There was a time when I was good, but there are witches in the woods.

[blindfighter]

It's around 630 when Matt stops pretending to be asleep.

Though that's a lie, just a tad--Matt has slept. On and off, on his silk sheets and curled up naked with another man in what feels like forever. It's nice, and for a few hours it lasts. It really and truly lasts, and Matt can hear the steady beating of Tim's heart. He can hear every creak as his bones adjust, can still smell scotch and bourbon as he exhales in his sleep. It's not the kind that's overwhelming, it's natural and in a way comforting.

But it's still another person and Matt Murdock is used to being alone. He's used to not getting close.

He's used to one night stands and relationships that barely last a month, if that. He's used to Foggy clapping him on the shoulder and telling him there'll be more.

He's used to going to their place. This is the first time he's brought someone home.

Someone here.

He's brought people over, but not for a one night stand. This is a different circumstance in many ways--mostly that they're going to see each other again. They're going to pass each other in the courtrooms even if they're not going to actively see each other although, if Matt's being honest, he does want to. It had been one of the best lays in a while.

And that's how, at exactly 6:40 in the morning, Matt Murdock decides he can't get used to it just yet. So instead, he gets to work. Turns the alarm off to let Tim sleep in, gets half-dressed (socks, slacks and a dress shirt, the first few buttons undone and the collar a little rumpled), and is in the kitchen. He gets to work.

If this is a one-night stand with special circumstances, he may as well make breakfast. That includes half a grapefruit for each of them, fresh fruit, and Matt himself is in the middle of cooking up some of the bacon and eggs. Simple and scrambled, but if there's one thing Matt can do better than most thanks to his olfactory senses being heightened, it's cook.

Comments

[comfortablyerect]

Tim honestly didn't mean to stay the night.

It's a thing — he never sleeps over. He never brings people home to his place, because it's easier to leave afterwards than to kick somebody out, and he never sleeps over. It's a preventative measure. He has nightmares frequently, sometimes even when he drinks more than he should. They're nightmares that leave him gasping and shaking long after he wakes up from them. They're nightmares that leave him needing another drink.

They're not easy to explain, and he doesn't like talking about them.

So, normally, he leaves shortly after the sex, preferably before the cuddling, usually defaulting to the 'work the next morning' excuse, because it's never untrue. And it's usually not a problem. One night stands don't tend to give a shit after they get off. It works out well.

He means to do the same thing with Matt, but he's had a lot to drink, and he's warm and comfortable in Matt's bed. Neither of those things have been deciding factors before, and they're not now. The deciding factor is Matt himself. Tim likes his company, likes him, more than he ought to, so when Matt doesn't kick him out, he doesn't leave, and they both fall sleep.

Miraculously, Tim doesn't have any nightmares. He doesn't dream at all. It's peaceful and quiet and he's even surprised to wake up to sunlight pouring in through curtainless windows, his phone citing a time that's past his normal wake-up time. Matt's gone, but Tim can hear and smell the bacon frying, so he rolls out of bed.

His head hurts, a little bit, and he feels generally achy. But it's the kind of ache that comes from really good sex, so he's okay with that. A cup of coffee might be in order. Preferably with a little bourbon, but he could manage without. He pulls on his jeans, opting to deal with the rest of the getting dressed process after he's had some caffeine and food, and pads out of the bedroom, stretching and squinting at the sunlight coming through the windows.

"I 'spose your lack of curtains usually doesn't bother you in the mornin',"

[blindfighter]

Matt glances up and it's with a smile, surprisingly bright. Though it's not quite glancing--it's Matt moving his head to the source of the sound, gaze completely unfocused, not even looking at Tim himself.

"No, no it doesn't. Is it too bright?" He's genuinely curious, still talking to Tim even as his hands feel along the edge of the counter for a spatula, picking one up and shifting the eggs in the pan.

There's two plates and two bowls, all matching--a set Foggy gave him because he was tired of never being able to eat Matt's delicious food at his house--and two mugs. The one closer to Tim says 'Columbia Law' and the other bright green with raised bumps on it.

Matt purposely doesn't mention how amazing the sex was. Doesn't mention that they even slept together, or got drunk. If Tim wants to bring it up, find. If Tim doesn't, that's fine, too. There are more important things. For example:

"Coffee?"

[comfortablyerect]

"Right now, everything's too bright."

Including Matt's smile, Jesus Christ. Tim's distracted, for a moment, by Matt's face. Specifically, by the lack of glasses. He didn't realize how much of a difference they made, but without them, with wide, sightless brown eyes visible, Matt looks so much younger, and very pretty.

Not that he wasn't hot before, obviously, but Tim likes this, the Matt without the glasses.

He moves further into the room, pushing his fingers through his wrecked hair. He will need, at the very least, a shower before work. Preferably at his own apartment where he can also grab a change of clothes. There's no walk of shame greater than the one that involves going to work in the same clothes you did yesterday. Not that Tim feels particularly shameful, but still.

He pauses near the edge of the counter, leaning forward to peer into the pan. It looks as good as it smells, of course. He can't remember the last time he had a breakfast that wasn't an office break room bagel or donut.

"God, yeah. Coffee sounds great." And then, approximately a second later, he remembers his matters. "You didn't have to go to all this trouble."

[blindfighter]

"I didn't," Matt says softly, "But I wanted to." And that's the truth.

He's honestly keyed in to Tim's heartbeat. Trying to figure out if this is scaring him off or not, because Matt is being selfish. He's rarely selfish, but he wants Tim to stay.

..Though that's a lie, isn't it? Matt became selfish the moment he took matters into his own hands. The moment he put on that mask and used Stick's teachings to clean up his city. The moment he pushed everything aside to fight for what's right. Including relationships. He can't have his cake and eat it, too, but he can pretend. He can make breakfast. Tim doesn't seem in any danger of leaving.

He turns his head again, towards the soudn of Tim's voice, and actually winds up looking at Tim's face, though he doesn't know it. His sightless gaze rests on the other's lips.

"Two steps to your left, face right at arm's height." Sure enough, the coffee is there.

[comfortablyerect]

He wanted to, and the thought makes Tim smile.

God. Sleeping over and breakfast and coffee in the morning. He's breaking all his own rules. He's getting attached, and he shouldn't. He really shouldn't. There was a period of time after his second deployment that he thought things might settle into some sort of normalcy, and they did, sort of. But Tim's normal became something barely functional that made maintaining relationships hard. A hard he could handle, but not one anybody else could seem to. His issues always became too much.

So he just stopped trying, stuck to one night stands and casual hook ups, because that's easier for him and for them. And he's been content with it.

Until now, apparently. Until Matt fucking Murdock.

He doesn't go for the coffee right away. Instead, he moves a little closer to Matt. If he's going to doing all of these things he shouldn't do, he might as well do them thoroughly.

"I like you without the glasses," he says, and at risk of distracting Matt from cooking, he reaches out carefully to brush his fingers over the other's cheekbone. "It's nice."

[blindfighter]

He smiles--truly smiles--and he's so caught off guard he actually winds up stammering, just briefly, and winds up running his fingers over the pan's handle.

This is exactly what he doesn't want to do. And yet?

Fuck. Maybe both of them can break their own rules.

"It--uh, it unsettles people. That I'm not looking at them, so.." So that's why he didn't take them off last night, he means to say, but he can't quite find the words. He's far too taken with Tim, far too in love with his scent and his voice--that gravely, mumbling southern twang.

It's Tim's voice.

If Matt had his way, Tim would just sit there and read a fucking phone book.

"I'm glad it doesn't bother you," He manages. "Most people, they treat me like I'm made of glass."

[comfortablyerect]

That's cute. This Matt, stammering and flustered and half dressed in rumpled clothes, smiling and looking at him without really seeing him is so different from the lawyer Tim watched stomp the prosecution yesterday.

He likes both. The lawyer with all the confidence and the man who can't find the words. He almost wishes there was some part of Matt that was detestable. That the man he got a Not Guilty verdict for had actually done it, or that he didn't look fucking adorable every time he smiled. Anything to make it easier to not get attached.

But Tim's found nothing of the sort. Nothing even remotely bad. It makes him want more of this. Nights of the best sex he's ever had and mornings of coffee and eggs and bacon.

He'll have to settle for just once, though. He can't be selfish.

"Probably because they haven't felt your biceps." Nobody with arm muscles like those is made of glass.

Tim drops his hand, lets Matt get back to his cooking as he moves to snag the Columbia Law mug off the table and pour himself a cup of coffee.

[comfortablyerect]

Matt says he's busy tonight, promising to take him out to lunch the next day all in the same breath. Work things, he says, even though Tim's pretty sure they haven't had a client in weeks. Still. Matt's busy, and while Tim isn't overtly clingy, he doesn't exactly feel like being alone tonight. So he goes out, finds a bar that he doesn't like quite as much as Josie's, but that has plenty of good-looking guys to choose from. It suits his needs, even if it's missing a leaky roof and stale bar peanuts.

(He's not sure when he became so fond of the shitty little bar in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. Probably around the time he became so fond of Matt Murdock.)

He's not at the bar long before a man approaches. Tall, long legs and a strong jaw and biceps barely covered by a thin t-shirt. He smiles and offers to buy Tim a drink, and Tim smirks and accepts. The talk is polite, nothing more than a formality. Tim reveals that he's a marshal and the guy, Brian, reveals that he's a personal trainer, and the entire conversation is hand with the other's hand on Tim's knee.

The guy's hot, but Tim finds himself stalling. Buying them both a second round, and then a third round, letting him flirt and work for it. Usually, Tim's much easier than this, ready to go half a drink in. His heart's not in it tonight. All he can seem to think about is how Matt has a realer smile and nicer hands and a better ass. But then Brian finally asks him if he wants to get out of here, and Tim says yes on reflex. He's sure that as soon as they're getting undressed, he'll forget all about Matt.

They start to leave, Brian's hand against Tim's lower back. It wanders down to his ass once they're out the door, ready to get a little handsy before they're even out of the parking lot. This is where Tim should be reciprocating, but instead, he finds himself shifting away. It's not Matt's hands feeling him up in a rainy parking lot, and he's just not fucking into it.

He's into Matt. He's into their rough sex on the couch because they can't seem to make it all the way to the bedroom. He's into falling asleep between silk sheets, waking up to the smell of eggs and bacon. He's into Matt bringing him coffee in the middle of the day and Tim bringing him lunch in return. He's into Matt's laugh and his wide eyes and all those rough, unrefined edges beneath the polished lawyer look he upholds so well. He's so into Matt that the idea of being beneath a stranger tonight sounds entirely unappealing to him.

He's in love, honestly. And he can't stand the idea of keeping on the way they have been. It's possible this will ruin it. But he's had just enough to drink to remain hopeful. And to have the courage to do it anyway.

Brain looks confused, then annoyed as Tim excuses himself, giving a vague excuse of forgetting to do something before making his exit. He walks, despite the chill and the rain, because driving probably isn't a good idea, and Hell's Kitchen isn't terribly big. Matt's apartment is six blocks down, two blocks over, and Tim's beginning to learn the city enough that he shortcuts through a couple of alleys without getting lost. He's not so drunk that he has to concentrate too much on the staircase, and it isn't long before he's outside Matt's door and knocking, whether or not Matt's busy.

He's dripping wet and his heart's hammering so hard in his chest that it hurts, and this is probably the stupidest idea ever. But it's too late to back out, and besides. He doesn't even want to.

[blindfighter]

He's injured.

That in and of itself isn't strange, not anymore, but it's why there's Tim at the door while he's trying to fix himself up. He thinks, for the briefest of moments, that Claire is already here--but he realizes the knock isn't hers. It's not on the same part of the door, for one, the person doing it is taller. It's familiar, too.

It's Tim. It's Tim, smelling of alcohol and rain and of someone's cigarette smoke from three blocks down, just a whiff as he walked. A cheap cigarette, too. American Spirit.

He knows who it is. HE does, but he's honestly debating not answering it. Let the other think he's not home, but he quickly remembers Tim's state. He doesn't trust the other to drive, and doesn't want to worry about whether or not he gets a cab.

When Matt opens the door, it's without his glasses and in a button-down and slacks, like he just hadn't bothered to dress down. The white shirt will be fine as long as he doesn't start bleeding again.

"Yes?" He asks, because he's pretending he doesn't know who it is from the scent anyway.

[comfortablyerect]

He thinks, for a moment, that Matt isn't going to answer. That maybe he's asleep or not home, despite how ridiculously late it is. Well-mannered lawyers, even the busy ones, should be home at this hour. He knows that if he doesn't do this now, tonight, that he won't do it at all. That the momentum and courage will leave as he starts getting sober.

He's considering dropping by Matt's office, just as a last ditch effort, when the door is opened. Matt's dry, in the clothes he was wearing earlier today, eyes visible and unfocused, and Tim's heart skips a beat in his chest. He's aware, even in that very moment, that Matt is far, far too good for him. That the other man deserves somebody better, somebody less broken with less baggage. Somebody who's just as smart and just as good looking and just as kind. He should let Matt have that. He shouldn't try to be selfish.

But, fuck. He's going to anyway.

"It's me," he says immediately, and his voice is oddly quiet, sounding just a touch out of breath. Like this moment is delicate, because it is. It is for him, anyway. "Tim. I know you said you were busy tonight, but I wanted to talk to you."

Matt could say no. He could turn Tim away and it'd be totally justifiable, because he's shown up unannounced and uninvited. He wouldn't even be angry. It'd just be some sort of sign that he's better off not doing this at all. That they're better off doing what they have been, even if it slowly breaks Tim's heart.

He pulls in a deep breath. "If that's okay."

[blindfighter]

He isn't sure where this is going. Tim's heartrace is rapid, but his breathing isn't irregular. He's semi flushed but he's not sure if it's the alcohol or something else, and there's sweat mixed with the rain and it's all water but it has him worried.

The note in his voice, though. The faint desperation, the quiet tone. When Matt speaks, he doesn't raise his voice above that octave, either. He's not breaking the moment, either. He recognizes that's something Tim needs.

"Of course," He says, and he opens the door a little wider. Doesn't think to turn on the lights or anything as he lets Tim in, though as he closes it behind him he frowns, brushing against his arm.

"You're wet--you're going to catch a cold," he frowns, like he's just noticed this fact.

Lying to people has gotten very very easy.

[comfortablyerect]

"I did two tours, little bit of rain's not gonna kill me." It's dismissive. He doesn't care that he's wet and the air outside is nipping and he's actually chilly, because he has bigger, more important things to focus on. Like this. Like them.

He steps into the apartment, hitting the lights automatically out of reflex. It's better this way though, because he likes being able to see Matt's face. Suddenly, Tim wants to kiss him. To back Matt up against the wall and kiss him until they're both absolutely breathless, and Matt's clothes are as soaked as his own. He's always been better at expressing himself through actions rather than words. But if he gets distracted now, he won't end up doing this at all, and it's very easy to get distracted by Matt.

There's a moment of silence, because Tim's not sure how to word it at first. Not sure where he's supposed to begin, or how he's supposed to say it, because just saying it doesn't feel right. He needs to explain it. His fingers curl into his palms for a brief moment, extending again as he exhales slowly.

"I was at a bar tonight," he says, and he's not sure that's the best place to start, but it's too late to change his mind now. He keeps going, and although Matt can't see him, he can't quite make himself look the other in the face. "There was this guy, great arms, great jaw. Asked me to go home with him. We were all the way out on the sidewalk and his hands were on my ass when I realized--"

He pauses, but it's not for long. He doesn't want to give Matt the chance to speak until he's finished. So he only looks up at the other's face before he continues, quietly.

"I didn't want to go home with him. I don't think I want to go home with anyone. Just you." He swallows hard, continues quickly. "I'm not expectin' you to feel the same way, I'm not askin' you to not sleep with anyone else. I'm just tellin' you. I'm not goin' to."

[blindfighter]

He didn't need heightened senses to get that Tim was drunk. He could smell the alcohol, could tell he wasn't quite swaying but there was a subtle shift in the way those narrow legs walked. The other's heart rate is picking up, hands clenching, and Matt waits patiently.

Tim's drunk. He doesn't mean any of this, and Matt opens his mouth to protest and try to get him out of the hallway before he speaks--really speaks--and Matt is genuinely at a loss for words.

He wants to say he doesn't feel an intense stab of jealousy when the other makes a comment about going home with someone. Of course Tim did--they weren't in an actual relationship, after all, and this just proved it. Tim probably thinks Matt's sleeping around, too. It's far from the answer, but Matt has to realize that that's the truth to Tim.

He wants to tell him. Right then and there, Matt wants to expose himself and grab Tim and pull him into a kiss. Wants to risk everything he's done, wants to just tell Tim absolutely everything. More importantly, he wants to tell the marshal that all he wants is to curl up to Tim for as long as he'll let him. He wants this. He wants them.

He opens his mouth, half-smiles and finds himself stammering, just for a brief moment.

"Tim--let's.. let's get you dry before anything else. Come here."

[comfortablyerect]

Three weeks.

That's how long they manage to hold onto their perfect, happy bliss. Evenings spent listening to documentaries and making out on the couch, Matt making dinner and Tim pouring drinks. Eventually, they wander off to bed, where they fuck hard and rough before falling asleep curled up with each other. Sometimes, they'll even spend the night with Foggy and Karen at Josie's, and those are the nights they get so drunk that they end up stumbling home laughing, much like they did the first night they slept together.

Of course, it's not every night. Sometimes Tim has to work late, or Matt has to work late, in which case they'll try to meet up for coffee or lunch the following day. Sometimes, they can only get a quick text or two to each other, they're so busy. But it's still good. They still make it work.

In this case, Matt was working late the night before, prepping for a big case he had in the coming week. And when Tim stops by the office the next day to bring him lunch, a surprise this time, instead of with the usual text he tends to send beforehand, Foggy frowns and tips his head and says, "He stayed home today. Said he wasn't feeling very well. I thought he would've told you."

Yes, Tim thought Matt would've told him, too.

If he had to guess, Matt's probably just a little roughed up from whatever secret fight club he's involved with. Something they'll have to talk about eventually, but Tim's not ready to yet. Things are still too perfect to let himself ruin them.

He stops off at Matt's place, then, a box of pizza from a local joint in hand. Though, he had briefly considered getting takeout from somewhere and doing hot soup, instead. Not homemade, but still nice enough. He doesn't, though, if only because pizza makes good comfort food, too.

With his free hand, he knocks on the door and waits.

[blindfighter]

Matt thinks he's lucky. Everything is as smooth as can be, considering. Tim is hot and smart and loves shit like documentaries, and he's an honest person. He's a GOOD person.

The devil of hells kitchen doesn't give Tim any more tips. If anything, he avoids Tim. Matt doesn't want him getting hurt.

Matt slacks off because he has Tim. He hates that it's true--he goes to Josies. He stays in and has amazing sex. He doesn't deserve this. The truth is he shouldn't be happy. He should be protecting the city. When tims asleep one night, he prays.

He confesses to Father Landon. Things picK up and he can still hear their conversation in his head. That he cant have a fulfilling relationship and die a martyr like he so desperately wants.

Suddenly, he gets a lead on Fisk. Suddenly, he's so close he can taste it Karen and Foggy are doing the best they can from the legal side but Matt slips out. Matt gets information.

Matt gets the shit kicked out of him. Matt calls Claire.

Claire stays with him until he's conscious. Informs him that she's texted Foggy to tell him he's sick.

"You're going to run out of excuses," she says.

"Thank you," Matt responds, and gingerly sits up. He's in his bed, butterfly bandage over his eyebrow, lip split and cheek bruised. He's not in much else, and his torso is worse for wear to say the least.

"In serious--"

"Stop." Matt tilts his head sharply to the left. "Stop and be quiet."

Tim's here. Claire stares.

"Your boyfriend?"

"Yes. Shh."

Claire's eyes narrow. "You haven't told him?"

"No." And Matt knows what she's going to do even before she does it.

"Claire!" His voice is loud, desperate, but Claire opens the door and smiles tersely. She's tired. Of a lot of things, of course, but mainly of dealing with Matt.

"All yours, big boy."

"Claire--" Matt can't move from the bedroom. Claire walks passed Tim.

Matt feels a cold dread wash over him.

[comfortablyerect]

It's not what he's expecting, to say the least.

He can hear voices from inside just before the door is opened. Not by Matt, but by a woman. She's gorgeous, dark hair and big dark eyes, the kind of legs Tim would love to have wrapped around his waist. And though her smile is thin, it still manages to be pretty. And she walks out of Matt's apartment with a quick, sly comment, one that pricks at Tim's skin and, somehow, makes him feel threatened.

She doesn't look like someone he should be threatened by. Not physically, anyway. Then again, they're not talking physically right now.

Part of him considers turning and leaving. He has questions, but he's unsure of if he wants the answers. They seem obvious, anyway. He wonders if Matt will lie, or if he'll be honest. He wonders if he'll be able to tell the difference.

He steps inside, sliding the door shut behind him. The box of pizza is warm in his hand, but it doesn't smell appealing anymore. If anything, his stomach is turning. He knew they couldn't keep this up. That it wouldn't be perfect and happy forever. But he also didn't think Matt would be the one to fuck it up first. He thought that honor would fall on him.

"Brought you lunch," he says flatly, and drops the box flat on the bed. He's still a few feet away, surveying Matt's condition, unwilling to be within touching distance right now. "Foggy said you were sick."

[blindfighter]

Fuck.

Matt's eyes slip closed, the quintessential look of someone who knows what's going to happen. They couldn't keep this up for long, he thinks. It was a matter of time.

Of course Matt fucked it up first. Of course. He's a Murdock.

He smells pizza and knows it's from their favourite joint a few blocks down, the one they usually stop by after Josies. He knows Tim has been in Nelson and Murdock because he can smell foggy's Cologne.

"Tim," He says softly and quickly "I can explain."

[comfortablyerect]

Matt knows he's fucked. Tim can see it in his expression. Maybe, even, like this is something that's happened before. He wonders if maybe Matt is a serial cheater. After all, it's not like they know that much about each other. They're not strangers, by any means, but they're both private people.

But at least Tim's not a liar.

Tim crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn't look like he's ready to hear an explanation. It's not as if Matt's ever given him a reason to trust him anyway.

"Explain why you're clearly not sick and beaten all to hell? Or why some hot girl with mile long legs just walked out of your apartment?"

There's a brief pause before he adds, "And why she knew about all this before I did."

[blindfighter]

Tim's heart is beating fast. He can practically smell the other's emotions in the air, and it feels a bit like cheating.

He doesn't need heightened senses to get that Tim is uoset, though. He knows the other's jaw tightens, can hear the bone shifting because he's so zeroed in on the other at the moment.

Fuck.

"Claire is a nurse," He says quickly, trying to keep his voice calm. He can't. He's never been unemotional.he tries to get up, sheets falling from his chest. Old scars healing. New scars, one that looks suspiciously like a knife wound and another like jagged glass are at his torso, ribs bruised. He immediately regrets trying to get up and his eyes close again, groaning in pain, unable to help himself.

Shit.

"She was helping me-- look, i'm sorry I lied to you but you need to believe me, nothing is going on."

He knows the scent of jealousy.

[blindfighter]

The jostling is enough. He rouses himself from unconsciousness, /forcing/ himself to wake up. It's not sheer adrenaline. It's sheer willpower.

He coughs, and when he does its blood. It's a sickening burble, something he might even choke on except his body violently tries to move to the side. He can't make it.

Matt Murdock, sightless, is in the same suit belonging to the devil of hells kitchen. The mask is pried off at least and Matt, hand shooting up, knows it's Tim. He can't think. He can't say anything, gloved hand on Tim's face.

"Claire," He breathes, "call--call Clare."

[comfortablyerect]

It's Matt. It's Matt, and Tim's not surprised. Maybe he should be. His blind lawyer boyfriend has been fighting crime at night. His blind lawyer boyfriend is a vigilante, The Devil of Hell's Kitchen that Tim's been tasked with hunting down and arresting. The man that Tim's been told to shoot on sight.

Tim's stomach knots up. He's almost put a bullet through Matt's head countless times without ever realizing it. He feels like he might puke.

Instead, he holsters his gun, touches Matt's face, wipes blood from the other's chin. Matt's dying. He's beaten and bloody and Tim has seen slighter injuries during war, slighter injuries that led to death. Matt could die. Tim feels like he can't breathe.

"You need a hospital," he murmurs, but he finds Matt's phone, finds Claire's number and calls her. She answers, sounding tired, and Tim wonders if he's woken her up, or if she's had a long shift. There's no preamble. He says, "It's Matt. It's bad." And he doesn't have to say anything else, because Claire tells him she's on her way, and reminds him to keep pressure on whatever injuries there are.

He leans down to kiss Matt's mouth, to whisper, "Stay awake," before pulling out a pocket knife and beginning to cut Matt's clothes from his body.

[blindfighter]

It's tim. He knows it's tim--Tims scent, tim's face, yes, but it's tim's kiss that pulls him out of darkness a second time.

He needs to meditate. He needs to slip into a trance and he'll be alright for most of it, maybe, with Claire on her way. He wants to articulate that to Tim, too, but it's bad. He knows it's bad. It had been one of the worst fights of his life.

He's bleeding from nobu's Kama, large gashes where the weapon-and-chain has cut into him. This is on top of the fights before, nevermind the rest of the fight nobu had. He's wet from jumping into new York grimey water, too.

"Tim..." Matt tries to speak again, tries to tell Tim that this is the reason. That this why Matt is always busy.

"I love you," He murmurs, and then slips into unconsciousness.

[comfortablyerect]

I love you, Matt says, and Tim feels his heart stutter in his chest. He wants to say it back, but it gets stuck in his throat. He does, though. He loves Matt so much and the possibility of losing him is so, so real. Suddenly, he regrets spending the last week away from the other. He would've been here every night if he thought they only had a week left together.

"Matt-- Matt, I need you to stay awake, keep your eyes open."

But he's out. Matt's unconscious and Tim's heart is beating in his throat. Matt could die at any moment, and Tim's helpless to stop it. There's nothing he can do. He's not a doctor, he's only barely trained in first aid. All he can really do is hope and pray to a God he doesn't even believe in, and wait for Claire to get here.

He does what he can anyway. He cuts away Matt's clothes and drags out a dozen towels, folding them and pressing them against the large gashes in Matt's body. He tries to hold off the bleeding the best he can, but doesn't try moving Matt anywhere. He doesn't know how extensive the injuries are. When Claire gets there, she doesn't knock. She hardly says anything at all besides giving Tim quick, sharp instructions. Hold this, hand me that, get me this. She has him keep his fingers on the pulse point in Matt's wrist, just to make sure his heart's still beating while she works. She listens to his lungs and examines his ribs once the blood is cleaned away, stitches up the long, deep gashes in his torso, bandages his arms and legs where they've been banged and scraped up. It's like watching a god damn miracle unfold before his eyes.

Finally, after what feels like forever, Claire sits back on her heels and wipes her forehead with the back of her arm, leaving a small streak of blood behind. She looks up at Tim, cracks a half smile and says, "Welcome to the club."

They move Matt to the couch, Tim doing a bit more of the heavy lifting than Claire. She sticks around for a couple of hours, just to monitor, but she's exhausted, and Matt's stable, so she takes her leave. Tells Tim to call her if anything, anything at all, changes. Gives him specific instructions for Matt's care before she slips out the door.

Tim doesn't sleep. He makes coffee, adds some bourbon to it, and stays up while Matt sleeps, now wearing nothing but boxers, since the rest of his clothes are cut apart. Tim sits nearby in the armchair, sometimes reading a battered copy of Alice in Wonderland that he left there weeks before, and sometimes watching Matt breathe.

[blindfighter]

He wakes.

Matt wakes up and his eyes shoot open despite there being nothing to see--he opens his eyes and he gasps, very faintly, and even breathing too hard rattles his ribcage. He can feel every rattle, every shift, and it hurts.

He remembers nobu. He remembers fire, and throwing himself into the murky waters of new York. He remembers passing out, and he thinks he remembers Tim.

None of that matters. What matters is Nobu, and Matt senses enough to know that it's his house and someone--tim?-- is with him. He immediately tries to sit up, hand flying to his left shoulder. Pain.

White, hot, searing pain. Matt yells.

[comfortablyerect]

Tim's eyes are on the pages of his book. Scanning the words but not really reading them. He practically knows the book by heart anyway. Instead, he's going through everything in his head. Finding Matt, his I love you, the fact that his boyfriend is the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. The facts repeat themselves in his head. Matt's known Tim's been working to find the vigilante. That's never been a secret.

No wonder Matt wouldn't tell him the truth. No wonder Matt wanted to get involved. The closer he is to Tim, the closer he is to the case. He feels so God damn stupid.

Matt gasps. Tim's gaze jerks up, immediately snapped out of his thoughts, and he watches as Matt tries to sit up, as his body seizes and he yells out in pain. Tim feels hurt and betrayed, but his heart still pangs and aches to see Matt so roughed up.

"Hey," he says, his voice quiet and soothing as he stands up, moving to kneel by Matt's side. "Don't move. You're in real bad shape."