#daredevil!gator

The fabric of his dark, rain soaked mask clings to his face. Gashes in his long sleeve reveal pale skin and aching wounds underneath. Dirt reaches from his black cargos down to his combat boots. The figure in front of you is nothing like the sleek vigilante whose photo has been splashed across every article and news station in the city. 

The devil stumbles forward, a gloved hand flies out to grip the door frame and steady himself.

“Aren’t y’ gonna help me out here?” He grunts.

The voice immediately clicks in your brain. Gator Tillman. You almost can’t believe it. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, causing you to see a threat as a friend.

“Gator?”

“Who else would it fuckin’ be?” Gator snorts, then winces. 

After a beat, you wrap Gator’s arm around your shoulders and haul him inside your apartment. Together, you hobble over to the couch.

“Lie down and… give me a second.”

Gator follows your instructions, his body taking up the entirety of your couch. You rush to grab a first aid kit from the bathroom, as well as extra bandages and hydrogen peroxide. When you come back into the living room, Gator’s sitting up on the couch with his shirt off. The injuries aren’t the first thing that catch your eye; a tattoo on his upper arm is what draws your attention.

“Does that say ‘LOL’?”

“Just shut up and get this over with.”

You roll your eyes, then remember that he can’t see it, so you follow it up with a scoff. Still, you sit down on the couch next to him with your makeshift nursing kit. Now that you’re closer, you can see old scars mixed in with fresh bruises and cuts. His back has the worst scars; what you can only assume were lashes from a belt cover the area. Gator shivers when you trace your finger down one of the scars.

“You’re supposed to be dealin’ with my actual injuries, not shit from when I was a kid.”

“If you want professional treatment, then you should go to a professional. I’m a legal assistant, not a doctor.”

“I ain’t a doctor either, but I know which parts to patch up.”

“Do it yourself then,” You thrust the bottle of peroxide into his hand.

Gator frowns and pushes the bottle back to you, “Just do this for me. If you don’t help, that makes you… what’s that word Matt told me? When ya don’t like cripples?”

“So I have to help you, otherwise I’m ableist?" You laugh. 

“I’d say laughin’ at an injured blind guy is ableist. You can get cancelled for that kinda shit.”

To avoid encouraging his insanity any further, you pour peroxide onto a cotton pad and start cleaning a large cut along Gator’s side. He hisses and jerks back.

“You coulda warned me.”

“I’m warning you now,” You reply in a sugar sweet tone.

Gator lets you continue working on the wound, only letting out an expletive every couple of seconds. Once you’re done, you use medical tape to keep gauze pressed against the cut. You continue to work in silence until you get to a particularly nasty gash on Gator’s left arm.

“What happened?” 

“There’s this gang, Russians, Matt and I have been trying to take down. I was stakin’ the place out when I heard one of the leaders beatin’ on his girl. She was begging him to stop, and I… I couldn’t take it, so I stepped in. But they got the jump on me and beat my ass.”

“Does Foggy know, too?”

Matt is technically your boss, but Foggy’s the one you work for directly. The thought of him lying to you, especially about something as big as this, doesn’t make any sense. Gator being able to keep a secret like this is already shocking enough.

Gator shakes his head, “Just me and Matt. He was Daredevil first; once I came along, he decided to train me. Gave me a purpose. I actually help people now.”

Gator’s past still isn’t fully clear to you. You know bits from what he’s been willing to tell you, what Foggy has let slip, and the few articles that exist online about the Roy Tillman situation. Someone clearly worked to make sure Gator got a fresh start after whatever happened to him.

“You won’t be able to help anyone if you keep ending your nights like this.”

Gator shrugs, “At least my life would mean somethin’. Wouldn’t have to die a complete waste of space. It would be my penance, I guess.”

Gator’s usual ego has been replaced with something darker. He does this because he doesn’t mind dying. Gator wants to die. 

“Whatever you did won’t go away if you get yourself killed,” You keep your eyes focused on his wounded arm. “Making mistakes doesn’t mean you owe God or anyone else a debt. It just means you’re human.”

“You get that from a self help book or somethin’?” 

“I just went to therapy. You should try it sometime.”

Gator chuckles, “Nadine made me go to a shrink after everything happened. Didn’t do anything for me.”

“Is Nadine your sister?” 

You’ve wanted to know since you first heard Gator mention her. He also mentions a woman named Lorraine whom he doesn’t seem to like very much. Foggy told you she’s the one who got Gator the job as Matt’s aide. But you have no idea what her connection is to Gator or to Nadine.

“Kinda. She used to be my step-mom even though she’s young enough to be my sister. Nadine was the only person who saw something worth fixin’ in me.”

“So she got Lorraine to get you the job?”

“Look at you, Nancy Drew,” Gator grins. “Lorraine’s her bitch of a mother-in-law. Just wanted to get me out of the way.”

You finish bandaging up Gator’s arm and look back at him.

“Are your legs injured at all?”

“Bruised. Nothin’ a couple bags of frozen peas won’t fix. Matt’s got a whole supply at the apartment.”

“Okay,” You pause, trying to figure out what else to check. “Oh, take off the mask so I can check your head.”

“No can do.”

“Why not? You can just peel it off. It’ll only take a few seconds.”

Gator tenses up, “I’ll handle it.”

“You made a big fuss to get me to help you, so let me do it.”

“No!” Gator snaps. “You’re never gonna want t’ go near me again.”

You take his hand in yours, “I deal with your idiocy all day, I’ll be fine.”

“This is different.”

“Jesus, just tell me,” You squeeze his hand.

Gator goes still, then says, “The mask is the only thing coverin’ my eyes. I take it off and you’ll see them. It’s not pretty under there. I’m disfigured… deformed. You don’t need to see it. I don’t want ya to.”

Gator’s choice of glasses, which you always make fun of, makes a hell of a lot more sense now. Matt’s glasses just look like regular tinted glasses, and you’ve seen him take them off more times than you can count; but Gator wears dark sunglasses that cling to his face, and you realize now that you’ve never seen him without them. Gator tilts his head down and pulls his hand out of yours, balling it up in his lap instead.

“You’re the only one who treats me like I’m normal,” Gator whispers. “Matt thinks what happened to me was God’s plan, a second chance I was blessed with. Foggy treats me like a little kid who needs to be watched like a fuckin’ hawk. But you–”

Gator’s voice catches in his throat. He coughs, trying to brush it off. 

“I get it, Gator,” You place your hands over his balled fists. 

“I think that’s why I like ya so much. You get me. Nobody really does. You keep up with me, make fun of me, know that I’m a complete loser and aren’t afraid to let me know that ya know it.” 

“You make it sound like I hate you.”

“I kinda wish you hated me so I didn’t have t’ worry about disappointin’ you.”

Gator sounds so young; the hardness in his voice is completely gone. There’s a level of adoration to his words that you’ve never heard from anyone else before. Your cheeks grow hot. Are you really that important to him? 

“Don’t get a big head about it,” Gator adds. 

“Too late. My ego’s already doubled in size.”

“If you heard everything I thought about you, your ego’d probably be the same size as the Empire State Building,” Gator laughs. “Need you to stay humble.”

“What do you think of me?” You tease.

“You’re perfect,” Gator murmurs, scooting a little closer. “I ain’t ever seen you, but I know you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever met. And yer voice makes me feel nice whenever I hear it.”

“Gator,” You bring his hands up to your face, letting his fingers make contact with your skin. “Maybe feeling will help you get a better picture.”

“I might not stop after I get started,” Gator smiles.

“That’s fine by me.”

Gator’s fingers drift over your features, then start to hone in on certain places for minutes at a time. Gator feels every angle of your nose and plays with your eyelashes. His smile grows as he takes in more of you. 

“You’re even more beautiful than I thought,” He moves his fingers down to your lips, his thumb begins to stroke your lower lip. “Can I?”

“Yes,” You reply quickly.

Hesitantly, Gator leans in, pressing his lips against yours. You deepen the kiss, trying to let him know that it’s okay to go further. Gator places one hand on the back of your neck, moving the other down your body to your waist. The kiss is reverent. Every movement he makes is to worship you, to learn how you feel.

When he finally pulls away, your entire body feels hot. Gator barely did anything, yet your body is still reacting.

“Turn away.”

You spin yourself around so your back is facing Gator. He moves behind you, but you can’t tell what he’s doing.

“You can turn back now.”

When you do, you see that he’s taken his mask off for the most part. He’s holding the mask up to his eyes so he can stay comfortable while you examine him.

“Get it over with,” He urges.

You check his head for any bloody spots or visible damage, then ask him a few basic questions since you can’t do the ‘how many fingers am I holding up’ trick.

“I think you’re fine.”

“Told ya so.”

Gator tilts your head away again and slips the mask back on, “I did somethin’ in the past. There was this guy, he, uh, he found out about it. Got real pissed. I didn’t know until he attacked me… brought me to some barn and told me I needed to pay for what I did. An eye for an eye is what he said. Then he… came at me with this rod he’d heated over a fire and…”

You try to look back at him, but Gator holds your head in place.

“The guy let me go, sent me back to my dad… and he,” Gator starts to choke up. “My dad told me I wasn’t useful anymore and left me. It was so cold, couldn’t see anything. Could barely feel anything. I still remember the bloody rag on my face and how alone I was. What a disappointment I was.”

“Your dad seems like a piece of shit.” 

“He is,” Gator snorts. “Still wanted him to love me. It was all I wanted. And he just threw me away.”

You break out of Gator’s grip, turn around, and wrap your arms around him as tightly as you can. No wonder he is the way he is.

“That’s his loss, not yours.”

“You still want me now that you know?” Gator asks sheepishly.

“I want you more than ever, Gator. Don’t go out and get yourself killed. I’ll be pissed.”

Gator chuckles, “Got it.”