My Devil

Chapter 9

The sun warmed your skin as it came through the bedroom window and you shielded your eyes from the light in confusion. Last night had been a blur and you couldn't have been sure about what truly happened or if it had been a dream.

You had stood on that rooftop until your voice was gone and your bones shivered with the cold night air, something in your gut told you that Matt could hear you shouting but chose not to listen. You feared this was his way of starting to withdraw once again. By 2 am you had grown exhausted and couldn't stand the chill any longer. Despite not wanting to give up you caved and made your way back inside the apartment. You couldn't sleep so there was no point in trying, you wondered if this apartment might ever feel safe again, like home again. Fear riddled your body at the idea of Poindexter returning and so sleep was a fairytale. Instead, you cleaned, scrubbed every square foot of that place within an inch of its life. The mud from the smashed plant pots gone, each disturbed pillow case, bedsheet or tea towel had been washed and folded neatly, and the blood from your own kidnapping was bleached away. With everything clean - including yourself following a hot shower - you sat on the couch in a pair of Matt's old sweats that you had dug out from the bottom of some cupboard where you had locked his belongings away when you left. You must have been there for an hour or longer, just staring blankly into space. You couldn't call Karen or Foggy, you knew you needed to apologise to them for your last conversation but your phone had been smashed during the kidnapping and you wanted to be alone just for a little while. Your mind whirred like an overworked machine as you thought about what you were going to do next. You wanted to curl up next to Matt and just sleep, you wanted to go back to normal you wanted your old life back.

Your mind was yanked harshly back to reality with the heavy slam of the rooftop door and your head snapped up to see him standing at the bottom of the stairs. Matt, still dressed in his Devil's get-up, mask and all, had come home. You sat up in your seat, unsure of what to do but your voice let out an audible gasp of shock at his arrival. Peering through the pink dark at him you could see he was practically dripping with blood, his hands bound by some ropes and his shoulders were slumped with the weight of some unknown emotion. "What happened?" You asked standing carefully so as not to surprise him, an old habit that clearly was going to die hard. But before you could get close enough to reach out you found yourself pressed up against the wall as Matt lashed out in rage, swiping mugs and other various items off the table with a loud mash. His breath was ragged and came out of his chest with breathy pants as he fell to his knees. The past few days of events washed out of you and you pushed off the wall and ran to him, skidding to the floor yourself you collided into his arms that were suddenly open for you and he almost fell backwards with the force of the embrace. He gasped in pain a little, the cuts on his body stung like they had been dipped in lemon, but the familiarity of you enveloped him in a bubble of protection that he had been missing for so long now. It took a moment, but Matt's guards suddenly dropped and he slumped into your chest as you cradled his head, still panting with adrenaline and pain. "Talk to me?" you whispered and he gulped deeply, you picked his head up out of your chest and pulled the mask off to scan his face, just as bloodied and bruised as your own had been after Poindexter's torture, but you suspected he looked worse than he really was. "It's over" he gasped and you sucked in a breath of air. "Is Fisk-" you made to ask but he knew what you were going to say "alive" was all he needed to reply with and you pulled him back to you, rocking in a soothing motion as you let out a breath of relief. You realised in your relief that Matt was shaking, sobbing and you kissed the top of his head his hair dirty and messy but you could hardly care about that. "It's over" he muttered over and over.

You must have held him like that for what felt like a while, time was irrelevant as you did your best to calm him. Perhaps no more than five minutes had passed in actuality. His breathing had steadied when he eventually got to his feet, leaving you kneeling on the floor as he pulled off his black shirt, ripped and bloodied, off and threw it to one side along with the ropes from his fists. "I couldn't do it" he muttered as he paced back and forth, only stopping for a second to wash the red blood off his hands and arms in the kitchen sink, splashing the cool water on his face. One half of your brain was entirely focused on the mess Matt currently was, and the other half drifted to his shirtless torso and craved Matt's touch, your skin fizzed with the idea of being with Matt; the real Matt, not the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, not the stressed and irrational Matthew you had seen in the church basement. The real Matt Murdock. "I could give you an answer and I think you know what I'll say, but you've never believed me before" you sighed and using your hands to push on your thighs you got to your feet and leaned against the edge of the couch. Matt did his equivalent of shooting you a sarcastic look and you sighed again to softly say "It's the truth, you are a good man, you always have been". In the haze of his mind, your words triggered the memory of the illusion of you when he was in the gym, desperate and alone listening to the voices inside his own head, set on his mission to end Fisk so he could consider going home.