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daredevilkink2016-04-21 06:34 pm
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Daredevil Prompt Post #11
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #12.
Keep filling prompts on this post! Make sure to link any new fic on the complete or work in progress fills posts so it doesn't get missed.
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AO3 Collection | Searchable Prompts on Delicious | Fills: Completed & WIPs
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[Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (10/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-05-30 05:57 am (UTC)(link)In the meantime, he decided to put some effort into his health, which he’d been doing his best to ignore. The luxury building had a full gym downstairs which included an indoor track, and it wasn’t since his Columbia days that he had the luxury of access to one that was almost always empty. Walking outdoors was better than the stale air inside, but it also meant using his cane and avoiding people, or making sure people avoided him, because they always felt so guilty when they ran into him and wanted to let him know about it, and at length. Walking wouldn’t get him into fighting shape but it was a start, and he didn’t want Fisk to see him back in training, so Fogwell’s was out, and instead he got to see how the other half lived. The whole place smelled of chlorine used for the pool, which he didn’t go near. The water muted his senses; the only reason he knew how to swim was because Stick taught him by forcing his head under water until he learned to float while panicking. He still had no idea how they weren’t kicked out of that public pool. Those were some negligent life guards.
He had his phone reactivated but couldn’t bring himself to make any calls. He didn’t know who would want to talk to him. He was exhausted just talking to Fisk or Vanessa, when he had to mentally stay on his toes all the time. He could feel himself being dragged down again by the emptiness inside. He wondered what Fisk would do if he fled. Drag him back? Make some more vague threats about people Matt couldn’t emotionally connect to? Or just leave him to die this time?
Even though it was a weekday, Matt went to church. He knew Lantom went to do hospital visits after Mass on Tuesdays, so the church was empty except for an old woman who sat in the back corner and had pamphlets for strangers. He passed by her and felt the warmth of the candles. Right. Candles. For the dead.
“Do you want to light one, dear?” the attendant – he forgot her name – said, and he reminded himself that this was a completely reasonable thing to ask a blind person if they needed help with, even if she didn’t say it in the least demeaning manner possible. The trays of little candles formed a slope and one could easily burn themselves even with the power of sight.
“Yes, please.” The words sounded alien to him, as if they came from someone else. It hadn’t been his intention. He lit a candle for his dad on Christmas, but that was that. He’d only been attracted to the warmth.
As she prepared the candle, he reached out and touched the state of St. Mary above the altar. It was unpainted stone, and he was the only one who was allowed to touch it, so he supposed they weren’t too worried about it being worn down. There was nothing particular about this statue – the standard Mary with a downcast face tilted slightly to the side, her lips and nose petite and feminine, and her eyes half-lidded. There was no deviation from the standard posture, though he wasn’t about to feel her up to find that out for himself. He touched the face and one of the outstretched arms, but that was it. The attendant probably thought he was experiencing some bout of religious ecstasy, but he was having trouble connecting cold stone to the supposed warmth of her love and forgiveness.
He lit the candle the attendant guided his hand to and crossed himself, but no prayer came to mind. He could barely even think her name, let alone say it. He didn’t want to think of Elektra as being in Heaven or Hell; he didn’t even want to think of her as dead. She was just ... gone, having exited his life with only slightly more finality than the first time she ran, leaving him an empty shell, only aware that he had previously felt whole and now that feeling was gone and he didn’t know if he would ever get it back.
Matt forced himself to sit in the hard pews, alone except for the attendant and the guard he knew was standing just outside the door. The stone walls, built in the old-world style of masonry, muffled the street noises and he could focus on the sound of the candle wicks burning away in the wax, and his own breathing bouncing against the walls, helping him form a picture of the cross at the altar. The imagery bounced around in his brain but did nothing else. It wasn’t meaningless but he couldn’t absorb the meaning, so it hung on him like a dead weight until he couldn’t take the guilt of not feeling anything anymore, and stepped outside.
Vanessa was waiting for him. He knew she’d been there for some time, wanting to impose herself but not too much. Entering the church would have been crossing a line. He wasn’t even that happy she was here now. His fist tightened around his cane and he said, “I didn’t know you were religious.”
She didn’t pretend to be. “I didn’t want to interrupt your prayers.”
But that was exactly why she was here, even if she hadn’t crossed that threshold, and it took all of his energy not to tell her to fuck off. She wasn’t part of this, this part of him that was so raw and cold. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Of course, she wasn’t put off in the slightest. Maybe she was just used to being around angry men. “Do you really think you’re the only one to have lost someone?” He was holding in his rage as she continued, “Do you think Wilson will be my first husband? Did I just materialize for the sake of existing in your shared worlds, and did not exist before?”
“I don’t – “ He wanted to say he didn’t care, but he stopped himself. He was being rude. She wasn’t toying with him now, because her heart said truth truth and her tone was sad. “She wasn’t – “ But it was another false start for him. He supposed he wanted to say that that part of his life wasn’t for the Fisks to have, that no one could touch Elektra, especially now. No one had the right. But he couldn’t verbalize any of this without sounding stupid, and he didn’t want to sound stupid in front of Vanessa, or anyone.
“Matthew,” she said, her voice gentle when she said his name, like one of the nuns gently scolding him to instruct him. “You’re not the only one not to know how to grieve. You feel like you’re the only one in the world, and so has everyone who has come before you and so will everyone who comes after you. We only learn this by experience.”
He could only manage a single sentence. “When does it stop?”
“Sometimes it’s harder to start,” Vanessa said.
She wasn’t being cryptic; Matt knew exactly what she meant.
Re: [Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (10/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-06-01 04:14 pm (UTC)(link)Re: [Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (10/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-06-02 03:19 am (UTC)(link)Re: [Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (10/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-06-02 01:27 am (UTC)(link)