Matt Murdock Shorts

Jack

You walk into your apartment after a long day at work, and one look at Matt tells you it's going to be an even longer night. Matt's curled up on the sofa, clutching a beer in one hand, and his dad's boxing robe in the other. That sight alone breaks your heart so you prepare yourself for the night before you and head over. When you sit and put your hand on his shoulder, he shrugs it off before curling into himself more

"Matt, what's wrong?"

He lets out a broken sob. "It's been 23 years today."

You try your best not to recoil at the heavy scent of beer that rolls off his tongue.

"I miss him." He slurs.

You exhale. "I'm sorry babe. Is there something I can do?"

He shakes his head before sniffing and sitting up. "Did I ever tell you it was my fault?"

"Matt, how was it your fault? You were like nine."

"No, it was. This guy and his crew- they called him The Fixer- he was going to pay my dad to lose. Bet a lot of money against him. He was supposed to go down in the fifth, but he didn't. He won and they killed him for it."

"I don't see how that's your fault at all."

"I remember we had a conversation before that fight. I mentioned: 'we're Murdocks; we get hit a lot. But we always get back up.' I sensed something off about him that night, but I was so new to my abilities, I didn't know how to interpret it. Looking back, I think he wanted me to see him win for once."

You sigh. "That's hard Matt, but it was his choice. Whether he did it for you or for himself, he made that decision. And he did it knowing something like that might happen. You can't blame yourself."

He leans into you, forgetting about the beer. You catch it before its contents spill all over the robe in his lap.

"I think you've hit your limit for tonight Matty." You set the bottle on the coffee table. By the time you sit back he's crying again.

"No one's called me that since Stick left."

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's okay. That's what my dad used to call me, then Stick ruined it. I'd like for you to make it a positive thing again." He pauses, hiccups, then continues. "You know, he pushed me off a roof once when we were training."

"Stick?"

Matt nods against your chest.

"That's horrible."

"I hated that man."

"I hate him too." You think back on the incident.

-0-

You came home to arguing. Some old guy (Stick, you would later find out) made some comment about women being a distraction. "Just like furniture and apartments." He'd said. It was enough to get your blood boiling, but it had the same effect on Matt.

"She's not a distraction, or an object. She's the love of my life and deserves some damn respect." Matt growled, quiet fury in his voice.

You froze in your spot, heart beating out of your chest as you stared at Matt because apparently he loves you. And he decided to present this information to this old guy while you're trying to sneak out of your own apartment.

"Really? A love confession?" Stick scoffed. "That's even worse."

And there went that moment.

"Matty, surrounding yourself with soft things isn't life, it's death." Then the old man was going off about the Spartans and cutting things loose. Leaving people behind, and breaking their hearts, and Matt just stood there listening to him. He deflected the old man's taunts, sure, but seemed to forget you were there. Right when you were about to leave again, Matt finally spoke up.

"Don't go. Stick was just about to leave."

Stick ignored Matt's statement and continued the conversation as if you weren't even there.

-0-

All you remember about the following events is this. Stick referred to you as a supermodel- first of all, ew, second of all, inaccurate. And Stick insulting Matt's father was the last thing that happened before and all out brawl broke out in your living room.

"I still can't forget coming here and watching him kick you around like you were an old pillow."

He sniffs and sits up. "I wish you hadn't seen me like that. I'm not- I'm not weak."

"Oh Matty, of course you're not. I know that. I can tell you in full confidence that no one who's bothered to get to know you thinks that of you."

"My dad would be so disappointed." He shakes his head against your chest as he clutches the robe in his hands.

"Why is that Matt?" You run a hand through his hair.

"This isn't what he wanted for me. He didn't want me to fight. He died and left me so much money. They used some to pay Stick, but I think he wanted me to spend it on college." He sniffs and sits back. "Do you think he's disappointed?"

"Well you went to college, and excelled at it. When you went to Landman and Zach, you quit because he raised you with morals."

"You know what I was asking about." He mumbles.

"I imagine that the reason he didn't want you to fight is because he knew first hand how it can wreck your life. He didn't want you to have to go through that; to be at war with yourself about every move you make. Hell, I'm sure he didn't want you going through half the shit you've been through. But you've been through hell and it made you who you are today. Yeah, you have issues, but you deal with them in the most constructive way you know how. Everything you do is to help people- most of the time, total strangers. I never met your dad, so I can't tell you if you being Daredevil would've disappointed him. But that happens. Sometimes, we're not- we can't be- everything our loved ones expect of us. We just have to do what we think is right, as hard as it is. Now, whether he would've approved of you being a vigilante, I don't know. But I do think, from what you've told me about him, that he'd be proud of the man you are today."

He just sits there, wiping his eyes for a minute. As the silence stretches on, you wonder if you somehow crossed a line somewhere in that speech. After all, you never met Jack Murdock and you were making a lot of assumptions about what he wanted for Matt. Before you can over think it too much, Matt lays down in your lap. He still doesn't say anything, but you figure you didn't offend him if he's still seeking you out. You'd like to keep it that way, so you opt for running your hands through his hair until he decides what he wants to do from here. As it turns out, he wants to curl in on himself and clutch the robe to his chest, running his fingers over the lettering. Still, he seems to have relaxed into your touch, so you keep running your hands through his hair until you notice his breathing start to even out.

"He would've liked you." He murmurs before letting your touch lull him to sleep.