for all it’s worth.
“You already know what it is,” Matt says, his words taste like defeat. “A partnership, we help each other bring down Fisk.”
Wesley smiles then, an expression so soft it makes Wesley’s heart flip. There’s no duplicity in his expression, no sleazy charm or forced cheer. In his exhausted, injured state there is something about Wesley that feels unguarded, perhaps as close as he will ever get to vulnerability.
Or is he only like this in front of Matt – the only person who knows the truth of who he really is?
His thoughts have drifted to a strange place, and Matt catches himself before they wonder even further from the important things still unaddressed. Why would he for a moment think of Wesley as…
Matt digs into his pocket, pulling out a small piece of folded white paper with a red symbol on top.
“We can start here,” Matt says, tossing it onto the bed by Wesley’s hand, “What can you tell me about this symbol?”
Wesley stares curiously at the scrap of paper, before he picks it up and raises it into the light. His expression shifts into seriousness.
“Why do you want to know?”
“The Chinese’s drug trade, I’m going to put an end to it.”
Wesley’s silent for a moment. “That might not be wise.”
“You said you would help me.”
“I said we would help each other,” Wesley says, “Which means you need to listen to what I have to say before you go chasing after the Chinese.”
Matt holds back a growl, reminding himself he’s decided to work together with the man in front of him, that this isn’t simply Fisk’s right hand man, twisting facts for his own self-interest, no matter what his instincts tell him.
“Alright, I’m listening.”
Wesley sighs, exhaustion lining his features. “Have you ever noticed Hell’s Kitchen’s unusually large blind Chinese population?”
“What are you saying?”
“Ninety-nine percent of them are drug mules,” Wesley regards Matt with a weary glance. “They blinded themselves, from what I was told, and Madame Gao – the head of the Chinese – she pays them a living wage in exchange for their services.”
Matt’s blood turns colder with every word.
“These people, most of them are illegal migrants, and they barely speak any English. If you expose them to the justice system, they will never get out, even if they manage to last given their disabilities.”
Matt understands the truth behind Wesley’s words, understands them too well. Detention centers, jails, people like that disappear into the system and will never find a proper life again.
“It’s part of the reason I never did anything about them back then, and now…”
Wesley drifts off into silence with a sigh of frustration. SHIELD is no more, is that the problem? There is no one who can arrange a better outcome than what the American justice system can deliver.
If he takes down Gao, he condemns dozens of people to a lifetime of poverty and torment. Do the ends justify the means? Matt suddenly wishes he could speak with Father Lantom. There has to be some way… he can’t just stand back.
“Her drugs are killing people, I’m not going to let her continue.”
Wesley nods weakly, his eyes slipping closed. “And organizations from outside will step in to fill the gap, there will be turf wars, poor quality product being sold at a premium. More people die in the crossfire.”
“So you’re saying we just let this continue?”
“I’m explaining, Matthew,” Wesley says, his eyes opening tiredly, “The consequences of your intended actions. The junkies of Hell’s Kitchen won’t… can’t stop just because it’s suddenly harder to get what they want. They’ll just travel further, pay more for worse product, and die faster.”
Matt is silent, wanting, needing a way to refute Wesley’s words but coming up with nothing more than ideology.
“It’s not right.”
“No,” Wesley says, his voice fading, “But if you want to be the cause of the gang wars that will break out as Fisk defends his territory, then by all means.”
Matt's shoulder's sag, with the new weight of a responsibility he had never thought to contemplate. He paces, displeasure and frustration swirling together in a poisonous mix. The only thing he wants is for Hell's Kitchen to become a better, a safer place. Cutting off the flow of drugs may hurt people, but their continuance means that Hell's Kitchen can never start to recover.
Matt can just continue to fight, take a stand against whatever new threats that come.
He remembers then, all those times he's come so close to death, to discovery, in his battle against Fisk. Only Fisk.
“Where are the Chinese?”
“Warehouse 16, Pier 88.”
He can go find the Chinese, Matt thinks. He should go find them, tomorrow night. But Wesley’s words still echo in his mind.
Consequences.
By the time Matt leaves through the window, Wesley is passed out in his bed.
Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 5c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-02 06:16 am (UTC)(link)“I’m explaining, Matthew,” Wesley says, his eyes opening tiredly, “The consequences of your intended actions..."
I love how you have just...unh! It's a thing that has always bothered me about the MCU and Daredevil, especially. Collateral damage. Matt...sees, heh...things so black and white and he's a terrible Catholic--he's not nearly guilty enough. He always seems peripherally aware of his collateral damage--like with the junkie that killed Elena, but doesn't really own it but assigns it so easily to Fisk without realizing that he certainly didn't make the situation much better.
The thing about Madame Gao, wow. Now, I'm actually kind of disappointed in Matt about what he did in the show. Yay! He stopped a heroine ring that provided...premium product and allowed for other lesser quality heroine to possibly flood the market. But you know, beating on the dealers will totally deter people looking to buy... o.O?
This is really a good thing that you are making me doubt the outcome of the television series. But I have always felt that Matt, in the series, was remarkably naive and made me wonder whether he took one too many blows to the head.
I love your Wesley so, so much. The voice you give him and his pragmatic views, just uh...
Wesley is playing the long con and I love how you have Matt struggling to understand how that could be better than his instant gratification approach of beat thug A, cops arrest thug A, boss of thug A replaces him with thugs B and C and repeat until he can advance to boss level.
I just love this fill to pieces. You are doing an absolutely wonderful job! I just love it when people play in the shades of grey that is our reality versus the black and white of fantasy. I love this and thank you for sharing it!
Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 5c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-03 02:31 pm (UTC)(link)My vision of this Wesley (which I've really yet to delve into), is someone who has embraced chaos perhaps too much, and without SHIELD at his back has completely lost direction. This Wesley is someone who has gradually become so used to justifying his crimes with 'for the greater good' that he's slowly losing sight of what that means. This Wesley, if he honestly reflects upon the decisions he's come to make in this post-SHIELD world, will realise that his standards are nothing like the man he used to be. In part that's why I picked the title.
The true difference between this Wesley and Matt is really that between lawful good and chaotic good, their end goals are the same - to help people and save lives, but their approach and the lines they're willing to cross are radically different. It's a lot of fun to play them against each other and have them test each other's boundaries. Matt needs a reminder of what reality is like - of collateral damage and consequence, just as Wesley needs a reminder of why he held the morals he once did. Perhaps they'd come to teach and temper each other into something more well balanced, or perhaps both will resist and hold on rigidly to their ways.
(And maybe somehow they'd accidentally fall in love in the process? We shall just have to see.)
Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 5c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-02 08:52 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 5c/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)
(Anonymous) 2015-07-03 02:33 pm (UTC)(link)