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

[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.

[comfortablyerect]

Matt sits up, the sheet falls off his chest, and Tim moves forward a step. He's mad. He's mad and upset and jealous and hurt and a million other things he can hardly begin to identify right now. But the second Matt makes that noise of pain, Tim's moving forward to do something about it.

What, he's not sure. It's not like he's a nurse. But he puts a hand on Matt's shoulder where it's uninjured and bruise free and pushes firmly, but gently, urging him to lay back down.

But the second Matt's reclined again, Tim pulls his hand away. Though he doesn't move from the edge of the bed.

"Claire," he repeats quietly. It doesn't sound like a hooker's name, which is comforting. Then again, Matt doesn't seem like the type to hire a hooker. Looking the way he does, he wouldn't need to.

Looking the way he does, he probably wasn't having sex with someone else. Tim's gaze drops, looking over the faded scars, healing bruises, and fresh wounds. Matt looks like he just came out on the wrong end of a very bad bar fight, where he was out-numbered and weaponless. He decides he believes that Matt isn't sleeping with anyone else (he hardly seems like the type, anyway, and Tim knows that), but that doesn't mean there isn't anything going on.

"You just trust her more with your secrets than you trust me," Tim concludes, still looking at Matt's torso. "I've been real patient about whatever shit you've got goin' on that leaves you all beat up like this, but Jesus Christ, Matt. It's gettin' out of hand."

[blindfighter]

"It's fine," Matt says quickly. "I'm fine--" He reaches out from where tim pulls away, shaking his head. The hand stops just short of where tims arm is, but he doesn't lower it. He's grasping for Tim.

He knows where he is. He's just too focused on what he's saying to actually find tims arm to touch, or his hand to hold. He needs Tim to know that it's okay.

It's hard to lie to someone you're in love with, he realizes. He loves Tim.

But he can't stop.

"Sit. Please--don't--don't just stand there. Tim."

[comfortablyerect]

Tim's heart aches. Matt's grasping for him, and Tim's resolve is running quite thin. It would be easy to forget this whole thing and to crawl into bed with Matt, take off the afternoon and spend it watching documentaries and holding hands and eating pizza. He doesn't want to ruin things between them. It's why he hasn't pushed or pried whenever he suspects Matt's lying.

But his suspicions happen often, and it feels like he's ignoring Matt's lies more often than he's hearing the other tell the truth. Tim's not sure he deserves better than what he's getting. But leaving things the way they have been is killing him.

He doesn't reach out for Matt's hand. Maybe it's cruel, but so is Matt lying to his face for months, he thinks. It's how he justifies it anyway. He crosses his arms over his chest, jaw set.

"I'll sit when you tell me what the hell's goin' on. I know you're not clumsy, and I know you didn't get this from boxin' or some shit. So tell me the truth. For once."

[blindfighter]

Matt closes his mouth. He closes his hand, too, and is acutely aware of that noise tims jaw makes. His arms are crossed again. Matt's heart sinks.

"Tim..." he starts to say something but he find he can't quite finish it. Starts to panic, gaze searching for tims face even though he can't actually see anything. It's not hard to make out the desperation in his gaze. It's fear, too.

Fear that the only good thing to happen to him in months is going to drift away.

He has to tell him. He has to tell him something--anything. The freshly stitched stab wounds aren't something you get from boxing.

He closes his eyes. He can't use the car accident excuse. Can't use someone jumping him as one.

"I can't tell you," he says, and his voice is thin. "I'm sorry."

[comfortablyerect]

Tim scoffs, sharp and harsh. He'd like to be more forgiving. Matt's in rough shape, and Tim recognizes that fear and desperation in his gaze. Instead, he's angry. And while it's not an entirely foreign feeling, it's not one he comes across often. Tim gets annoyed. He gets frustrated. He hardly ever gets angry.

But he's angry now. He's angry that Matt's lied to him. He's angry that he let Matt lie to him. And maybe Matt isn't lying right now, but he sure as hell isn't coming forward with the truth. And he's angry about that, too.

He's angry that this is clearly an argument that could make or break their brand new relationship, and Matt doesn't even care enough to try and save it.

"You can't tell me but you can tell the hot nurse with the long legs." Tim drops his arms, stepping further away from the bed, but not leaving the room. He only has a little bit of time before he has to go back to work. There's no way they'll resolve this before then.

"I don't get it," Tim says truthfully. "I don't get what could be so bad that you can't tell me. Are you robbin' banks? Gettin' your kicks with some underground fight clubs? I don't care if it's illegal, Matt, I just care that you're not tellin' me."

[blindfighter]

"No," Matt says, and it's with conviction. He can't tell Tim because if he dies it paints a target on his back. He can't tell Tim because Tim will get in danger. He can't tell Tim because he needs to protect him.

Claire only found him because he was dead in an alleyway, nearly. Matt let's his hand drop, finally, and he remembers what Claire said about martyrs.

They always end up dying. And they always end up alone. Matt's eyes slip closed again, and the worst part about this is that he doesn't blame Tim. He really doesn't.

"I need you to trust me and I need you to trust that I can't tell you. Please. "

[comfortablyerect]

"I can't trust a word that comes out of your mouth right now."

He says the words before he can really consider the impact they might have. But it's not like it's untrue. He really can't believe anything Matt says. He spends so much time lying, Tim wonders if he's ever told the truth. If he'd be able to tell the different between Matt lying and Matt being truthful.

Matt Murdock is not the well-mannered lawyer he appears to be. And Tim knew that from the beginning. Really, this is all his fault. Entering into a relationship he knew was doomed to fail.

He presses his lips together, breathing in deep through his nose.

"I've always been honest with you. And you can't even tell me why you won't afford me the same courtesy."

[blindfighter]

He deserves this. He knows, in the back of his mind, that he deserves this. Its because a Murdock doesn't know when to quit. They don't know when to back down.

They don't know how to stop. How to stop fighting, how to stop lying. It's the same thing, even if the causes were good.

It doesn't make it hurt less.

"I'm sorry," He says. He means it. His gaze is near tim, not at Tim, and finally, his eyes close as his fists clench. There's nothing he can do. It's for Tims own good.

Phone tags u before leaving for home

[comfortablyerect]

There's a part of Tim that, despite how in love he is, despite how much he wants to hold onto this at all costs, just wants to walk away. He doesn't deserve a lot, but he thinks he at least deserves the truth. Matt can't even tell him why he doesn't deserve that.

But he can't. He can't walk away. Not from Matt, not from them. Not from whatever secret Matt is keeping. He won't get the answer today, but he'll get it eventually. One way or another.

And maybe he'll wreck this relationship trying to do so, but hell, Matt already got that ball rolling. Tim will be just finishing the job.

"Okay," he says, his voice low and subdued. "Right. You're sorry. I gotta go back to work. Call me if you feel like talkin'."

He heads for the door without waiting for Matt's response, but stops short just outside the bedroom. He should just go. Nice and clean, making it perfectly clear that he's very not happy. Instead, he says, "Or if you need anything."

This isn't over. They're not over.

Ilu

[producings]

It isn't over, Tim infers. Matt clings to that desperately, wanting nothing more than for Tim to come back. The other leaves and Matt is left alone, feeling empty and hollow and somehow more determined than ever to stop Wilson Fisk.

He's doing this for people like Tim. To make sure they don't get hurt. He's doing this for them.

He's left smelling tim, his scent lingering somehow even above the pizza, and realizes his hands are shaking.

He's scared. He's scared to lose Tim but even more afraid to stop. That's why he forces himself to meditate.

He needs Fisk down. Starting with the warehouse he learned about.

--

Karen texts Tim within the week. Says that Matt got into a car accident and that he looked pretty beaten up but mostly he was sad, and maybe if Tim could cheer him up it would mean a lot to Karen because her and Foggy have both tried.

Matt doesn't reach out.

Matt is fighting.

--

Stick comes back. That night is eventful but he gets his old weapons back. He learns about black sky and remembers Stick is a shitty father, replacement or otherwise.

The devil of hells kitchen is on a spree. More crime I'd forcibly cleaned up in that week than any other, the majority Yakuza. One abusive husband wakes up in a hospital with a restraining order pinned to his chest.

Matt goes to find Fisk at the warehouse. Instead, Matt finds Nobu.

--

He barely makes it out alive. It's bad. It's worse than before--he barely makes it to his house. The doors locked but he always leaves the windows unlocked when he goes out.

He falls through one, barely hanging on, and crashes against a lamp. He falls onto the table. It looks and sounds an awful lot like someone breaking in.

He swears among all the blood he can small Tim behind the door.

[comfortablyerect]

Tim doesn't contact Matt, and Matt doesn't contact Tim. It's lonely. He hadn't realized how much of his free time was spent with the other until he started going home to an empty apartment and pouring a single glass and spending the evenings watching Storage Wars by himself. It feels as if there's an important piece of him missing. Like there's a hole in his heart.

It's stupid. It's stupid that he's so in love. So in love that even though he hates sleeping in an empty bed, but can't bring himself to invite anybody else into it. After all, it's not as if they've broken up. Tim left it open ended for a reason.

He considers getting a dog before he remembers he hates dogs. This is fucking him up.

Several days past, and Tim dedicates himself to work. To the marshal's service, and to the task force dedicated to hunting down the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. There's more than enough work to occupy him, for the most part. The Devil is active, more active than usual, cleaning up the streets in his usual illegal, vigilante manner. Tim, at least, recognizes that the vigilante is trying to help. It's a the-ends-justify-the-means sort of thing, a mentality Tim recognizes from the military. But the police force doesn't feel the same way.

The Devil's one step ahead of them though, always. They come close one night, but not close enough for it to matter. It keeps Tim busy, though. And that's important.

Karen texts him one day. Tim scoffs out loud at the words car accident. Tim doesn't text her back, and Tim doesn't reach out to Matt, either. But the message eats away at him for days. Matt's sad. Tim shouldn't cave just because Matt's sad, but he feels guilty, if he's being honest. Maybe he has nothing to feel guilty over, but he does. He wants to reconcile.

He wants to make up. Even if he doesn't get the answers he wants.

One night, after working late, he texts Matt. A simple Can I come over? that doesn't get answered. Normally Matt's relatively prompt about texting him back. Tim's equal parts worried and annoyed. Worried that Matt's gotten himself hurt, and annoyed that the other has the gall to ignore him after everything that's been said and done.

So he stops by. Maybe it's rude, but they're past that now. He knocks on the door, and not a second after, there's a crash from inside. Tim frowns. There's another crash, this one more concerning than the last, and Tim acts before he thinks. When the door doesn't open, he draws his gun and shoots the lock, keeping it unholstered as he yanks the door open.

He finds not Matt, but the Devil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen, beat up and bloody and barely breathing on Matt's coffee table. Suddenly, something clicks in his mind. Suddenly, it makes sense. It's ridiculous. It's outrageous and improbable, maybe even impossible. But somehow, it makes sense. Tim swallows hard, gun still drawn and trained on the vigilante as he creeps closer. His weapon never wavers as he kneels down slowly, reaching out to remove the mask covering part of the vigilante's face.