Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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Comments

Re: Always Crashing in the Same Car part 24

[(Anonymous)]

Hi!! Wow, I didn't think anyone was still here. YAY!!! You have no idea how happy that makes me.

I am definitely not done with this, I've just been... dragging my feet a real lot :( Sorry for that, I'm trying to do better.

I wouldn't say she can control it, but she is soooo much better at it. I'm so excited to write more of her.

But yeah. Thank you so much <3

FILL?: matt/foggy, Trapped In A Dreamscape

[(Anonymous)]

not a direct fill, but super relevant

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8114011/chapters/18597430

Re: Always Crashing in the Same Car part 25

[(Anonymous)]

*

“You have. Five. New messages.”

Matt groans, but not due to the number of unlistened-to voicemail messages waiting for him in his inbox: he’s also rebandaging the wounds he’d sustained when he had that near-death encounter with those kidnapping Russian assholes; the very same wounds Claire had so meticulously stitched up for him a few nights back after she’d pulled his sorry, unconscious ass from that dumpster outside her apartment building. (Actually, he has no idea how many nights ago that was -- time has lost all discernible meaning.)

“Matt!” the voice from the first message barks, and Matt hisses as he tugs another suture through his skin. “Where the hell are you, dude. You should have been here forever ago! Call me.”

Next, he tapes down a bandage over the tight, neat row of stitches. “Delete message,” he says and gets to work sewing up the next tear in his skin.

“Jesus, where the hell are you? I hope to god you have a “medical” reason for not showing up today, pal because I really need you here. Call me when you get in.”

Stitch. Bandage. “Delete message.”

“Matt. Matt. There’s this guy here, right. Says he wants to put us--that is you and me--on retainer for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom. This check has soooo many zeros, dude, you have no idea. But I’m kind of freaking out about this too? I cannot do this alone, buddy, I just can’t; I really, really need you here.”

Matt runs his fingers over his torso. Nods in satisfaction and goes about packing up his first aid kit, wiping blood off the surface of his coffee table, and discarding the mess. As he washes his hands in the kitchen sink, he says, “I’m sure whatever it is, you handled it just fine, Foggy. Delete message.”

“Dear time travel gods, I am on my knees begging--”

He grabs a towel and dries his hands. “Dramatic much? Delete message.”

He’s stiff, but he manages the short trek to his bedroom to deposit the towel in the hamper without much incident.

“Matt, hi. It’s Karen. Obviously. Um. Foggy says you weren’t feeling well, so I was just calling to see how you’re doing? Call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll talk to you soon.”

He emerges from the bedroom and carefully levers himself back down on the couch. “Next message,” he says.

“Well, I guess you’re not home. Or you’re sleeping. I hope you’re sleeping. Foggy won’t say so, but he really does not want to take this case; and frankly, I don’t blame him, the guy was just. I dunno. Scuzzy, I guess? But it looks like we’re obligated now, so I don’t know. Call the office, Matt, he really needs you.”

“What the hell’s going on over there? Delete message.”

“End of messages.”

Matt groans and scrubs at the rough stubble along his jawline. “All right,” he says to his empty apartment. Time to see what fires need putting out.

*

Karen’s alone in the office when Matt arrives.

“Matt,” she says, sounding completely surprised to see him there. She shuffles some papers around and quickly rises from behind the desk. She rushes toward him and starts to say, “How are you feeling,” but cuts herself off. Her hand drifts toward his face, but she never makes contact. “What happened to you?” she asks. Her voice is hushed and spilling over with fear and worry. “Are you hurt? Is everything--”

“I’m fine,” he says, waving away her concern with a dismissive flap of the hand. “It’s nothing. Just. Get me up to speed here. What have I missed.” Foggy’s office is empty, he notices, tilting his head slightly. He doesn’t comment on it.

Exasperated, Karen says, “You’d know if you were here! Where the hell have you been, Matt! I left messages for you! Foggy left messages for you! Did you even listen to any of them?”

“I heard them,” he calmly says. “Just. Tell me what’s going on.”

She nods to herself. “Okay, well, a man was here.”

A scant few molecules of an unfamiliar fragrance lingers in the air here. Black pepper, warm leather, earthy cedarwood. Men’s cologne, likely very expensive. Interesting.

Wanting to know more about the strange visitor to their office today, Matt gestures toward Karen encouragingly. “Okay,” he prompts, “And?”

“I don’t know. He gave me the creeps. And. He knew things, Matt. He knew things about you and Foggy and--” She shudders and wraps her arms around herself protectively.

His eyebrows furrow. Potential clients having done their homework isn’t usually cause for alarm, but obviously, something about the encounter had deeply unsettled her.

“He knew about how I came to work for you guys. He knew about my-- he knew how I was a client of yours and--”

“He was bluffing,” Matt says. “You were never charged. Your… arrest and the details surrounding it were never made public. Whatever his motives, he was trying to rattle you, to get a reaction out of you. He didn’t know anything. Not really.”.

Karen’s vitals spike at that. “You weren’t here, Matt! I’m telling you, the guy was a total sleaze. He knew things about you and Foggy--”

“There’s nothing to know about me.”

“--and if he knew… that. About me, then what if he… what if someone else knows about--” Karen’s breath catches in her throat and then she’s firmly pressing a hand against her mouth. That tell-tale hint of salt hangs in the air and on Karen’s skin: she’s upset and crying and desperately trying not to show it.

“I’m sorry,” she says. She smoothes down her blouse and runs her fingers through her hair. “I just--”

“No, it’s fine, it’s. What else can you tell me? His name, or--?”

“Yeah, see that’s the thing. He never told us his name, just that he works for something called Confederated Global. I mean, doesn't that sketchy to you? Obviously I’m not a lawyer, but Foggy said the check the guy cut was enormous. And for what? What are they really buying here? So I started to do some digging after Foggy left and--”

“Do you know where he is now?”

She sighs. It's a deeply frustrated sound. “To sit in on a case? I guess? Foggy didn’t want to make any decisions without you here, but he didn’t want to wait around forever, either.”

Matt sighed. “Okay,” he says. “I’m gonna. I’ll go and catch up with him and you.” He gestures toward her with the grip of his cane. “You just sit tight. In case anyone calls or--”

“Yeah, of course,” she says, her voice going just a little too high. Her pulse and breathing confirm that she isn’t being completely honest, that she has no intention of ‘sitting tight’ and he responds with a quick nod because he can't exactly call her out on it. “I have things I need to do anyway,” she says, and at least she’s being truthful about that.

“All right,” he says, and Karen sighs a breath of relief to see him go.

*

Almost as soon as Matt exits the building housing the law offices of Nelson and Murdock, a vehicle pulls up beside him.

The window whirrs down and a strong but pleasant scent of black pepper and leather and cedar wafts out along with crisp air-conditioned air.

Matt continues walking. The car rolls on alongside him.

He wants to say, “Are you tailing me?” but that would tip his hand. Matt isn’t supposed to notice he’s being followed.

“Mister Murdock!” the man from the car cheerfully calls.

Matt halts and impatiently taps his cane against the toe of his shoe.

“A moment of your time, if I could,” the man says, keeping that same cheerful tone.

“And you are…?”

“Ah, who I am isn’t important--”

“Then I have no business with you,” Matt says and continues onward.

The car rolls forward at walking speed, keeping pace with Matt as he briskly walks down the center of the sidewalk, swinging his cane wider than strictly necessary.

“Allow me to change your mind,” the man adds, faux-cheerfulness gone altogether. “After all, I have met with your esteemed partner shortly before this. Along with your very lovely office assistant. Karen Page, was it?”

Matt stops walking again and turns to face the car because Karen was right, this guy’s a creep.

“Look,” Matt says. “I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped following me.”

“Your partner Franklin Nelson is meeting with a client as we speak. I can offer you a ride there if you’d like.”

“My partner and I have yet to agree to take on any clients, Mister Whoever You Are. And. I can get to where I’m going under my own power, thank you very much.” When he turns to go, his torso twists in just the wrong way causing a sharp pain to lance through his abdomen. The smell of the man’s expensive cologne is immediately overtaken by the coppery odor of his own blood. Damn.

“Self-reliance. I respect that. We’ll be in touch, Mr. Murdock. Oh, and, you appear to be having... ah, minor issues that you might want to have looked at.”

The car quietly pulls away after that and Matt loses track of it very quickly.

He presses his hand against the wet spot spreading through his shirt and alters course for home. It wouldn’t be very professional of him to show up at the jail to meet with Foggy and possibly a client while actively bleeding. So despite being severely pressed for time, home it is and home it has to be.

*

He’s already inside his apartment and reaching for the first aid kit before he notices anything unusual. His couch shushes and squeaks under someone’s weight and all of a sudden he’s acutely aware of a stranger’s heartbeat, of their body heat.

“Yeah, just make yourself right at home,” Matt grumbles, because the intruder is fellow time-traveler Elektra Natchios, and she’s in his spot.

“I borrowed some of your clothes,” she says. “Hope you don’t mind.” She’s wearing one of his dress shirts, half-buttoned, with a pair of boxer briefs underneath.

“So this is what the other foot feels like,” he says and she very generously chuckles at that. It’s a novel experience being able to share these sorts of in-jokes with someone. He never expected he’d ever have the chance to talk to another person who understood, first-hand, what it meant to live a life as a person unstuck in time.

She makes room for him as he sits on the couch. But not much, his couch isn’t that big.

He can feel her steady gaze on his bare torso as he stitches himself up for the second time today.

“I’m a steady hand,” Elektra offers.

“I’m sure you are,” he says with a hiss as he pulls the thread through hot, angry skin. Fortunately, this is the only wound to have torn open, which makes his job that much easier.

When he’s done, he cleans up his mess, then heads to the bathroom to make himself at least somewhat presentable for the rest of the day.

He’s tying his tie when he emerges from the bathroom.

“You can stay as long as you need. Just. Don’t take anything.” He says that last part with a smirk because they both know you can’t take anything with you when you travel. Just whatever you were born with.

She makes a show of craning her head and looking at every corner of Matt’s admittedly sparse apartment. “Oh, yes, you and your many valuable possessions,” she teases right back.

He nods in farewell and catches a cab so he can find out from Foggy just what the hell’s been going on.

*

Re: Always Crashing in the Same Car part 26

[(Anonymous)]

*

Matt’s collapsed cane rests across his lap as he sits in the back seat of a stale-smelling taxicab while his fingers absently worry at the strap.

All of his attention is focused on zeroing in on Foggy, who Matt knows is currently at the police station meeting with a potential client Matt knows nothing about.

They’re a team, he and Foggy, and Matt desperately needs to reunite with his law partner. He should be there with Foggy now. Hell, he should have been at the office when the man with the seemingly deep pockets and suspect motives visited their tiny firm and waved around a check which apparently had a number with a very long string of zeros trailing behind it. Karen had called the guy sleazy, and after his own unsettling encounter with the man, Matt can’t say he disagrees with that assessment.

The man was pushy and arrogant, and how can anyone be expected to trust someone who refused to give you their name. How is anyone expected to trust someone like that? Well. It occurs to Matt that maybe offering trust was not the man’s main motivation.

What was it that Karen said? What are they really buying here?. What indeed. Something else is going on here, and for once, Matt has absolutely no idea what it is. He sighs. He wishes he had some insight about this whole thing. Wishes he’d been dropped off here traveling or maybe even encounter a future version of himself who had. (And when Matt is left to fill in the gaps, he tends to make a lot of assumptions about how things will unfold. Foggy once pointed out to him that not knowing how events play out in advance gives Matt a sense of discomfort. And well, whether he wants to admit it or not, his friend is absolutely correct.)

Car horns blare, impatient drivers angrily curse at other angry drivers, soft R&B plays over the driver’s radio, and Matt’s fingers continue to twitch and pick at the grip of his cane.

Matt knows where the jail is, knows its layout, so he should be able to find Foggy and Foggy’s heartbeat without much difficulty.

He deepens his focus, pushes aside the soft music on the radio, the noises of the city and--

--and right near Matt’s ear, the cab driver barks out an agitated, “Asshole!” while he leans on the horn. Matt drops his head. His focus has collapsed entirely.

Irritated, Mat leans forward in his seat. “Hey,” he says. “Think you can maybe step on it?” because he does not have time for this. He’s already lost way too much of it. He should be there already, he should have been there from the start. He’s too far out of the loop here, and he hates it. He hates not knowing how things go.

“Yeah, yeah,” the cabbie grumbles. “We all got somewhere to be.”

For the next twenty minutes or so, traffic continues to move at a snail’s pace. And through all the distractions, Matt continues his auditory search for Foggy.

Ah. There. Right there. He’s got it. Loud and clear.

Yeah, boy, his friend certainly is distressed if the vitals Matt’s picking up on are anything to go by. The stress and strain come through so clearly in his friend’s voice now that he can hear it.

Matt presses his lips together.

“I’m not sure Nelson and Murdock is a good fit for you, Mr. Healy. I can recommend another attorney who--” Car horns blare and Matt wills the traffic to part.

“Not an option, counselor.” This must be the client. Healy. “You’ve been hired to represent me. So you’re gonna do just that.”

Matt raises his eyebrows. The balls on this guy, Jesus.

“Where is your partner, anyway. Murdock.I want to talk to him.”

They’re about a block away from the station now. Close enough. Matt needs to get going. Now. He reaches for his wallet and pulls out what should be enough to cover the fare, including a generous tip. “Hey,” Matt says to the driver. He offers the man the cash. “Don’t worry about finding a spot. I wanna get out here.”

“What? In the middle of the street?”

Matt waits until the next red light and makes a break for it.

Now all the car horn blasts and bursts of profanity are directed squarely at him as he bolts across the busy intersection. Though to be fair, there isn’t a New Yorker alive who hasn’t experienced exactly that at least once in their life.

He doesn’t care how he looks as he hustles it toward the station. He barely remembers to use his cane, but people part around him all the same.

Once inside the building, Matt pauses to take a breath and smiles blandly as he approaches security. Don’t worry about how all this all looks, I am completely harmless. See? He even begins emptying his pockets for the metal detector before being prompted to do so. Nice and cooperative. Nothing to worry about. “Afternoon, Mr. Murdock,” the officer checking his ID says. She says it cautiously, like he might be a little feral. Well. Maybe she isn’t wrong. “Get into a fight or something?” She chuckles to herself. Almost as if she’s thinking to herself, “Man, what an absurd thought that is.”

“Or something,” he says with a smile he hopes comes across as charming as opposed to maybe slightly deranged. He realizes he must look like a human car crash after all the rushing to get over here, and the lack of sleep, not to mention the ugly array of cuts and scrapes and bruises splattered across his face, but there isn’t anything he can do about that. So. Fake smiles it is.

“Well, try not to get into too many more,” she adds. She sounds as if she’s only half-joking.

“I’ll do my best,” he says. “And. Thanks.” And with that, he passes through the metal detector.

“Matt!” It’s Foggy, coming from the other direction, straight towards Matt. He frowns in disapproval at meeting Foggy out here near the building’s entrance instead of in the interrogation room, but Matt quickly changes it into a happy smile once Foggy’s near enough to notice.

Matt immediately grabs his friend’s arm and presses him into walking in the direction from which he just came. Foggy doesn’t offer any resistance. He does comment on Matt’s appearance, though, which Matt was sort of expecting. “Jesus Christ,” Foggy says. “You are an absolute mess.”

“No, I’m. It’s fine,” Matt says. He tries for a warm smile. “I mean, you know how it goes.” Which isn’tentirely a lie.

“Jesus.”

Matt knows his smile doesn’t come across as genuine, but he tries again anyway. “Don’t worry about it. It’s, you know. It’s fine.”

Foggy exhales. Unhappy but unable to do anything about it. And not wanting to start an argument out in the open like this. After all, Foggy knows how it goes. They continue walking.

Eventually Foggy says, “You got my message.” He shrugs. “Messages.”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “I got your messages. Karen’s too. That’s why I got here as fast as I could. I-- On the way here, I met the man you guys were concerned about.”

“Glasses? Kind of shifty?”

“I don’t know about glasses, but his cologne sure was expensive.”

“Yup, that’d be our guy. What’d he say to you?”
“Eh. Not so much what he said as how he said it. What I want to know though is why us? Someone who has the deep pockets and fancy connections our new friend seems to have must surely have access to bigger, more prestigious established firms.” Matt gestures at Foggy. “L&Z, for instance.”

“Not that Nelson and Murdock is any less prestigious.”

Matt laughs at that. “Oh, no, of course not! Didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”

Foggy sighs. “Well, if the big guys want it, they can have it. I turned down the case.”

Yeah, Matt figured. Explains why Foggy is here walking through the precinct with Matt instead of sitting in the interrogation room. The fact that they’re still headed in that direction without so much as a peep from Foggy in protest is interesting. He has no idea what his friend is thinking.

“I just hope we get there before they put him back in his cell.”

“I dunno,” Foggy says. “I’ll bet he’s still sitting there. Insisted on speaking to you.”

“Okay,” Matt says. “Why did you leave, then?” They were heading right back there, and Foggy wasn’t resisting, so what was the point?

“Because that’s not a client in there, it’s a wolf in a man-suit. You should’ve heard him, Matt. The guy’s been in and out of the system so often he practically has his own law degree”

“Isn’t that all the more reason to take the case? Everyone deserves representation. It’s why we’re here.”

They were still walking, at least. Which means Foggy doesn’t actually need convincing.

“Mystery man hired us, that is Nelson and Murdock to represent John Healy. So, Mr. Healy wants to see you,” Foggy says. (Yeah, and Matt wants to know why.)

“Okay…?”

“Well, I figured if you agree to meet him now, then that means there’s a you who’s met him already.”

“Foggy,” Matt warns, because, Jesus Christ. Foggy cannot start making his own assumptions about the future now, too. Especially not on second-hand information.

Matt scrubs a hand over his stubble. They turn a corner and approach the room. Foggy opens the door, and Matt’s the first to enter.

He wants to ask Foggy if that’s happened, if he’s had a conversation about the ins and outs of this particular case with a future version of Matt. But Matt knows himself. He has a hard time imagining a scenario where he’d sit down with Foggy and have a casual chat about cases or even events that haven’t happened yet. While Matt isn’t opposed to talking about the things he learns while time traveling--it’s not like he’s superstitious about the whole thing or anything, it is his life, after all--he just knows himself. He doesn’t tend to volunteer stuff. And well, this isn’t exactly the time to worry about it. So instead he leans in and quietly says to Foggy, “Let’s finish this another time.”

Then Matt sits down across from the man handcuffed at the table.

“Murdock,” the man greets, and something about the familiarity of his tone grates on Matt’s nerves. But showing personal irritation is not exactly professional behavior, so he ignores it for the time being and focuses on who and what is in front of him right now.

He gestures to the man seated across from him. “Mister Healy,” Matt says

“You get mugged on the way over here or something?” Healy says with a scoff.

Well, Matt can tell this will be easy sailing. He exhales and clears his throat. Tries again. “Mr. Healy. Mr. Nelson and I--”

“‘Cause I’m not so sure if I want a lawyer who looks like he spends his time being somebody else’s punching bag.”

Foggy’s still standing by the door with his arms folded across his belly and radiating equal parts wariness and annoyance. Matt turns toward him and simply says, “I see what you mean.” A wolf in human form.

Foggy sighs in resignation, unfolds his arms, and takes his seat next to Matt. Matt then asks his partner to bring him up to speed.

Mister Healy here murdered a man.

This fact is not in dispute. This man is guilty. And Nelson and Murdock is going to represent him.

*

As Matt and Foggy leave the station, Matt swears he picks up the faintest hint of warm leather, black pepper, and earthy cedar wood.

*

An older Matt is sitting naked on the couch, drinking a beer when Matt gets in.
He wants to ask himself what he and Foggy should expect with all of this. What should they know, how does this all play out? But he doesn’t. Instead, he settles himself down on the couch, next to himself. Wordlessly, he reaches for the bottle resting on Older Matt’s bare chest, and Matt obliges.

The bottle is mostly empty, and what’s left is warm, but not unpleasantly so. Matt’s been here for a while, it would seem.

Well, he lives here too.

Matt tips the bottle to his lips and finishes the bottle. Other Matt gets up to fish another one from the fridge and they share that too.

Matt wishes his other self would say something.

He wishes he could just ask.

But he doesn’t.

So he doesn’t.

Re: Matt/Frank Sleepy Daredevil is Cuddly Daredevil

[(Anonymous)]

*Giggles in delight*

Re: Claire/any, gen, not actually passed out from sex

[(Anonymous)]

Yeah it looks like it's painted lol

Re: Matt + the X-Men [FILL 8/8]

[(Anonymous)]

Oh, this is so fun! I love it! <3

Re: Always Crashing in the Same Car part 25

[(Anonymous)]

You put it on AO3!!! Woo-hoo!
https://archiveofourown.org/series/991884

Thank-you!!