fear of god [Matt Murdock x F!Reader]

Body and Blood.

As soon as you had both feet planted firmly on the ground, something came in to ruin it. Whether it was God or some kind of universal asshole, they were really keeping you on your toes. Your phones running out of battery in your pocket, you can feel it begging you to take it out and call Matthew's number. But you can't. The glass eyes of the cameras feel heavy. They're watching your every move, not unlike the officers on the opposite side of the two-way mirror. You can imagine them on the other side, seated on comfortable chairs, prepared to stake the night out, ready to use whatever you do as a sign of guilt.

What if Matthew is the person they're looking for? What if they're waiting for you to call him - Daredevil - so they can lock him away? You clench your teeth together, hoping that it goes unnoticed to the invisible eyes. In front of you, they've left a glass of water and what looks like a cinnamon pastry on a small, ceramic plate. You had remembered early on not to touch anything they put before you; no pens, no food or drink, nothing. They can take your fingerprints that way. They told you they'd be back in five minutes. It's been ten. You know they want to make you nervous - you have no idea why or what "questioning" you're in for. Idly, you watch the cold condensation of the glass make patterns on the old, vinyl table.

When the door swings open, you make a note to look up unfazed. You refuse to allow them the satisfaction of making you squirm.

"Sorry I'm late," the detective lets out a sigh, pausing for the door to close snuggly behind him, "a lots been a lot going on in Hell's Kitchen recently. I'm sure you're aware, given your profession."

You just give him a look, "Is that what I'm here for? To answer questions about my profession?"

The man lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head gently. "No, no," he answers truthfully, "I want to know about something a little more interesting."

"I refuse to speak without a-"

"A lawyer or an attorney present, yeah," he cuts you off, eyes plastering into yours for a solid moment, "I thought you might say that... not hungry, huh?" He looks down at the stale pastry then back up at you. "Listen, I'll be honest with you, okay? I didn't want to bring you in here. This is going to be embarrassing but - you're, uh, you're actually one of my favourite writers in Hell's Kitchen. I mean, I've been reading your work since you started in the Arts column like six years ago!"

You don't react. It seems he's done his research. "I'd like to know why I've been brought in today," you demand calmly, "Am I under arrest?"

"No! What for?" He barks out a laugh, "I want to talk to you about the Red Light Murders."

"Why? You know how many times I've come to this station wanting to speak about it?" You tilt your head at him, your frown conveying more emotion than you want. Biting the corner of your lip, you can hear Karen screaming 'don't say anything without a lawyer!' in your head.

The man lets out a hum, leaning back against the mirror as he folds his arms over his chest, "Well, there's been more activity recently-"

"Especially in the media, right?" You give him a sneer, "Yeah, noted."

Something crosses his face. Shut up, Y/N. Shut up. "Our main focus is keeping the people of Hell's Kitchen safe, and we can do that by putting away the person responsible." The way he looks at you stirs something within your chest.

"I demand to have a lawyer present if you insist on asking any further questions."

"Alright," he raises his hands in the air, a small smirk coming to his lips, "I guess you don't care to do this the easy way, I mean - they wanted to issue a grand jury subpoena, you know what that is?"