Prompt Post #3

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[FILL] He Who Fights Monsters 6b/? (Re: Matt/Wesley - Good!Wesley, Undercover)

[(Anonymous)]

Wesley is floating on the edge of sleep when the sound of a sharp knock against the window pierces through his consciousness.

He forces open his eyes, blearily staring at the shadows, his mind an exhausted blank.

The knock comes again.

“Come in?” he asks the empty hospital room, a little confused by the fact that Matthew Murdock hasn’t just slipped inside when he found Wesley alone.

There is the sound of grinding as the window is pulled open, and then boots scuffing against wood, a soft thud as Murdock lands inside Wesley’s room.

Wesley turns his head toward his visitor, looking over Murdock with a practiced eye. The man is again dressed in his vigilante gear, the form fitting outfit giving Wesley a fine view of his muscles and ass, but today it’s clean and without tears. Murdock had avoided fights on the way here.

“I have to be honest,” Wesley opens with a jibe, “I never expected you to knock.”

“I was taught to be polite,” Murdock returns without missing a beat, standing tense by the window. “Where’s your bodyguard?”

“I convinced him to go home and get some sleep,” Wesley says, “It’d be inappropriate for him to interrupt our secret rendezvous, wouldn’t it now?”

Wesley watches with great amusement as Murdock relaxes, and then freezes again at Wesley’s almost flirtatious turn of phrase. Murdock’s mouth opens, and then closes. his lips pressing together in a thin line. Wesley hides a laugh.

“I notice the Chinese are still in business,” Wesley says a beat later, deciding to go easy on Murdock.

He’d spoken before Murdock could get a word out in response, and the change of topic has Murdock regarding him seriously. “I… gave some thought to what you said, about consequences.”

“And I assume you reached some sort of conclusion as to where you stand on the issue?”

Murdock does not reply right away. He looks conflicted, frustration in the dip of his brow, the twitch of his fingers.

“Tell me something,” Murdock says after a long hesitation, “What do you plan to do with them, the Chinese? Or is your plan to leave them to their crimes?”

It’s not a question Wesley hasn’t anticipated, but having his own failures thrown in his face stings all the same. The idea of condemning fifty blind men and women to the American justice system had sat so uncomfortably with him years ago he’d stood back and allowed the partnership to prosper. The idea had been to let SHIELD take care of the victims when the time came for the mission to end. But there always was a saying about best-laid plans.

He hadn’t had a plan for dealing with a Chinese, had been missing any concrete strategy relating to the grand scheme of things in perhaps too long. There had been nothing besides a vague ideology, besides blind, fumbling efforts to control the symptoms of a disease the city will never shake. But the events of the past few weeks has led him to an opportunity.
“I have… something in the works,” Wesley says slowly, revealing as little as he can get away with.

“Would you care to share with the class?”

“There is an… opportunity that has presented itself,” Wesley says, carefully choosing his words, “But I would rather not go into the details until I’m certain it is worth the commitment.”

He responds with his usual vagueness more out of habit than deliberation. Wesley hates to make promises he cannot keep, and he would rather not get Murdock’s hopes up about something still uncertain.

Mudock’s mouth opens, and Wesley reads the impatience on his face, prepares himself for another disgruntled lecture.

“How long?”

“Sorry?”

“How long before you’re certain?”

“Could be a week, could be a month.”

“So you have no idea.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Mr. Murdock, I am currently in a hospital, and under heavy guard. The situation doesn’t exactly lend itself to planning and investigation. I can barely touch my cell phone without Francis making puppy dog eyes at me, and my only unmonitored conversations are the ones I get to share with you at night.”

His voice falters on the final words, and Wesley has to take a slow breath, willing his heart to calm, and the twinge in his chest to go away. Matt stands by the window awkwardly, looking almost guilty for causing Wesley’s current discomfort.

“Fisk,” Wesley says when his body is willing to cooperate, “Has ordered me to rest, which means I am cut off of my usual duties. I have no way to monitor what is currently happening in the organization, or any way of reaching my contacts.”

“So I’m wasting my time here.”

“You can always encourage Fisk to let me start doing my job again.”

Murdock wants to leave, and Wesley scrambles to halt him before he does. His words get Murdock’s attention, and the vigilante turns towards Wesley, his body again tense with suspicion.

“And how exactly do you want me to do that?”

Wesley watches Murdock for a moment, considering the style of violent intimidation the man is famous for.

“Fisk’s new accountant,” Wesley says, “You can scare him off.”

“And Fisk will bring you back into the fold?” Murdock replies, skeptical.

“If he quits it means that Fisk will be forced to monitor things personally until he can find a suitable replacement,” Wesley says, “And if he wants to safely juggle every responsibility there is… he’s going to need me, even in a minor capacity.”

“What happened to his last accountant?”

Leland. The man had embodied just about every negative stereotype for someone of his generation, and working with him had been a chore. He didn’t deserve to die the way he did, yet Wesley finds himself far less regretful for Leland Owsley’s death than he perhaps should be

“He was caught for skimming from the accounts,” Wesley says, “And had an… intimate encounter with an elevator shaft.

Murdock’s expression twists with discomfort upon hearing the about Leland’s fate, and Wesley offers a grim smile Murdock can’t see.

“So think of it as doing the man a favor.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Nathan Turner. He works at Morgan and King.”

It had been Francis who’d let things slip, sitting beside Wesley’s bed on the expensive hospital chair. Wesley had been poking at the boundaries, asking Francis and anyone in their service who approached him for a phone or a tablet so he could at least get a handle on how things were going outside. It was too much risk to try contacting Murdock, but Wesley still couldn’t resist the compulsive need to check that everything in Fisk’s empire is operating efficiently and to plan.

When Fisk found him with a tablet in his lap tapping out an email to a business contact, Wesley’s employer had stared at him with so much hurt and anger in his eyes Wesley sheepishly handed the tablet back to a panicked Francis.

From that point on, he’d been reduced to grilling his personal bodyguard – who had been ordered to stay at his side – for information. It took at least three major slips before Francis caught on and spent long seconds in silence before answering any of Wesley’s requests that didn’t come in the form of an order.


Murdock nods once, slow, and still with that hint of belligerence Wesley is getting used to seeing.

“I’ll take care of it.”

With no more reason to stay, Murdock opens the window, and slips back into the night. Wesley stares at the window for a long time, before he closes his eyes.

Maybe this will work out after all, he thinks as he relaxes into sleep, and all it took was a bullet and a beating.