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]

"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."

[comfortablyerect]

Tim almost laughs. It's certainly not what he's expecting to hear, but honestly? He believes it. He believes it more than anything else Matt has ever told him. He smiles, one brow arching. "Yeah?"

He turns his head, kissing the palm of Matt's hand before shifting. He doesn't move away, but moves so he's sitting on the couch a little more properly, rearranges the both of them carefully, just a touch, so Matt can lean back against him. Not quite cuddling, but comfortable. Tim misses being close to the other.

There's a lot of things he should do. He should check on Matt's wounds, he should make them something to eat, he should contact Claire. But not yet. Not until things feel better mended.

"Sounds like my kind of story," he says, and it's an invitation for Matt to continue.

[blindfighter]

"When I was younger, I couldn't focus my senses." It sounds ridiculous out loud. "The radiator five blocks down sounded like nails on a chalk board. Cars going past my window like a matching band--because I can't see the other's just... got better."

The entire time he's talking, he's touching some part of Tim. Leaning back against him is a little painful, but still comfortable. He moves his weight with a groan.

"Sometimes I'd just scream to block out the noise. The nuns found this guy...Stick. old. Cranky. He trained me. Gymnastics, martial arts, all that stuff you've seen me do. How to zero in on sounds or smells. How to meditate, so I can heal faster." He omits the part where Stick was a poorly placed father figure on a pedastal.

That's not for today. Not for now. He's not ready.

"A week ago he was chasing down something from the Yakuza and wanted me to help." That night he was in bed and Claire met Tim. "Said it was a weapon...it was a kid. Stick tried to kill them and I couldn't let that happen. Not in my city. He's not aroynd, but just in case. You /did/ say no secrets, right?"

He knows Tim is hiding his own. And he'll ask that, toi, in just a moment.

Lol jk taggin u back first

[comfortablyerect]

Honestly, the entire thing sounds made up as shit. It sounds like something you would find in a comic book, not something your boyfriend reveals about his childhood. But Tim believes it. Its too farfetched for Matt to be lying.

There's no more secrets. No more lies. He has to trust that Matt will adhere to that.

He listens, trailing his thumb over Matt's wrist in an idle, soothing manner. Over the knob of bone on the side, over the thin veins in the inside, over the spot where his pulse thumps steady and even.

Matt's life is nothing like Tim imagined. He's not just the well mannered lawyer or the tight jawed boxer. He's the blind vigilante with a past that lingers and haunts. One that's rough and unfair and too much for a kid to handle. Tim can relate, at least a little bit. There are more sides to Matt Murdock than he thought, and he wants to learn about all of them.

"No more secrets," he murmurs in agreement. "Sounds like a piece of work. I'll be sure to keep am eye out for a cranky old dude named Stick."

No fuck now I have to

[blindfighter]

No more secrets.

Matt looks visibly uncomfortable--more uncomfortable than being dragged out of the fucking warehouse with a Kama and chain combination.

He wonders if this is fair. Probably not--but he gets a distant looK on his already naturally distant face.

"You said you feel safe when you're in danger. Is that because of your dad?"

It has to be his father. Tim smiles when he mentions his mom.

No fuck you stop that

[comfortablyerect]

Tim's smile fades. His heart stutters in his chest, and now he knows that Matt can hear it, too. In retrospect, that's awfully embarrassing. Tim's lost count of how many times Matt's made his heart skip a beat.

This is fair, he supposes. Tit for tat, even if he's not particularly thrilled about it.

"I told you my daddy knocked my mama around. Guess you've probably already guessed he did me, too."

He's never talked about this before. The words feel strange coming out of his mouth. Like he's betraying someone by saying them. Just himself, he supposes.

"Only really started when I was big enough to stand between him and mama. He'd knock me out of the way to get to her. Got worse when I started fightin' back, but I'd've done anything to keep him from layin' a hand on her."

There's more, but the words hesitate on the top of his tongue, unsure of whether or not he wants to continue. He already feels like he's said too much.

[blindfighter]

Matt's tense again, and his jaw is tight, and his knuckles are white. Hes angry for a second time since he woke up. That can't be healthy. He asked, though. He deserved it.

Tim didn't. Tim didn't deserve his dad carving a path out for him. Matt's dad did, but in a different way--out of love.

Tim may not need protecting, but Matt will sure as fuck do it anyway.

"That's how I decided the law wasn't enough," He says quietly. "There was a little girl three blocks over, her dad used to come into her room at night--a good later or the best policeman in the world couldn't touch it. So I did."

[comfortablyerect]

Matt asked. Tim feels the way Matt tenses up, sees the way his knuckles go white. He shifts, leaning to kiss Matt's jaw, to cover the other's hand with his own, all soothing touches that say 'it's okay'.

Its in the past now. Tim's over it, for the most part. Except for the rare occasions he sees his father's anger in Matt. But he's learning how to cope with that, too.

"So you did," Tim murmurs, and in a way, he thinks he's proud. Matt saw injustice and he did something about it. Maybe it wasn't exactly ethical, but Tim can't say he's sad that some piece of shot child molester got the hell beat out of him.

He wants Matt to be safe. But he knows better than to ask the other to stop fighting. That's just how Matt is. That's the person Tim fell in love with.

"I never got that end of it, thankfully." He tips his head down, pressing a kiss to Matt's shoulderblade. He closes his eyes as he continues. "I guess in retrospect, he probably did it to mama. I never saw it, though. Worst it ever got for me was when he caught me kissin' Johnny Sutherland in my truck."

He smiles against Matt's back, like he's remembering a fond moment. The smile is bitter, though, and it bleeds into his voice. "Hit me so hard he gave me a concussion. By the time he was done, I looked like I'd gotten hit by a God damn truck. Missed school for a week. I remember mama tellin' him if he ever did anything like that again, she'd shoot 'em in his sleep. Might be where I got the idea from."

He wanted to kill his father, but he never admitted IT out loud until this moment.

[blindfighter]

Hearing Tim say it out loud, he's not surprised. Of course. Matt would probably do the same thing. That's the problem with the both of them, maybe. They just don't fucking give up. It's nice to not have to explain himself. Tim doesn't need to, either.

Matt would stop him, but he doesn't blame Tim for thinking it. He's honestly not sure if he'd stop Tim because killing is wrong or because it would fuck Tim up even more.

He lets his hand move up, past him, and he runs his hand through the other's hair.

"It's on the right side," He says softly. "Where he hit you. Right here, there's a small chip."

[comfortablyerect]

"And here I thought the bastard didn't leave any lastin' damage."

Tim hums, closing his eyes as Matt's fingers run through his hair. No more secrets. He's never been so open and honest with another person. Its strange. Though not necessarily bad.

He trusts Matt. Even if Matt's given him every reason not to. Tim trusts him.

Tim opens his eyes. He takes Matt's hand, pulls it from his hair so he can twine their fingers together and place a kiss against Matt's knuckles. He remembers how Matt said I love you to him the night before.

"How much of last night so you remember?" he asks softly. "When I found you?"

[blindfighter]

"You can't tell," Matt reassures. "It's very slight." He'd noticed it while they were having sex, and while it registered he figured it was a childhood injury until now. The thought of someone doing that to their child makes his blood run cold.

Tim asks a question and it'd a very good question, leaving Matt to think.

"I was so sure I'd found Fisk. I ran into someone else, and then...gasoline. I jumped into the water and somehow made it back here. I don't remember you at all. Why?"

[comfortablyerect]

Tim presses his lips together, trying to decide how much he wants to say. No more secrets, he remembers. He doesn't know if this counts, but better be safe than sorry. Maybe he just wants a reason to say it.

He presses his face against Matt's back, taking care to avoid any stitches or bruises.

"I came here to talk to you. To apologize, I guess. I missed you. And when I heard you stumblin' around in here, I shot the lock off the door and came in. You looked awful. I could've sworn you weren't gonna make it."

But he did. Matt's here, and Tim's here, and they're okay. Rocky and emotional, but okay. If Tim were ever going to believe in a God, it'd be because of this.

"You told me to call Claire," he says softly. "You told me you loved me."

[blindfighter]

No more secrets.

A thrill runs up his spine as Matt hears what Tim's saying. He's not surprised he's said it-he's thought it for a while, but he was also fairly certain he was going to die less than 24 hours ago.

That's why, very, very softly, Matt speaks.

"I do," He says slowly. No more secrets--and the two of them care for each other very much. Thats obvious.

"Thank you. For taking care of me."

[comfortablyerect]

"I just did what Claire told me to do. She's the reason you're alive. Real miracle worker, that woman."

He wants to hold Matt tight. He wants to snuggle in close and kiss his back and wrap his arms around the other's waist and never let go. But Matt's to fragile right now. Too bruised and broken. So Tim settles for looping an arm around the other's waist, gentle and loose, still pressing his face against Matt's back.

Its fucked up. They're fucked up. But there's nowhere else Tim would rather be.

"I do too, you know," he says, so quietly he's hardly talking at all. "Love you."

[blindfighter]

Matt hears. Matt hears everything, from the pulse to the scent of sweat and his own blood still on Tim. He senses everything. He loves everything about Tim. All of it.

He's going back out there tonight. Even though an arm loops around him, gentle and perfect. Even though Tim loves him and will probably stop.

For now, though. He's content. Just for now, to be in this moment, though he'd love a cup of warm tea. That's a minor thing. He has Tim.

"You known what I noticed firsr?" He asks suddenly. "What really got me? Your voice."

[comfortablyerect]

"Yeah?" Tim smiles against Matt's shoulder, closing his eyes. For a moment, all he does is listen to the other breathe. A miracle, he thinks, given how close Matt was to dying the night before. He decides here and now that he's going to take the next week off of work. So he can be around to take care of Matt. To keep an eye on him.

Tim knows Matt Murdock. He knows the lawyer never seems to quit. No matter what state he's in.

"It's the accent, isn't it?" He tips his head up to speak into Matt's ear. "Gotta thing for that slow southern drawl?"

[blindfighter]

"Mmmm," is the response, low and appreciative, and he leans his head back. His hand tries to move through tims hair, slow and careful, and lingers on the dent he feels. A reminder of what he's doing: so children don't have to be put through that shit. Just because they're gay doesn't make it right.

"That helped," He says softky, taking a deep breathe. He can feel it, hear how it rattles, and realizes Tim probably can, too, this close.

"It's something else. I think it's the pitch, or something like that. But when you speak, it's like electricity."

[comfortablyerect]

Matt's all beat up, barely held together with stitches and bandages, but he's still hot as hell. He still has firm, hard packed muscles along his abdomen, still has the best ass Tim has ever seen, still has a jawline that drives Tim wild. And it's been awhile, Tim knows, since they've done anything sexual, thanks to their week of fighting.

But Matt inhales, and his ribs rattle in his chest, and Tim knows that anything even remotely active is out of the question right now. That's okay. He just wants Matt to get better. Everything else can wait.

Still. It's hard to resist kissing Matt's jaw, and then the side of his neck, inhaling the other's scent. Sweat and blood and the faint scent of lingering aftershave. "So my voice turns you on. I'll have to remember that."

[blindfighter]

"I was going for something a little more thoughtful, but that's the truth, too." He laughs. He laughs and it hurts, and Matt is suddenly aware that Tim hasn't slept. That coffee has to be wearing out, too.

...and if he's being honest, he wants to go back out again. No--not wants to. Has to.

"You sound exhausted, speaking of. You haven't slept--I'm fine now, Tim. You should rest."

[comfortablyerect]

"Sorry," Tim murmurs against Matt's neck, though he doesn't sound very sorry. "One track mind."

Tim's exhausted. He hasn't slept all night, running on fumes and coffee and sheer willpower. And the high of their argument, though that's long gone, too. Now they're okay, and Matt's okay, and Tim's well aware that he could use some sleep. But that doesn't mean he wants to. He'd rather stay up and keep an eye on Matt.

"I don't wanna rest," he says, and actually shifts to fish his phone out of his pocket. "I was supposed to call Claire when you woke up, anyway. She wants to come over and talk to you. Give you a stern talkin' to, I reckon."

[blindfighter]

"If it's going to be anything like ours, I'm not ready," Matt says bluntly, and he nestles further into the other's grip.

His hand finds the other's wrist, stopping him, and he's not quick but it shouldn't be that easy for a blind man.

"I'm fine now, Tim. Really."

[comfortablyerect]

"Little different, I bet. More don't-rip-these-stitches and less no-more-secrets."

Matt's fingers wrap around Tim's wrist, and Tim blinks at it for a second. That happened easier than it should have, he thinks. At least, if Matt were a regularly blind man. Suddenly, he realizes that all the time he's offered Matt his elbow when they walked, and all the times he's made sure glasses and plates and things have touched Matt's hand so he knew where they were, were all probably pointless gestures.

"Besides, if I don't call her, she's gonna give me a stern talkin' to, and I'm not ready for that, either."