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daredevilkink2016-04-21 06:34 pm
ddk_mod) wrote in daredevilkink2016-04-21 06:34 pm
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Daredevil Prompt Post #11
HEAD OVER TO PROMPT POST #12.
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Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 3/?
(Anonymous) 2016-07-08 03:26 am (UTC)(link)“Go into the alleyway behind you. Hurry. Brett’s made you.”
“Brett?”
“Mahoney. A cop. I… we trust him.”
Matt does as he’s instructed, slinking into the alley only all too aware of his nakedness. He might not know where he is along the timeline, but he is pretty sure that whenever he’s landed this time, it’s well into the night. He knows this because even though it’s hot and muggy, there isn’t a sun blazing down on him overhead. Still, the sooner he finds cover, the better.
He easily pulls himself up a rusted and creaky fire escape, and scrambles up to the third story where there are three bathing suits and a towel draped over the metal railing, ostensibly drying in humid summer air. He leaves the two girls’ one-piece suits, and pulls down a pair of still damp swim trunks and towel. “Thanks for letting me borrow these,” he mutters toward the apartment window. He lets himself drop down into the alleyway below, and dresses in time for Mahoney’s arrival. He drapes the towel over his shoulders and wraps it tightly around himself.
“I see you back there. Come on out, hands where I can see 'em.” Mahoney moves like molasses toward him, arms up and gun drawn. Matt relaxes his stance so he appears as harmless as possible. “Murdock,” the cop says, relieved. “You know, I heard of dumpster diving, but this is taking it too far,” he says, gesturing at Matt’s choice of wardrobe.
“Hi, Brett,” Matt says, flashing his most winning smile. Present Matt used the cop’s first name without hesitation, so he’s hoping it doesn’t come across as presumptuous if he does it now, too.
“Are you drunk? Do you need someone to take you home?” Mahoney says, loosening his stance, holstering his weapon, and he speaks to Matt so carefully that Matt can’t help the scowl that crosses his face. He pulls the towel closer around his chest, and he knows how this looks, he does. He doesn’t know why this cop’s first instinct is to feel pity for Matt, but he can’t say he enjoys it very much.
“Tell him Foggy’s on his way to take you home.”
Matt pulls a hand out from under his towel. Loosely sets his fingertips over his mouth and pretends he’s rubbing his chin, scratching at stubble. “Is he?”
“Um. I’m working on it.”
“Great,” he mumbles. “Um. Foggy’s, he’s. You know Foggy, right? Nelson? He’s on his way. To um. To pick me up.” Matt cringes at how badly he stumbled through that sentence, which probably isn’t helping dissuade the cop’s less than stellar impression of him.
“You don’t sound too sure about that.”
“That’s ‘cause I’m not.”
“Yeah, I don’t really need to hear about your personal problems,” Mahoney says. “Are you--”
The thud of heavy boots setting down behind them interrupts whatever else Mahoney was going to say. “There a problem here, detective?” Matt balls his fists at the clear playfulness in his voice, and Mahoney jumps clear out of his skin.
“Jesus Christ, you cannot keep doing that. I’m gonna die of a heart attack ‘cause ‘a you, and then I really will bust your ass.”
Present Matt laughs, and Mahoney mutters under his breath, “damn. I was so sure, too,” which just seems like an odd non sequitur until he turns to Matt and adds, “you grew up at St. Agnes, right?”
“Um. Yes? Why do you ask, detective?”
“No reason. Just checking,” Mahoney says, whisper quiet.
Matt wonders if this cop knows about all his time travel bullshit, until Mahoney says, “So. Daredevil. What’s your business here, if you don’t mind me asking.”
Which… Matt angles his head to deepen his focus on Present Matt, and he’s pretty sure he’s wearing... body armor? And some kind of a helmet thing, too, which seems to be obscuring most or all of his face. Like a mask. Matt’s gut flips over.
“What…” Matt says, voice sticking in his throat a little, and he really, really wants to reach his hand out and touch… himself.
“I don’t mind at all. Just noticed Mr. Murdock here seemed a little lost. That’s all.” Matt bristles at the implication. Especially since it’s not wrong. “I’d like to see him home, if that’s okay.”
“You said Foggy’s coming to get you? Comfortable with staying with this lunatic until then?” Mahoney says to Matt. “‘Because I can take you home if you’re not.”
“Um. No, that’s fine… detective. Thank you.”
“All right,” Mahoney says to Other Matt. “But just as a warning, I will be following up with Nelson in the morning, so make sure this goes down the way it’s supposed to. Otherwise, next time we won’t be having such a friendly chat.”
“You have my word,” Other Matt says, and Mahoney mutters about the worth of that as he returns to his car, radios the all clear, and drives off.
Once he’s alone, Matt balls his hands and starts pacing. Self-hatred is an odd thing when you’re him.
“I can’t believe—You. I…” Matt cuts himself off and growls in frustration.
“You know, I kept my head in the sand for a long time. Tried to… tried to pretend.” Present Matt is speaking slowly, keeping his voice pitched low. “That I was normal, despite this…” He gestures at the space between them, to indicate time travel bullshit. “But I still went to the gym every day, didn’t I? And… and somehow when I found out, when I was standing right over there, on the… on the other side of this conversation, I was somehow shocked that this,” and Other Matt knocks on the hard armor covering his chest, “that this was the outcome.”
“How is that any kind of explanation,” Matt bites out, and rushes toward him. Present Matt lifts the helmet-thing from his head and throws it hard to the ground, shaking out his sweaty hair. Keeping his arms relaxed, he blocks Matt’s right hook, and mirrors Matt by offering one of his own. His easy movements are a counterpoint to Matt’s coiled rage, and he doesn’t dodge quick enough because the punch lands square on his jaw. Matt straightens up and breathes and breathes, running his hand over the spot where the pain begins to blossom. Other Matt doesn’t offer an apology, or otherwise speak, he just stands there, alert and waiting, with his feet apart and his fists loose at his side.
A car door slams, and Matt breathes out. Foggy’s here.
“Yo, Murdocks!” Foggy’s framed in the mouth of the alley, and all Matt’s fight drains out of him. Apparently aware he’d walked into something tense, Foggy adds, “um. What’s going on.”
“Nothing,” both Matts say, and Other Matt sweeps his helmet up from the ground and is turning it over and over in his hands, like a playground ball.
“That? Will never stop being freaky. Also? Not at all suspicious,” Foggy says. He turns to face Matt. “Young Master Murdock! Your chariot awaits. And by chariot, I mean Karen’s old-person car.”
“Foggy,” Other Matt says, voice heavy with something Matt can’t identify. “Thank you, I--”
“Yup,” Foggy says, clipping his words. “That’s what I’m here for. To help you out of a jam if you need me to.”
“Can you tell Karen--”
“You called me to come pick you up, correct?”
“Um, yes?”
“Then your phone’s not broken. Call her yourself.”
“Foggy.”
Other Matt opens his mouth to speak, but Matt interrupts with a “hi,” and a small wave, because it seems like he’s been forgotten about amongst whatever’s happening here.
“Yeah, Matt. Sorry,” Foggy says, voice suddenly soft and warm. “Car’s around the corner at your eleven o’clock. And Matt?” he adds, clearly aiming his voice to Present Matt still in the alley. Something unspoken passes between them, and Other Matt waves Foggy off before pressing the helmet back on his head and vaulting up to the rooftops above.
*
In the car, Foggy keeps staring at him. He guiltily brings his hand up to his bruised face, and presses in.
“I can’t get over how young you look,” Foggy says after a while.
“Probably ‘cause I’m nineteen?”
“Nineteen. Jesus. And where you’re from I’m probably nineteen, too.”
Matt nods. He worries at the towel for several long minutes until he has to say something. “I just found out I’ve been lying to myself. For years.”
“It’s not just a river in Egypt,” Foggy says with a humorless laugh. “You told me about this, you know.”
Matt doesn’t angle his head toward Foggy. He just keeps picking at the towel.
“You told me… look, Matt, I don’t know how much I can tell you--”
Matt huffs a little. “It’s fine. ‘Universe ending paradoxes’ aren’t really a thing, as far as I know. I mean, causality gets all tangled up, but you know. It’s fine.”
“You’re such an asshole, by the way. I nearly shat myself the first time I saw your Orphan Black routine, my tighty-whities may never recover.”
“…I don’t actually know what that means,” he says, because he’s hoping Foggy isn’t just making some tasteless joke about Matt’s upbringing.
Foggy flaps a hand. “It’s a TV show. About clones.”
“You know I’m not a clone though, right? There’s actually only one of me.”
“So not the point.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“We’re almost there, by the way.”
“Okay.”
“I’m just sayin’. I remember, you got pretty despondent there for a while, like I could tell something had happened, but. Then when you eventually told me about your… whole deal, I realized.” Foggy pauses for a long moment, formulating his words, Matt supposes. “Nelson and Murdock. That was our practice, you know? It was ours, and we did great work, we really helped people. Just. Don’t lose sight of that, man.”
“Foggy--”
“Yeah, poor choice of words, but you know what I mean.”
“No, that’s not--” The car slows and comes to a stop, and Matt lets the rest of that thought die.
“Casa de Murdock,” Foggy says grandly.
“Oh, good. Now I know where I live.” Matt follows Foggy up the stairs, and when they stop in front of what he assumes is his apartment, Foggy produces a set of keys with a jangly flourish. “Good thing you have a spare key.”
“Ha, yeah. I mean, we could go in through the roof access, but let’s not tempt fate.”
Matt’s not sure what to make of that, so he just offers Foggy a bland smile.
Once inside, he takes stock of the apartment. A short hallway empties out into wide, open layout, and he trails his knuckles along the wall to his left as he moves more into the space. “Bigger than I expected,” he mutters.
Foggy huffs, and Matt’s not sure how to read him. “I’m just gonna,” he hooks his thumb in the direction of the bedroom, and Foggy hums in acknowledgement.
Rooting through the dresser, he pulls out some comfortable bum-around-the-house clothes, then slips into the bathroom to hang the still damp swimwear.
When he comes into the living room, Foggy’s standing in front of refrigerator with the door open. Matt knows the instant Foggy’s spotted him because his breathing hitches and his body temperature spikes a tiny bit, even as the cold air from the fridge pours over him. Matt tosses him a quizzical look, but Foggy just coughs and says, “heads up,” as he reaches into the fridge and tosses a bottle at Matt.
“It’s weird I can do this kind of thing around you now,” Matt says as he easily catches the bottle. Foggy makes an unhappy noise as he follows Matt to the couch, but otherwise stays quiet. He sips at his beer; it’s decent enough, but he supposes he develops a better appreciation for it as he gets older. Seated on the couch next to him, Foggy’s huffing, and breathing in fitful starts and stops. The way he sips at his beer suggests to Matt he’s more stalling for time than actually enjoying it. “What,” he says eventually.
Foggy inhales deeply and lets it all out in one, long sigh. Sets his beer bottle down on the coffee table in front of him, and scrubs at his face and hair. “I miss you.” There’s a vague hint of salt on the air; Foggy’s trying not to cry. “We’re barely on speaking terms,” he says wetly, and Matt’s not sure when it happened, but they’re pressed firmly together now, and Matt can feel where gooseflesh breaks out on Foggy’s arm. “I hate it,” he continues, “I hate it so much, and seeing you like this, it takes me right back there. You’re the Matt I remember, my best friend, you know? And now it’s all so fucked up.” Foggy’s hand migrates toward Matt’s. First his pinky, then the whole rest of his hand, and their hands intertwine easily, like it’s the way things should always be, like they belong together.
“I’m sorry,” he says, because they might still be great friends now, but Matt fucks it up. Barely speaking. They’re barely speaking. He thinks back on sitting with an older self in that diner, the Matt who sat there and had the gall to say that things between he and Foggy were good. Some rough patches, but we’re good.
“You haven’t done anything wrong. Yet,” Foggy says. Then, “Well, no. That’s not true. There is the small matter of lying to me. About everything about you.” Matt surprised by Foggy’s tone. It’s… fond. He turns his head toward Foggy, opens his mouth to apologize, yet again, but Foggy cuts it off by pressing his lips against Matt’s open ones. Which… huh. He brings his free hand up to Foggy’s face, runs his thumb over his cheek, his closed eye, his eyebrow. Sweeps it back down to rest at the base of his throat. Things get a little… heated, and Foggy releases their still interlaced fingers, moves both hands behind Matt’s head, and buries his fingers in his hair. Matt tries to angle his hips away from Foggy, but he’s pretty sure his sweatpants hide nothing.
He breaks it off first. Licks his lips and says, “did I tell you about that, too?”
Foggy laughs. Full out guffaws. “No, Matt. You most certainly did not.” He goes quiet, and brings his hand up to Matt’s face. Touches his bottom lip with his index finger, then slides his hand to Matt’s bruised and aching jaw. “Jeez, Murdock,” he says playfully. “You’re the only person I know who takes ‘beating himself up’ to ridiculous extremes.”
“I do what I can,” he says. He hears someone on the roof, and he recognizes the sound of the boots from earlier in the alley. “Present-me’s home.”
“Shit,” Foggy says, and tugs at his clothing to hide his obvious arousal. “What am I doing. You already know about this.”
The door opens, and Present Matt thunders down the stairs. “Not interrupting anything, I hope,” he says, as he sheds himself of his vigilante-wear.
“You are the biggest asshole to ever live.”
“Hi, Foggy,” he says.
The ringing starts in his ears, and Matt feels himself beginning to fade away. He won’t be here much longer.
“I can’t believe you’ve holding on to this all these years. Since you were nineteen?! Un-fucking-believable.”
Present Matt and Foggy go to each other, but Matt won’t know what happens next for another ten years. His ears pop, and he’s back safely in his own bed. He laughes out loud, because that's never been his luck. Not until today.
Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 3/?
(Anonymous) 2016-07-08 04:42 am (UTC)(link)That kiss tho. Go Foggy! No wonder he asked his age so it wouldnt eb weird
Re: [Fill] Always Crashing in the Same Car 3/?
(Anonymous) 2016-07-08 01:54 pm (UTC)(link)