ddk_mod (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ddk_mod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
daredevilkink2015-06-01 05:48 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2015-06-01 05:48 pm
Entry tags:
Prompt Post #3
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #4.
Keep filling prompts on this post! Make sure to link any new fic on the complete or work in progress fills posts so it doesn't get missed.
Please read the current rules before commenting on this post.
Previous Rounds: Prompt Post #1 | Prompt Post #2
Rules:
- YKINMKATO. Play nice.
- All comments must be anon.
- Announce your fill on either the Completed Fills Post or the WIP post.
- Warnings are nice, but not necessary.
- Use the subject line for the main idea of your prompt (pairing, kink, general wants).
- All types of prompts are welcome.
- Put [FILL] or something similar in the subject line when posting a fill. Multiple fills are always okay.
- Don't change the subject line unless you're posting a fill.
- RPF is allowed. Crossovers, characters from the extended Marvel Universe and comics canon are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 TV show in some way.
- Drop a comment on the mod post if you have any problems. There's an alternate link for viewing all the prompts on delicious here, if the above link doesn't work for you.
ATTENTION KINKMEMERS: We have some new rules.
- There's now a WIP post in addition to the Fills post. Fills post is now only for completed fills (and one-shots, and minifills). Unfinished fills and updates go on the WIP post. When you finish it, you can put a link to the whole thing in the Fills post.
- Prompts can only be reposted once one round has passed - i.e., prompts from post #2 cannot be reposted until post #4. Please include a link to where it has been previously posted.
Come talk to me on the mod post if you have any questions <3
ATTENTION KINKMEMERS 2: Late heads up for anyone not on the discussion post - we're closing this post and starting the fill fest when it reaches 4000 comments, which, as of writing, is in 17 comments time. Get any prompts you desperately need in soon!
A Dark Alley and a Bad Idea Part 1.3
(Anonymous) 2015-07-11 07:27 pm (UTC)(link)Foul stuff. The gunk that passed for cheese in this state ought to be criminal. Matt still nodded his approval; food was food and he was in no position to be picky.
“Soup with that?”
Another nod. At least that could act as a palate cleanser. He had started to become accustomed to the finer things in life thanks to Fisk’s support. Perhaps that was why he had been complacent enough to let the Serb take him by surprise; he considered and discarded the idea of reverting to austerity measures, but he had long since paid his dues to his mentors. What comforts he had were earned on days like today.
His host still lingered on the threshold, evidently debating if he was going to say anything further. Curiosity won out.
“You never did say if there was someone I could call?”
“No.”
Wesley. He would have to contact him soon, but not until he could hold his own again. There was something cold in the man, a lack of sentiment that made him hard to read even with hyper-sensitivity. He felt more secure here with the stranger than he did Fisk’s right-hand man. This one at least was easy to read and anticipate. His questions demanded more than he knew, but some vestige of courtesy or perhaps a latent self-preservation instinct kept him from prying too far past the succinct answers he received.
Foggy wasn’t gone long; he returned in short order, betrayed by the clink of porcelain against cheap stainless steel utensils.
“Soup, sandwiches or me?” Laughter again, loud and booming until Matt nearly covered his ears, “Joking, me obviously.” He pressed a tray into Matt’s hands, settling it gently in his lap.
“Guess it’ll be easier if you’re sitting up. Can you do that on your own or do you need help?”
No, no he did not need help. He did not want another stranger’s hands on him, did not want this man to see him struggle up onto his elbows and finally into an upright position.
“Damn, forgot my tray. Be right back.”
A lie if his uneven breathing was any indication, and Matt knew it was. He appreciated the tact, doubly knowing that for his host it was the farthest thing from his nature. Twice he had to stop and catch his breath before pushing himself up a little farther. He could hear Foggy standing just outside the doorway breathing as lightly as he could, tray clenched in anxious hands that wanted nothing so much as to help his guest sit up.
The idea of this man living alone in Hell’s Kitchen was enough to prickle Matt’s skin, all the more because he was getting an inkling of where that ‘Nelson’ had come from and it wasn’t the butcher shop.
“Foggy.”
His host barreled into the room, tray clutched like a shield before him, entirely prepared to do battle with any specter of pain or unease. Matt nearly smiled at the picture he knew it must have made; he could feel his features losing some of their tightness-
“Yes, good, that’s exactly the expression I need you to be wearing when Claire comes back. She thinks you’re some kind of psycho. Then again, being chased by psychos would do that to anyone. And Claire has been, hunted by complete nutjobs that is. I’m guessing you have some experience with that.”
Subtle. The man wanted to be taken for a fool, but his question was shrewd and so carefully delivered it didn’t raise Matt’s hackles.
“Where am I?”
“Right, sorry, my place. Which is to say the building just East of where I found you last night. In the alley. My professional advice is take them to court and hand them their asses, but don’t say I told you so. And isn’t that the first question you’re supposed to ask? Personally if some strange dude dragged me into his bed that would probably be the first words out of my mouth.”
Matt reached out quietly, gesturing for the tray Foggy still held defensively before him. Not a fool at all, for all that Matt was laid up in his bed, stitches pulling at his skin and hairline fractures just beginning to make themselves known, his rescuer was still wary of him. He settled on the very edge of the bed, reluctantly surrendering the tray, his hesitation was almost another presence in the room.
“So, Matt, I can call you Matt right? If there’s no one I can call, is there somewhere you need to go? Claire says you shouldn’t be moving yet, but again, I’d be a little freaked waking up in a strange apartment in New York. That’s how ninety-nine percent of most urban legends begin and at least eighty percent of those end in a bathtub without a kidney.”
“It has happened before.” Matt conceded, inhaling the scent of the soup. It was easy on the spices and hadn’t spent any time in a can; that was good enough for his suddenly ravenous appetite.
“Maybe don’t admit that so casually. Just a tip.” A thread of concern wound through his voice. Finally Nelson was beginning to wonder just what or who he had dragged in the front door. It truly hadn’t occurred to him before now that whatever had harmed his guest might be less threatening than the guest himself.
For some reason, Matt was furious. This idiot had taken a stranger into his home without any thought for his own safety or consideration for his wellbeing. He was speaking cheerily, as though he hadn’t just dragged a half-dead man into his apartment, as though he hadn’t surrendered his bed and exposed his friend to danger. Matt could have snapped his wrist and shoved the tray into his trachea, left him choking and writhing on the floor as he tried to breathe through the ruin of it.
Anything, anything at all. Nelson thought he was safe because his guest was injured, Matt knew even now it would only require a little extra effort to pin this man down and snap his neck before he had even managed to reach his phone. And it was too much to bear; good people were supposed to know their limitations, were supposed to keep watch and be wary lest they meet someone like him. Clearly no one had bothered to inform Foggy Nelson of that fact, and it pissed him off even as he benefited from it.
“Why did you bring me here?” Matt lifted a spoonful cautiously to his lips, wincing at the searing heat. It hit his stomach with a pang of pain that reminded him this was his first true meal in almost three days now. He considered for a moment before laying the spoon aside and drinking down the soup greedily. His host huffed with satisfaction, evidently relieved he was well enough to put a little soup away.
“There was the whole bleeding out in an alley thing. And then there was that part where you begged me not to call an ambulance and I thought I was honoring a death bed wish. Lucky thing for you, Claire had the night off. Not so lucky for me, now I owe her and she always collects her debts.” His voice faltered on an audible wince at the last word. “But hey, what’s a little more red ink in the ledger between complete strangers?”
“What the hell were you doing outside at three A.M.?”
“Tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.” The words were light and jocular, the tone suggested deadly seriousness. Matt took a bite from his sandwich while he considered an answer.
“Fate protects fools.” It was all he could come up with, and the bite in his voice surprised even him.
Foggy accepted the rebuke in good grace considering its source, “So you’re… a fool?”
Matt bit his tongue, iron and copper flooding his mouth a split second before the pain. He paused to glare in the direction where he knew Foggy sat.
“I mean, I get that you think I’m a little stupid dragging you into the house and all, but-” Matt could hear the shrug in the way the material of Foggy’s shirt stretched around his shoulders to accommodate it. “Which of us is worse off, the one that brought you in or the one that needed to be brought in. I could make a case either way.”
There, the spark of recognition he needed! “Landman and Zack.”
“What the hell.” Foggy breathed, more an acknowledgment than a question.
“Franklin Nelson, Landman and Zack. Dismissed for-”
“Resigned. I resigned. Just a few seconds ahead of a pink slip, but it counts. Which raises the question of how you got your misinformation. Were you planning on getting the shit beat out of you solely to get into my bed, because there were far easier ways to accomplish that. Wait, that’s not what I meant. Shit. We are off topic. This is my apartment, that is my bed, and if you want to stay in either one you can tell me why I found you where I did. No offense, but I don’t want to wake up and find out I’m sharing my house with a new breed of crazy.”
“Business complications,” Matt offered, it was the truth after a fashion. Telling enough that it should give Foggy some idea of who he was dealing with, vague enough that he wouldn’t be required to report it or face charges of collusion.
His muttered stream of profanity suggested Foggy had just realized exactly that.
“All right, table that. Let’s go back to how you know my name, because that is the part that’s going to keep me up at night.”
With good reason. Franklin Nelson had been dismissed for pawing through files Landman and Zack had buried so deep an Arctic expedition should have had trouble finding them. One mention of another case in a stray brief had sent Nelson combing through every available, not to mention confidential, source that even hinted at the existence of one Wilson Fisk- one of the premier clients of the firm he was supposed to be working for and Murdock’s direct superior.
What he had found did not inspire any faith in the integrity of his peers and had lead him to no less a personage than Leon Owlsley and a host of misappropriated funds. By the end of the week Fisk had been notified, by Monday Wesley had already taken care of the myriad details that went into destroying a budding attorney’s credibility. None of them had expected Nelson to do anything more than tuck his tail between his legs and slink away, maybe to another city with less prestigious firms.
Franklin Nelson came from old money; there was no reason it should have ended his career entirely. But if his conversation with Claire were any indication, he was still pursuing what leads he had managed to collect from his former employers. And if he had meddled with the Russians on Claire’s behalf already it was no stretch to think the trail implicated those operations as well.
Wesley would have to be notified immediately. Fisk would likely require his services as well.
Murdock set the food aside, appetite ruined at the realization. It was nothing he had not done before, insinuating himself into someone’s confidence, into their lives and their beds and every aspect of themselves they kept so dearly guarded only to turn his knowledge against them. His hands were stained with the blood of companions and lovers. But this was new, killing someone that had gone out of their way to help him. Foggy had expected nothing in return, had not considered him as anything more than a fellow human being in need and had ignored all common sense and warning signs to save him.
That was his mistake.
He rubbed his fingers against the cotton of the sheets, letting the coarseness irritate him. It was a new sensation to process, and one that distracted him at least a little from the persistent agony still coursing through his veins.
It was that little detail that nagged at him: the couch beneath him that had sagged only slightly in the middle, well-worn imitation leather against his skin. A thread count that abraded every raw cut and bruise now that he had been moved to a bed. An apartment in a part of Hell’s Kitchen Matt knew for a fact even criminals stepped lightly in, the creak of hinges and battered floorboards as the man’s companion had let herself in…
Why? The Nelsons took care of their own; Foggy Nelson had graduated Columbia on his father’s dime, had worked at a firm that prided itself on positively exorbitant billing hours. All of these things Wesley had laid before Fisk as an example of why he should be permitted to deal with the problem of an inquisitive attorney rather than Fisk’s prized lap dog. Franklin Nelson would be missed, too many questions would be asked and answers potentially found.
Yet here he was, living far below what his means should have been, consorting with hunted nurses and strange men in alleyways.
Fisk would want to know this, he would want to take action immediately and in a far more definite way than Wesley had arranged.
“Do I get an answer or do I call the police?” The uncertainty had left Foggy’s voice, replaced with annoyance and resolve.
“I worked at Landman and Zack. You were remembered there.”
Not quite a lie. If Nelson tried to verify it, and Matt was sure he would, the records would all be in place that said Matt Murdock had once been an associate. He had, for a time, back when Fisk thought he might make something more of him than just another assassin. That had been the trouble, Matt Murdock was incapable of being ‘just’ anything, he was the best at his duties and his work at Landman and Zack had distracted him from it.
He was worth more as a killer than he had ever been as a defense attorney, and Fisk always placed his pawns where they were most needed.
“No kidding.” The tone was flat and suspicious, words coming hesitantly but firmly. “How’s Marci doing?”
A trap? No, Marci had been working for the firm long before Matt had arrived on the scene. She had become something of a legend among the other associates, someone they could aspire to be and a personal favorite of Wesley’s for her ruthless competence. Still, there was a ring of bitterness in Foggy’s voice that he wanted to avoid provoking.
“Still terrorizing clients and foes alike when I left.” He tried for humor, knew it fell far short at the way Foggy shifted away from him. Playing at gentler emotions had never been Murdock’s forte; for all that he was a killer, he was an honest one.
“Yeah? When was that?”
The sigh that escaped him was unintentional and laden with more disappointment than Matt cared to admit. “Too long.”
It struck the right chord with his host, Matt could feel him moving closer again, hand reaching out to his in an aborted gesture of comfort only to clench in the sheets.
“Sorry they screwed you over too, but trust me, they would have demanded your soul at some point. It wouldn’t be worth it.” He cleared his throat, “So how exactly does a lawyer find himself in an alley in Hell’s Kitchen? Myself excepted because I am not the one that almost died; I am also not the one wearing bondage gear.”
It hurt to laugh, bad enough that Matt could feel hand-to-heaven tears gathering in his eyes at the shock of it. It had been so long. The sound was rusty and hollow, grating on his ears.
“I had a disagreement with a friend of the Russians. We didn’t settle.” No need to say which Russians he meant, Foggy would jump to all the right conclusions if he was half the lawyer Matt thought he must be. No need to explain himself any further; his excitement at hearing someone else admit to tangling with the Russians had set his heart to racing. This was a cause Foggy Nelson sympathized with, and that made Murdock an investment worth protecting.
“Fine, be cryptic.” He sounded considerably more cheerful again, reassured. Curiosity still twined through his words and a great deal more concern, but Matt sensed for now the questions were at an end.
Just as well, it would be a couple days yet before he wanted to leave shelter. When he did he would be faced with the unfortunate choice of whether to report before taking action or eliminating his new target while he had him in the proverbial cross-hairs. Until then they would co-exist peaceably.
“So all that settled, I’m betting you would kill for some clean clothes.”
Matt laughed again, softer this time for the sake of his aching ribs. There was nothing even vaguely amused in the tortured sound.
_______
Yikes! Sorry for the delay, hopefully it won't happen again.
Re: A Dark Alley and a Bad Idea Part 1.3
(Anonymous) 2015-07-12 06:00 am (UTC)(link)Re: A Dark Alley and a Bad Idea Part 1.3
(Anonymous) 2015-07-20 04:00 am (UTC)(link)The Bad news is updates are going to a weekly basis, but the good news is there's guaranteed to be something up every Sunday! :)
OP here
(Anonymous) 2015-07-18 02:16 am (UTC)(link)