What's life without a little daredevil-ing

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You had all fallen into different conversations, the group avoiding discussing the elephant in the room until finally Foggy can’t take it. “Alright, let’s talk,” he begins once you’re conceivably sure that Matt is asleep.

You turn from your discussion with Luke and Claire to face where he, Jessica, and Karen are standing, having had their own conversation.

“Right,” you agree, forcing a confidence you don’t feel. “Jess, you manage to find anything?”

Jessica scoffs and shakes her head. “There were cops everywhere. Even blocked people from getting in the building.”

You raise your brow. “And that stopped you?”

“No. But it made things a hell of a lot harder. By the time I got there, assailants had been taken away, most of the stuff already bagged. I’m heading back in the morning when there’s less attention. Maybe I can find something they missed.”

You frown in displeasure at that but are unsurprised. 

“Do you have any idea why they attacked Matt?” Karen asks. “You’re the only one to have been there.”

“No,” you admit, frustrated with yourself for the answer despite the fact that it was entirely out of your control. You’re aware of what she’s asking. “They were all knocked out by the time I got there, so I don’t know if they know who he is or if it was just that lawyer Matt Murdock stepped on too many toes.”

“Well, if it was the latter, why not go after me?” Foggy points out.

Luke and Claire share a look. “Maybe you’re next,” Luke suggests.

“Great,” Jessica mutters.

Karen’s expression pinches in worry. “You might want to relocate tomorrow night, stay in a hotel with Marci for a few days.”

Foggy pales and whips out his phone, already headed for the door. “Shit, I didn’t even think about that.”

Foggy now gone, the others turn to you. “I don’t like those expressions,” you say slowly, already nervous.

They exchange glances until finally Claire puts a hand on your shoulder. “Look, while you and Matt were talking, we were trying to figure out the best way to move forward, considering the amnesia.”

“And?” You have a very strong feeling you won’t like where this is going.

“We think it would be for the best if you… played along with the marriage thing. When he gets out, he goes to your apartment.”

You laugh.

The group, once again, exchanges looks. “Seriously,” Foggy agrees as he walks back in, halting your nervous laughter. “You can’t tell him.”

“Why not?” 

It’s Jessica who pipes up, now. “For his safety. Matt doesn’t remember being… anything, so he isn’t prepared if they’re coming after him. Until he remembers, it’s safer to keep it all a secret.”

“So we don’t mention his extracurriculars, okay. Why does he have to still be married to me, though?”

“We can keep an eye on him better that way.” Foggy again. “There’s someone with him if something happens before Jess can figure out who did this. Plus, Matt’s an idiot—what if he decides to become a vigilante again, independent of us telling him? He sure as hell didn’t tell anyone last time. This way, we’re aware.”

“What, so this is just a unilateral decision? I don’t get a say?” By their expressions, the answer to that is no. The anger drops, gives way to exhaustion, and you scrub your free hand, the one not currently tangled in Matt’s locks, over your face. It falls away, and you grimace. “I don’t like this.”

“Nor do any of us,” Karen comforts. “But you made a choice, and… moving forward, this is the best option we see.”

You see their point, really, you do. Matt is a genius but his common sense is a little… lacking, especially when it comes to himself and his health. You sigh, hand stilling in Matt’s hair as you fiddle with your grandmother’s rings between your thumb and ring finger. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Foggy parrots, not expecting the easy acquiescence.

“Only until we find out who attacked him,” you clarify, eyes narrowed, subconsciously resuming your earlier motion of running your fingers through his hair repeatedly. “Or when his memories return. Whichever happens first.”

“If his me-”

“When,” you cut in. “When, Foggy, when they return.”

Foggy looks like he’s going to further argue that point, but Claire jumps in first. “Deal.” 

“Deal,” you agree. “And Jess?”

“Yeah?”

“Find the bastards quick. Please.”

You don’t know when you fell asleep. The others had talked for a little while before heading out—first Claire, returning to work, and Luke leaving with his girlfriend before heading who knows where; then Jessica, to investigate; Foggy, to check on Marci; and Karen, to… these days, you don’t even ask.

You wake up to the sound of nurses moving around, monitors beeping. You let out a groggy grumble as you lift your head from where it was resting in the crook of your elbow by Matt’s thighs. The brightness of the room causes you to wince.

“Apologies, Mrs. Murdock,” one says. 

“‘S fine,” you manage to respond to him, embarrassed at how you look. You look at Matt, who seems a lot cleaner than when you fell asleep. “H’re y’ feeling?”

Matt chuckles. “From how you sound, I feel like I should be asking you.”

“Matt,” you reprimand, a little more awake and alert now.

His smile turns thin. “Well, I still don’t remember anything.”

“Oh.” Your stomach sinks, but you force a smile back on. It’s better for him if he doesn’t, you remind yourself. “That’s okay. Other than that? Did they let you shower?”

“Not yet. Gave me a sponge bath, though.” His smile grows more strained, obviously uncomfortable with the idea, so you reach for his hand and squeeze it for comfort.

He maintains his grip when you try to pull away, prompting you to stop. He turns your hand over in his hand, feeling over the rings. “I got you these?”

You clear your throat. “No, uh, they’re my… my grandmother’s.” You quickly change the subject. “Uh, let’s get you caught up on the major events since 2012. Uh, 2014, you quit working at L&Z and dragged Foggy along with you.” And became a masked vigilante while you were at it, you think but don’t say. “A few months later, you guys started Nelson & Murdock. You remember Karen, one of the people that stopped by yesterday?”

Matt furrows a brow, thinking. “Vaguely, I think so.”

“Yeah, she was your first client.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Framed for the murder of a coworker, then someone tried to kill her in her cell, she had a pretty rough go of it.”

“Why?”

“Found some inconsistencies in the accounts, figured out some stuff people didn’t want to know. Someone got the data to the New York Bulletin and she was acquitted. Whole company got absorbed into another corporation.”

“And continued doing the same thing, I’m guessing.”

“Got it in one.”

“What about the others that were here?”

“Well, Jessica Jones is a similar story—you met when she was framed for murder, also stole evidence, but that one was real.”

“Are my friends all just former clients?” Matt jokes, although you can tell he’s a little disconcerted at the idea.

“Well, Luke was Foggy’s client, if that helps.”

He huffs out something close to a laugh. “Not sure it does, but thanks. What about the last one? The… nurse, right? I think she came in earlier, while you were asleep. Before the psychiatrist.”

Dang. How long was I asleep for? “You met Claire when you… passed out, she’s a nurse and took you to her apartment to help fix you up.”

“Passed out? Why? And why not take me to the hospital?”

Your smile strains. “She comes from a low-income area. Not everyone can afford a hospital, and it’s not like you were conscious enough to tell her whether or not you could.”

“You dodged the first question.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Okay, then,” Matt allows. “Just… I don’t have seizures or anything, do I?”

“Nope. Just chronic stupidity that sometimes leads to you not taking care of yourself well enough to make it home without passing out.”

“...That unfortunately tracks.”

“Yup.” You pop the ‘p’ awkwardly. “There’s a lot of other stuff to catch up on, so, uh… what questions do you have? What’s most important to you to cover?”

A shit-eating grin forms on his face. “I pray thee now tell me, for which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?”

You gape at him, and if he weren’t injured you’d whack him with a pillow. “You can’t remember the past decade, but you can remember a line out of Much Ado About Nothing?”

“You only read it to me fifteen hundred times when you were memorizing your lines back at St. Agnes.”

“That-” you point a finger, “is not my fault. You could have left at any point.”

“And do what? Get in another fight?”

“You do seem to have a knack for that.” You gesture to his current state. “Although I must request you don’t get into any more. You wanna go to the gym, punch some bags, be my guest, but walking in and finding you bleeding out is not on my list of desired repeat experiences,” you joke.

Matt is silent for a moment. When he speaks, it’s a lot quieter. “You found me?” 

Shit. You hadn’t meant to let that slip. “...Yeah.”

“They said- I thought- When I woke, they told me you weren’t there.”

“I wasn’t,” you confirm. You search through your brain to find a way to word things so you aren’t technically lying. “I, uh, went back to my apartment. My lease ends soon, and most of my stuff is still there, hasn’t been moved to yours. I needed to grab something. But, uh…” you let out an awkward, slightly self deprecating chuckle as your breath quickens. You teeter on the edge of panic as you recount the events of the night, still traumatized by the scene, but try to maintain your composure. “Left my purse at the apartment, so I had to go back. You weren’t answering, so I freaked and broke in-”

“Wow, breaking and entering,” Matt interrupts with a joke, hand squeezing yours. To help you center yourself. You give him a brittle smile, grateful for the attempt to calm you. “Need a lawyer for that?”

“One not on bedrest, probably,” you tease, pausing to breathe. When you’re able to speak again, you give Matt a nod of thanks. “Oh, uh, by the way, you, uh, I know about the… sensitivities.”

Matt’s a little guarded at that, before forcing himself to untense. “Makes sense. We’re married, I figure I would have told you.”

“Well…” you worry your lip. “It’s not just me. Everyone in the… friend group, for lack of a better term, knows.”

“Why?”

“You’ve gotten a little more open in the past years.”

Matt scoffs. “That’s a lie.”

“No, it isn’t.” You brush a thumb back and forth across his hands. “You’ve had some… setbacks, some big mistakes, but you’ve grown a lot, Matty. You’ve gotten better at letting people in. You’re still by no means the best, but you’re better at it than you used to be.”

He’s silent for another long moment, before prompting, “So. You broke in?”

You allow him to change the subject, as he did for you before. “Yeah. Decided to follow in your delinquent footsteps.”

“Hey! I never broke the law!”

“Assault isn’t illegal any more? Battery?”

“Extenuating circumstances.” You raise a brow at his defense. “...I see your point. Touche.”

“I don’t think you see much of anything,” you tease.

Matt chuckles again, but motions for you to continue. You sigh, picking a spot on the wall to stare at. “You were- there were some other guys. Unconscious. You were in the remains of your coffee table-” here, Matt winces, probably imagining his back through said table, “and a lot of blood. I wish I could say more theirs than yours, but…”

“Hey.” It’s only when he wipes away a tear that you realize you’re crying. You sniffle slightly. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” His voice is gentle, soothing.

“I, I thought-” you choke slightly on a sob. “G-d, Matt, I thought you were gonna die on me. 911 was taking so long, and you didn’t stay awake, and you were- I was- I-”

“C’mere.” He shifts slightly, pain flashing across his features for a second before he suppresses it. 

“Matt-” You don’t want him in pain, nor do you want to 

“Please.” It’s that and his lethal puppy dog eyes that prompt you to sigh and comply, sitting on the bed and scooting closer to him. It’s nothing you haven’t done before—you grew up together, and Matt is a very tactile person, so you’ve cuddled before—but the context, pretending to be his fake wife, makes it all feel… different.

Matt wraps an arm around you, tugging you closer, but you resist when he tries to get you to lay your head on his chest. “Line drawn here.”

“Okay.” He sighs but complies. “How much have you slept?”

You check the clock. “About four hours,” you realize in surprise. Before that, you were awake for… well, a while. You had gotten to the apartment around 21:45, then there was ten minutes for the ambulance to get there and twelve minutes back to the hospital, Matt was rushed to surgery and that took about two and a half hours, and then there was another hour before you could see him. Then probably another hour and a half before you fell asleep, around 03:15, and now it’s 7:19. Combine that with having woken up at six the morning before and the trauma of the night before, and it’s no wonder you’re exhausted.

“Well, I’m tired, and you’re tired, and you feel like you have dried blood in your hair, which I now realize is mine, and I’m going to take a wild guess and assume that extends to your skin and clothes, which can’t be comfortable. So we’re going to take another nap until Foggy gets back here with whoever the other people mentioned earlier were, and then you’re going to go home and shower and change and get some food in you and come back.”

“You’re in a hospital bed, aren’t I supposed to be giving you orders?”

“I’ve got nurses for that. I’ve only got one wife, though, and I’d rather not lose her because she was so focused on me she forgot about self-care, okay?” “Mkay,” you murmur, already drowsy again, but can’t help the guilt when he says the word ‘wife’. Your last thought as you drift off again is a sad and you don’t even have that.

next chapter ->

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The apartment door creaked open with the softest thud, and then her back hit it as Matt pressed her gently against the wood, lips grazing her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. He was smiling.

That rare, devastating smile he only wore when it was just them.

“You’re supposed to carry me across the threshold, remember?” she whispered, breathless with laughter.

“Oh, I didn’t forget,” Matt murmured. “Just wanted a moment alone with my wife first.”

Wife.

The word made her stomach flip in a good way- warm and giddy and ridiculous.

He scooped her up easily, one arm beneath her knees, the other at her back, and she looped her arms around his neck like she’d never let go. “You’re enjoying this a little too much.”

“I’m legally required to now,” he said with a smirk. “It’s in the vows. Carry you everywhere. Worship the ground you walk on. Try not to lose my mind over how good you look in that dress.”

“Flawless delivery, Murdock,” she teased. “Truly. I can tell you definitely wrote your own vows.”

He chuckled against her shoulder as he carried her through the doorway into the quiet, dimly lit apartment. Candles flickered. Soft music still hummed faintly from the speaker they forgot to turn off before the ceremony.

And for a second- just one perfect second- it was all stillness. Just them. Just this.

He set her down gently, hands lingering at her waist. They kissed again, slower now. Softer. Everything feeling like it had finally settled into place. She pressed her forehead to his, heart beating a little too fast.

“I think I’m going to cry.”

“I’ll beat you to it,” he murmured, eyes closing, nose brushing hers. “You’re here. You’re mine. We made it.”

She smiled, eyes glassy. “We did.”

They stood there for a while. Just holding each other. Breathing the same air. Wedding bands warm against skin.

But then-

She shifted slightly in his arms. Her brows furrowed.

“Matt?”

He straightened a little, instantly alert. “Yeah?”

“I feel... weird.”

He tilted his head, concern filtering through his features. “Weird how?”

She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I don’t know. It’s like- I just got dizzy all of a sudden. Like the room’s moving.”

Matt gently guided her toward the couch, helping her sit down. “Okay. Just breathe. You might be dehydrated. Or just- adrenaline crash.”

She tried to smile. “Yeah. Big day. Lots of emotions. Too many speeches.”

She stood too fast. Her hand slipped from his.

“Careful,” Matt said, already reaching for her again. “Take it slow- ”

“I think I need to throw up,” she mumbled, voice shaky.

“Okay, yeah,” he nodded, already guiding her. “Bathroom’s just- ”

She staggered.

Her balance tipped.

Matt caught her by the waist before she could fall. “Hey. Hey, I got you. It’s okay- ”

She didn’t answer.

Her body felt... lighter. Unsteady. Like her weight was shifting in his arms.

He tilted his head, trying to focus on her. “(Y/n)? You with me?”

She looked up at him.

Confused.

Scared.

“M-Matt, I...”

And then her voice just- cut out.

His arms were suddenly empty.

He blinked.

No sound. No step. No breath.

Just... gone.

The faintest warmth lingered against his fingertips- and then something like dust scattered through them.

“What the- ?” he whispered, stepping back. “(Y/n)?”

His hand shook. Her scent was still in the room. Her heartbeat-

No. No, that wasn’t right.

He turned, listening harder, straining his senses.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The silence grew louder. His throat closed up.

“(Y/n)?”

He moved down the hallway. Checked the bathroom. The bedroom. “(y/n), c’mon. Say something.”

No heartbeat. No motion. Not even the creak of a floorboard. Like she’d never been there. Matt’s chest started to cave in.

“Okay, this isn’t- this doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “Maybe you passed out. Maybe you hit your head. Maybe- ”

His foot bumped something.

Her ring.

Her wedding ring.

Lying on the floor.

His knees hit the hardwood before he could stop them. “No.”

He crawled forward, hands blindly reaching, as if she might be hidden just out of reach.

“(Y/n)!” His voice cracked. “Where are you?!”

Still nothing.

Just the flicker of the candles.

Just the soft sound of ash settling.

“No, no- God, no!” He stood again. Stumbled. Slipped.

“(Y/n)!” He shouted so hard it tore something in his throat. “Talk to me!”

He made it to the front door. Opened it. Nothing. No one. No footsteps. No sounds of retreat. Matt’s breathing picked up. His fingers trembled as he unlocked his phone, nearly dropping it before hitting Call.

Foggy.

It rang once. Twice-

Pick up.

The sound of the city outside had changed. He could hear it.

Screaming. Tires screeching. Glass shattering six blocks over. Someone crying for help. Sirens multiplying like wildfire. It all surged into his head at once- too much, too fast.

He pressed his palm against his ear, gritting his teeth. “Too loud. I can’t- ”

Click.

“Matt?” Foggy answered, out of breath. “Hey, shouldn’t you be- ?”

“She’s gone,” Matt said immediately, voice fraying. “Foggy- she was right here, and then she just... disappeared.”

“What do you mean ‘disappeared’?”

“I mean she turned to ash in my hands,” Matt snapped, breath catching. “I was holding her. She said she felt sick and then- then she just... she was gone.”

There was a pause.

“Matt, hang on- wait- ” Foggy’s voice shifted, panic creeping in. “I think... Matt, something’s happening. It’s not just her.”

Matt stilled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m outside and people are vanishing. Right in front of me. There was a guy walking beside me- just turned to dust. A woman screaming for her kid, and the kid vanished. A guy in a cab just disappeared behind the wheel, Matt. It crashed into a light post.”

Matt pressed a hand to the center of his chest like he could anchor himself to the sound of Foggy’s voice. But even that was drowned out by the chaos around him.

“I can’t hear her,” he whispered. “Her heartbeat- her breathing- it’s just gone. Like she was never here, foggy.”

Foggy’s voice came through again, strained and tense. “It’s happening everywhere. I can’t keep up. There’s shouting, people running- I think half the crowd outside just vanished. I’m not exaggerating.”

Matt stumbled toward the couch, hand landing on the coffee table. “She was right here.”

“I’m coming to you,” Foggy said quickly. “Stay there, Matt. Don’t go outside- Jesus Christ, someone else just- ”

The line crackled. Cut out. Came back.

Matt’s hands were shaking as he reached for the remote.

The TV flicked on.

"...mass disappearances reported in New York, Chicago, London- this is now confirmed to be a global event..."

Footage played- Times Square chaos. Pedestrians turning to dust mid-step. News anchors looking off-camera in horror. Phones on the ground. Car alarms going off in every direction.

“We are receiving reports that approximately half the world’s population has- vanished.”

The camera panned to a child’s stuffed toy, untouched, lying in a pile of ash. Everything was still. Except the noise. And the empty space beside him on the floor.

“She was right here,” he said again, softly. Like it might undo it.

“She was right here.”

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five years later

She came back mid-step.

One foot lifted toward the bathroom- and when it landed, everything was wrong.

The apartment was darker. Colder. Rearranged.

The soft glow from the corner lamp was unfamiliar. The kitchen counter had a different crack. The rug was new. The air carried a different scent- like dust and time and a city that had moved on without her.

“Matt?” she called, voice hoarse.

Silence.

She stepped further in. The living room looked lived-in, but not by her. Not anymore. Not for a long time. The coffee table was cluttered with open case files. There was a cane by the door she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded faster.

“Matt-?”

And then he was there. He stood in the doorway like he’d been carved from stone, unreadable and unmoved. Then, quietly- too calmly- he said, “So. You’re back.”

She stopped cold.

“Matt-”

He tilted his head slightly, almost as if studying her. “Took longer this time.”

“What…?” she breathed.

“Usually you show up around hour thirty-six,” he said, like it was a fact. “Right after the exhaustion hits but before the whiskey does anything useful.”

Her stomach twisted. “Matt, I’m not-”

“Don’t,” he cut in, sharp. “Don’t do that.”

She swallowed hard. “This isn’t what you think.”

“No?” His voice was soft, even, lethal. “Because it looks a hell of a lot like every other time I’ve lost my mind and imagined you standing in this room.”

(Y/n) blinked, her chest rising and falling too fast. “Matt, I- I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, no trace of humor. “You wouldn’t.”

“I was just- I felt sick and then it was cold, and everything looked wrong and-" Her words tangled, tripping over each other. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Matt?”

Nothing.

She took a tentative step forward. “Please. Say something. What happened? What- what’s going on?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp, like a scalpel slicing through skin without even trying.

“Don’t do this to me again.”

Her breath caught. “What- what do you mean, again?”

“I know your routine now,” he said, voice tightening with each word. “You show up, confused. You ask questions. You cry. And then just when I start to believe you might be real- when I almost let myself feel something again- you vanish.”

“Matt, I don’t- ”

“No,” he snapped. “Stop. Just stop.”

She froze. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his jaw locked, eyes unreadable.

“You know what it’s like to bury someone without a body, (Y/n)?” he asked. “To sit in this apartment with your ring in my hand, trying to convince myself that ash on the floor was all that was left of you?”

She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “I don’t remember anything-”

“Exactly,” he said, bitter. “You never do. That’s the trick, isn’t it? You pretend like you’re all confused. Like you don’t know what’s happening. And I- I fall for it. Every time. Like an idiot.”

“Matt- please, just listen to my heartbeat-”

“I did,” he cut in. “I’ve heard it before. Right before it disappears.”

Her lips trembled. “I swear I’m not-”

“You don’t get to do this,” he said, his voice suddenly shaking, but no less cruel. “You don’t get to come back here like nothing happened. Like you didn’t leave me bleeding on the floor that night. Like I didn’t spend years trying to claw my way out of what you left behind.”

“I didn’t leave you,” she whispered.

“But you’re dead,” Matt hissed, stepping close enough for her to feel the heat off his skin. “You died. And whatever this is- this illusion, this dream- it doesn’t change that. You don’t get to hurt me again.”

He said it like a closing statement. Like a sentence passed down after a trial that never had a chance. But he didn’t stop there.

“You think this is easy for me?” he went on, voice low, cracking at the edges now. “You think I want to keep seeing you in doorways? Hearing your voice when I close my eyes? You think I haven’t begged for it to stop?”

(Y/n) stood frozen, lips parted, tears streaking silently down her face.

“I have spent five years trying to forget the exact way you said my name before you disappeared. Five years trying not to hear it in someone else’s mouth. Five years waking up thinking you might be there- just once- and then realizing that all I’ve got left is a bed that’s too big and silence that’s too loud.”

He was pacing now, hands in his hair, breathing hard, unable to stop himself.

“You were my wife. You were supposed to be the rest of my life. And I had you for minutes. You were ripped out of my arms before I even got to love you properly. Do you understand that? Do you even get what you left behind?”

“Matt-”

“I grieved you like a man who’d never believe in God again,” he growled. “I went back to that night a thousand times in my head-wondering if I missed something, if I could’ve saved you, if I’d just done one thing different-”

“Matt-”

“I begged,” he snapped. “I begged God to bring you back. I lost everything trying to survive you. And now you show up here, looking exactly the same, like time hasn’t touched you, like you’re just picking up where you left off- like you didn’t burn me to the fucking ground-”

“Matt.”

She said it once.

Quietly.

And then she reached for him.

He flinched on instinct, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, gently, deliberately, she took his hand in hers- still trembling from the weight of his words- and guided it up between them.

To her chest. To her heartbeat. Right there. Steady. Real. Alive. His breath hitched. She kept his hand pressed there, fingers wrapped around his wrist like she could anchor him to this one undeniable truth.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m not in your head. I don’t know how or why or what the hell happened, but I’m here.”

Matt didn’t move at first. Just stood there, hand pressed to her chest, like he didn’t trust what he was feeling. Like it might stop if he acknowledged it out loud. Then- suddenly- he let out a shaky breath and pulled her into him, hard.

His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “What the fuck.”

Her hands gripped his shirt like she was afraid he’d drop her again. “Yeah, what the fuck. I don’t know what’s happening.”

He laughed once, breathless and half-broken. “Yeah. Me neither.”

They just stood there for a second. Breathing each other in. Trying to recalibrate. Then, against his chest, she mumbled, “You look like shit, by the way.”

It slipped out before she could stop it. Matt let out an actual laugh- short, incredulous, almost like it startled him.

“That’s not funny,” he said, wiping at his eyes, still half-laughing.

She smiled weakly. “Little bit funny.”

He shook his head, still not quite believing any of it. “God, I missed you.”

And then he kissed her.

Desperate and real and messy- too much force, too much urgency, like he didn’t trust it to last. His hands found her face, holding her like he needed proof she was solid. She kissed him back just as hard, fingers in his hair, anchoring him to now. To her.

It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And that was enough.

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a little bonus content because well it was funny in my head

A few days later

She was curled up next to him on the couch, legs tangled, one of his old hoodies hanging off her shoulder. The TV was on, volume low, neither of them really watching.

She was still catching up- on everything. The blip. The aftermath. The years she missed. Sometimes it hit her like a freight train. Other times, like now, it just snuck up and poked her in the ribs.

She turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “Wait a second.”

Matt tilted his head toward her. “Uh-oh.”

She sat up a little. “So… technically, you’re five years older than me now?”

He blinked. “That’s what you’re choosing to focus on right now?”

“It’s a valid question,” she insisted, grinning. “I married a man my age, not some grizzled thirty-something.”

He scoffed. “Grizzled?”

“I mean, I don’t see any grey hairs, but-”

“I’m blind, not deaf. I heard that smirk.”

She tried to hold back a laugh. Failed. “So you’re like… what, thirty-eight?”

“Thirty-seven,” he corrected flatly.

“Oh no. I married an older man.”

Matt deadpanned, “And I married a time traveler. Guess we’re even.”

She bumped her shoulder into his. “You gonna start calling me ‘kid’ now?”

He turned toward her, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth. “Only if you want to see how fast a five-year age gap doesn’t matter.”

Her face flushed. “Okay, grandpa.”

Matt groaned. “Regret. Immediate regret.”

She laughed, leaning back into him again, warm and solid and finally, finally real.

“Still married me,” she said, smug.

“Still would,” he replied, without hesitation.

Across the room, Matt stood in front of the large living room windows with his back turned to you. The light from the billboard across the street washed the front of him in a dark crimson, casting looming shadows along his tense and rigid form. His hands were situated on his hips, fingers digging so sharply into his dress pants that they were pulling the fabric even more taut around his waist. Everything about his posture–from his clenched jaw to his squared shoulders–felt as if he was intentionally shutting you out as well as keeping a physical distance between the pair of you.

This is it, you thought. This is where he finally tries to push me away.

You’d known Matt for a while now. Long enough to know how he operated when things became just a bit too much for him or if someone grew a bit too close. Over time you’d slowly learned the signs of when he’d start to close himself off, beginning to read him sometimes better than he thought he could even read you. 

It had been ten months since you’d met Matt while working on an article for The Bulletin. You’d interviewed him about a case that his firm had won and the pair of you had steadily and easily grown closer together after that initial encounter. Neither of you had been able to stay away from the other. You’d long since been past the point of just dating and occasionally sleeping together–you’d been an official couple for months now. You had clothing hanging in his closet and you knew exactly where he stored the red Daredevil suit that he donned most evenings. You knew about his past from the many late nights he'd opened up to you either after a rough patrol as the Devil or a case he was particularly fired up over.

But lately Matt had started to become prickly around you. Constantly on edge. Canceling dates and intentionally trying to avoid you. He was often gone in the mornings the few times you’d stayed over at his apartment, not even giving you his usual goodbye kiss before he left. He hadn’t invited you over as frequently either because most nights now he told you that he planned to stay late at the office before running out to deal with one thing or another as Daredevil. 

This had all started just over two weeks ago. Right around the time you’d first told him you loved him. He’d seemed off that night, too. You remembered how he’d suddenly grown quiet in bed, his expression shifting to something impossible to read as he almost immediately shut you out. You’d assured him that you hadn’t expected him to say it back in the moment–and you’d meant that. You knew he’d heard the truth in the firm beat of your heart. Because you loved Matt. You knew him opening his heart up to let someone in was not something he did easily, and you were prepared to continue proving to him that you weren’t about to disappear from his life like he seemed to secretly fear.

You’d long since wondered if his sudden coldness was some sort of a test, one he himself wasn’t even aware he was putting you through. As if he expected you to leave at the first sign of difficulty in the relationship which had otherwise been fairly smooth. You’d always encouraged open communication between you both–something else you were aware he struggled with–but you’d always been patient and understanding with him, which was what you’d tried to be over these past couple of weeks.

Until this very moment. Because right now you did not fully understand why Matt had just told you that he couldn’t continue the relationship anymore. You could feel the tears building in your eyes as you stared at the back of his navy blue dress shirt, your eyes fixed on the wrinkles that formed throughout his work day. In your chest, you could feel your heart teetering on the verge of shattering, ready to break into pieces with only a few more words from his mouth. You found yourself wondering if Matt would be able to hear your heart break.

But you didn't want to let him go without a fight. You didn’t want to lose him. You loved him far too much to let him self-sabotage the relationship you'd both created and poured yourselves into over the past few months without even trying to get through to him first.

“There’s no way you mean any of that, Matt,” you told him, shaking your head and ignoring the sting of tears in your eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

His head snapped to the side when you'd finally spoken, the sharp angle of his profile swathed in red just over the top of his broad shoulder. His jaw was set firm, but even in the light from the billboard you could see the muscle jumping in his cheek.

“And what makes you think that?” he asked, a rough edge to his words.

“Because,” you answered, taking a small, hesitant step towards him and noticing the way he flinched. “I know you. I think you’re just trying to hurt me to avoid the perceived hurt you think is bound to happen if you continue getting close to me. Growing comfortable in our relationship. Because you think I’m going to leave you. You think it's inevitable.”

The muscle jumped in Matt's cheek again, the only movement you caught on his otherwise immobile body. Pressing your lips together, you tried to fight the way they'd begun to quiver. In this moment, it felt more like you were approaching a feral cat than a grown man–a feeling you'd experienced a few times with Matt in the past. And you knew right now that if you showed him any sign of weakness he'd pounce on it.

“You're scared,” you continued slowly, taking another cautious step towards him. “I think you're terrified of how great things have been between us. I think you feel as if you don't deserve the happiness I've seen written on your face when we're together.”

Something like an agitated growl rumbled in his chest at your words. Not exactly a noise of disagreement, but also not exactly the sound of a warning. It sounded more alarmed than anything, which had you feeling more confident that you'd just struck the exact problem he'd created in his mind.

“But you're wrong,” you assured him firmly. “You deserve love and happiness, Matthew. And I intend to be here with you. I will happily spend every day right by your side helping you until you see it for yourself.”

You took another cautious and careful step towards him, but you stopped moving the second you saw his lip curl back into something like a snarl. You could see his eyes narrow at you even behind the lenses of his red glasses just before he spoke.

“Why?” he growled. “Tell me why.”

Swallowing hard, your hands nervously curled up inside the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “Why what?” you whispered.

“Why do you love me?” he demanded. “Why? How could you possibly love me?”

Freezing on the spot as your breath hitched, confusion briefly washed over you. Despite having now learned his strange behavior had indeed been brought about by you saying that you loved him for the first time weeks ago, it had taken you entirely off guard that he'd wanted an actual explanation as to why you did. But then again, that really shouldn't have surprised you quite so much considering you knew just how unlovable he thought he was. And you weren’t going to let an opportunity to tell him how you really felt slip between your fingers. 

“Because you have the biggest heart I've ever seen, Matthew,” you began softly, emotion thick in your voice. “You keep it buried deep in your chest, hiding it from everyone, but I see it. Every time you come home with another banana bread or casserole dish and an excited story about how you helped someone in this city who'd otherwise have been looked over because they couldn’t afford good legal representation. I see it when you come home late at night bruised, exhausted, and bleeding but grinning in triumph as you tell me who you saved. I see it whenever you just simply look at me.”

The snarl that had initially curled his lips back gradually slipped off of his face while you'd been speaking, the hard lines of his body slowly beginning to soften. He didn't speak, but his shift in body language had given you some hope back. Hope that you could get through to him.

“And I'm not bothered by how much of yourself you give to this city,” you continued, once more carefully closing the space between you both as you slowly lowered your arms to your sides. “I admire you for it, Matthew. Ever since you told me the truth. I've never disliked that part of you. I’ve never taken issue with it. I’ve never been afraid of you. That part of you has only made me admire you more. Love you more.”

You were standing a few feet away from him now, able to see the faint tremble of his lips with how close you were. Everything you were saying was having an effect on him so you continued, hoping your words would start to sink in. Even just a little.

“And it's not just that I admire that big, beautiful heart in your chest,” you told him, “but I admire that big, beautiful brain in that handsome head of yours.” You paused, smiling a little back at him. “I think you're incredibly smart and brilliant, Matt. In and out of the courtroom. You're fiercely passionate about justice no matter the cost to yourself–whether it's sleepless nights out on the rooftops or hours pouring over files here at your apartment. And you're funny when you let yourself stop being so broody most days,” you said, your small smile growing a bit more on your lips as a tear slipped down your cheek. “You brighten my days more than you know, Matty. Always helping me to find the light in the darkness when I think there isn't any. Seeing the good in everyone…except for yourself.”

Reaching up, you wiped away another stray tear that had raced down your cheek with the back of your hand. Matt sniffled quietly, his shoulders sagging as he finally and hesitantly turned towards you. His hands had fallen from his hips, hanging at his sides as his fingers twitched.

“Do you really want me to go?” you whispered, more tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “Because I–I can take my things and leave if that's what you really want, Matt. I can walk out that door and leave you alone.”

Matt shook his head firmly, his mouth visibly trembling at your words. Tears had managed to slide their way beneath his glasses, trailing their way down his cheeks. The sight had your own tears falling faster as he timidly approached you, closing the small bit of distance that remained. 

“No,” he breathed out. “No, I don't really want that.”

Feeling a flood of relief, you reached out and wrapped your arms around his waist. Drawing himself the rest of the way into the front of you, Matt immediately buried his face directly against your neck. You could feel a dampness forming on your skin from his tears, the feeling only causing you to hold him tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into your skin. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t want you to go. I didn’t mean it. I’m just–just–”

Turning your head, you buried your face into his hair as your hands began rubbing light and soothing patterns over his back while he struggled to find the words he wanted. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you breathed in that warm, rich scent that was always uniquely Matt. With his warm body wrapped around you, your once rapidly beating heart began slowing back to a normal rhythm.

“I know,” you murmured back, lips brushing his hair as you spoke. “I know you didn’t mean it, Matty. Relationships are scary,” you told him. “Giving someone so much of yourself is terrifying, I get it. But I love you and I don’t want to leave you. I’m not going to leave you.”

With his face still buried against your throat, you felt his features screw up against your skin before another rush of Matt’s warm, wet tears began to slide down your neck. Your hands fisted his dress shirt, holding him even tighter to the front of yourself as he cried. You didn’t need him to explain why he’d suddenly begun to weep because you’d already known the answer. He’d heard the truth in your explanation for why you loved him as you’d spoken them aloud. The same unwavering truth that was always present in your words. 

“I love you,” he whispered into your skin. “And I don’t think I could ever stop.”

A smile pulled your lips upwards, tears burning at your eyes for an entirely different reason now. You pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the top of his head as a warm rush of emotion filled you at hearing him finally say those three little words back to you.

“I love you, too, Matty,” you whispered. “And I don’t ever want to stop.”