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]

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."

[blindfighter]

"Tim," and Matt sounds so very rushed and needy and wanting. It'd eerily similar to the tone he uses in the bedroom at times, only this one is rife with pain. It's desperate.

He doesn't remember what he said. Doesn't remember Tim finding him. He does know this is bad. He tries a second time anyway, winces as he stares vaguely ahead of him, and eases himself back to the couch. He needs aspirin.

He needs a new body.

"I'm--I'm fine, what are you doing here?"

But he knows. He can smell it.

[comfortablyerect]

"Jesus Christ," Tim breathes. "You're not fine. You almost died. I almost watched you die."

He's angry again. He's angry and hurt and betrayed, but more than that, he's relieved. Relieved that Matt's still breathing, still talking. Relieved that it seems like he's going to pull through. Of course, it's only a matter of time before that fades and leaves him with nothing but anger and betrayal and resentment.

But right now, he reaches out, takes Matt's hand between his own. The other's knuckles are bandaged, cut up and bruised beneath the white gauze. Tim brings Matt's hand up, kisses the back of his hand.

He needs to text Claire. Let her know Matt's awake so she can come check up on him. But it can wait. At least for a little while.

"You know," he says, so softly he's almost whispering, lips still moving against the back of Matt's hand. "Awhile back, we had the vigilante cornered. Trapped, surrounded. Snipers on the roofs. I was the only one who almost got a shot. Only lost it at the last second."

He draws in a breath, exhales slowly. "I almost shot you a dozen different times."

[blindfighter]

"I know." He remembers. Vividly, actually. Matt makes sure he's looking at the general direction of Tim before speaking. Even then, he feels a lump in his throat. Even then, he takes a small breath, a sharp inhale, before speaking.

"I know." It's all he can repeat. He knows Tim is good, but this is Claire's work, which means he must have been conscious enough to have asked for her. Good.

He has to be out there. He doesn't have time for this. He needs to be gathering up Intel. Information. Rattling cages.

He can hear Tim's whispers like they're shouts.

His hands move to curl around the other's jaw, as soft as he can. "You weren't supposed to find out," He says. He's afraid if he raises his voice some sort of spell will be lifted from the moment.

[comfortablyerect]

Tim's jaw tightens beneath Matt's hand. Not because of the touch, but because of the words. He's trying not to get angry. He's trying to have some sort of sympathy. He's trying to understand. Trying to sympathize with where Matt's coming from, why he lied, why he so stubbornly kept those secrets to himself.

He keeps coming back to Matt using their relationship as a way to keep tabs on the vigilante case. The thought makes his stomach knot.

"How d'you figure I wasn't gonna find out?" His voice is still low, still quite, but not quite even. It wavers, like he's trying not to let it raise. Like his emotions are getting the better of him. "It was only a matter of time before everything started addin' up. Or until we caught you."

He pauses. "Until we killed you. We've had a shoot on sight order on you for weeks. But I guess you already knew that."

Tim reaches up, touching Matt's jaw gently, tracing the other's bruised cheekbone softly with his thumb. "You're an idiot, Matt Murdock," he murmurs.

[blindfighter]

He hears it. He can sense it in the other's voice. You don't need super senses to realize you fucked up. That Tim is getting more emotional than he likes to get.

Matt swallows hard, and reaches for the other's hand. He pulls Tim off of his face so he can enter twine their fingers.

"I know. I know that--I know." There's only so many times he can repeat it. Honestly, he's surprised Tim is asking about that and not questioning how he can see.

"Nothing about that had any bearing on my dating you. It was actually a deterrent...but...here we are. Could you--could I have some aspirin, please?"

[comfortablyerect]

Matt's hand is warm in his, their fingers comfortably intertwined with each other. It's so easy and familiar. He's even used to Matt's rough hands being bruised and injured. Before, he'd chalked it up to boxing. Bruised knuckles would make sense if Matt spent time at the gym. He knows better than that, now.

There's a part of him, and thankfully it's a very small part, that wants to tell Matt to get his own aspirin, since he's obviously so damn capable. But he bites his tongue. That's not right. Matt doesn't necessarily deserve to be treated with kid gloves, but he doesn't deserve to be treated like that, either. Of course, there is the question of how Matt does all this without being able to see. But that's not even at the top of his list right now.

"I dunno that aspirin's gonna do much for you," Tim murmurs, but he squeezes Matt's hand before pulling away, disappearing for a brief moment to get the pills and a glass of water. When he returns, he sits on the edge of the couch, placing the pills in Matt's hand and holding the glass until he can help the other sit up.

"I don't know that I believe you," he says honestly. He doesn't specify, but he's speaking of their relationship and how it relates to the vigilante case.

[blindfighter]

Sitting up is difficult but doable, if for a brief moment, and he knows. He knows how Tim feels, and there's a huge part of him that wishes there was some way to erase Tim's memory. Let Tim think he's an alcoholic. Let Tim think he's a serial cheater. Break it off before this happens.

Matt should have realized the universe doesn't want him to be happy.

He takes the aspirin and notes it's hard to swallow, much like tims current tone of voice.

Matt deserves it. He absolutely does.

"No one can know. Not Karen not Foggy not anyone--it's bad enough you do."

[comfortablyerect]

That's it. Matt's words slide beneath his skin the wrong way, and Tim's patience snaps. As soon as Matt's sitting up on his own, Tim stands up, moving away from the couch. His jaw is tight and his fingers push through his hair, agitation echoing in each and every movement. He tried so hard to stay calm and understanding, to just be happy that Matt was still breathing.

He realizes he's pacing, and he stops on the other side of the coffee table, staring at Matt. When he speaks, his voice isn't soft. It's louder, and angry, edged with sharp, harsh tones.

"So what am I supposed to tell them when you finally wind up dead? Or what am I supposed to tell my superiors when we've got you cornered and I can't pull the trigger? You have no idea what position this puts me in."

His jaw clenches again. He's proving Matt's point — it was easier when he didn't know. Not better. But certainly easier.

"How do you do it?" he asks suddenly. "You can't see. How are you fightin' crime if you can't see? Unless you were lyin' about bein' blind, too. Can't say I'd be surprised."

[blindfighter]

Matt can only hang his head in quiet repentance as Tim talks. Because tims right, yes, but also because Tim isbgetting emotional. Quiet tim, who prefers to read and keep a poker face. Silent tim, who drowns his problems in alcohol and has nightmares about desert scapes and ammunition.

He's broken tim, he thinks. Just for a moment, Matt is dreading his worst fear has come to life: he's unable to fix Tim. He's unable to help Tim.

He drinks his water, greedy, and his voice is very, very quiet.

"I'm blind," He assures. "I can see, but not using sight, it's--it's using other things. I know that you haven't slept in a day, you put bourbon in your coffee but it's cold now, probably went cold an hour ago. Youn haven't showered but you washed your face in my sink, and you're reading Alice in Wonderland, I think. Your hip is a little sore from where you sat all night in the love seat and miss Rodriguez is coming up the stairs I'm three seconds. You shot the lock off of my apartment door."

Heavy footsteps of his Spanish neighbour moving up the stairs and to her house are quickly apparent.

[comfortablyerect]

Tim nods slowly, even though Matt can't see it. But, apparently, maybe he can hear it, or smell it, or any number of things. Matt's always been capable, but he's even more capable than Tim ever gave him credit for. It's incredible. Honestly, it is. Maybe he would be able to appreciate it more if he weren't finding it out under the current circumstances.

Suddenly, he feels oddly violated.

"I'll replace the lock," he says, even though that's the least important issue at the moment.

He shifts from one foot to the other, wonders if Matt can hear that, too. It's frustrating. Matt probably knows more like this than he would if he could see. It still doesn't explain how Matt learned how to fight. Tim's seen the state the Devil of Hell's Kitchen puts people in. It shouldn't be possible. even if Matt does box. He thinks back to the day they met, when Matt was representing a man they'd just arrested. The day is very vivid in his mind. Only in part because he has a good memory — most of it is because Matt's so damn important to him, of course he'd remember the day they met.

"You knew I was on the vigilante task force before we ever slept together," Tim says. The pieces have fallen together so neatly. Somehow, this is the part that he's dreading the most. This part of the puzzle. "How am I supposed to believe that has nothin' to do with our relationship?"

[blindfighter]

"I can't see but I can feel. I can hear. I can smell. Air currents, bones shifting if I concentrate hard enough. Whether or not someone's lying."

And then Tim may as well have dropped a bomb on him. Matt presses his lips together, but he can't stammer. Instead, he goes quiet.

Once again, Tim is right.

"I knew. I knew but we were both drunk and happy--I was happy. You were happy for the first time in what was probably ages from the way the tension left your shoulders. And your voice..."

He pauses, trails off, and starts again. "I thought maybe it could be a one night stand, but it kept happening... and I liked it too much to stop it. To stop us. "

[comfortablyerect]

"I was happy," Tim says, raw and honest. "You made me happy."

Past tense. Because right now, Matt's only making him angry. Not for the first time, he's glad that he never got his daddy's temper. That this argument doesn't involve the breaking bottles and physical abuse that often graced his childhood. Matt has Dale Gutterson's anger. Tim has seen it before, in white knuckles and a tight jaw. Tim, though, got his mother's temper. Slow to build, quick to burn out. But while it burns, it burns hot.

It makes fights like these short, but messy. Tim almost always regrets saying something.

"I don't have that luxury," Tim says. "I can't always tell when someone's lyin' to me. Sure as hell can't tell when you're lyin' to me. But I guess you can tell every single time I haven't told you the whole truth. Guess it's a good thing I'm not much of a liar."

As a matter of fact, he can only remember outright lying to Matt once, and that was about his father. When he said his dad only hit his mom. A smaller lie, he thinks, than all of this.

[blindfighter]

"That's not fair," Matt says quietly, voice stern but soft. He knows very well the only time Tim lied to him, and he knows very well why.

He closes his eyes, jaw tight, and when he opens them again, he seems to have a bit more resolve.

"Sit down, please. I'd like to talk about this."

[comfortablyerect]

"I don't want to sit down," Tim says, and maybe it's childish, but he doesn't care. He's allowed to be childish, after all the shit Matt's decided to put him through. He's allowed to stand on the other side of the coffee table, with his arms crossed over his chest, and his jaw set tight.

"It's not fair," he agrees. "It's not fair that you've been lyin' and keepin' secrets ever since we met. It's not fair that I have to question if you actually like me or if you're usin' me to stay close to the case. It's not fair that I can hardly bear to think about all the times I've almost killed you. None of this is fair, but you're not the one that gets to bitch about it."

He's more raw and emotional and vulnerable than he thinks he's ever been in his life. Probably because Matt means more to him than almost anyone in his entire life.

[blindfighter]

No. Matt's exhausted, with a headache and more wounds than he can count and more importantly, there's shit left he has to do on the street in order to actually clean up hells kitchen.

He understands where tims coming from. Some part of him really does, but the other part--the Murdock blood--it's got a hold of him. He raises his voice, words sharl, eyes viciously glaring.

"What am I supposed to say to you, Tim? What do you want to hear?! I couldn't walk right up to you and say 'hi, I'm blind but I can still fight and I'm that guy cleaning up the streets, want to go out anyway?!'"

[comfortablyerect]

Matt's yelling. Matt's angry, in a way Tim's never seen him angry before. Tim's only seen the carefully composed anger, hidden beneath the nice suits and the lawyer's thin smile. This is the anger without the cover. Pure and white hot. Tim thinks if he closed his eyes, he might hear his father's voice instead.

Tim doesn't back down. He doesn't comply. His anger hasn't ran out yet, and he doesn't suspect it will anytime soon.

"Maybe you could've told me the truth one of the countless times I asked you what happened! Maybe you could've told me last week when we fought about this same exact thing. But you didn't trust me, and you still don't trust me. Which is funny, since I was just the one that found out I've been bein' lied to this whole time."

[blindfighter]

"I'm PROTECTING you!" It's loud, so loud he can hear his own voice bounce off the wall, and he wishes--oh God does he wish--that he could stand up. That he could square off so they're on an even level.

His knuckles are white. Hes aware he's bleeding again, somewhere in the lower abomen. Probably with how viciously he tried to snap up, but it just blends in with all of the other pain.

[comfortablyerect]

"I don't need your protection!" Tim's voice is just as loud as Matt's. Louder, probably, to the other's sensitive hearing. He feels a little like he's arguing with his father, which is as weird as it is uncomfortable. At least this time he's not getting popped in the mouth for saying the wrong thing.

"Jesus Christ, Matt." Tim turns away, running his fingers through his already messy hair. "I never needed you to keep me safe. I'm not helpless. The only form of protection I ever needed from you was you tellin' me the God damn truth so I didn't accidentally murder my boyfriend." He inhales sharply, shakily, his voice dropping just a bit. "Did you ever stop to think about what it would've been like for me if I'd killed you? What it would've done to me? I never would've forgiven myself."

He remembers the one time he dreamed about it. The first time he ever had a nightmare in Matt's bed. The night of the explosions, when Matt dropped off the grid and Tim almost got his shot in on the vigilante. When they lost good cops. That entire things makes a lot more sense too, and Tim grits his teeth.

[blindfighter]

It stings. It stings and does something, just a little to lessen his volatile temper. Not enough, but just what he needs to close his eyes and inhale. The inhale turns into a wince, but he doesn't show any other sign of weakness. Not now.

"You didn't. I can hear the radio chatter when you guys are up there, Tim. I know what i'm doing and you may not need protecting but the moment you knew what I'm doing you painted a goddamm target on your back. If Fisk finds out you know he's going to use you and I can't let that happen. Ever."

[comfortablyerect]

"I don't care," Tim says, flat and honest. "I don't care if I'm a target. I spent eight years of my life bein' a target. Willingly, at that. I came home from war and became a U.S. Marshal because — since we're bein' so honest tonight — I like bein' a target. It's why I joined the task force. It's why I moved to New York, to Hell's Kitchen. I can't function if I don't feel like I'm in danger."

It's the most honest he's ever been, he thinks. To anyone, in any situation. It's something he became aware of after the war, but never anything he told anyone, or anything he ever even acknowledged out loud.

For a moment, he just breathes. Just tries to calm himself down. To be less angry. He didn't want to fight, but here they are. It was inevitable. When he speaks, it's quiet again, not quite subdued. "You don't get to decide what I need protection from."

[blindfighter]

Matt is quiet. All he can hear is Tim's heavy breathing and the rattling of a broken air conditioner three blocks over.

Tim has summed up exactly how Matt feels--some part of him, something since he met Stick. How he likes it. How he can't stop fighting and risking his life. How he tempts fate.

It's all tims known, though. From his dad to the military to being a marshal. This is all Tim wants to know.

"I'm sorry," He says softly, and he is. For what, he's not sure. A myriad of things.

"I'm not going to stop looking out for you."

[comfortablyerect]

That's it. Matt apologizes, and something settles inside of Tim. Like maybe that was all he was looking for all along. It wasn't, he knows, but it's definitely a big piece. And now that it's settled into place, things feel a little steadier. He feels less like they're doomed. Feels like maybe there's a future for them.

He's always wanted a future for them. Even at the height of their arguing, even with Matt yelling and Tim fighting back, he wanted to see them come out on the other side. And now he can see it, even if it's just a sliver. There's hope.

Tim doesn't know that he really believes in hope or faith or destiny, or any of those optimistic, abstract ideas. But he believes in Matt. He believes in them.

"I know," he says quietly. He moves, now, around the coffee table and sits down on the edge of the couch gingerly. He finds Matt's hand again, curling his fingers around the other's. "I don't expect you to stop. But I do expect you to be truthful with me. No more secrets, Matt. I can't do that anymore."

[blindfighter]

'No more secrets,' Tim says, and Matt actually realizes for the first time in his life just how many secrets he keeps. How much he lies.

How much of a fucking hypocrite he is.

He's quiet, and Matt's free hams finds the other's shoulder with no trouble before he gently moves his hands across the other's face: he sweeps across jawline, across eyebrows and ridges. He closes his eyes, and then opens them, and speaks very slowly and clearly.

"After the orphanage I was raised by ninjas. One, specifically. He's a dick."