Summary: Abandoning Matt in college was the hardest thing you ever had to do. Or was it? When you unknowingly show up at Mattâs apartment building five years later with a secret in tow, it might be enough to break both of your heartsâŚall over again.
Authorâs Note: I was almost finished this fic when I realised Matt probably wouldâve been able to figure out the twist from the beginning with his abilities⌠but oh well! I was already about three weeks later than I wanted to be in publishing this, and I was NOT rewriting the whole thing! Hope you like it, anon! đ
Warnings: Angst, Cussing, References to Bad Parents, Abandonment, no use of y/n, Brief Reference to Homelessness, Fever, Sickness, Crying, (LOTS of crying), Ambiguous Ending, Written on My Phone, (so apologies for any mistakes), Briefly Edited but not well becauseâŚphone.
Mattâs dark locks tangled softly in your fingers, the sheen from his shampoo smooth and silky in your hands.
Peaceful.
He looked peaceful, his eyes closed, features slack in rest. Chest rising and falling beneath your palm, heartbeat thudding against his ribs lazily, beating a rhythm of devotion and love.
Every heartbeat is for you, heâd said once, arm slung comfortably around your shoulder as youâd buried your face into the warmth of his chest, breathing in his scent and the sense of safety you experienced with him.
Tightness squeezed your throat in a vice. He didnât deserve the knife you were about to wedge between it.
Inhaling, something dark and shuddery rising in your lungs like the deep waters of the Atlantic, choking you in its depths, you swallowed.
âIâŚI love you, Matt.â Leaning down, you pressed your lips gently, firmly, desperately against his forehead. The action poured out more love than you knew what to do with. Was exactly the reason you needed to leave. âIâŚIâm sorry.â
Grabbing your backpack from under the bed, you expertly untangled your fingers from his hair and refused the tears threatening to spill down your face. Threatening to warn him before you could leave, because he always had a freaky sixth sense for your crying.
Your tears, too, were screamingâalong with your heart nestled painfully in your chest.
For his sake.
The words didnât seem convincing, even to yourself, but you jutted your chin up, swallowing the bitter taste of the lie.
It was for his sake.
And if you had to tell yourself that every day until you believed it, you would.
â˘â˘â˘
Friday morning traffic honked and buzzed in Mattâs ears, the alarm clock beside the bed speaking the time aloud to him. 7:35am.
He groaned.
Bruises from another evening of late-night vigilantism stretched and pulled over his skin as he rolled to the side, silk sheets tangling between his legs before eventually releasing him from their grasp.
Matt sighed, swinging his legs over the bed and running a hand down his face.
The weekend. It was nearly the weekend.
Keys in the apartment across the way distracted Matt from thoughts of stale beer at Josieâs and sleeping in past 8:00am. Floorboards creaked in the other room, and a muffled voice emanated through the paper walls.
âIâm sorry.â
The voice was quiet, softâhalfway between a whisper and a prayer. âIâm so sorry. I just didnât know what to do with her. Sheâs running a fever andâŚâ
The voice trailed offâor maybe Matt decided to respect the womanâs privacy and stop eavesdroppingâhe wasnât quite sure.
His steps pattered lightly across the floor. The drawers of his dresser rumbled as he pulled them open. The silk sleeve in his hand rippled over his fingers as he unfolded a shirt and slipped it over his shoulders.
âMom, please.â The words were louder, desperate, a plea on the edge. Matt grimaced.
He had no right to be listening to this. But how could he help it?
âJust for today. IâllâŚIâll figure something else out for tomorrow.â
An older voice grumbled in response.
If Matt had strained, he wouldâve been able to make out the words. As it stood, he heard the click of the door and footsteps in the hallway.
They paused, a shaky breath carrying through the thin line of paint between the walls.
A whispered prayer rose in the air, shuddered into the empty space. âMost holy apostle, St. Jude, pray for me.â
Mattâs heart stopped.
HeâŚhe knew that prayer. Uttered before exams in the recess of a quiet hall. Mumbled habitually in the vague space between waking and sleep. Whispered tremblingly in the dark of night, tears streaming down your face, salt stinging the airâwhen you thought he wasnât awake, when you thought you could break down in silence.
St. Jude, the patron saint of desperate situations and lost causes. The saint heâd heard you pray to every day in college.
You.
â˘â˘â˘
Matt had listened to you leave the building. Followed your footsteps down the sidewalk below. Waited until you disappeared into the crowded streets.
The prayer still haunted him.
âSt. Jude, pray for me.â
He remembered it with the soft touch of your lips, the sickly sweet scent of cherry lip balm, fingers running tantalizingly through his hair.
It was a prayer of forgiveness thenâconfirmation that, among a host of liars, thieves, and murderers, you were the most hopeless cause of all.
Matt blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.
Apparently, youâd never broken the habit. Never given up viewing yourself as a lost cause.
He hated that the knowledge made him ache.
âMatt?â Foggy knocked on his office door before sliding into the room, pulling up a chair at his desk.
Matt cleared his throat, straightened his tie. Tried to appear normal. âYes, Foggy?â
âAre youâŚI donât know.â Foggy hesitated, shifting in his seat. âYou just seem kinda distracted today. Is everything alright?â
No.
Lies sat ready on his tongue, waiting for release. Iâm fine. It was just a long night. Everythingâs fine, Iâm just tired.
Instead, your name drifted from his lips, as though it were an explanation.
Foggyâs brows furrowed, confusion tangible in the air, so Matt continued.
âIâŚI heard her. In my apartment building. This morning.â
For several seconds, Foggy didnât moveâbarely even breathed, and Mattâs heart leapt into his throat, waiting for a reply.
Finally, âAre you sure?â
The sweet melody of your voice played in his mind again. St. Jude, pray for me. With the same sadness of old times, the same familiar desperationâŚ
âI would know her voice anywhere.â The words stuck in Mattâs throat, rough and scraping like sandpaper, and he winced, clearing his throat. âIt was definitely her.â
Foggy breathed, a gusted sigh crinkling papers on his desk. âSo, what did you do?â
âWhat could I do?â Matt grimaced, mentally kicking himself. But what was he supposed to do? Itâs not like he couldâve just waltzed into the hallâwaited for you to recognize him. Or, worse, waited for you to recognize him and pretend you didnât.
He was blind, after all. It wouldnât be the first time someone had attempted it.
âYouâre kidding. Matt, you just let her go?â
Matt swallowed. âWhat else was I supposed to do, Foggy?â
âUm, talk to her? I mean, my God!â Foggy rose from his seat, taking a step closer to Matt. âAfter how she left things before, I think an explanation is the least thatâs owed to you.â
âThat was five years ago, Foggy.â Mattâs voice was quiet, resigned. âSheâs moved on, andâŚI have too.â
âBullshit.â Foggy paced to the window, the sole of his one shoe squeaking slightly at the seam, then turned back. âNo, I donât buy it. Youâve never been the same since she left, Matt. Never. Sometimes, I think she took a piece of your heart and walked right out the door with it, and itâs never come back.â
âFoggyââ Matt shifted his jaw, fighting the tidal wave of emotion rising up his throat. Choking on it.
âNo, Matt. Listen to me. She broke your heart.â Matt cleared his throat, adjusted his tie, but Foggy continued. âShe left in the middle of the night with no goodbye, no explanation. Just walked out of your life like it was the easiest thing in the world to her. The least you deserve is to understand why, to get an explanation for her actions. She owes you that much.â
Matt cleared his throat again. Nodded. He didnât trust himself to speak. Not yet.
For a while, there was nothing but the whir of the fan on Karenâs desk in the lobby and the soft ticking of the office clock hanging above the firmâs door.
Finally, Matt finished adjusting his tie, tilted his head down towards the desk. âConvincing argument there, counsellor.â
Foggy stuck his hands in the pockets of his pants. âYeah, well, Iâve been practicing.â
âI can tell.â Matt smirked, before letting the expression fade once again and infusing as much sincerity into his voice as possible. âThank you, Fog.â
The hand Foggy pulled out of his pocket to place on Mattâs shoulder was neither unexpected nor unwelcome. âAnytime, buddy.â
â˘â˘â˘
The scent of leftover pad thai infiltrated the kitchen, soaking into the walls of the apartment and prickling the back of Mattâs nose as he walked through the door. With a groan, he set his cane in the corner and slid out of his suit jacket.
Heâd forgotten to throw the empty container out last night.
Perfect.
Vague threats of a headache began to form, stirring in the recesses of his skull. He was unceremoniously tossing the offensive odour away when the clank of muffled keys drifted in from the hallway.
Matt paused.
Footsteps halted outside the door of the apartment across the way, hesitating, one toe scuffing the floorâa nervous habit.
Matt swallowed back the memory of how many times heâd heard you repeat that action in the past. On the carpet outside exam rooms. The sidewalk the first time heâd asked you to stay over.
Against the couch, the night you leftâŚ
Focus, Murdock.
Your every movement screamed exhaustion. From the dragging of your feet to the shuddering of your breaths, and even through the walls, Matt sensed the tears in your eyes. Could taste the salt in the air.
âO, most holy apostle, St. Jude.â The whisper caught, words hooking, sinking into the walls and into Mattâs heart. âPray for me. Pray. WhyâŚâ The rustle of fabric and shuddering of a sob muffled through your hand nearly choked him. âWhy arenât you praying for me?â
It was all but silentâair currents shifting on a breath. But Matt heard it. He heard itâŚ
You were sobbing.
And he couldnât stay quiet any longer.
â˘â˘â˘
Youâd lost another job.
Tears dripped off your chin, soaking the legs of your jeans with your knees curled up against your chest. The shuddery sobs had slowly decreased to shaky hiccups, but the ache in your heart remained the same.
It had been a twelve-hour shift today, extra overtime requested to make rent at the end of the month. To repay the late fee from the month before. To get Mr. Tortelli off your back until he stopped threatening you with eviction.
Your prayer beads sat cold in your pocket. They hadnât been of much use to you lately. The saints remained quiet in their role as intercessors.
A swell of emotion pressed down on your chest, compressing your lungs.
Weâre going to lose the apartment.
Already, the thought of humbling yourself to ask your mother for more help was nauseating. Yet another thing for her to dangle over your head, disappointment dripping into your hair.
The urge to shampoo the feeling away was overwhelming, and you forced back another sob. Keep it together!
Sheâd never been proud of you, your mother, but ever since the day youâd dropped out of college, sheâd always gone out of her way to display this disappointment.
As if her approval meant anything to you anymoreâyouâd numbed yourself to her scolding since you first learned how to walk. But MathildaâŚ
The door of the apartment across the hall from you creaked open, a gentle tapping sound registering in your mind.
Pulling yourself to your feet, you quickly brushed a hand over your clothes to straighten them and wiped the tears from your face.
âIâm sorry, I hope I didnât disturb you. I was justââ But the words died on your tongue. No. No, this couldnât be happening. This couldnât be happening! Standing in front of you, was⌠âMatt?â
His lips curled up in a soft smile, knuckles shifting over the cane, and he greeted you with a gentle, âHello, sweetheart.â
Your heart raced in your ribcage.
How many times had you hoped for this moment? Dreamed of it. How many times had you rehearsed everything you would say to him? Imagined seeking him out, telling him the truth⌠Now, words stuck to the roof of your mouth, sticky and sharp, like glass mixed with honey.
âWhatâŚwhat are you doing here?â
His tight expression was probably meant to be a smile, but it appeared as more of a grimace. âI live here.â
âOh.â You fidgeted behind your back, fingers pressing against your nail beds. The keratin protected the ends of your fingers, but they still ached from the work dayâtoo many hours submerged in hot, soapy water, scraping against cutlery, stubbing on plates and pans.
The ache was a welcome distraction from the man in front of you.
He stepped closer, fingers twitching lightly against the white aluminum in his hand. Your name fell from his lips, desperateâŚalmost reverent.
But before he could say his next words, you choked back a sob. âPlease, Matt. PleaseâŚâ
You could hear shuffling on the other side of the wall. Your mother was no doubt impatientâwaiting for you to get back.
Probably waiting behind the door, ready and willing to scold you for taking longer than expected.
If she knew you were standing out hereâŚwith himâŚ.
Matt hesitated, shuffling his feet.
âI just want to know why.â
Quiet. Trembling. His voice carried such heartbreak that you wanted to drown in its waves.
Coward. You had been an absolute coward walking out on him the way you did all those years ago.
For his sake.
The reminder was bitter, ingrained into every fibre of your person. It was the only thing thatâd gotten you to sleep at night for months after leaving, chanting it quietly while praying silently.
It was the cure for long nights and early mornings. For months when the rent wouldnât stretch or the pennies wouldnât accumulate.
It was your saving grace, the one phrase that kept you from endlessly asking yourself the same question. Why?
âItâs complicated, Matt.â Another tear slipped over your cheek, and Mattâs jaw clenched.
He was just opening his mouth to speak again when the door beside you creaked open, hinges squealing loudly.
âMomma?â
You watched as confusion slowly crept across Mattâs face, something akin to shock morphing his expression into something vulnerable.
âItâs complicated,â you whispered again, quieter, before kneeling in front of your daughter. Her tiny hands clasped the doorframe, and her cheeks flushed red and sweaty, bleary eyes unfocused on your face.
âHello, baby. Itâs okay, Mommaâs here now.â
She stepped into your waiting arms, face buried in the grimy front of your shirt. Your motherâs disapproving eyes passed over you, then Matt, before closing the door without a word.
Automatically, you moved one hand to the tiny forehead pressed into your chest. And couldnât hide the wince at the heat emanating from the skin.
âIsâŚis sheâŚ?â The words were barely a whisper, not even disturbing the oxygen surrounding them.
Moving your hand from her forehead, you slipped your arm underneath her securely and rose to your feet.
âYes,â you answered, keeping your eyes downcast to your daughterâavoiding whatever emotion might be expressed on his face.
Because no matter what the question was, the answer was yes. Yours? His? Sick?
Yes. All of the above.
Silence became an entity in the hallway.
Braving a glance to Mattâs face, you found him flexing his jaw, warring against his tight lips andâŚ
Shit.
That was a tear.
âItâs okay, Mattââ you started to say before he interrupted you with, âHow old?â
The scratch in his voice made it almost unrecognizable. And he seemed suddenlyâŚolder. Wearier.
Guilty.
Guilt gnawed at your own gut until you chewed your cheek to relieve the pressure. The weight of the prayer beads in your pocket increased the weight of your conscience.
He said your name again, desperate, begging.
âHow old is she?â
Tears gathered in your eyes, blurring your vision as you looked at your feet, shoes old and worn and entirely too thin against the floor.
âFour.â
One word, so quiet you were shocked he even heard it. One word, spoken in truth where perhaps a lie wouldâve been more appropriate.
One word, with the ability to alter his life forever.
âOh my God.â You pretty much agreed with the sentiment. He placed a hand against the wall, steadying himself.
âI donât expect anything from you, Matt,â you murmured, a reassurance youâd hoped youâd never have to give. âItâs okay. I can take care of us. You donât have toââ
Acknowledge us. Support us. You can go back to living your life as you knew itâas if we were never here.
But you didnât get the chance to say any of it before he interrupted you again.
âNo.â
Finality reinforced the word, something firm and unwavering in his voice.
âMattââ
âNo. Iâm notâŚI canâtâŚâ His hand balled into a fist, and he rested it against his mouth, trembling slightly. Pain etched itself into every feature of his face, and he slowly dropped his hand. âWhatâsâŚwhatâs her name?â
Waves pressed against your chest, drowning you.
Lie. Lie, lie, lie. Lie to him. Lie now.
It was tempting. So tempting. You could still get away from this. You could still keep from ruining Mattâs life.
âMathildaâŚâ Her name was off your lips before you could convince yourself otherwise.
For years, youâd done it all alone, everything in your life revolving around the little girl in your arms.
The job hunting, apartment searching. Late nights, early mornings. Crying yourself to sleep on the days she reminded you so much of Matt. Constant vigils and applying medications you couldnât afford when she got sick.
All of it. Youâd done everything and all of it alone. So he wouldnât have to lose the future heâd worked so hard for, the dream he carried on his sleeve.
For his sake.
But now, he was in front of you.
Devastated. Begging.
And you were so, so tiredâŚ
St. Jude, pray for me.
You were about to be selfish.
You were, but you couldnât bring yourself to care.
Saints in heaven looked away as you clutched your child close, the eyes that were so much like Mattâs closed and nestled in your chest.
Mattâs expression flickered as you grasped his hand, placing it gently on your daughterâs back.
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Could you do a request for daredevil. Where an old flame from when they were in college comes back after she took off during the night one year? Whether she took off because of her family or maybe she found out she was pregnant and she was terrified to tell him
So she comes back five years later and either he hears her voice or maybe smells her perfume that he remembers or foggy lets it slip and then Matt follows her til he confronts her
Oh! Anon, you are a GENIUS!! đ Iâm working on the request now! (Although, I have some work deadlines approaching pretty quickly, so idk exactly when Iâll get it to youâhopefully by the end of the week though!)
Heya!!! Saw you were looking for asks and I figured why not send one in. I'm pretty obsessed with Daredevil right now (both the show and the comics, it's all SO GOOD) and wanted to request something very very very hurt/comfort-y for Matt.
Would you be able to write something about a Reader who is trying very hard not to fall in love? Maybe she's good friends with the gang (Foggy, Karen, and Matt) and while they're all close, in terms of romance she's very walled off and guarded to protect herself from being hurt. In the end, Matt gets through that and gets to see her soft side after an emotional confrontation. Lots and lots of hugs and cuddling, too, lol.
I just thought this could be something fun. No pressure to answer if you're not feeling it! Thank you for requesting requests from followers and passers-by!!!
Heyyy!! Thank you SO MUCH for the request!! Iâm working on it right now, so knock-on-wood, fingers-crossed, itâll be ready by next week? Hopefully. đŹ
Itâll be my first ever Daredevil request, so I appreciate the ask SO MUCH!! I havenât had a lot of opportunity to write for Matt, and Iâm so excited about it! đĽ°