This is the story of the most fortuitous bombing that ever happened to Vanessa Fisk.
"Wait, no, wait, don't - " Murdock said, holding both hands out as he walked towards Vanessa. She didn't drop the gun, because generally speaking, Daredevil didn't touch her, but the last time he'd run into her husband, Wilson had returned with a broken arm and a towering rage. "Ma'am, I know you're - you're afraid," he said, cocking his head. What? Blood dripped from his temple; he weaved across the debris, looking wobbly, but putting his feet down perfectly. He'd lost the suit jacket, and the glasses had come off; he looked terribly young, and serious, and concerned. "My name's - my name's Matthew," he said, "I - I want to help you get out of here, we can't stay here."
"What?" Vanessa said; was this a game?
"Ma'am," Murdock said, seriously, "are you all right? you need to - we need to move, the ceiling's going to come down. You can keep the gun if it makes you feel better, but - sir, you need to -"
Wilson pushed Murdock back.
"Get away from my wife," he said. Low. Barely controlled.
Murdock made a confused face, cocked his head to the side, and swore, very quietly, before simply shoving Wilson back towards Vanessa and lunging to follow him. He didn't make it all the way; the drywall collapsed, and one of the studs fell across his leg.
"Ow," he whispered. "Ow. You - you can't hear that? The whole thing's gonna collapse in a minute, you need to get her out of here," speaking directly to Wilson.
"Yes," Wilson said, and seemed to come to a decision; he pried the debris up, straining. Murdock'd twisted his leg, badly enough to leave him panting with pain and unable to stand on his own. "Can you walk?" he asked Vanessa; she nodded. "Can you?" he asked Matthew, who shifted his weight uneasily and winced, shaking his head. "Very well," Wilson said: "can you lean on me, or do you need to be carried?"
That was really when it hit Vanessa, that whatever had been in that bomb had scrambled Murdock's brains, because he took a testing step or two, holding tight to Wilson's arm, and groaned, and sighed, and said: "I can't walk, carrying me is going to slow you down, sir, you need to go."
He allowed Wilson to pick him up. Until then, Vanessa had been harboring the secret certainty that Murdock had simply been unbelievably dedicated to his cover, but as it was? No. Impossible. Something had happened - he'd hit his head? The odd purple smoke had - had had some sort of chemical effect? - but Murdock had forgotten that they were enemies, somehow.
Re: Fisk/Matt/Vanessa, amnesia, situational dubcon
"Wait, no, wait, don't - " Murdock said, holding both hands out as he walked towards Vanessa. She didn't drop the gun, because generally speaking, Daredevil didn't touch her, but the last time he'd run into her husband, Wilson had returned with a broken arm and a towering rage. "Ma'am, I know you're - you're afraid," he said, cocking his head. What? Blood dripped from his temple; he weaved across the debris, looking wobbly, but putting his feet down perfectly. He'd lost the suit jacket, and the glasses had come off; he looked terribly young, and serious, and concerned. "My name's - my name's Matthew," he said, "I - I want to help you get out of here, we can't stay here."
"What?" Vanessa said; was this a game?
"Ma'am," Murdock said, seriously, "are you all right? you need to - we need to move, the ceiling's going to come down. You can keep the gun if it makes you feel better, but - sir, you need to -"
Wilson pushed Murdock back.
"Get away from my wife," he said. Low. Barely controlled.
Murdock made a confused face, cocked his head to the side, and swore, very quietly, before simply shoving Wilson back towards Vanessa and lunging to follow him. He didn't make it all the way; the drywall collapsed, and one of the studs fell across his leg.
"Ow," he whispered. "Ow. You - you can't hear that? The whole thing's gonna collapse in a minute, you need to get her out of here," speaking directly to Wilson.
"Yes," Wilson said, and seemed to come to a decision; he pried the debris up, straining. Murdock'd twisted his leg, badly enough to leave him panting with pain and unable to stand on his own. "Can you walk?" he asked Vanessa; she nodded. "Can you?" he asked Matthew, who shifted his weight uneasily and winced, shaking his head. "Very well," Wilson said: "can you lean on me, or do you need to be carried?"
That was really when it hit Vanessa, that whatever had been in that bomb had scrambled Murdock's brains, because he took a testing step or two, holding tight to Wilson's arm, and groaned, and sighed, and said: "I can't walk, carrying me is going to slow you down, sir, you need to go."
He allowed Wilson to pick him up. Until then, Vanessa had been harboring the secret certainty that Murdock had simply been unbelievably dedicated to his cover, but as it was? No. Impossible. Something had happened - he'd hit his head? The odd purple smoke had - had had some sort of chemical effect? - but Murdock had forgotten that they were enemies, somehow.