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ddk_mod ([personal profile] ddk_mod) wrote in [community profile] daredevilkink2015-04-15 05:15 pm
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Re: Family of old man Matt saved follows his life (2/3)

(Anonymous) 2015-06-18 01:26 am (UTC)(link)
It spirals, somehow.

Jack isn't crazy about either of them; but Matt is, clinging to them with the utterly incomprehensible, single-minded devotion of a child who has decided he is fond of something and has no intentions of being deterred. And since Jack can hardly refuse having some real supervision for his son, Matt ends up staying at the Tierney's house frequently.

They learn a lot about him.

He likes to listen to music, but nothing loud, nothing that kids should, Brennan thinks, like to listen to. It's all soft classical music and jazz, not even the savage Rachmaninov or Vivaldi, the bouncing jives of Calloway or Armstrong. He listens to Chopin, Mozart's gentlest pieces, Benny Goodman.

Brennan learns that Matt has a bizarre obsession with Thurgood Marshall, and this sort of bewilders him. At that age he was obsessed with baseball players, movies... He might understand fiction, even, but Thurgood Marshall?

“Unlike us, he actually has a brain in that head,” May contributes dryly when he raises the point.

He wants to be a lawyer.

“I've never met anyone who wanted to be a lawyer,” Brennan admits. “How do you even come to that conclusion?”

“The people who talked to me and my dad after the accident were real nice,” Matt says. “They helped us out a lot. But it can be hard – Ms. Ilnez, down the street, her home was taken away because she couldn't pay her bills, but that's only because she was robbed, and her lawyers couldn't do anything to stop it. Dad says it was wrong.”

“Yeah, well, the system isn't perfect.”

“Mere access to the courthouse doors does not by itself assure a proper functioning of the adversary process,” Matt says, and it sounds like a quote. “But, a good lawyer helps. I want to help people.”

Brennan's worked with lawyers before. Somehow, it's never occurred to him to question their motivations before. How many of them have wanted, really, sincerely wanted, to help the people they represent?

How many, in the dredges of Hell's Kitchen, have failed?

“I'm sure you will, Matt,” he says. “In fact I don't doubt it at all.”



At one point, nearly two weeks go by where Brennan doesn't hear from the Murdocks at all. Which is fine. Jack doesn't talk to them more than he can help, though Matt calls frequently for at least brief chat. He's very excitable, Matt, and he likes to boast about Jack's wins in the ring, or his latest success on a paper.

But lately there's been nothing. Now Brennan rolls open the newspaper, feeling the soft material unfold under his fingers. The articles don't hold his interest today; his attention is wondering. He flips through the pages, sighing.

A picture catches his eye, in a far corner, and at first he thinks: Did Jack win a match?

Then what he's looking at processes properly. He calls for May and leans over the paper, smoothing out the wrinkles and reading it with a sinking feeling.

Jonathon Murdock

April 21, 1960 – August 1, 1999

Jonathon Joe Murdock was shot in killed in Hell's Kitchen, New York on August 1, 1999. Murdock was born to the late couple Sean and Britta Murdock. He is survived by one son, Matthew Murdock....



He takes the subway home the next night. In the darkness, children wander sleepily around their parents' legs. Some of them have brown hair, and the clicking of metallic gears sounds like the grieving tap of a cane.



He goes to the funeral with May on his arm. Both of them are dressed in black, and the day is purpling into evening when they enter the Catholic church where the funeral will be held.

The room has a few stout men with scars; a group of assembled men and women at the back of the room, solemn but not especially mournful, many of them wearing crucifixes. A spattering of unknown faces.

And, at the very front, Matt sitting at the side of a man in a suit.

He and May find seats near the back. They sit through the service without words. When it ends they don't get a chance to speak to Matt, but they hear the crucifix-bearing group whispering things about St. Agnes' Orphanage.



The orphanage isn't as bad as he expects, really.

It takes Brennan longer than he would like to admit to get around to visiting. There's no clear etiquette to this situation. He can't just drop out of the boy's life, but intruding on his grief is a thought equally as abominable. It takes nearly three weeks before he even picks up a phone-book and looks up the number for the place.

There's a stereotype that exists about strict, no-nonsense nuns, but the woman who meets him at the front seems kind enough. When he inquires about Matt Murdock he feels a stab of guilt at the way her face crumples in relief.

“I hope your visit will cheer him up,” she says. “He's been getting worse and worse. We don't know why.”

This seems like a strange thing to say. Jack Murdock is dead; the reason for Matt's depression should be evident enough.

Brennan doesn't understand until he sees.

Sweat is running is fat bullets down Matt's face; Brennan didn't even think a kid could sweat that much. He's twisting tiny child-fingers into the blankets, kicking his legs uselessly into the air and taking in great, sucking gulps of air. His chest heaves with these breaths, his ribs showing with every second lurch.

He's clearly in agony.

“Haven't you had a doctor here?” Brennan exclaims, leaping forward.

“No, don't - !”

As soon he touches Matt's wrist, the kid screams.

Brennan flinches away as though he's been burnt. “Matt!” he shouts. “Matt!”

Matt just yells louder. His flailing arms come up and wrap around his head.

Brennan wavers helplessly, and he doesn't protest when the Sister grabs him by the arm and pulls him back outside.

“So that's maybe not such a good idea,” she says, and he wants to laugh until he cries.



Matt gets both better and worse. The sisters keep him secluded and consult both doctors and other clergy. He can't get excited, they tell him. He can't be around loud noises, he can't be touched, and even strong smells upset him. This all sounds like such old-fashioned, outdated nonsense about the ill that he's half-inclined to think that they're wrong. That they're the ones making Matt worse, that he can get better if they just give him some fresh air and a chance to breathe. Isn't that what all kids need?

But he remembers Matt thrashing, and the sound of that scream.

And it's true, too, that if he visits at night – a special privilege only allowed because of Matt's circumstances – the kid is usually more calm. “It's quiet,” he will whisper. Matt always whispers now. “More quiet. It's never – New York is never silent.”

“That's true enough,” Brennan says.

He must speak too loud, because Matt flinches.

“...It's quiet here, though,” Brennan adds. And this is true, too. The orphanage is almost eerily still at this time of night. The lights are out; the children are sleeping; the only sound comes from the slow shifting of weight from Sister Valerie, right outside the door. That's all.

But Matt doesn't answer.



May visits less often, because her leg troubles her these days, but Matt's always happy to talk to her. Sometimes her sister Jenna comes along, sighing and grumbling, which is less of a happy occasion.

Matt even likes her, though. He seems to like everyone. He tells them about school and what he's learned in English lately. His continuing passion impresses Brennan; he can't imagine enjoying books much on a good day, much less when the only way to enjoy them is through Braille or a stilted audio-track.

A nun shoos them out halfway through Matt's recitation to lecture the kid about some disagreement he had with a few other children, and the three stand outside the door.

“We could adopt him,” says May.

It's somehow not a new thought, once she says it aloud. They could adopt him. He's quiet, kind, bright – a good boy. Like family. That's the most important thing. They're old, but it's not like Matt's an infant.

“It'd be difficult on you,” says Jenna, looking between them doubtfully. “With his... situation.”

May shoots her a look, half-angry, half-embarrassed. Embarrassed, because she doesn't deny it. They don't know how to care for a blind child. Don't have the money to provide him with personalized equipment, books, other miscellanea. But Battlin' Jack didn't, either, he thinks. Didn't stop what happened.

“We'd figure it out,” he says. And this has a ring of truth to it.

When the nun comes out they tell her they want to talk to her before they leave, then let themselves back in.

For someone who's just been scolded, Matt's smiling brightly enough to outshine the stars.