Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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Comments

[Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (3/?)

[(Anonymous)]

As Murdock was recovering, Fisk was counting down the days until Vanessa’s arrival. Everything in the apartment had to be completely perfect, and everything in order as much as possible. While he didn’t expect her to play the part of the oblivious significant other, he did need to put up every possible barrier to make sure she could not be connected to any of his businesses and the law would have to leave her alone. There was so much he couldn’t tell her over an unsecured internet connection or satellite phone that he was getting increasingly nervous that she would somehow be disappointed by what she found when she arrived. He was worried about everything about his appearance (even though he had lost fat and gained muscle in prison) to the details of each piece of furniture in the apartment.

It was during one of these inspections that he found Murdock on the balcony of the lower floor, his head tilted somewhat up. He was not allowed to leave, but he had free access to most of the rooms on that floor, provided there was a guard with him. Dr. Goucher encouraged him to try to get back on his feet for short periods.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to exposure yourself to the cold,” Fisk said, but stopped the guard from dragging him back in. Murdock was easier to convince with words.

Murdock turned back to the doorway. “It’s so quiet ... there’s nothing ...” he wheezed. “You can’t hear the city.”

Surely Murdock spent enough time on rooftops? Maybe just not ones this high up. Once you were higher than twenty or so floors, the sounds of ambulance sirens and car horns and faded out, replaced by the heavy winds.

“You’ve never been this high up before?”

“When I was a kid ... the World Trade Center,” Murdock replied. “You could feel the building sway. But they didn’t let you outside.” He must have been referring to when he was sighted; it seemed like a poor choice of excursion for a blind child.

“You’ve never been hiking in the mountains?”

Murdock shook his head. “I’ve never been out of the city.”

No wonder he was so attached, so willing to die for the city, even for just a small neighborhood like Hell’s Kitchen. They were both city boys, born and raised, but at least Fisk got to leave. His travels abroad had helped shaped him into the well-rounded, sophisticated man he was today,
It was hard to grow where there was so little light.

Fisk offered his hand, and when Murdock gave no response, he said, “I’m holding out my hand.”

“Why?”

“Some people are ... afraid of heights.” He put his hand down when he heard how stupid he sounded. “I suppose that doesn’t concern you.”
Murdock smiled. “No.” But he did come inside.

***************************

Fisk was lost in preparing the apartment again when Hammond approached him. “Mr. Murdock is requesting permission to leave.”

There was no formal arrangement, but the lower floor had locks throughout and the guest suite had no access to the hallway or elevator. They had never agreed on any formal arrangement – Fisk had never intended for Murdock to live in his apartment, per se. It was just a result of circumstance. “Send him up.”

Murdock was wearing the jacket he’d come in (now dry cleaned) over his new clothes and carrying his folded cane. “Am I prisoner here?”

“Perhaps I should clarify,” Fisk said. “No, you are not a prisoner. You can leave whenever you wish. But if you leave without my permission, or alert anyone to the reason you came here ... there will be consequences. Not for you, obviously.” Murdock was not particularly concerned with his own health or well-being. “For your friends.”

“They’re not friends with me anymore,” Murdock repeated sadly.

“Former acquaintances. Whom you presumably still care about.”

His guest bit his lip. “I’m going to church. And then I’ll be back.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s Sunday,” Murdock said, with the Duh heavily implied.

The Devil had been an angel. One of G-d’s most beloved. That much, Fisk did remember from Sunday school. “Go then.”

Matthew Murdock was such a fascinating man.
***************************

Vanessa’s return put Fisk’s world into a tizzy. She was mobbed at the airport despite security – the mobster’s wife-to-be, returning from the land of the mafia to live in style in her newly-freed husband’s royal penthouse in Midtown West. That was what Fisk imagined the papers said – he didn’t actually read them – but Vanessa handled it with all the grace and charm with which she handled everything, as if the reporters were just a mild inconvenience of curious, confused onlookers. Fortunately some child-star-turned-talk-show-jockey had arrived at the Met Gala wearing a dress made to look like a superhero costume, so that got the paparazzi moving out quickly, and Fisk could welcome her into the apartment in peace while his guards appropriately scattered.

“It’s a little drab,” she said of the apartment after they’d had their more tender reunion.

“I thought it would be better to wait for an expert consultant to do it up properly,” he said. In truth, all of his expensive art had been seized after the arrest, then sold at a police auction, and he’d only been able to recover two small pieces. He’d carefully selected some new items, but he wanted her to judge them before the purchase. And there was the not inconsiderate matter of getting her gallery back in order. It wasn’t too hard to wrestle it out of the hands of the new manager who handled things while she was abroad (Fisk was good at being intimidating with very few words), but setting it right would require the same effort she used to put together collections in the first place. It was no easy task, but she hadn’t exactly sat around the chateau in Italy playing solitaire. She had a particular obsession with volcanos at the moment, with all of their fiery anger and unpredictability. She’d toured and loved Pompeii, with its grotesque reminders of the sweeping nature of death when Mother Nature had her way, and made Fisk promise to go back with her when he was available. Maybe for their honeymoon. She had a little sculpture, a copy of one of the trapped people caramelized in ash, that she put on the table between bookcases on the library. An unappreciative soul would have found it morbid; Fisk thought it celebrated the intensely fleeting nature of life, and told her so. He’d forgotten what it was like to have someone who understood him around, and if he’d been a religious man of any form, he would have offered a prayer of thanks.

For the first day they were totally lost in each other, and it was everything Fisk had hoped it would be. The world outside was fleeting and unnecessary. They didn’t think about anything else all that much, but eventually notions and concerns intruded, and Vanessa asked him why he was preparing a third place for breakfast.

“This is going to sound a bit ... strange,” he said, because it was a bit strange. For security reasons, he hadn’t mentioned anything of Matthew Murdock – or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen – when speaking to her over hackable communication, including the prison visit. In his explanation, he played down the threat to Vanessa’s legal status and tried to explain to himself and her how his plans to punish Murdock for his sins against them had gone a bit ... awry.

In the end – and it was a long story, one he had to drag out of himself in embarrassment – Vanessa was mostly amused. “It’s not like you to keep a pet.”

“He’s not ...” He looked away. He wasn’t sure what Murdock was. A stranger. An enemy. A hostage. A threat? No, if he was any real threat, he wouldn’t still be in the apartment, even with all the locks and steel and glass doors separating him from them. He’d said he would never hurt Vanessa with all the conviction of an Atticus Finch-type righteous crusader.

“Wilson, please,” Vanessa said, putting her lovely fingers over his stubby ones. “It was very kind, what you did for him. If you were half the monster he and the reporters thought you were, you wouldn’t have done it. But they’ve always been wrong about you.”

They didn’t invite him to join them, of course. They were still famished for time with each other, and Fisk was still slightly paranoid that Murdock might be contagious even with a week of antibiotics in his system. He hadn’t told Murdock about Vanessa’s arrival; their communication was minimal anyway, and Murdock was his sworn enemy, so no reason to give him a possible opening on anything, right?

This being Vanessa’s home now as much as Fisk’s, and him wanting her desperately to feel that way, he didn’t discourage her when she insisted on going down to say hello to their ‘guest.’ Dr. Goucher had been in earlier to check on his patient, and while he was generally improving, Murdock also hacking up quite a bit of all the bacteria in his lungs, resulting in him having little or no voice. He was sitting up in bed when they arrived, listening to something on his phone via headphones with the braille booklet in his lap. As the glass door opened he scrambled to stand and put his glasses on. “Hello,” he said, or more like mouthed, because his voice was more of a suggestion of a whisper than an actual sound.

“Matthew,” Vanessa said. She offered her hand, and he must have had some awareness it was there, because how else did he fight multiple enemies at once without situational awareness?

But he didn’t take it. “Maybe we shouldn’t.” It sounded like it was very, very painful to say.

“It is nice to see you again,” Vanessa said, clearly meaning it despite this being the precise man who prevented Fisk from joining her in the helicopter that night. Maybe she was better at compartmentalizing than Fisk was. “Even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

He smiled nervously, as she was the only one who exuded the confidence of knowing what to make of this strange situation. “How was Italy?”

“A bit lonely, but otherwise fantastic,” she said. “You should go sometime.”

“Never been on an airplane,” he admitted, and was about to say something else, but it disappeared into a hacking fit, and he excused himself into his bathroom, and they retreated upstairs.

“Now I know why you’re so insistent on feeding him,” she said. Murdock did look rather frail; Fisk supposed he’d just gotten used to it. “We have to do something for that poor boy.”

Fisk found that he couldn’t contradict her sentiment.

Re: [Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (3/?)

[(Anonymous)]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I LOVE THIS
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WRITING THIS