"People know where I am," Matt had said, to start with, because he was already in a shitty position and wanted to avoid as much of the (inevitable, awful) posturing that was bound to happen. (And because - honestly, although he hated to admit it - Fisk scared him, a little, and it was hard to be scared and anxious without hitting someone.)
"Yes," Fisk had said, carefully. "I imagine they do." And then, because Matt hadn't been quite sure how to - where to go from there: "I never expected to see...Murdock, here."
"Yes," Matt said. "I didn't - Reinhart is a problem."
"Our city is infested with costumed do-gooders," Fisk said. His heartbeat had picked up, in anticipation. "One or another of them will dispose of him eventually, I'm sure."
"No," Matt said. His fingers felt a little numb. It was humiliating, to say - but Spiderman had said I think he knows who my family are, and I gotta go, and Spiderman was the youngest one Matt had ever met. He needed to be protected, and - and Matt would've stepped up, but. There was something in the way that Spiderman had said my family that had made him pause, wonder exactly what Reinhart knew. He couldn't bring yet more trouble into Foggy's life. Karen's. "They won't. They...can't."
Fisk didn't move, for a minute.
“I understand him to be a crude man,” he said. Yes, Matt thought; you like to think you're not crude, don't you. Just a murderer. (He didn't like to be this close to Fisk, knowing what he was capable of; the potential for violence hummed between them, even here, in a very quiet office building, six stories up. There weren't enough exits in the room. Matt was pretty sure it was at least 20% on purpose.)
“I'm afraid he's not a priority,” Fisk said, fuck's sake, they really had to do this? Matt wanted to scream, a little; he knotted the fingers of one hand around a scrap of his pants leg.
Fisk sighed, and said “your time is valuable, of course, but it can be bought." Literally true, and exactly the kind of thing that made Matt want to punch him in the face ninety percent of the time. “Daredevil's time, however.”
He swallowed. There was no helping it; he'd assumed that Fisk would have figured it out by now, but to hear it put so baldly still send his heart racing. The chance that this meeting would end well for him had never been good. The elevators were slow. He wasn't sure if there was a stairwell in the building, nor how it might be accessed. He should've demanded a more public meeting; it had been shame that led him to letting Fisk set a private meeting, and now he was - “I won't kill for you,” he said. Fuck. He hadn't meant to -
“Of course not,” he said, and he sounded surprised and confused. “It's not in your skillset; why would I ask a specialist such as yourself to – engage in work you have no experience in?”
It shouldn't have been quite this fucking irritating to be told that you'd make a terrible killer.
“My fiance,” Fisk said, “finds herself alone for two or three nights: I have...business, and she's reluctant to accompany me. I'd like to know she was watched by one of the best in the business.”
"Not Daredevil," Matt said, flatly. "Not - I'll watch her, but I won't. Show my face."
"I have a better reputation than Daredevil, in this city," Fisk said, sounding amused; "have it your way; she stays safe, while I'm gone, and you won't have to worry about Reinhart."
**
Vanessa couldn't help but laugh, when he told her, that night. “But why me?” she asked.
“I'll be sure to have three nights with no interference,” Wilson said. She was brushing her hair. "I've scheduled half a dozen shipments, now that I know for a fact where he'll be, those nights."
“You could have framed him,” she said, thoughtfully, eyes shut. “It would be easy; he's making it easy for you.”
“Yes,” Wilson said. He sounded uncomfortable, but his hands were light and deft. “I...he is an honorable man.”
“And you're a romantic one,” she said, and smiled.
“It's not such a difficult request. Reinhart is an animal,” he said. “And – he's not the first man, to come to me with a problem, and realize that we could begin a beneficial...working relationship.”
“Ah,” Vanessa said. “Should I be charming, darling?” She caught his hand. “It's not that hard; he's a beautiful man.”
Wilson flinched, and hoped she hadn't seen him flinch.
"Oh no," she said, soft, sincere: "you," and she went on tiptoe, kissed him with her bare mouth, free of lipstick; it was the way he liked her best. "You are the best thing, my darling."
"I am not," he said, hating himself but uncertain enough to - "I am not. Conventionally."
"You delight me in every way," she said, and she pulled him down to look him straight in the eye: "your body, with my body, that's my dream." She smiled, sudden and bright, and said "carry me to bed, Wilson, and let me prove it to you."
**
The problem with his life was that every time he wrestled one problem to the ground, another took its place. Like the whack-a-mole game, he remembered that, from when he was young. So Reinhart was handled, excellent, but this made the second night that he'd gotten no more than three or four hours of sleep, all told.
He'd gotten to the point where he'd started to feel a little dizzy, occasionally, just from lack of sleep. It was good that they'd set a time on it; Fisk would be back from whatever he'd been doing (probably killing people) the next day, so all Matt had to do was hold on and handle the situation.
"I hope I don't offend," she said, "but you're not a very good liar, you know."
Matt refocused on her (he'd been listening hard, for sirens: you didn't hear them in this part of the city) and suppressed the urge to back up. He was almost sure she was looking at him. "No," he agreed.
"Is it because you're blind?" she asked, and that was - not what he'd expected. He laughed because he was nervous; he laughed because he knew she was watching him, and he didn't want her to think that she'd found a weak point.
“Probably,” he said. “I hope that doesn't bother you.”
“No,” she said, thoughtfully.
**
He'd been lucky to make it a whole night, guarding Vanessa Fisk, without incident; the second night was when someone carrying stars and darts - like Nobu, fuck's sake - broke into the penthouse. It took Matt a shockingly painful ten minutes to get him to the ground, and when he'd gotten the man on the ground, he realized that he'd missed the three-inch knife.
Mostly because that's when the - ninja? - stabbed him in the thigh.
Matt yelled in pain, grunted, got a hand around the ninja's throat and slammed his elbow into the man's temple, and thank all the saints that was enough to knock him unconscious.
Matt gritted his teeth and tried to come up with an excuse that would explain the wet patch over his pants. i peed myself, no, also it's his blood, probably not believable, it's just water, maybe. "It's just water," he said. "I knocked him into the - uh." Fuck, his thigh hurt, and he wasn't sure that he'd be able to walk to the bathroom without limping. If he could get half a second to himself, he could wrap the leg up tight, it'd be fine until the end of the night, then he could - he could slink off to his apartment.
"You cannot possibly expect me to believe that lie," she said.
"I. uh. Hoped," he said. He felt a little dizzy; his nose was wet with blood.
“All right,” Vanessa said. “Sit down for a minute, sit here, just -"
He let her push him into a chair. It was just uncomfortable enough to sooth him. He wasn't going to - to sleep, that would be ridiculous, especially since Vanessa Fisk was still in the building, but he was going to - to lean his head back against the wall, just for a moment.
**
He woke up to the sound of the door opening, and Fisk coming in – early, what the hell, what was – oh, he was an idiot, it was stupid to think it could've been that simple and stress-free, and now they were going to spring the trap on him. Karen had been right. He should always listen to Karen. At least he'd face them on his feet; he didn't think about it when he jumped up, so he pulled wrong and felt the skin tear, the half-coagulated blood start oozing from the wound again. Putting a hand on it would show weakness, so he didn't.
“He fell asleep,” he heard Vanessa say, but it was overshadowed, swamped by pain.
“Get off me,” he said, low, warning. He wanted Fisk to stay away, this was the worst time it would happen.
“You can fall on the floor if you please,” Fisk said. Matt wanted to hit him some more.
"It's a scratch," he said.
"You're bleeding all over the floor," Vanessa Fisk said.
actual fill part 1 i guess?
"Yes," Fisk had said, carefully. "I imagine they do." And then, because Matt hadn't been quite sure how to - where to go from there: "I never expected to see...Murdock, here."
"Yes," Matt said. "I didn't - Reinhart is a problem."
"Our city is infested with costumed do-gooders," Fisk said. His heartbeat had picked up, in anticipation. "One or another of them will dispose of him eventually, I'm sure."
"No," Matt said. His fingers felt a little numb. It was humiliating, to say - but Spiderman had said I think he knows who my family are, and I gotta go, and Spiderman was the youngest one Matt had ever met. He needed to be protected, and - and Matt would've stepped up, but. There was something in the way that Spiderman had said my family that had made him pause, wonder exactly what Reinhart knew. He couldn't bring yet more trouble into Foggy's life. Karen's. "They won't. They...can't."
Fisk didn't move, for a minute.
“I understand him to be a crude man,” he said. Yes, Matt thought; you like to think you're not crude, don't you. Just a murderer. (He didn't like to be this close to Fisk, knowing what he was capable of; the potential for violence hummed between them, even here, in a very quiet office building, six stories up. There weren't enough exits in the room. Matt was pretty sure it was at least 20% on purpose.)
“I'm afraid he's not a priority,” Fisk said, fuck's sake, they really had to do this? Matt wanted to scream, a little; he knotted the fingers of one hand around a scrap of his pants leg.
Fisk sighed, and said “your time is valuable, of course, but it can be bought." Literally true, and exactly the kind of thing that made Matt want to punch him in the face ninety percent of the time. “Daredevil's time, however.”
He swallowed. There was no helping it; he'd assumed that Fisk would have figured it out by now, but to hear it put so baldly still send his heart racing. The chance that this meeting would end well for him had never been good. The elevators were slow. He wasn't sure if there was a stairwell in the building, nor how it might be accessed. He should've demanded a more public meeting; it had been shame that led him to letting Fisk set a private meeting, and now he was - “I won't kill for you,” he said. Fuck. He hadn't meant to -
“Of course not,” he said, and he sounded surprised and confused. “It's not in your skillset; why would I ask a specialist such as yourself to – engage in work you have no experience in?”
It shouldn't have been quite this fucking irritating to be told that you'd make a terrible killer.
“My fiance,” Fisk said, “finds herself alone for two or three nights: I have...business, and she's reluctant to accompany me. I'd like to know she was watched by one of the best in the business.”
"Not Daredevil," Matt said, flatly. "Not - I'll watch her, but I won't. Show my face."
"I have a better reputation than Daredevil, in this city," Fisk said, sounding amused; "have it your way; she stays safe, while I'm gone, and you won't have to worry about Reinhart."
**
Vanessa couldn't help but laugh, when he told her, that night. “But why me?” she asked.
“I'll be sure to have three nights with no interference,” Wilson said. She was brushing her hair. "I've scheduled half a dozen shipments, now that I know for a fact where he'll be, those nights."
“You could have framed him,” she said, thoughtfully, eyes shut. “It would be easy; he's making it easy for you.”
“Yes,” Wilson said. He sounded uncomfortable, but his hands were light and deft. “I...he is an honorable man.”
“And you're a romantic one,” she said, and smiled.
“It's not such a difficult request. Reinhart is an animal,” he said. “And – he's not the first man, to come to me with a problem, and realize that we could begin a beneficial...working relationship.”
“Ah,” Vanessa said. “Should I be charming, darling?” She caught his hand. “It's not that hard; he's a beautiful man.”
Wilson flinched, and hoped she hadn't seen him flinch.
"Oh no," she said, soft, sincere: "you," and she went on tiptoe, kissed him with her bare mouth, free of lipstick; it was the way he liked her best. "You are the best thing, my darling."
"I am not," he said, hating himself but uncertain enough to - "I am not. Conventionally."
"You delight me in every way," she said, and she pulled him down to look him straight in the eye: "your body, with my body, that's my dream." She smiled, sudden and bright, and said "carry me to bed, Wilson, and let me prove it to you."
**
The problem with his life was that every time he wrestled one problem to the ground, another took its place. Like the whack-a-mole game, he remembered that, from when he was young. So Reinhart was handled, excellent, but this made the second night that he'd gotten no more than three or four hours of sleep, all told.
He'd gotten to the point where he'd started to feel a little dizzy, occasionally, just from lack of sleep. It was good that they'd set a time on it; Fisk would be back from whatever he'd been doing (probably killing people) the next day, so all Matt had to do was hold on and handle the situation.
"I hope I don't offend," she said, "but you're not a very good liar, you know."
Matt refocused on her (he'd been listening hard, for sirens: you didn't hear them in this part of the city) and suppressed the urge to back up. He was almost sure she was looking at him. "No," he agreed.
"Is it because you're blind?" she asked, and that was - not what he'd expected. He laughed because he was nervous; he laughed because he knew she was watching him, and he didn't want her to think that she'd found a weak point.
“Probably,” he said. “I hope that doesn't bother you.”
“No,” she said, thoughtfully.
**
He'd been lucky to make it a whole night, guarding Vanessa Fisk, without incident; the second night was when someone carrying stars and darts - like Nobu, fuck's sake - broke into the penthouse. It took Matt a shockingly painful ten minutes to get him to the ground, and when he'd gotten the man on the ground, he realized that he'd missed the three-inch knife.
Mostly because that's when the - ninja? - stabbed him in the thigh.
Matt yelled in pain, grunted, got a hand around the ninja's throat and slammed his elbow into the man's temple, and thank all the saints that was enough to knock him unconscious.
He really hated the smell of his own blood.
“Oh!” Vanessa Fisk said, surprised, worried, “you're bleeding!”
Matt gritted his teeth and tried to come up with an excuse that would explain the wet patch over his pants. i peed myself, no, also it's his blood, probably not believable, it's just water, maybe. "It's just water," he said. "I knocked him into the - uh." Fuck, his thigh hurt, and he wasn't sure that he'd be able to walk to the bathroom without limping. If he could get half a second to himself, he could wrap the leg up tight, it'd be fine until the end of the night, then he could - he could slink off to his apartment.
"You cannot possibly expect me to believe that lie," she said.
"I. uh. Hoped," he said. He felt a little dizzy; his nose was wet with blood.
“All right,” Vanessa said. “Sit down for a minute, sit here, just -"
He let her push him into a chair. It was just uncomfortable enough to sooth him. He wasn't going to - to sleep, that would be ridiculous, especially since Vanessa Fisk was still in the building, but he was going to - to lean his head back against the wall, just for a moment.
**
He woke up to the sound of the door opening, and Fisk coming in – early, what the hell, what was – oh, he was an idiot, it was stupid to think it could've been that simple and stress-free, and now they were going to spring the trap on him. Karen had been right. He should always listen to Karen. At least he'd face them on his feet; he didn't think about it when he jumped up, so he pulled wrong and felt the skin tear, the half-coagulated blood start oozing from the wound again. Putting a hand on it would show weakness, so he didn't.
“He fell asleep,” he heard Vanessa say, but it was overshadowed, swamped by pain.
“Get off me,” he said, low, warning. He wanted Fisk to stay away, this was the worst time it would happen.
“You can fall on the floor if you please,” Fisk said. Matt wanted to hit him some more.
"It's a scratch," he said.
"You're bleeding all over the floor," Vanessa Fisk said.