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

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

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.

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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',"

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?"

"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."

"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.

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."

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."

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.

"Cute," Matt quips, self-depreciating but in good nature. But he likes it, he likes Tim, and that hurts. That hurts a fucking lot, because he's going to have to push Tim away.

But for now, he can brush against Tim while he's cooking. He can pause to kiss at the other's neck, soft and chaste, as he does so. Eventually, he settles for moving to the kitchen table, using his way of feel around the place. He touches the edge of the places before putting the eggs and bacon among the fruit and toast, dealing surprisingly accurate portions.

"You work today, right?" He asks casually. Feels for his seat before pulling it away from the table and taking his own, grabbing a spoon for his half of the grapefruit.

"I thought so." He grins a little. Honestly he finds himself smiling a lot more knowing that Matt can't see it. Schooling his expressions comes second nature to him now, but it's a relief knowing he doesn't have to.

Or maybe, with Matt, it's that he doesn't want to. Fuck.

He hums appreciatively when Matt kisses his neck, heart thumping a little faster in his chest. Those lips pressing softly against the bruises he left there the night before might be the best damn thing he's ever felt. He's almost disappointed when it comes time to actually sit down and eat.

But he does, going for the fruit first just because it's better fresh, and he wants to save the best for last. The best being the bacon, obviously. It'll remind him of breakfasts back home.

"Yeah." The truth is, he hardly takes days off. He probably works too much, but it's a good distraction.

"When?" He asks, and he feels like this is kind of sad. Pathetic, even, because Matt Murdock wants to spend as much time as he can with Tim. He needs to do a number of things today, of course--standard errands, and then head into work--but he's his own boss. Hell, they just won their second case. He's got a bit of breathing room.

Tim, though. Tim is all work as a distraction. Probably hand-in-hand with the drinking, which Matt doesn't feel like it's his place to bring up. It makes sense, in his mind. Work through a hangover, jump to action when there's something. Not because he's a hero, but because he's a soldier. Because he wants to do the right thing.

"...There's an officer in the bullpen in hell's kitchen. Brett Mahoney," He says suddnely. Because Tim wants to do the right thing and if he gets caught up in shit it will be disaster. Because Matt wants to keep Tim safe. Because Matt knows Fisk has certain cops in his pocket.

"I know him. You should reach out."

"Nine, at the latest." Normally, he'd go in early. Just for something to do, to make a dent in the stacks of files on his desk. He always managed to stay busy at work in Kentucky, but he stays busy in New York. There's more crime. More fugitives that think they can disappear in the city or make a break to Canada.

They never quite manage to get that far. Tim is very good at his job.

He takes a sip of coffee, no cream or sugar. It's warm and soothing on his throat, and he just hopes that it does the trick for the aching in his head. Even if it doesn't, he's always been pretty good at powering through.

He glances up, brows arching, mouth still against the rim of his cup. Matt's request is sudden, and it takes Tim a little off guard.

"What for?" He sounds genuinely curious. He knows at least of just about every officer in Hell's Kitchen. Made it a point to shortly after arriving.

"I just think the two of you might get along," Matt answers ambiguously. Offers a slight smile before lifting the spoon from the grapefruit to his mouth, eating thoughtfully for a few moments. He can't say why, can't start slinging mud. It's not a matter of being polite it's a matter of what Tim needs to know and doesn't need to know. How far his faith in the justice system can be pushed.

Tim is a hero. A soldier. But New York is a completely different battlefield. He's used to an enemy being pointed out and being told to charge, not the enemy coming from within.

Fuck.

"I need to pick up some F5-20 forms later today." And he wants Tim's company for as long as he can. Which is exactly why he's ignoring what had happened last night. "I was wondering if you were going to be there."

This was already bad idea.

There's more to it than that. Or, at least, he has a hunch that there's more to it than that. And usually, his hunches are right. There's something Matt isn't telling him. Tim can already tell — Matt Murdock has a lot of secrets. This, whatever reason he had for not taking off his shirt last night, the bruise next to his eye. He can only begin to guess what the truths are.

It's probably a good thing they're going to leave this at a one night stand. Good that they'll have breakfast and see each other around the office and that will be the extent of it.

Tim wants more — Tim always wants more — but this is probably better for both of them.

It takes him a moment to realizes he's watching Matt eat more than actually eating himself. That's-- probably creepy. Whoops. He takes a bite of his grapefruit, dropping his gaze again.

"I should be," he says, and he can't help a small smile. "Gonna have a lot of office work today."

A day of planning and filling out the necessary paperwork to conduct a sting. A day of trying to find the best way to finally catch the vigilante.

Matt smiles, too, even though he can't see Tim is. He's assuming, from the sound of his voice. Because Tim is actually very expressive. He doesn't know it, he thinks--but Tim's voice isn't actually as deadpan as he thinks. There's very subtle nuances, extremely fine syntax. It's nice. No, it's more than nice. It's perfect.

"Maybe I'll stop by," He says carefully. Testing the waters, testing Tim's reaction. Wondering if it's too far. It probably is, Matt thinks. He's already getting too attached just because he likes Tim's voice and what he does; he's too clingy because he knows it's probably going to go up in flames after the first month if that.

And yet all he wants to do is see Tim.

Tim should say no. He should cut this off, because it's starting to diverge hard from one night stand territory. It wouldn't be the first time he's done it. Some people get too attached and too clingy and Tim has to put a firm stop to it. Hurt feelings are easier to deal with sooner rather than later. It's more for their benefit than it is for his anyway.

That's what he should do here. Maybe a little more gently than in the past, because Matt deserves at least that. It's right on the tip of his tongue — 'I don't think that's a good idea.'

"If you do, bring me a coffee and we'll call it date number two."

It's a joke. It's sort of a joke. Clearly, he makes terrible decisions when left to his own devices. There's a reason he prefers following orders.

"I'm afraid my office's coffee is just as bad as the department of justice's," Matt jokes. Feels for his fork to pick it up and immediately dig into his eggs. They're nothing fancy but one thing about having a heightened sense of taste and smell is that he's a pretty good cook.

Usually.

Today, he's on the ball, it seems.

"I don't see why I can't bring you starbucks, though."

The food really is good, and Tim's been slowly working his way through it, not quite ready to leave yet. He knows he will eventually, with enough time to grab a shower and a change of clothes at his place. But they have some time. There's no rush. Which Tim feels like is a first for him since moving to Hell's Kitchen.

New York City doesn't really leave room for a leisurely pace. He misses Kentucky's long days.

He feels like whatever fancy law office Matt works for ought to have better coffee. Starbucks seems too ridiculous and pretentious for Tim's tastes, but he's not about to turn it down.

"Then it's a date."

Matt nods. "It's a date," he repeats, and they go about eating breakfast. The conversation is polite and easy, relaxed in a way that Matt feels with Foggy. There's a different level, though, and on their way down the stairs, Matt, behind Tim, leans forward on the staircase to nip just at the back of the other's neck without any pretense.

He's dressed to the nines, cane in hand, and once they're down the stairs he nods and adjusts his glasses so they're more comfortable. One small smile and a comment he'd be there around noon, and they part ways.

He arrives at the office and Foggy immediately knows. Karen wonders why Foggy starts cheering and Foggy points out not-so-delicately that Matt has definitely had sex because he walked in the room smiling.

"Is it that Deputy?" He asks. "Can we bribe him, too? Use your nubile young body to catch wind of cases?"
M
"Foggy!" Karen gasps. Matt laughs and promises it's alright and that no, he can't bribe Tim.

"Right. Tim," Foggy states. "You can't see it but I'm using air quotes on the word.

"That's his real name. Any luck on Union Allied?"

They all, eventually, get to work. Nelson and Murdock gets their third client. Or, more accurately, at third client comes to them. Wesley, his name is, has a case for them. A case and a lot of money. Matt accepts not because of the money, because that ticking of the Cartier watch and his voice is very, very familiar.

It's Karen that arrives at the bullpen with Starbucks. Regular coffee, black, just like Matt had heard and smelled he took. She leaves it and the secretary calls Tim down. By the time Tim is there Karen is gone and there's just a single cup, warm and steaming, with the name Gutterson on it.

Matt knows Wesley is connected with Fisk now, after following him. After hearing it. What bothers him more is the police in Fisk's pocket. The police that Tim works with. So Matt takes a gamble, because despite the bourbon on his breath he can sense Tim is honest. He wants to do good. He decides to float him a name.

Matt is masked, ready, when he hears it. A sting operation. They're trying to catch him, now, he knows. Here's Tim's voice. His own heart drops in his chest.

This is why he shouldn't have got his hopes up.

Still, he needs to contact Tim. Not as Matt, but as the devil of hell's kitchen. He makes a copy of the information on Union Allied that Karen brought up, too. Waits, patiently, for them to give up on the sting. And the moment they do, the moment Tim is alone, Matt plans on cornering him.

The day is slow, no thanks to being stuck in the office for the majority of it. It's a day of paperwork and planning, getting a team together and going through all the proper channels. Everything has to be on the up-and-up when they finally get to arrest this guy. When they're not in meetings, Tim's getting through stacks of reports and glancing periodically at his watch.

He should not be anticipating Matt's visit so much.

Though, that's probably why he feels relatively stood up when Matt doesn't visit, but leaves a cup of coffee anyway in passing. Like a formality. It's, admittedly, disappointing. But this is probably for the best. It was only supposed to be a one night stand anyway. Tim shouldn't ask for anything more.

He does, however, seek out Brett Mahoney on his lunch break and chats him up under the guise of having a question about a follow-up report filed a couple of weeks ago. Tim doesn't really make friends with people, but Matt wasn't wrong. He gets along with Brett Mahoney fine. He can tell the man's a good cop.

Matt is something he manages to push out of his mind with very little difficulty. Always better to get over things than to dwell on them, and work happens to be a very, very good distraction. Especially when it comes time to put the sting into action.

It's a relatively straight-forward operation. Putting the word out about some new human trafficking operation, using exclusively undercover cops to set up the scene, rather fucking convincingly, even. All they needed was for the vigilante to drop in to save the day. They had SWAT and agents on standby, and a couple of snipers on the roofs.

One of them being Tim, obviously, because he's the best damn shot in the precinct. Possibly in New York City's entire police department. Not that he's about to brag. They wait for a long time, the comms device in Tim's ear alive with quiet chatter of possible movement and false alarms and doubts of whether the guy is coming at all.

Eventually, the boss calls it a bust, says they'll regroup and replan tomorrow. Try to figure out where things went wrong.

"Alright, wrap it up," a voice says into his ear. "Comms off, gear up. We're calling it quits."

Tim pulls the unit from his ear and switches it off before everybody sets in with sighs and complaints and a bunch of shit he really doesn't want to listen to. He turns, resting his back against the edge of the roof as he takes his rifle apart piece by piece.

He waits for the ear piece to slip off and the rifle to get about halfway apart before he flips up from grabbing the ledge. It's four swift motions after that: step, grab the gun parts Tim holds, twist, and bring it up to hit Tim in the forehead. Not the face, though, and not to knock him out.

Matt is disarming him. Even if the gun doesn't connect with Tim's head it's enough time for him to reach out with his other hand, lightning quick, and yank it form him. Takes another half a second to stomp it under his foot, just in case.

"Stop. Still." he commands, voice low and full of authority. "And quiet, Or my next move will be pushing you off this roof." Tim would survive, of course.

Doesn't mean Matt wants to beat up the poor guy.

"Nod if you understand."

Edited 2015-11-23 05:25 (UTC)

It all happens very quick. So quick, that Tim isn't able to counter the attack soon enough to stop it. It's not very often at all that he's taken so off guard. His reflexes are sharp. Nothing really ever takes him by surprise.

Except for this. Him. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

The guy obviously possesses some serious training, but nothing that Tim pegs as military. It's nothing he recognizes right away. And that's concerning.

He's about halfway to grabbing his side piece, the gun holstered at his hip, when he's told to stop. And he does. This is a delicate situation. One that he might be able to get information out of. Assuming he's not murdered first. The vigilante has yet to kill, and seems to only be interested in beating up bad guys. Which doesn't explain this, and doesn't put Tim at ease even a little bit. But it's worth noting.

He nods, slowly. Then he opens his mouth.

"I guess you've spent this whole time just waitin' for us to give up, huh?"

"Use your resources to save this city. Not to find me." That's neither here nor there, because he's concentrating. Listening.

"The gun, at your hip. Kick it to the floor." It's more than he really wanted to say, but he knows Tim. Maybe not well, but enough to know that Tim's not afraid to die to take someone else down. That's the trait he's scared of.

That's the trait he needs on his side.

This isn't a war, Matt reminds himself. He isn't Stick.

"Then we talk."

Tim wants to point out that they are trying to save this city — from him. But even Tim, who believes that vigilantism is more about vendettas than it is about justice, sometimes thinks that they have more important things to worry about than the guy saving innocent people.

His fingers curl around his gun, and he pauses. He's quick, but is he quick enough to draw and shoot before he's disarmed again? Raylan would be, he thinks. Tim's a better shot, but Raylan's always been a quicker draw.

He pulls the gun from its holster slowly, as non threatening as possible, and puts it on the ground, kicking it away. Not towards the man in the mask, but away from the both of them. He's weaponless now, and he hates it.

"Okay. Talk."

Maybe if he can stall long enough, the rest of the team will come find out why he hasn't come down yet.

"We don't have that much time before they realize something's wrong," And Matt takes one smooth step to Tim, lips parting a moment before he makes a conscious effort to show his hands. He's slowly going for something in his pocket, though. The flash drive.

"Tim Gutterson? You need to listen to me. You can't trust anyone that you work with. You can only trust yourself. A man named Wilson Fisk has half of the force in his pocket. Worse than Falcone in the 90s."

A brief pause. He pulls out the thumb drive from his pocket.

"There's a man named Ben Urich who writes for the local paper. Specializes in Hell's Kitchen. He can be trusted--if anything happens to him, I want you to open this thumb drive. Do you understand?"

The guy's smart, but that's not surprising. He's been evading police arrest for weeks now, including the half of the police department and all of the marshals gathered on the pavement below them.

Tim watches him carefully, not only to be ready if he tries to attack, but also to clock various things. Approximate height, weight. He can't get a very good read on an age with only being able to see half the guy's face, but he can get a fairly broad ballpark. Things that might narrow down possible identities of the masked man.

He doesn't move back when the man steps forward, but only because he can't. He's backed up against the ledge of the roof, exactly where he doesn't want to be. He doesn't make a move to take the thumb drive, either. He only stares, eyes narrowed.

"Why should I trust you?"

It feels like a legitimate question. Why should he trust the secretive man in the mask as opposed to all the people he's spent months working with and trusting his life with?

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