daredevilkink | Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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It was no surprise to Vanessa that Matt was bottling up his emotions instead of processing them. He was a man after all, one used to taking what he wanted by force and probably throwing fits when he couldn’t have it if he was anything like Wilson, and it was obvious that he was a lot like Wilson, and that was why they both liked him, and wanted to shelter and support him, even if Wilson wouldn’t admit it. If either of them were a little older, Matthew could have been the age of grown son, though they didn’t pursue him quite like that. He wasn’t a child; Wilson acted like one with far more frequency. His needs weren’t childish, and his behavior was better described as merely stubborn. But she liked that, too. It showed he had some life in him, compared to the pale ghost of a man who greeted her, sans a proper voice, when she arrived.

Matthew Murdock would recover. She had no doubt of that. She looked at Wilson’s research. Jack Murdock had been not just any kind of boxer, but one known for his endurance and incredible recoveries, even though it didn’t translate to a winning record. She didn’t particularly like boxing, but she was accustomed to violence in her life, more so than the men around her wanted her to be. It was partially protective and partially because at the height of their anger, people were the most open and vulnerable, and neither of them wanted her to see that.

She knew a lot about Matthew. She knew that she overstepped a bit by going to his church, even if she hadn’t gone inside, but she felt he needed the push, and he’d too successfully avoided anyone else in his life who might be willing to do it. Even Wilson couldn’t tell her much about Matthew’s lost love, the elusive billionaire daughter of a Greek ambassador, though he was careful to warn her that Matthew did not want her name spoken, which Vanessa took to mean that he wasn’t ready to say her name and acknowledge the loss himself.

Or maybe she was wrong. Her degree was in art history, not psychology.

For the moment, she tried not to overthink it more than she already had. She was enjoying her mostly-metaphorical honeymoon with Wilson, her first time back in the city in over a year while he kept his head down, legally-speaking, which meant he had free time that he was more than willing to devote to her. She didn’t love New York with the same passion that he did (it took a native), but she could appreciate what it had to offer, or she could just be alone with Wilson, who was at his most precious when he was at his quietest, when he moved from one task to another with ease and dedication. He claimed to have abilities, but he did the things he loved like an artist, with the same mindfulness and quiet intensity of someone deeply involved in what could essentially be a simple task, like making breakfast, or picking out his clothing. He was adorably domestic. He didn’t put up the front to be too refined to be above some things and he didn’t delegate tasks to servants when he felt it was better to do it himself. This was the real him, not the supervillain the media him out to be, which implied that he was big and stupid and clumsy and a simpleton like Captain America should just come and beat him into compliance. (Granted, Matthew hadn’t done much better, but he’d tried to be more subtle about it at first) Whatever shade of grey his activities took on a moral scale, he went at them with the core of his being, which was solid and earthly. And she loved him for it.

They didn’t talk about a wedding. Both of their legal statuses were still on questionable grounds, and it would be hard to have any level of privacy until his name died out a little bit more. Yes, they would marry, because they loved each other and they wanted to make that clear to society. When it would happen was irrelevant to both of them. After prison, Wilson was even more dedicated to taking his time with tasks that deserved full attention, and with stopping to smell the proverbial roses, and maybe also the real ones that he bought for her not because he wanted to lavish her with extravagant gifts to prove his worth but because she told him she liked plants with thorns. Beauty was more exciting with a sharp edge. Vanessa wouldn’t say that prison had changed him for the better – he had been scared by it, and harbored deeper feelings of anger and remorse – but there were some good things to come out of it. Scars faded. Life lessons were more difficult to unlearn. Like the roses, life was temporary. It withered and died. It had to be grasped fully at every moment. There was no use wasting time.

He didn’t tell her about work except very vaguely and if she asked, and she didn’t ask. She wouldn’t have minded if he wanted her at his side about certain decisions, but they both agreed that plausible deniability was the best way to go. But if she’d asked for a permission in his empire, to sit by his side, he undoubtedly would have given it to her, because that was the sort of man he was. He would give her anything. They were in the uncomfortable position that both thought they didn’t quite deserve the other.

It was good to have another person around the house other than servants and guards. He wasn’t around most of the time – he ate with them about once every other day, sometimes just for breakfast – and he didn’t say a lot until the social bubble around him was pierced (usually by Vanessa), so they could ignore or engage him at will. His depression made him very passive, but didn’t dilute any of his beliefs, which tended to be about as well thought-out as Wilson’s (i.e., not totally) but also fiercely developed in is core being because they meant something profound and were borne out in his actions. Neither of them wanted to see the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen go back to work, but while he was out of commission, there was time to admire him for his efforts. And he had brought up their downstairs neighbor not to mock Wilson, however much he clearly delighted in that, but because he cared. He knew the ins and outs of not only the legal but the social support systems available in New York. He had people at his fingertips. This couldn’t have been the first time he dealt with something as ugly and difficult to face as this, and he did it head-on. Wilson tried to shield her from ugly realities until she told him to stop; Matthew never bothered in the first place. Matthew could be polite, but he had no genteel exterior or desire to cultivate one. Despite having lived a double life, he did not hide behind many illusions as to who he was and what he was about.

They were having dinner – just her and Wilson – in the apartment when the leader of their security team rudely interrupted to say that the private investigator who trailed Matt almost everywhere was outside their building, clearly intoxicated and yelling coherently.

“I’ll – handle this,” Wilson said.

As he stood, Vanessa interrupted him. “She’s here for Matthew. Let him handle it.” It might be good for him to see that people cared about him. And despite his conversations with her, he hadn’t really said anything against the Fisks or asked for help, maybe he knew he was being monitored.

Matthew, unsurprisingly, put up no fuss. “I’ll talk to her.” He tried calling on his phone, but she didn’t pick up, so he sighed and took the elevator down. Wilson insisted on watching from the CCTV for the front of the building. There was no audio, but Miss Jones yelled in his face and stumbled about and even offered him a drink from her mostly-empty bottle that somehow wasn’t smashed yet. Matt remained calm, planted firmly in place on the sidewalk, with his cane acting as a marker to highlight that. His back was too the camera, so his expression was impossible to read, but he demonstrated a lot of patience before finally calling Jones a cab. She yelled some more, but eventually got in it, to everyone’s relief.

Matthew returned and said, “She’s just very drunk.” And while that was probably true, his voice cracked like he was near crying, or had been, and his glasses obscured the truth of that. He took no more questions before disappearing downstairs.

Beside her, Wilson balled his fists. He wasn’t alone in the strong desire to hit something – or hurt someone – at this moment, but there was nothing they could do that wouldn’t easily come into question, and Matthew would rightfully be horrified and might abandon them entirely.

“I’ll say something to him,” she assured Wilson as she put a hand on his arm. He’d built up quite a bit of new muscle in prison. “Then we’ll decide what to do about her.”

Wilson gave her a look that said, I trust you and kissed her, then stormed off. Sometimes he was too angry to speak.

Oh. Oh. It hadn't occurred to me how badly Jessica would take the "just stay here and play house with us and everyone else can be safe" kidnapping. Of course she is out of her mind about it.

Holy SHIT I just got that. And I'm the author.

Daredevil Prompt Post #11

[Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (11/?)

Re: [Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (11/?)

Re: [Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (11/?)