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]

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?

[blindfighter]

"You don't have to trust me." And quite frankly, Matt doesn't care if he does or doesn't. Not yet. Not as the devil.

He can hear it over the radio, below. Someone wondering where 'Deputy Gutterson' is. He needs to act and act quickly. "You just have to do what's right."

Cheesy, maybe. Over-the-top, maybe, too, but he can't really do much else. Tim's not going to trust someone because they said so. But if Matt can nudge him along,if Matt can carefully plant the seed of the idea in the good soldier's head. See if it takes.

Because at the bottom of it all? They're similar.

"You want to fight the good fight, Tim. Talk to Ben. Remember that file. Remember Wilson Fisk."

[comfortablyerect]

'You just have to do what's right.'

Tim's always tried to do what's right. That's why he spent eight years in Afghanistan dedicating himself to his country. That's why he came home and went into law enforcement. It's not as if he doesn't believe in corruption, but it's hard to think about half of the people he's working with being corrupt.

He's always just been better at following orders and not asking questions. But that's not quite the same thing as doing what's right.

He takes the thumb drive, and he commits the names to memory. He'll look both of them up later, see what he can find. See if there's even a shred of evidence that backs up what the guy in the mask is saying about Wilson Fisk.

"You know we're not gonna stop chasin' you."

Just as a reminder. It's out of Tim's hands, but even if it weren't, he wouldn't stop anyway. He likes a good chase.

[blindfighter]

"I know," He says, and keeps his voice quiet, deep, disguising it from Tim. Tim, who has heard him laugh and joke and somber and moan and come. It's almost painful, thinking about this sort of thing right now.

He can't. He has to just block it out. He needs to focus. Tim is already causing him trouble in that department, it seems.

"There's a storm coming, Gutterson. A black sky. Be careful."

That's all he asks. For Tim to be careful.

[comfortablyerect]

"Storm's nothin' I can't handle."

Said with all the blind confidence as an Army Ranger. Like somebody who really doesn't think they can be defeated. Tim's been facing storms his whole life. Between his daddy and the war and this, he's not sure he can remember a time he wasn't waiting to see one emerge over the horizon.

Tim's not confident about a whole lot, but this sort of thing is sort of his forte. It's what he's built for.

[blindfighter]

"Wilson Fisk is dangerous. The men that work for Wilson Fisk are dangerous. You can't trust anyone in the station, not with how many are in his pocket. You're too at risk." He's repeating himself. He knows he is, but this is important for Tim to know.

He pauses, though. Hesitates, just a second.

"I didn't kill anyone," He says, and it's quiet. He's already got blamed. Hurt them, yes. Killed? No.

But he wants to, and that's the worst part. He desperately wants to. Even though he'll never be able to come back from it, Fisk is getting higher and higher on his list of people he feels justified in ending.

"You have to know that. I don't want to hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it."

[comfortablyerect]

"I can take care of myself."

Tim's still trying to decide if he wants to believe him or not. He won't decide until he's had a chance to look into it, to look at what's on the thumb drive. But it'd be naive to disregard the claims completely. He'll look into it. One more think to keep him busy.

"I know you didn't," Tim says, and his voice is low, too. He's noticed that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen doesn't kill, and he's only ever beat up the bad guys. Tim has to give him points for that, at least.

"Still isn't justice, though. There's a right way and a wrong way to do things. I bet you can guess which way this is."

Tim has to believe in the system. It's all he's ever done, his entire career has been built around it. He wouldn't know what else to believe in.

[blindfighter]

"It's the way it has to be," Matt says. His voice is a little gruffer than it should, he guesses, but he's trying to hold his emotions in. He's not a God with a hammer, or someone like Captain America that can always keep his cool. It's frustrating. Emotionally draining. But Matt picks himself up every time because it's right, even if it's not within the law.

He can fight from both sides.

"Remember: Ben Urich. The drive, too."

Find out what's wrong with Gutterson, he can hear from someone's ear piece, and he jerks his head sharply to the left.

"Do the right thing," He says finally. Flips down to the fire escape and disappears into an open window. "Remember who the real enemy is."

The devil is gone.

Matt just hopes Tim will listen.

[comfortablyerect]

Tim is found by some of his coworkers, a few moments later, picking up the parts of his rifle, which were bent and damaged by the vigilante. He's glad it was marshal service's and not his own.

"Dropped it," he says smoothly, and they look rightly skeptical about that.

He's given a hard time by his boss for it, but Tim's barely listening. All he can hear is the Devil of Hell's Kitchen telling him to do the right thing.



The next day, Tim is interrupted at his desk by Matt Murdock, his quiet smile, and two cups of Starbucks, already giving out a handful of apologies about skipping out on coffee the day before. It's a bad idea and Tim should say no. Matt blowing him off was the right direction. Matt's a distraction, but he's not the good kind of distraction.

Tim takes one of the cups and goes on break, and they spend fifteen minutes drinking and talking about absolutely nothing on one of the benches outside. They agree to meet up again after work.

Tim feels stupidly giddy about it. But not so much that he neglects to look into all those things the vigilante told him to. He doesn't find concrete evidence, but he finds a lot of shit that doesn't add up.

They keep doing this. Grabbing drinks sometimes, or maybe coffee, and hooking up frequently. It's always Matt's place, though that might be more out of convenience than anything else. Tim stays the night sometimes, depending on how much he's had to drink. The drunker he is, the more likely he is to stay. He can always cite being too drunk to walk home, but it's really about how high the chances are of him having a nightmare. It's always a gamble, but so far, he's been lucky.

It helps that Matt's very good at wearing him out.

It's casual, nothing serious or exclusive. Almost a friends with benefits kind of thing, if Tim were better at actually having friends. He doesn't stop sleeping with other people, but Matt's the only person he sleeps with more than once. It doesn't mean anything, he keeps trying (unsuccessfully) to tell himself. This is the best sex he's ever had, it'd be fucking stupid to let it go if it happens to be working.

And it's working well. Very well. Tim's surprised by that.

If he's being honest, he has sort of gotten attached, just a little bit. Not enough, he thinks, for it to hurt too much if Matt decides to call it quits. Sometimes he shows up and Matt's supporting a new bruise or a new cut above his eye, and Tim wonders, even asks sometimes, but he always takes Matt's lies at face value. No need to make things complicated with a casual hookup.

And that's all they are, essentially. Even though, sometimes, he'll finds his heart fluttering restlessly, thinking maybe he wants more anytime Matt smiles a certain way or Tim sees him without his glasses. But this is better, he reminds himself. He'll have to settle for this.

It's a little over a month since their first night together when Tim runs into the Nelson and Murdock crew. Or, really, nearly literally runs into them, rounding a corner in the courthouse. It's Foggy, with Matt at his elbow that he nearly collides with, Karen not far behind.

"Shit--"

At least his reflexes are fast. He stops short, holding out a hand just to make sure nobody actually crashes into him. It's not unusual for them to see each other here. This is their job, and Tim is frequently called to testify as an arresting officer or whatever. Thankfully, usually, their work doesn't coincide much.

Usually, they're good run-ins. This time, though, Tim notices that Karen and Foggy look distinctly unhappy. Matt looks unreadable.

[blindfighter]

He really did feel bad, standing Tim up. It hurts a little more than he likes but they reconcile. They fall into a pattern. It's a pattern Matt likes and likes more than he should admit--because Tim, broken Tim, frayed Tim, is perfectly content with casual hook ups and Matt needs casual hookups and not long term relationships. Not with people that work with police.

Not with anyone, with how he spends his evenings.

Nelson and Murdock aren't a huge law firm. Actually, they're struggling to get above water. If it weren't for Matt's 'inheritance' and Welsey's money for defending Fisks' man they'd probably be shut down which is exactly why Foggy had collected those bagels when they turned down the full job offer at Landman and Zack.

Regardless, they don't have too many clients. The ones that pay well tend to be guilty, which means Matt is uninterested. They're learning about Fisk, though, trying to rule him out. They even meet a lovely Spanish woman named Mrs. Cardenas and that entire fiasco happens. He means Claire, too, his night nurse, and Matt knows in order to take down Fisk he needs to take down the Russians first. All of this is balanced in between stealing a few kisses among other things with Tim.

He smells it, sometimes. Didn't realize how much his heart broke when he smelled sex and someone else's place on Tim. Matt tries to tell himself it's for the best, especially when it keeps happening, but he always winds up inviting Tim over or out and they always wind up fucking. Each time it happens, Matt vows to make their nights even better for Tim. He fucks Tim harder, into the mattress. Grabs his hair and whispers filthy things in his ear with his hand around his neck, pressing and bruising. But he always slings a friendly arm around him and never forgets to make breakfast when Tim stays over. He's doing it not to work out his anger, but because Tim likes it rough and hard and fast and desperate.

Sometimes they go two or three rounds. Always when Tim's staying, and always on a weekend so they don't have to go to work the next day exhausted and hungover. The fact that Matt's more annoyed by Tim sleeping with other people than his alcoholism is probably a sign that Matt has his priorities wrong. He gets roughed up sometimes by the Russians, but he's relatively doing alright in that field. IT's slow grueling work but he does it because he needs to. Because this city needs to. In the day, he takes on clients and defends them.

Today, though, it's not so easy. Today, they've lost. Not just any case--one where the big oil companies are going to screw a worker out of a job and more money than he's probably ever seen. They lost and they lost badly thanks to a hung jury and a bought judge. His client knows Matt and Foggy fought for him and fought hard and that's the worst part. He just accepted his fate and wanted the rest of the day to be spent with his family. Matt wonders if he's going to commit suicide like his persperation, heartbeat, and inflection are saying. He prays not and makes a promise to go to confession after work. Now, though?

Now he's just angry.

So is Foggy and so is Karen, and Matt is using Foggy to steady himself. He bumps into someone and Matt has to remember not to snap, not to punch. Instead, he grips his cane.

"Tim," Foggy greets, and Matt's thoughts on who they bumped in to was correct. "Nice to see you." But even Foggy's voice sounds dismal. Karen offers a small, sad smile.

Matt's grip on the cane tightens. "It's nice to hear you again," he says cordially. He's not mat at Tim but some of the venom seeps through anyway. "Happy Friday."

[comfortablyerect]

The anger isn't hard to pick up. The disappointment, the bitterness, all emotions that play across Foggy and Karen's unschooled features all too clearly. Even somebody less observant than Tim would be able to notice.

It can only mean one thing, really. They lost. And they lost fucking big. And Tim knows — knows, because he knows Matt, knows his ideals and values and the kind of justice he stands for — that their client had to be innocent. They're client was innocent, and Nelson and Murdock fought long and hard for them, gave it their all, and they lost. Tim doesn't know what the case was. Doesn't know the crime, the victim, the weight of it all. But just the thought of it leaves the same bitterness in his mouth, like copper pennies on his tongue.

It's harder to pick up on with Matt, because he seems to have much more practice in schooling his expression than the other two do. But Tim does, first at the traces of venom in his voice. Admittedly, it stings a little, even though he knows Matt's not angry at him, just in general.

He sees the anger reinforced by the death grip Matt has on his cane. Tim has seen people angry. It's impossible to do years with the military and law enforcement without seeing people get angry. But there's a certain kind of anger, seen less often, but quickly recognized. It's not anger-- it's rage. The kind that doesn't die. The kind that leads to bruised cheeks and busted lips and welts from a belt that don't go down for days.

It's the kind of rage he saw in his daddy's white-knuckled grip around the neck of a bottle of liquor. It's the rage he sees in Matt right now. There's an instinct that kicks in, an urge he hasn't felt since he was eighteen and still living at home. Placate him. Do whatever is necessary to ease the anger, dissolve some of the rage. Anything to keep from getting hit. Tim's suddenly very glad they're in public.

"Doesn't seem very happy," he says carefully. He's not necessarily being quiet, but his voice is a touch lower. He's talking mostly to Matt, but he glances at Foggy and Karen, too. "Let's get drinks tonight. On me. Sounds like you need 'em."

Find a way to make the rage unwind. Calm him down. Like how he used to try and calm his father down to keep him from beating Sadie.

[blindfighter]

Those Murdock boys, people say. They got the devil in them.

It's not fair. The world isn't fair. It's not and Matt wants to put the mask on, wants to desperately go to the juror that was paid off and the judge that didn't care and shake them until they listened. To make sure that this never happened again.

His knuckles are white and his lips are tight but it's not Tim's fault. It's not. It doesn't mean Matt isn't furious.

Maybe he'll go boxing, after this.

But Tim offers to take them out for drinks and Foggy is never one to say no. Even Karen nods and offers a smile, tiny and polite and still crushed. She's not used to this yet, losing clients.

"God!" Foggy's saying as Karen and him pass Tim. "That jury wasn't hung until Number 8 did some 12 angry men shit."

"Does this happen?" Karen asks. "Does this usually--do you sometimes--"

"Yes," Matt says. Touches Tim's elbow, wanting to start walking. It's polite of Tim to offer, but not necessary. He has work to do, too. He can't be irresponsible. But his grip is a little tighter than normal.

"That's not fair!"

Matt smiles. It's thin and angry but his voice comes out soft and understanding. "The world isn't fair. That's why we fight."

"Drinks," Foggy points. "Drinks, my man Tim. You are a saviour in a weary world of law."

"You guys go ahead," Matt urges. Still touching Tim's arm. Foggy and Karen obey, and Matt stares at the ground.

"Thank you," he says quietly. Because he knows Tim knows. He's still working on what that odd worried pattern in his heartbeat was.

[comfortablyerect]

Tim understands what it's like to lose, and what it means to drink it all away. In his line of work, losing usually means losing a life, or multiple lives. It means someone's died. Especially when he was with the Rangers. He remembers IED explosions and missions gone wrong ending in the loss of several friends, several brothers in arms. And he remembers how someone would go out and purchase as much shitty liquor as they could carry, and the whole damn unit would drink in memory.

This is different, but honestly, it's not that much different. It's the same concept. And Tim gets it.

Karen's right. It's not fair. Nothing is fair. But that's why they're there, Nelson and Murdock. To give the underdog a fighting chance.

Matt's hand finds his elbow, and Tim starts to walk almost automatically. It's strange, maybe, how this has become normal. The two of them walking with Matt's lingering touch on his arm. Tim's strangely comfortable with it. Usually. Right now, Matt's anger is a little too high and his grip is a little too hard for Tim to be comfortable with much of anything.

Tim nods in Foggy's direction. Unlike them, he gets paid regularly. Drinks on him isn't a big deal, and they deserve it.

"Nothin' to thank me for," Tim murmurs, and he reaches out with his free hand to brush soothing fingers over the inside of Matt's wrist.

[blindfighter]

Matt tenses. He shouldn't tense, not with Tim trying to soothe him, but that touch on his wrist is patronizing. Just doing nothing but comforting him--it's sympathy. Empathy. Matt is too angry to realize it's the exact opposite for a few seconds, but he relaxes. Sighs heavily and taps his cane as he and Tim make their way down the courthouse steps and to the exit.

They're going to lose him. An innocent man is going to prison for 10 years because Wilson Fisk is the Kingpin of the underground and knows how to threaten people. Matt shakes his head.

He should have tried harder. That's his reasoning. Should have realized the jury was hung the moment he stepped in. What would Stick say? Asides from talking about his war and soldiers, what would Stick do?

...nothing. Stick wouldn't be in this position. Stick is a fucking asshole that left him like his father did but far less noble. Stick left like Tim, too, would eventually leave if he were ever to voice these opinions. To voice his problems.

He'll fight harder. He'll train better. Those are his options. His only options.

He lets in a sharp intake of breath, hesitating before he actually speaks.

"I don't suppose you could make those drinks happen sooner, rather than later?"

[comfortablyerect]

Matt tenses, and Tim tenses, too. An automatic reaction, a conditioning of childhood. The way he would when his dad was angry about something and Tim would do everything he could to talk him down from that rage, to make him relax, and would end up stepping on a god damn landmine instead. His father would tense and then Tim would tense and then he'd get hit.

That's what Tim's waiting for now, up until he realizes how ridiculous that is. They're in a fucking courthouse with tons of people around. And besides that, Matt isn't his father. They might have the same rage, but that doesn't mean Matt's going to act on it. It doesn't mean Matt's going to hit him.

Still. Tim can't relax. He can't, not until the grip Matt has on his cane stops leaving his knuckles white. It's hard to think about anything other than soothing the frayed ends of Matt's temper right now.

He's quiet, though, as they go down the courthouse steps and make their way outside. Where the air is fresh and it doesn't smell like cleaning products and leather briefcases. Admittedly, Tim is not very fond of the courthouse. It's his least favorite part of this job.

Tim glances at Matt. Though he doesn't exactly relax, he is a little relieved. Sooner is better. The sooner he can calm Matt down, the better.

"Whenever you want," he says. "I'm free the rest of the day."

[blindfighter]

"Oh--oh, you don't--you don't have to..." Matt had forgotten something. Matt had been so caught up in what he needed to do, what he wanted to do, that he hadn't realized Tim wasn't his own boss like he was. Matt could take the rest of the day off--couldn't really afford it, but he could--and Tim was under schedule.

That's what catches him, what makes him a little less angry and a little more embarrassed. He'd shown weakness. He'd reached out and asked for help, which wasn't unheard of, but in a court? It was blood in the water for all the sharks to circle.

Tim, though, he's not a lawyer, he's an officer, and he has other things to do than to tend to Matt. Like saving the city in his own way. He realizes this, licks his lips, slightly flustered, and shakes his head slightly.

"I--meant, not now, you have work to do."

[comfortablyerect]

"No," Tim says, and though he wants to, he doesn't reach out to touch Matt's hand this time. Not since Matt tensed before. He doesn't know why, but he does know better than to do it again. "All I had to do today was testify. That's done, so-- I'm yours."

Technically, he probably has some paperwork he could be doing, some reports to file or something. But nothing that has to be done today. It's nothing that can't be put off. They don't need him in the office or out in the field today. He was slated for court the whole day and that ended a lot earlier than anybody anticipated.

Right now, this is more important than anything else he could be doing. Making sure Matt's okay, that they're okay. That Tim's going to be okay later when they really are alone.

[blindfighter]

"Tim," And Matt chooses his words very, very carefully. "Your voice. It's...Quicker."

And he wants to be more detailed than that--wants to tell Tim that he knows his heart is racing, and that he had a knee-jerk reaction, and that Matt has a suspicion as to what it is. Because it would make sense, especially with the army. Especially with the bourbon.

He licks his lips, inhaling. He's calm now because he can focus on something else. He can focus on Tim, and his grip on Tim's arm, and the pulse under his skin and the odd pull back. He can practically taste Tim's discomfort as he breathes in.

And to other people, it would be like Tim was absolutely normal.

"I--I, uh, I hear it. In the courtroom, but also depositions. The way witness' breath picks up and their words, they suddenly get quicker. Are you..." No. Tim doesn't want anyone to ask if he's okay. Even if he needs it.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be prying. But if it's--it's something that only started happening when we, um. Exited the courthouse. I'm assuming it's not case related."

I'm assuming it's something I've done.

[comfortablyerect]

Honestly, Tim doesn't know what to fucking say to that.

Of course Matt would pick up on it somehow, all of his other senses a little more keen to make up for his lack of sight. Tim shouldn't be surprised, but he is. He's always had such a great poker face. He's always been so good at pretending he's okay when he's not. He's never had somebody call him out on it before.

But here Matt is, sounding less angry and more concerned, gently trying to find out what's wrong. Like he actually cares. Shit, maybe he does. But they're only fuck buddies — he's not worth Matt's concern.

At the very least, Matt seems calmer. Which as been the goal from the start. But this is delicate. Tim could say the wrong thing and make him angry again. He could lie and maybe Matt would see through it, or maybe he won't. He could be vague, which might end up being even more frustrating. But he is not telling the truth. He's not going to talk about his father.

"It's not," he says carefully, slowly, like he's testing the waters. Its true, at least. It's not case related. "But it's nothin' to worry about. I'm fine."

Also true. Mostly. Sort of. True enough because this isn't an unfamiliar situation. It isn't anything he hasn't dealt with before, so he's fine. As fine as he can be.

[blindfighter]

It is something to worry about. That reaction was exactly what Matt is worried about, what Matt fears--the small tiniest touch has opened up so much more understanding from Matt to Tim. More, Matt suspects, than Tim will ever know.

But Matt is caring too much about someone that's supposed to be just a casual fuckbuddy. Tim is not Foggy, always loyal. Tim is not Karen, always understanding. Tim has these qualities, yes, but he's still an outsider. Still someone Matt shouldn't get close to.

Matt shouldn't get close to anyone, is the problem. And yet here they are.

So he touches Tim's arm again, gentler, and moves so their shoulders are touching. "I didn't mean to pry," He says gently. Apologetically. "But since you have the rest of the day off... Why don't we pick up a bottle of wine and head back to my place? We can go out with Foggy and Karen, later."

Maybe that'll get Tim's mind off of it. The prospect of fucking.

Maybe that'll get his mind off of it. The case, the way Tim jumped. Everything.

[comfortablyerect]

Matt's not going to hit him. It's a mantra Tim repeats, over and over, just so maybe he'll believe it. Matt won't hit him because he's not a violent person, and the only time the other has ever been rough with him is when Tim specifically asked for it. He's panicking over nothing. It's nothing.

Tim just needs to get his shit together. He wonders if this is like his PTSD. Only it's trauma from his childhood he's battling instead of trauma from the war.

Jesus. He thinks he prefers the latter.

The touch on his arm is gentle this time, and Matt's shoulder rests against his in an affectionate way. Tim relaxes. He makes himself relax. This is fine. They're fine. He's fine. He can go home with Matt and they can be alone and everything will still be fine. Wine isn't his style but he won't argue. He doesn't plan on getting drunk tonight anyway. He needs to make sure Matt's okay.

"It's fine," he assures, even if he doesn't quite mean it. "That sounds great."

And that part he does mean.

[blindfighter]

It's not fine. But it does sound great to Tim, and Matt decides he needs to pick and choose his battles. Another great quality in him that makes him very, very good at what he does for a living. It makes him pretty okay in terms of fighting on the streets, too.

So Matt gives directions. They don't pick up anything fancy, but it's wine Matt likes and it'll get them relaxed, at least. The grocery store clerk's known Matt since he was a kid--knew his father--and tells him to stay safe from the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Matt smiles thinly, but politely.

They even stop in to order Thai food--Pad Thai for Tim and Phat Si-io for Matt. He feels a little bad that he ordered for him but he could feel how lost Tim was in the small takeout place.

But they have wine, and they have food, and there's always an abundant amount of scotch at Matt's place. It's for his stitches, but no one has to know that. He's also started keeping bourbon there, though he tells himself it's not for Tim and just that he's acquired the taste.

It is Tim, though. It's the entire reason it sits in one of the shelves with the rest of his alcohol.

He opens the door with only a little effort thanks to Tim carrying most of it, and almost immediately sets his cane by the wall. He's tired of feeling helpless today. He's tired of today, period.

"Are you really sure it's alright for you to do this with me on a work day?"

[comfortablyerect]

It's basically the middle of the fucking day and they have wine and a late lunch or an early dinner (or an on-time dinner, Tim thinks, if this were Kentucky), and by the time they get back to Matt's apartment, Tim feels significantly better. Enough that he's actually looking forward to an evening in.

An evening in with some liquor and good company. And no work tomorrow, which means an evening in might very well turn into a night in. Even if it doesn't, though, he'll enjoy this. He always enjoys the times it's just the two of them.

Although he knows for sure now that he's attached. He's very attached to Matt Murdock. If he weren't, he wouldn't have tried so hard to sooth Matt's temper. He would've left. He would've left for good instead of sticking around. Hell, he would've left after that first night. But he's invested, and he's realized that he's been invested from the start.

But that's okay, probably. It's okay if this is one sided. It can keep being one sided. Matt will never feel the same way, and that's probably for the best. Maybe he will end up getting hurt, but at least Matt won't. Tim can handle a little heartbreak. All he wants to avoid is Matt getting hurt, too.

They get into Matt's apartment, and Tim flicks the light on because he knows Matt will forget to, and moves to set the bags down on the counter, already grabbing a couple of glasses and some dinnerware from the cabinets that have become familiar to him.

"Positive," he says. "They'll call me if they need me."

[blindfighter]

Matt laughs, half embarrassed, and he can hear the clink of Tim getting the plates from one of the shelves like he's perfectly at home. It's nice, it's--it allows Matt, for a moment, to think this is going to work.

He wants it to work. He wants to slide in bed and have Tim there at night, wants to curl up with a cup of bourbon or sit on the couch as they go through their assigned paperwork. Wants to hear Tim talk about his day as he walks in the door.

...But he can't. He can't because Tim doesn't deserve Matt. Tim deserves something better. So Matt will wait, and when it goes up in flames he will accept it. Now, though? Now he can just pretend. Matt's good at pretending.

"So what you're saying is that we should pace ourselves in drink," Matt states, and he's teasing, a bit--sure they've had dates where there's no alcohol. Lunch ones, mostly--but this? This is how he's comfortable. It's wrong, too, that he knows that Tim is more comfortable when he's drunk.

Matt just wants to forget.

"I'd just hate to keep you from anything," he murmurs. Goes to grab a fork that Tim's pulled down, purposely brushing his arm against the other's hip as he does so.

[comfortablyerect]

"What I'm sayin' is that we should get drunk as quickly as possible so I have an excuse to stay here if they do call." Tim's teasing too, mostly. Logically, he knows that he probably should make himself unavailable the rest of the night. But really, he'd like to do just that. He'd like to stay holed up with Matt all night long. Just them and some liquor and some thai food.

Beggars can't be choosers, though, and Tim will take what he can get. Whatever Matt's willing to give him before this entire thing crashes and burns. Before Matt finds somebody prettier and more interesting and less broken.

It's only a matter of time, honestly.

"You're not," Tim says, like he's making a promise. He turns his head to kiss the corner of Matt's jaw, then the side of his neck. Honestly, he wouldn't mind if the night just turned into sex against the kitchen counter. But this is about Matt, about keeping him occupied and helping him forget the shitty day he's had. It's not about what Tim wants.

"I'm all yours tonight."