Fic: Stay In My Arms (If You Dare) [2/5]
Title: Stay In My Arms (If You Dare) [2/5]
Fandom: Daredevil (TV)
Rating: NC-17
Chapter 1
Nelson only lives a five minute walk from Matt's apartment, so Matt doesn't bother to hurry as he packs the go-bag he uses for live-in assignments: clean clothing, a toothbrush, his billy clubs, a Braille novel so that he can keep his ears tuned for potential threats...and black clothing and mask, tucked into a hidden compartment in case a client gets nosy. Nelson’s on one of the blocks that was reconstructed after the Incident, as opposed to Matt’s crumbling pre-war building. It’s a little odd that someone pulling in the kind of salary that Fisk pays - the kind of salary paid by someone who can afford Matt - would live in Hell’s Kitchen at all. Even Matt can afford to live somewhere else, though he knows he never will.
But then, Hell’s Kitchen is slowly re-gentrifying, three years after the Incident, and newly-built apartments that are going for an arm and a leg now are projected to cost that plus both kidneys in a couple of years. Nelson’s probably banking on the gentrifiers being right about Hell’s Kitchen being the new Williamsburg.
Matt hates gentrifiers almost as much as he hates criminals.
Luke escorted Nelson home, so when Matt arrives, Luke gives him a quick security briefing. It's legitimately a very safe apartment, which makes things easier - if they’re relatively secure in Nelson’s home there’s no need for him to hire multiple Defenders to guard him in shifts. There’s a doorman on duty in the lobby twenty-four hours a day, and the apartment itself is on the twelfth floor, high up enough that no one’s likely to try coming through the windows. All of the windows lock, anyway, and there's both a deadbolt and a chain lock on the door.
And, of course, the only person actually after Nelson is Matt.
Luke leaves when they’re done, muttering, “Don’t let your dick lose us a client” on his way out, which Matt politely ignores. Matt turns to Nelson.
“Well,” he says, with a smile right on the border of deniably coy. Nelson’s heart, which has been beating fast since Matt arrived, ticks up further. “I guess it’s just the two of us, Mr. Nelson.”
“Um. Yes,” Nelson says. “Do you...uh, I guess, um, Mr. Cage gave you a walkthrough, but do you want a proper tour? I can show you where you’ll be sleeping and, uh. Stuff.”
Nelson is a surprisingly good tour guide, for all that his descriptions come out as a bit of an anxious, stream-of-consciousness babble. He starts using clock coordinates to point things out to Matt almost immediately, and encourages him to touch whatever he wants early on, with only the faintest hint of a blush. It helps that the apartment, for all the elegance of the building it’s in, is not huge, with just two bedrooms - three if Matt counts the small, cluttered office - and one and a half baths. Interior design is mostly lost on Matt, but even he can tell that the furniture is scanty and not particularly expensive.
“Sorry, I know the apartment is kind of sad-looking. A lot of it’s mostly my old IKEA stuff from when I was a law student,” Nelson explains. “My ex-girlfriend Marci keeps telling me to hire an interior decorator and just let them handle everything, but I feel stupid hiring someone to buy throw pillows for me, you know?”
“It looks great to me,” Matt says, and there’s a beat before Nelson starts laughing.
“Thank you. I’ll tell her you said that. Always good to have a strong vote of confidence,” he says. “Anyway, here’s the guest bedroom. Sorry I can’t offer you your own shower, but when I got the place I didn’t expect to have anyone staying the night who I wasn’t, uh.” This time the blush is much warmer. “Right, so! Make yourself at home, and let me know if there’s anything you need. Or...shit, I think my fridge is pretty empty. There’s coffee, at least. You drink coffee?”
“Yes, Mr. Nelson.”
“Great, so we can get takeout tonight and then I guess we’ll do a grocery order tomorrow. That way you can let me know what you like to eat. Does...is that good, does that work?”
“That should be fine. I don’t mean to be an imposition.”
“You’re not...Christ, you’re here to keep me alive, that’s hardly an imposition, Mr. Murdock.” Nelson rakes his hands through his hair, sending up a soft shuff sound and a waft of tea tree oil. His hair sounds surprisingly long; Matt wonders if the oil makes it especially soft. “I can definitely buy Jif instead of Skippy for you if it’ll help me live to my thirtieth birthday.”
Matt’s surprised by his own laugh. “Just Murdock is fine. And I promise, there’s no need to adjust your usual Fresh Direct order on my account. But speaking of why I’m here, perhaps we could talk about what happened to you last night? I have your file and I’ve listened to your statement, of course, but any additional details you can provide would be helpful.”
“Oh, sure, okay.”
They settle on the couch, Matt sitting just a little closer to Nelson than necessary. He can smell a faint whiff of clean sweat from Nelson, a chemical jumble of nerves and arousal, and makes himself hide his smile. This part requires seriousness.
“Tell me what happened,” Matt says.
“Okay. Although...I mean, you guys don’t actually investigate, uh, threats, do you?” Nelson asks. “Because the police are on it, and I didn’t think…”
“No, we just provide security,” Matt says. “But it’s easier for me to do that if I know exactly what I’m protecting you from.”
Nelson nods. “Right. That makes sense.”
And he tells Matt about being attacked by...well, Matt. Matt expects some embellishing, a slight reframing of the story to make Nelson seem more heroic or his mysterious masked attacker more threatening, but Nelson’s version of the tale is accurate.
Well. Matt’s pretty sure he doesn’t sound as ridiculous when he growls as Nelson’s impression makes him seem. But other than that.
“...and then my friend Brett - he’s a cop, he was coming over to watch the game with me - he showed up and yelled something, and the mask guy was like, this isn’t over, and then he did some kind of insane flippity parkour move up the fire escape and over the roof, and…” Nelson shrugs. “That’s what happened.”
Flippity. That’s a new one. “Do you know why this man attacked you?” Matt asks. “It sounds like more than an elaborate mugging.”
Nelson shakes his head. “No. I mean, he asked me about my boss, but I don’t even know how he knew who I work for. My boss is...he’s a really private guy, I’ve only even met him once.”
“What does your boss do that a man like this would be questioning you about him?”
“That’s the weird thing, he’s just a real estate developer,” Nelson says, and his heart says truth. “I have no idea why someone shady would be getting all up in his business.”
And his heart says lie.
Matt keeps his expression politely, neutrally curious with an effort. “Maybe he mistook you for someone else. Or your employer.”
“I hope so,” Nelson says. “Honestly, I never would have hired you on my own. I mean, no offense, I’m sure you do great work, but this is Hell’s Kitchen. I grew up here. I’ve been mugged before, I’ve been hassled before, I can take it. It’s just, he was asking about my boss so I mentioned it to Mr. Wesley - that’s my boss’s assistant, I mostly communicate with him - and he was adamant that I hire some security. So here you are.” He shrugs again. “I’m hoping the man in the mask realizes that he made a mistake and this all blows over.”
Not if Matt has anything to say about it. He’s a little surprised by Nelson’s bravado, because Nelson was certainly scared of him last night, and he’s seemed anxious all day. Then again, if he was pressured into hiring security he’s not comfortable with, that could explain it.
It's not the only thing surprising about Nelson’s statement. “You grew up in Hell’s Kitchen?” he asks.
“Forty-Ninth and Tenth,” Foggy says, and Matt frowns.
“Wait. Are you...isn’t that where Nelson’s Hardware was?”
Nelson nods. “My father’s place. I’m just glad I could afford to pay off his loans so he could finally retire. He and my mom are out in Jersey now.” He chuckles. “Which is good, because if they were still in the neighborhood they’d be dropping by all the time, and I definitely don’t need them finding out about you. Both because they’d be worried about me and because Mom would think you were too skinny and try to feed you into submission.”
Matt is very relieved that’s not going to happen, because it sounds overwhelming. “I grew up on Forty-Sixth and Eleventh,” he offers. He's not sure why. It's not really relevant.
“I know,” Nelson admits, and then, “Well, not your exact childhood address or anything, I’m not a creepy stalker, but, uh. I remember when we were kids, your, uh, your accident. I followed your story in the papers pretty obsessively for a while there. Saving that old guy? You were kind of my hero.” He sounds sheepish and embarrassed, but his heart still says truth. “I mean, they didn’t say anything about enhanced senses, but...I guess once Ms. Walker said your name, once I realized you were that Matt Murdock, I just sort of felt like if anyone could keep me safe, you could. I...I hope that’s okay.”
“I.” Matt has to pause for a minute, to collect his thoughts. These are all just about the last things he ever expected Nelson to say. He’s had people in the past hear about his accident, or remember reading about it in the papers and feel sorry for him, but he’s never had anyone call him a hero. He’s not sure he likes it. “Of course it’s okay, Mr. Nelson.”
“Well. Good.” Nelson’s heart is beating like a frantic drum and he’s radiating the heat of a blush, but it still sounds like he’s smiling. “I’m gonna order some dinner. Any preferences? Pizza, sushi, Mexican, Thai…”
“Thai would be great,” Matt says as Nelson gets up off the couch, and realizes belatedly that Nelson’s managed to steer him completely off the subject of Fisk and what Nelson may or may not know about his illegal activities.
Well. That’s all right. Matt’s here indefinitely. Nelson may not have chosen Matt because he’s attracted to him, but he’s attracted to him all the same, and people in lust are all too eager to spill their secrets. Matt will get the information he wants out of Nelson sooner or later. He just has to be patient.
*
After an awkward dinner, Matt retreats to his room, where he sits in bed puzzling over Franklin Nelson.
Nelson is charming, and affable, and generally honest, but he definitely lied when Matt asked directly about Fisk - just like he lied last night. He knows something.
But he didn’t lie when he said he thought the masked man had made a mistake and this would all blow over. Which doesn’t make any sense.
Matt wants to search the apartment for incriminating evidence, particularly Nelson’s office, but it’s too big of a risk on the first night when he hasn’t built up any trust - not to mention has no idea how soundly Nelson sleeps. Instead he reads, keeping his senses half-tuned to Nelson as he putters around the kitchen, watches TV, changes for bed, and turns out the light. Nelson tosses and turns for about twenty minutes before dropping off, his snores a persistent but not terribly grating rumble. Matt falls asleep soon after, no closer to solving the riddle that is Franklin Nelson than he was the day before.
He makes sure to wake up early so that he can time his workout around Nelson’s morning routine. By the time Nelson stumbles sleepily to Matt’s door, stifling a yawn, Matt’s finishing up his pushups, shirtless and, if the way he feels is any indication, gleaming with sweat.
He hears Nelson choke. “Uh. There’s. Um. Coffee’s, uh, coffee’s ready if you want some,” Nelson stammers, heartbeat leaping from sleepy to jackrabbit-fast.
Matt stands up and stretches, just because he can. Nelson’s going to have a heart attack if he keeps this up. “Great, thank you. Would you like to shower first?”
“Uh, yeah, yep, I’ll just...yeah. Milk’s in the fridge, sugar’s...somewhere, help yourself to whatever.” Nelson all but flees into the bathroom.
Matt chuckles to himself as he heads into the kitchen for coffee. It’s surprisingly good. Nelson may work for a scumbag and have cheap furniture, but his taste isn’t always terrible.
Nelson works in a small private practice only a few blocks away, the office space purchased with his first retainer fee from Fisk. Matt knows from following Nelson around that he takes other cases, usually local hard luck ones, but he listens as Nelson chatters about them anyway.
“Being on retainer is great, because it lets me keep the lights on, but I can still help out clients who maybe can’t pay so much,” he explains. “Like, I got partially paid in homemade baklava last week. Baklava, man! My one weakness! Aside from all the other weaknesses, that is.”
Matt chuckles. He’s surprised that it’s genuine. “I can honestly say I’ve never been paid in baklava.”
“You are missing out, buddy.”
They’ve reached Nelson’s office. He reaches for the doorknob but Matt steps in front of him, hand splayed over Nelson’s heart.
“You'd better let me go in first and secure the building,” he says. “There's probably no threat here, but it's better to be safe than sorry.”
The heart beneath his fingers starts to beat faster, though whether that's from attraction or nerves Matt can't be sure. Nelson nods. “Uh, yeah, sure. Do what you gotta do, man.”
Matt lets his hand linger, then trails it across Nelson's chest and down his arm to seize his wrist, to tug Nelson gently into place behind him. “Stay close to me,” he orders, voice low, and hears Nelson swallow.
“Okay.”
He can feel the faint warmth of Nelson's exhalations on the back of his neck as he opens the door and makes his way up the stairs. “Which door is it?”
“First one on the left.” Nelson’s apparently taken Matt's order to heart; he's so close that the rumble of his voice raises goosebumps on Matt's skin.
Matt concentrates. “There's someone in there. Young, female, sitting at a desk. Instant coffee and honeysuckle.”
“Instant...oh, that's Karen, my assistant. She's not an assassin. Or if she is, I'm going to have very stern words with her at her end-of-year review.”
Matt fights not to laugh. He's in his serious, professional bodyguard mode right now. “Let me go in first anyway.”
The assistant looks up as Matt opens the door. “Good morning. Can I help you?”
“No, thank you.” There's no one else in the office, and Matt steps aside to let Nelson in. “All clear, Mr. Nelson.”
“Foggy?” She sounds puzzled, and Matt notices with vague interest that even Nelson’s assistant calls him by the weird nickname Matt’s heard almost all of his acquaintances use.
“Morning, Karen,” Nelson says, sounding sheepish. “Matt Murdock, this is Karen Page, my assistant. Karen, Murdock here is, uh...oh Christ, this is embarrassing. He’s my...temporary bodyguard.”
Karen laughs, then stops. “Wait. You’re serious? You’re serious.”
Nelson rubs the back of his neck. “I...might have gotten jumped the night before last.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Karen stands up as her heart rate skyrockets.
“I’m okay, I’m fine, jeez, don’t look at me like that. Hey.” Nelson reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m okay. You haven’t been...I mean, no one’s hassled you, right? No one following you home, nothing weird going on?”
“No, nothing,” Karen says. “Not since...well.”
Matt can sense her glancing in his direction. He keeps his expression neutral, but his curiosity is piqued.
“Hey,” Nelson says again. “That’s over. Whatever this new thing is, with me...it’s unrelated. Probably just a mugging.” The faint accelerated heartbeat of a lie. “It’s just, Mr. Wesley suggested some security, and I figured I might as well humor him. And even if there was something to be worried about, we’d handle it together, okay? I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
And that part is truth.
Karen’s heartbeat starts to slow down as they hug, a solid and lingering embrace. Matt stands quietly to the side, politely pretending to be invisible as he tries to work out the subtext of what he’s just heard.
Nelson clears his throat as he steps away from Karen. “Murdock, would you like me to give you a tour of the office?” he asks.
“That would be great, thank you.”
It’s a small space, and the tour doesn’t take long. They end in Nelson’s office, which has a window looking out on a fire escape - not ideal for security purposes, but great if Matt needs to break in at some point.
The window’s open a crack and Matt closes it and thumbs the lock shut. “Sorry if it gets stuffy in here, but I wouldn’t advise leaving this open,” he says. “This way your man in black can’t get in.” Ha. Like Matt couldn’t open one of those locks in his sleep.
“Right. Yeah. I wasn’t...I don’t normally think like that,” Nelson says.
Karen knocks on the doorframe. “I’m going to pick up coffee, can I get you boys anything? Foggy, the usual?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Nelson says.
“Black coffee would be great, thank you,” Matt says.
She’s out the door in a swirl of long hair and faint honeysuckle perfume. Nelson sits down at his desk. “I probably should’ve told her yesterday why I was leaving the office early. She worries.”
Matt nods, leaves a delicate pause, then says, “It sounds like the two of you might have run into something dangerous before…?”
“Yeah, I figured you’d be wondering about that,” Nelson says. “Last year she was working at this company called Union Allied. Her boss was embezzling funds and she tried to blow the whistle on him. So he framed her for murder.”
Matt blinks. “What?”
“Yeah, she goes out for drinks with this coworker of hers, gets drugged, and wakes up next to his bloody corpse.” Nelson gives a little shiver. “My friend Brett - he’s the cop I told you about - mentioned it to me in passing, because it was kind of a weird case, you know? Secretary found covered in blood, no alibi, but swearing up and down she didn’t do it. So I asked around, because Union Allied was a client of the firm I was working for then, Landman and Zack. Turned out her boss had this whole embezzlement scheme going on and was trying to cover it up. I was able to clear Karen’s name but she was pretty over working at Union Allied after that, understandably enough, so when I went solo I offered her a job, and here we are.” He gives a little shrug. “Her old boss killed himself in jail, which, you know, horrifying, but that kind of put an end to all of that. Still, she’s skittish about shit like this. I don’t blame her. Hell of a way to be introduced to life in New York.”
“I’d be skittish too,” Matt says, frowning inwardly. Poor Ms. Page went from the frying pan to the fire, if she’s working for a man so close to Fisk. And yet that seems to be genuine concern in Nelson’s voice when he talks about her. “It was good of you to get involved in her case like that.”
“Not really. I just did what anyone would do.”
It’s an expression, so it probably wouldn’t register on Matt’s senses as a lie even if Nelson didn’t believe it, but there’s something about the way he says it - totally without ego or false humility - that tells Matt he means it. He really believes that most people would investigate a stranger’s murder case on the off chance she might be innocent.
And just like that, a piece of the Nelson puzzle clicks into place.
He’s an idiot.
Oh, sure, he’s a witty enough talker, and he’s clearly a more than capable attorney, but Matt knows the type. Life has worked out well for him, so he naively assumes that it works out that way for everyone - that people are basically good, that karma punishes the bad, and that he can trundle along being generally nice and everything else will sort itself out. No wonder he has no problem working for Fisk - he must legitimately believe that Fisk is nothing but a real estate developer. It doesn’t quite explain the couple of lies Matt’s caught him in, but it brings his worldview into focus.
Matt doesn’t have the luxury of that kind of worldview. He hasn’t since he was a child. Some people are good, yes, but most take the self-interested path of least resistance. And there’s no karma or fate or whatever to punish the bad - not until the hereafter, at least.
Luckily, this city has Matt to do it instead.
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Mr. Nelson,” he says with a bland smile.
Nelson shrugs, and then - “Oops, sorry, I just shrugged. Is that...can you tell that? I saw your stats, and the, uh, the demonstration, but honestly I don’t totally understand how your senses work.”
Matt keeps the bland smile on. This conversation is inevitable - it happens with all of his clients. “Yes, I could tell. I always tell people not to think of it as four separate senses - that’s not really how it works in my brain. If I really wanted to, I could break it down to, oh, say, hearing the fabric of your jacket bunch up around your shoulders and feeling the air currents shift from your movement, but I don’t do that any more than you would think, ‘Ah, my eyes have perceived his shoulders moving up and down in a gesture expressing uncertainty.’ I just know that you shrugged.”
“You can feel air currents?” Nelson repeats, sounding impressed.
Matt can sense a lot more than that, actually. He can hear the fabric of Nelson’s clothes rubbing against his skin and the slight creak in his joints as his shoulders move. He can hear the brush of his hair against his jacket and smell the sudden waft of his shampoo as the ends are stirred. He can feel the movement of Nelson’s whole body, a map of heat and aroma flickering in his mind, that clean vanilla scent a faint presence on the back of his tongue.
He almost never describes his senses in those terms, though. The intimacy of it makes people uncomfortable. He’ll save it for when he’s making Nelson uncomfortable on purpose.
“It helps to identify movement,” he says instead, and braces himself. This is usually the point where clients start throwing things at him to see if he’ll catch them.
But Nelson doesn’t throw anything, just makes an amused sound. “So what you’re saying is, if I get really excited about something and do jazz hands, you’ll catch me.”
Matt’s own snort of laughter takes him by surprise. “Is that something that’s likely to happen?”
“Hey, man, I can’t tell when the music’s gonna move me.” Nelson cocks his head. “So how bad is, say, the subway for you? Horrible, right?”
“It’s pretty bad,” Matt admits. “Not the smell so much - I’ve gotten good at filtering the bad smells out - but the noise is a lot.”
“I’ll bet. Is it the worst thing you hear?” Nelson asks. Matt shakes his head. “Really? That awful screeching? Come on, what could be worse?”
Matt pauses. “Crying,” he says finally.
“...Oh.”
Matt swallows. That was more honest of an answer than he was planning to give. He opens his mouth to change the subject, to lighten the mood, but Nelson beats him to it.
“What’s the best thing you hear?”
“I…” Matt has to pause again, frowning. “Honestly, I’ve never thought about it.” He’s saved from the ensuing awkward silence by a footstep in the hall. “However, I can hear that your secretary’s back.”
“Oh! Great!” Nelson’s voice is a little too bright. Matt doesn’t wince, or visibly rankle at what he knows is pity. “Uh, speaking of which, I should get to work. What will you…?”
“I can just hang out in the other room,” Matt says.
“Won’t you be bored?”
Matt smiles. It feels more forced than usual. “The days where you just stand around doing nothing are the good ones in this business. Don’t worry about me, Mr. Nelson.”
“Well, if you say so,” Nelson says as Karen’s footsteps draw nearer and the doorknob clicks. “I won’t.”
Lie.
Karen comes in, a cardboard tray with three cups in it balanced in one hand. “Black coffee,” she says, pressing a warm cup into Matt’s hand and brushing off his murmured thanks, “and a vanilla latte for the boss-man.” Well, that explains the vanilla scent. “Also, I used petty cash to buy myself a cookie because you make me stress-eat, Nelson.”
“That’s fair,” Nelson says. “Thanks for picking these up.”
Matt stands up and follows Karen out of Nelson’s office, positioning himself by the front door so that he looks professional and ready, but not threatening. He doesn’t want to scare Karen - from what he can tell, she hasn’t done anything wrong, and besides, Nelson’s clearly protective of her. Matt needs to be in her good graces to maintain Nelson’s trust.
Still, a bodyguard in her office, even one calmly sipping coffee, is clearly unsettling Karen. She keeps fidgeting. “Are you sure you’ll be comfortable like that?” she asks finally.
Matt nods. “I’m fine, thank you. Pretend I’m not here.”
“Unlikely,” she mutters. There’s a swish as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Do you think Foggy’s really in danger?” Her heart pounds. She’s worried.
“Not while I’m around,” Matt says, which is absolutely true.
“Okay,” she says, and turns back to her computer. “Good.”
But she doesn’t sound convinced at all.
*
The next eleven days do their best to be boring.
Normally that’s par for the course. Matt wasn’t lying when he told Nelson that standing around doing nothing is the bulk of a bodyguard’s job - especially a bodyguard who happens to know that there’s no actual threat. He spends his days standing by Nelson’s door, or following him to court or the local precinct or his client’s apartments and businesses. Those last visits are the most interesting - Nelson’s clients tend to be hard luck cases, working class people being pushed around by the cops or their insurance companies or faceless government bureaucrats. Matt drinks countless cups of coffee in narrow, threadbare kitchens while Nelson listens to his clients’ stories and explains their legal options in friendly layman’s terms, often while jouncing a baby on his knee - babies universally love Nelson, it seems, and the feeling appears to be mutual - or scratching the chin of an inquisitive cat.
The Nelson of these visits, warm and relaxed, is in marked contrast to the Nelson Matt hears the one time he gets to observe him arguing a case. In court Nelson’s wit goes sharp-edged, digging into the soft underbelly of the prosecution’s arguments and eviscerating them. It’s not hard to see why Wilson Fisk would want a man like Nelson representing his interests.
Unfortunately for Matt, Fisk never gets in direct contact with Nelson. His assistant, Wesley, does stop by twice. His footsteps are nearly silent, drowned out by the tick of his expensive watch despite the leather-and-polish smell of good shoes, and Matt imagines it's because he doesn't walk so much as glide in on his own oil slick. He is unfailingly polite, and every word out of his mouth, even his “Good morning” to Karen, sounds like a lie. Matt wants to punch him whether he's committed a crime or not.
Maddeningly, though, his conversations with Nelson don't give Matt anything to go on - just dry specifics about cases. Neither of them ever even says Fisk’s name, though Matt cranes his ears to hear every word.
Rummaging through Nelson’s office at night doesn’t give him anything either - the few files that aren’t laser-printed and thus impossible to read by touch have no bearing on Fisk or his doings. Another dead end.
Matt works his frustrations out on patrol. Nelson sleeps like the dead, and after that first night it's a simple matter for Matt to evade the building’s security cameras by slipping out the window, to shake off the too-steady beat of Nelson’s heart and trade it for the wildness of the streets. He keeps his patrols short and pointed - he's not going to be much of a bodyguard if he's falling asleep at his post - but he can't avoid the occasional injury.
Luckily, he has Claire.
“For a bodyguard, you’d think you’d be better at keeping yourself in one piece,” she says as she applies a butterfly bandage to the knife wound on his tricep. He’ll have to keep that side angled away from Nelson until it heals a bit to avoid uncomfortable questions. At least it doesn’t need stitches - Matt would have done the bandaging himself, but the angle was bad.
“I didn’t get this on the job,” he says.
“Of course you didn’t. For that you go to the hospital. Like a sane person,” she retorts, and tosses him his shirt. “How do you keep paying for all these fancy compression shirts you’re shredding if you only use all those muscles pro bono?”
“Oh, I have a client. In fact, I’m technically on the clock right now.” He tries not to wince as he pulls the shirt back on. Claire always makes a little gloating noise when he admits to pain, even non-verbally, as if it’ll help convince him to stop doing what he does.
If pain bothered him, he’d never have started.
“Wonderful. I’m sure Mr. or Ms. Moneybags feels very safe with you half-dressed in my kitchen,” she says, tone laced with wry amusement.
“He’s asleep, and that place is a fortress. And in a just world he’d sleep a lot less soundly than he does,” Matt says. He frowns once it’s out of his mouth, uncomfortable. Nelson may be pleasant to be around personally, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s working for - and, Matt’s pretty sure, knowingly aiding and abetting - a criminal. There’s no reason Matt should feel guilty for what he just said.
“So why are you working for him?” Claire asks.
“Do you like everyone you stitch up?” Matt asks.
“Of course not. You’re here, aren’t you?”
Matt laughs. “I’m working an angle,” he admits. “This client might have information that could lead to something. You remember those Russians that roughed me up the night you found me? I think he’s connected.”
“‘Roughed you up’?” Claire repeats. “Matt, they almost killed you! You sure you should be protecting whoever this guy is?”
“I’m fine,” Matt assures her. “Trust me. I may not like how he makes his money, but my client’s harmless. He’s basically fooling himself into thinking he’s doing the right thing. He might not even have the intel I need, he’s got his head so far in the sand.” He shrugs, then winces when it pulls at his bandage. Claire makes the triumphant noise. “I’m probably just going to give it another few days and then try something else.”
It unsettles him, saying it out loud. He’s getting nowhere with Nelson but things still feel unfinished, like there’s something there that he could figure out if he just tried hard enough. And he doesn’t have any other angles to work if this one doesn’t pan out.
But following Nelson around all day isn’t stopping Fisk.
“Well, be careful,” Claire says, and Matt smiles as he reaches for his mask.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says, heading for the window, and pulls the mask on. “This guy can’t hurt me.”
*
He really is on the verge of telling Nelson there’s no discernible threat and giving the whole thing up as a bad job. That is, until the argument.
It happens on the tenth day. Nelson’s visited by a new client, a little old lady named Elena Cardenas who’s being strong-armed out of her rent-controlled apartment. She smells like soap and rosewater and calls Nelson “Senor Foggy.” Matt stands quietly out of the way and doesn’t let himself interrupt Karen’s clumsy translation of Mrs. Cardenas’s Spanish.
“I’ll talk to Tully for you, get you a better payout,” Foggy offers.
Even in the other room, Matt can sense her shaking her head. “No,” she says. “Senor Foggy, we do not want money. This is our home.”
“I understand that, Mrs. Cardenas,” Foggy says, very kindly. “But I used to work for Tully’s lawyers. He’s been selling all his holdings up and down your block for the past two years. If you want to try to stay in your apartment, it’s gonna be a long hard fight, and we still might not win, and in the meantime there won’t be any repairs or maintenance done in your building while he tries to force you out. Why not take the settlement and move somewhere where the landlord isn’t an asshole? Excuse me, a...a jerk.”
Matt frowns. That isn’t right. Even if Mrs. Cardenas takes Tully for a few grand more than his initial offer, it’ll barely be a drop in the bucket compared to what he’s liable to earn selling the whole building. Sure, it could make a big difference to someone like Mrs. Cardenas, teetering on the edge of the poverty line - but this is her home. If she wants to fight to stay in it, Nelson shouldn’t be talking her out of it.
Mrs. Cardenas clearly isn’t thrilled with Nelson’s advice, but the man is convincing, and by the time she leaves the office she’s kissing his cheek and thanking him. Matt opens the door for her and bids her a pleasant goodbye in Spanish.
“You speak Spanish?” Nelson asks, sounding surprised.
“My language skills were listed on the tablet,” Matt points out.
“Right.” Nelson pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, are you okay?”
Matt tilts his head, puzzled. “Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sure,” Nelson says after a pause, and walks away.
But that evening, while they’re cleaning up after an unusually quiet dinner - Nelson insisted that Matt shouldn’t have to do anything approximating chores when he’s already working every second he’s with Nelson, but Matt hates feeling useless, so they’ve settled into a routine where Nelson washes and Matt dries - Nelson suddenly turns the sink off, dries his hands, and leans his hip against the counter, facing Matt. “Okay, seriously, what’s with you?”
“What do you mean?” Matt asks. “Nothing’s with me.”
Nelson snorts. “Buddy, we’ve been living together for over a week now, I think I can tell when you’re in a bad mood. What’s going on? You’ve been all…” He waves his hand. “Exuding waves of disgruntlement since the appointment with Mrs. Cardenas this morning.”
“I’m not…” How does Matt even reply to that? “I’m not exuding anything.”
“Please. You exude. You’re captain of the S. S. Exudery.” Nelson folds his arms. “Spill.”
Matt tries not to make a face. He’s not thrilled that apparently his emotions show on his face more than he thought, and he doesn’t know what to think about the fact that Nelson can read him so easily. He’s supposed to be observing Nelson, not the other way around.
“I…” he starts, pauses, then tries again. “Do you think it was right, telling Mrs. Cardenas to sell out like that?”
Even as he says it he knows he phrased it poorly; suggesting that Nelson is in the moral wrong isn't likely to go over well. But Nelson just makes a thoughtful noise. “I'm trying to get her the best deal I can. Sometimes that means compromising, even when the client doesn't want to.”
“But she shouldn't have to compromise,” Matt argues. “What Tully did, sending guys in to smash up the place, that's illegal.”
“Well, yeah, obviously,” Nelson says. “But Tully has a fleet of lawyers who’ll say it wasn’t.”
“And Mrs. Cardenas has you,” Matt points out. “You’re a brilliant lawyer. You’re saying you can’t beat them?”
Nelson’s body temperature goes up half a degree in what Matt can only assume is a pleased flush. “I probably can, eventually,” he says. “But the legal system is slow, and Tully’s lawyers will drag this case out as long as they can, hoping to outlast her. If he has to wait six months or a year to sell the building, it doesn’t make a huge difference to him - but it’s six months Mrs. Cardenas is living without clean water, without electricity, without a working lock on her door, and for what?”
“For the principle of the thing!” Matt says. “To show that she won’t be railroaded!”
“She can’t drink principles,” Nelson says. “She can, however, use me to negotiate for a better payout and move to a better apartment where the landlord isn’t a total shithead.”
“While this total shithead gets his way.”
“I don’t care what Tully gets!” Nelson says. “I mean, yeah, sure, if the world were a fair place he’d lose all his money and have to live in the kinds of slums he’s been putting people like Mrs. Cardenas through for decades, but I’m not going to drag Mrs. Cardenas into a fight just to beat Tully, especially when he’s gonna stay a filthy rich douchebag either way.”
“So you just roll over because you don’t want to bother?” Matt asks before he can stop himself.
“No, I protect my client,” Nelson snaps. “Yes, she’s losing her home, and that’s wrong, and I’m sorry about it. But at least my way, she’ll have money in the bank, and she’ll be safe.”
Matt frowns. “What do you mean, safe?”
Nelson’s heartbeat ratchets up. “I...nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Safe from what?” Matt presses.
Nelson turns his head away, then back, all nervous tension. “Hell’s Kitchen is changing, Murdock. I work for a real estate developer, okay? This is not something that is going to slow down, or stop. The neighborhood you and I grew up in is going away, and for someone like Mrs. Cardenas, the best thing to do is take what she can from it before she leaves.”
“Or what?” Matt asks. This is starting to sound what he came for - inside information on Fisk’s illegal activities. “What is F-- your employer doing?”
Nelson’s heartbeat goes even faster. “I didn’t say my employer was doing anything. His records are clean. I’m just saying that there are people out there who would go to extreme measures to get a few tenants nobody cares about out of their rent-controlled apartments. I don’t want Mrs. Cardenas to run afoul of them.”
It’s not a lie - not exactly. But his heart is racing, and Matt can smell the beginnings of sweat at his palms, his temples. There’s something behind this, something close to what Matt’s been trying to uncover.
Matt licks his lips. “Mr. Nelson, if there’s something you know…”
“You know what? I kind of have a headache,” Nelson interrupts. “I’m gonna go lie down for a bit. Don’t worry about the rest of the dishes, I’ll take care of them in the morning.”
And Matt can’t think of a way to keep him from walking away.
*
“I was thinking,” Nelson says over coffee the next morning, and Matt puts down his cup and turns his full attention to Nelson, because Nelson’s heart is going fast enough that this must be important. “Maybe we should call this off at the end of the week. The bodyguard thing, I mean.”
Matt’s very glad he already put his coffee down, otherwise he probably would have spilled it. “What?!”
Nelson’s heartbeat speeds up further. “I mean, no offense! You’ve been...great, it’s been great having you here. You’re good company.” That...doesn’t sound like a lie, which is sweet but strange. “But, I mean, no one’s come after me this whole time. Maybe the masked weirdo realized he had the wrong guy.”
No. Nelson is definitely the right guy. Matt just needs more time. “Or he’s waiting until you’re unprotected.”
“I think you’re overestimating how much time anyone is going to spend paying attention to me,” Nelson says, sounding amused. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the concern, but come on. You’ve got to be bored doing nothing but hanging around me and twiddling your thumbs.”
“You’re not boring,” Matt says automatically, because that’s ridiculous. “Mr. Nelson, I’m sure Ms. Walker would be happy to rework your contract with us to suit your needs, but I cannot advise dismissing your security entirely.”
“Seriously, Murdock, I’ll be fine. I always thought hiring a bodyguard was an overreaction, and now we know I was right.” Nelson stands up and pats Matt on the shoulder as he walks past him. “Let’s just finish out the week and call it a win, okay? I’m gonna go get ready for work.”
He’s not lying. But Matt can’t help but notice that Nelson’s trying to dismiss him less than twelve hours after he implied that it was unsafe to push back against his employer - less than twelve hours after Matt pushed a little too hard for the truth.
Maybe Nelson truly believes there’s no threat; maybe he’s just worried that Matt’s getting too close; maybe it’s a combination of the two. Either way, Matt’s going to have to do something about it.
Chapter 3
Fandom: Daredevil (TV)
Rating: NC-17
Chapter 1
Nelson only lives a five minute walk from Matt's apartment, so Matt doesn't bother to hurry as he packs the go-bag he uses for live-in assignments: clean clothing, a toothbrush, his billy clubs, a Braille novel so that he can keep his ears tuned for potential threats...and black clothing and mask, tucked into a hidden compartment in case a client gets nosy. Nelson’s on one of the blocks that was reconstructed after the Incident, as opposed to Matt’s crumbling pre-war building. It’s a little odd that someone pulling in the kind of salary that Fisk pays - the kind of salary paid by someone who can afford Matt - would live in Hell’s Kitchen at all. Even Matt can afford to live somewhere else, though he knows he never will.
But then, Hell’s Kitchen is slowly re-gentrifying, three years after the Incident, and newly-built apartments that are going for an arm and a leg now are projected to cost that plus both kidneys in a couple of years. Nelson’s probably banking on the gentrifiers being right about Hell’s Kitchen being the new Williamsburg.
Matt hates gentrifiers almost as much as he hates criminals.
Luke escorted Nelson home, so when Matt arrives, Luke gives him a quick security briefing. It's legitimately a very safe apartment, which makes things easier - if they’re relatively secure in Nelson’s home there’s no need for him to hire multiple Defenders to guard him in shifts. There’s a doorman on duty in the lobby twenty-four hours a day, and the apartment itself is on the twelfth floor, high up enough that no one’s likely to try coming through the windows. All of the windows lock, anyway, and there's both a deadbolt and a chain lock on the door.
And, of course, the only person actually after Nelson is Matt.
Luke leaves when they’re done, muttering, “Don’t let your dick lose us a client” on his way out, which Matt politely ignores. Matt turns to Nelson.
“Well,” he says, with a smile right on the border of deniably coy. Nelson’s heart, which has been beating fast since Matt arrived, ticks up further. “I guess it’s just the two of us, Mr. Nelson.”
“Um. Yes,” Nelson says. “Do you...uh, I guess, um, Mr. Cage gave you a walkthrough, but do you want a proper tour? I can show you where you’ll be sleeping and, uh. Stuff.”
Nelson is a surprisingly good tour guide, for all that his descriptions come out as a bit of an anxious, stream-of-consciousness babble. He starts using clock coordinates to point things out to Matt almost immediately, and encourages him to touch whatever he wants early on, with only the faintest hint of a blush. It helps that the apartment, for all the elegance of the building it’s in, is not huge, with just two bedrooms - three if Matt counts the small, cluttered office - and one and a half baths. Interior design is mostly lost on Matt, but even he can tell that the furniture is scanty and not particularly expensive.
“Sorry, I know the apartment is kind of sad-looking. A lot of it’s mostly my old IKEA stuff from when I was a law student,” Nelson explains. “My ex-girlfriend Marci keeps telling me to hire an interior decorator and just let them handle everything, but I feel stupid hiring someone to buy throw pillows for me, you know?”
“It looks great to me,” Matt says, and there’s a beat before Nelson starts laughing.
“Thank you. I’ll tell her you said that. Always good to have a strong vote of confidence,” he says. “Anyway, here’s the guest bedroom. Sorry I can’t offer you your own shower, but when I got the place I didn’t expect to have anyone staying the night who I wasn’t, uh.” This time the blush is much warmer. “Right, so! Make yourself at home, and let me know if there’s anything you need. Or...shit, I think my fridge is pretty empty. There’s coffee, at least. You drink coffee?”
“Yes, Mr. Nelson.”
“Great, so we can get takeout tonight and then I guess we’ll do a grocery order tomorrow. That way you can let me know what you like to eat. Does...is that good, does that work?”
“That should be fine. I don’t mean to be an imposition.”
“You’re not...Christ, you’re here to keep me alive, that’s hardly an imposition, Mr. Murdock.” Nelson rakes his hands through his hair, sending up a soft shuff sound and a waft of tea tree oil. His hair sounds surprisingly long; Matt wonders if the oil makes it especially soft. “I can definitely buy Jif instead of Skippy for you if it’ll help me live to my thirtieth birthday.”
Matt’s surprised by his own laugh. “Just Murdock is fine. And I promise, there’s no need to adjust your usual Fresh Direct order on my account. But speaking of why I’m here, perhaps we could talk about what happened to you last night? I have your file and I’ve listened to your statement, of course, but any additional details you can provide would be helpful.”
“Oh, sure, okay.”
They settle on the couch, Matt sitting just a little closer to Nelson than necessary. He can smell a faint whiff of clean sweat from Nelson, a chemical jumble of nerves and arousal, and makes himself hide his smile. This part requires seriousness.
“Tell me what happened,” Matt says.
“Okay. Although...I mean, you guys don’t actually investigate, uh, threats, do you?” Nelson asks. “Because the police are on it, and I didn’t think…”
“No, we just provide security,” Matt says. “But it’s easier for me to do that if I know exactly what I’m protecting you from.”
Nelson nods. “Right. That makes sense.”
And he tells Matt about being attacked by...well, Matt. Matt expects some embellishing, a slight reframing of the story to make Nelson seem more heroic or his mysterious masked attacker more threatening, but Nelson’s version of the tale is accurate.
Well. Matt’s pretty sure he doesn’t sound as ridiculous when he growls as Nelson’s impression makes him seem. But other than that.
“...and then my friend Brett - he’s a cop, he was coming over to watch the game with me - he showed up and yelled something, and the mask guy was like, this isn’t over, and then he did some kind of insane flippity parkour move up the fire escape and over the roof, and…” Nelson shrugs. “That’s what happened.”
Flippity. That’s a new one. “Do you know why this man attacked you?” Matt asks. “It sounds like more than an elaborate mugging.”
Nelson shakes his head. “No. I mean, he asked me about my boss, but I don’t even know how he knew who I work for. My boss is...he’s a really private guy, I’ve only even met him once.”
“What does your boss do that a man like this would be questioning you about him?”
“That’s the weird thing, he’s just a real estate developer,” Nelson says, and his heart says truth. “I have no idea why someone shady would be getting all up in his business.”
And his heart says lie.
Matt keeps his expression politely, neutrally curious with an effort. “Maybe he mistook you for someone else. Or your employer.”
“I hope so,” Nelson says. “Honestly, I never would have hired you on my own. I mean, no offense, I’m sure you do great work, but this is Hell’s Kitchen. I grew up here. I’ve been mugged before, I’ve been hassled before, I can take it. It’s just, he was asking about my boss so I mentioned it to Mr. Wesley - that’s my boss’s assistant, I mostly communicate with him - and he was adamant that I hire some security. So here you are.” He shrugs again. “I’m hoping the man in the mask realizes that he made a mistake and this all blows over.”
Not if Matt has anything to say about it. He’s a little surprised by Nelson’s bravado, because Nelson was certainly scared of him last night, and he’s seemed anxious all day. Then again, if he was pressured into hiring security he’s not comfortable with, that could explain it.
It's not the only thing surprising about Nelson’s statement. “You grew up in Hell’s Kitchen?” he asks.
“Forty-Ninth and Tenth,” Foggy says, and Matt frowns.
“Wait. Are you...isn’t that where Nelson’s Hardware was?”
Nelson nods. “My father’s place. I’m just glad I could afford to pay off his loans so he could finally retire. He and my mom are out in Jersey now.” He chuckles. “Which is good, because if they were still in the neighborhood they’d be dropping by all the time, and I definitely don’t need them finding out about you. Both because they’d be worried about me and because Mom would think you were too skinny and try to feed you into submission.”
Matt is very relieved that’s not going to happen, because it sounds overwhelming. “I grew up on Forty-Sixth and Eleventh,” he offers. He's not sure why. It's not really relevant.
“I know,” Nelson admits, and then, “Well, not your exact childhood address or anything, I’m not a creepy stalker, but, uh. I remember when we were kids, your, uh, your accident. I followed your story in the papers pretty obsessively for a while there. Saving that old guy? You were kind of my hero.” He sounds sheepish and embarrassed, but his heart still says truth. “I mean, they didn’t say anything about enhanced senses, but...I guess once Ms. Walker said your name, once I realized you were that Matt Murdock, I just sort of felt like if anyone could keep me safe, you could. I...I hope that’s okay.”
“I.” Matt has to pause for a minute, to collect his thoughts. These are all just about the last things he ever expected Nelson to say. He’s had people in the past hear about his accident, or remember reading about it in the papers and feel sorry for him, but he’s never had anyone call him a hero. He’s not sure he likes it. “Of course it’s okay, Mr. Nelson.”
“Well. Good.” Nelson’s heart is beating like a frantic drum and he’s radiating the heat of a blush, but it still sounds like he’s smiling. “I’m gonna order some dinner. Any preferences? Pizza, sushi, Mexican, Thai…”
“Thai would be great,” Matt says as Nelson gets up off the couch, and realizes belatedly that Nelson’s managed to steer him completely off the subject of Fisk and what Nelson may or may not know about his illegal activities.
Well. That’s all right. Matt’s here indefinitely. Nelson may not have chosen Matt because he’s attracted to him, but he’s attracted to him all the same, and people in lust are all too eager to spill their secrets. Matt will get the information he wants out of Nelson sooner or later. He just has to be patient.
*
After an awkward dinner, Matt retreats to his room, where he sits in bed puzzling over Franklin Nelson.
Nelson is charming, and affable, and generally honest, but he definitely lied when Matt asked directly about Fisk - just like he lied last night. He knows something.
But he didn’t lie when he said he thought the masked man had made a mistake and this would all blow over. Which doesn’t make any sense.
Matt wants to search the apartment for incriminating evidence, particularly Nelson’s office, but it’s too big of a risk on the first night when he hasn’t built up any trust - not to mention has no idea how soundly Nelson sleeps. Instead he reads, keeping his senses half-tuned to Nelson as he putters around the kitchen, watches TV, changes for bed, and turns out the light. Nelson tosses and turns for about twenty minutes before dropping off, his snores a persistent but not terribly grating rumble. Matt falls asleep soon after, no closer to solving the riddle that is Franklin Nelson than he was the day before.
He makes sure to wake up early so that he can time his workout around Nelson’s morning routine. By the time Nelson stumbles sleepily to Matt’s door, stifling a yawn, Matt’s finishing up his pushups, shirtless and, if the way he feels is any indication, gleaming with sweat.
He hears Nelson choke. “Uh. There’s. Um. Coffee’s, uh, coffee’s ready if you want some,” Nelson stammers, heartbeat leaping from sleepy to jackrabbit-fast.
Matt stands up and stretches, just because he can. Nelson’s going to have a heart attack if he keeps this up. “Great, thank you. Would you like to shower first?”
“Uh, yeah, yep, I’ll just...yeah. Milk’s in the fridge, sugar’s...somewhere, help yourself to whatever.” Nelson all but flees into the bathroom.
Matt chuckles to himself as he heads into the kitchen for coffee. It’s surprisingly good. Nelson may work for a scumbag and have cheap furniture, but his taste isn’t always terrible.
Nelson works in a small private practice only a few blocks away, the office space purchased with his first retainer fee from Fisk. Matt knows from following Nelson around that he takes other cases, usually local hard luck ones, but he listens as Nelson chatters about them anyway.
“Being on retainer is great, because it lets me keep the lights on, but I can still help out clients who maybe can’t pay so much,” he explains. “Like, I got partially paid in homemade baklava last week. Baklava, man! My one weakness! Aside from all the other weaknesses, that is.”
Matt chuckles. He’s surprised that it’s genuine. “I can honestly say I’ve never been paid in baklava.”
“You are missing out, buddy.”
They’ve reached Nelson’s office. He reaches for the doorknob but Matt steps in front of him, hand splayed over Nelson’s heart.
“You'd better let me go in first and secure the building,” he says. “There's probably no threat here, but it's better to be safe than sorry.”
The heart beneath his fingers starts to beat faster, though whether that's from attraction or nerves Matt can't be sure. Nelson nods. “Uh, yeah, sure. Do what you gotta do, man.”
Matt lets his hand linger, then trails it across Nelson's chest and down his arm to seize his wrist, to tug Nelson gently into place behind him. “Stay close to me,” he orders, voice low, and hears Nelson swallow.
“Okay.”
He can feel the faint warmth of Nelson's exhalations on the back of his neck as he opens the door and makes his way up the stairs. “Which door is it?”
“First one on the left.” Nelson’s apparently taken Matt's order to heart; he's so close that the rumble of his voice raises goosebumps on Matt's skin.
Matt concentrates. “There's someone in there. Young, female, sitting at a desk. Instant coffee and honeysuckle.”
“Instant...oh, that's Karen, my assistant. She's not an assassin. Or if she is, I'm going to have very stern words with her at her end-of-year review.”
Matt fights not to laugh. He's in his serious, professional bodyguard mode right now. “Let me go in first anyway.”
The assistant looks up as Matt opens the door. “Good morning. Can I help you?”
“No, thank you.” There's no one else in the office, and Matt steps aside to let Nelson in. “All clear, Mr. Nelson.”
“Foggy?” She sounds puzzled, and Matt notices with vague interest that even Nelson’s assistant calls him by the weird nickname Matt’s heard almost all of his acquaintances use.
“Morning, Karen,” Nelson says, sounding sheepish. “Matt Murdock, this is Karen Page, my assistant. Karen, Murdock here is, uh...oh Christ, this is embarrassing. He’s my...temporary bodyguard.”
Karen laughs, then stops. “Wait. You’re serious? You’re serious.”
Nelson rubs the back of his neck. “I...might have gotten jumped the night before last.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Karen stands up as her heart rate skyrockets.
“I’m okay, I’m fine, jeez, don’t look at me like that. Hey.” Nelson reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. “I’m okay. You haven’t been...I mean, no one’s hassled you, right? No one following you home, nothing weird going on?”
“No, nothing,” Karen says. “Not since...well.”
Matt can sense her glancing in his direction. He keeps his expression neutral, but his curiosity is piqued.
“Hey,” Nelson says again. “That’s over. Whatever this new thing is, with me...it’s unrelated. Probably just a mugging.” The faint accelerated heartbeat of a lie. “It’s just, Mr. Wesley suggested some security, and I figured I might as well humor him. And even if there was something to be worried about, we’d handle it together, okay? I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
And that part is truth.
Karen’s heartbeat starts to slow down as they hug, a solid and lingering embrace. Matt stands quietly to the side, politely pretending to be invisible as he tries to work out the subtext of what he’s just heard.
Nelson clears his throat as he steps away from Karen. “Murdock, would you like me to give you a tour of the office?” he asks.
“That would be great, thank you.”
It’s a small space, and the tour doesn’t take long. They end in Nelson’s office, which has a window looking out on a fire escape - not ideal for security purposes, but great if Matt needs to break in at some point.
The window’s open a crack and Matt closes it and thumbs the lock shut. “Sorry if it gets stuffy in here, but I wouldn’t advise leaving this open,” he says. “This way your man in black can’t get in.” Ha. Like Matt couldn’t open one of those locks in his sleep.
“Right. Yeah. I wasn’t...I don’t normally think like that,” Nelson says.
Karen knocks on the doorframe. “I’m going to pick up coffee, can I get you boys anything? Foggy, the usual?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Nelson says.
“Black coffee would be great, thank you,” Matt says.
She’s out the door in a swirl of long hair and faint honeysuckle perfume. Nelson sits down at his desk. “I probably should’ve told her yesterday why I was leaving the office early. She worries.”
Matt nods, leaves a delicate pause, then says, “It sounds like the two of you might have run into something dangerous before…?”
“Yeah, I figured you’d be wondering about that,” Nelson says. “Last year she was working at this company called Union Allied. Her boss was embezzling funds and she tried to blow the whistle on him. So he framed her for murder.”
Matt blinks. “What?”
“Yeah, she goes out for drinks with this coworker of hers, gets drugged, and wakes up next to his bloody corpse.” Nelson gives a little shiver. “My friend Brett - he’s the cop I told you about - mentioned it to me in passing, because it was kind of a weird case, you know? Secretary found covered in blood, no alibi, but swearing up and down she didn’t do it. So I asked around, because Union Allied was a client of the firm I was working for then, Landman and Zack. Turned out her boss had this whole embezzlement scheme going on and was trying to cover it up. I was able to clear Karen’s name but she was pretty over working at Union Allied after that, understandably enough, so when I went solo I offered her a job, and here we are.” He gives a little shrug. “Her old boss killed himself in jail, which, you know, horrifying, but that kind of put an end to all of that. Still, she’s skittish about shit like this. I don’t blame her. Hell of a way to be introduced to life in New York.”
“I’d be skittish too,” Matt says, frowning inwardly. Poor Ms. Page went from the frying pan to the fire, if she’s working for a man so close to Fisk. And yet that seems to be genuine concern in Nelson’s voice when he talks about her. “It was good of you to get involved in her case like that.”
“Not really. I just did what anyone would do.”
It’s an expression, so it probably wouldn’t register on Matt’s senses as a lie even if Nelson didn’t believe it, but there’s something about the way he says it - totally without ego or false humility - that tells Matt he means it. He really believes that most people would investigate a stranger’s murder case on the off chance she might be innocent.
And just like that, a piece of the Nelson puzzle clicks into place.
He’s an idiot.
Oh, sure, he’s a witty enough talker, and he’s clearly a more than capable attorney, but Matt knows the type. Life has worked out well for him, so he naively assumes that it works out that way for everyone - that people are basically good, that karma punishes the bad, and that he can trundle along being generally nice and everything else will sort itself out. No wonder he has no problem working for Fisk - he must legitimately believe that Fisk is nothing but a real estate developer. It doesn’t quite explain the couple of lies Matt’s caught him in, but it brings his worldview into focus.
Matt doesn’t have the luxury of that kind of worldview. He hasn’t since he was a child. Some people are good, yes, but most take the self-interested path of least resistance. And there’s no karma or fate or whatever to punish the bad - not until the hereafter, at least.
Luckily, this city has Matt to do it instead.
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Mr. Nelson,” he says with a bland smile.
Nelson shrugs, and then - “Oops, sorry, I just shrugged. Is that...can you tell that? I saw your stats, and the, uh, the demonstration, but honestly I don’t totally understand how your senses work.”
Matt keeps the bland smile on. This conversation is inevitable - it happens with all of his clients. “Yes, I could tell. I always tell people not to think of it as four separate senses - that’s not really how it works in my brain. If I really wanted to, I could break it down to, oh, say, hearing the fabric of your jacket bunch up around your shoulders and feeling the air currents shift from your movement, but I don’t do that any more than you would think, ‘Ah, my eyes have perceived his shoulders moving up and down in a gesture expressing uncertainty.’ I just know that you shrugged.”
“You can feel air currents?” Nelson repeats, sounding impressed.
Matt can sense a lot more than that, actually. He can hear the fabric of Nelson’s clothes rubbing against his skin and the slight creak in his joints as his shoulders move. He can hear the brush of his hair against his jacket and smell the sudden waft of his shampoo as the ends are stirred. He can feel the movement of Nelson’s whole body, a map of heat and aroma flickering in his mind, that clean vanilla scent a faint presence on the back of his tongue.
He almost never describes his senses in those terms, though. The intimacy of it makes people uncomfortable. He’ll save it for when he’s making Nelson uncomfortable on purpose.
“It helps to identify movement,” he says instead, and braces himself. This is usually the point where clients start throwing things at him to see if he’ll catch them.
But Nelson doesn’t throw anything, just makes an amused sound. “So what you’re saying is, if I get really excited about something and do jazz hands, you’ll catch me.”
Matt’s own snort of laughter takes him by surprise. “Is that something that’s likely to happen?”
“Hey, man, I can’t tell when the music’s gonna move me.” Nelson cocks his head. “So how bad is, say, the subway for you? Horrible, right?”
“It’s pretty bad,” Matt admits. “Not the smell so much - I’ve gotten good at filtering the bad smells out - but the noise is a lot.”
“I’ll bet. Is it the worst thing you hear?” Nelson asks. Matt shakes his head. “Really? That awful screeching? Come on, what could be worse?”
Matt pauses. “Crying,” he says finally.
“...Oh.”
Matt swallows. That was more honest of an answer than he was planning to give. He opens his mouth to change the subject, to lighten the mood, but Nelson beats him to it.
“What’s the best thing you hear?”
“I…” Matt has to pause again, frowning. “Honestly, I’ve never thought about it.” He’s saved from the ensuing awkward silence by a footstep in the hall. “However, I can hear that your secretary’s back.”
“Oh! Great!” Nelson’s voice is a little too bright. Matt doesn’t wince, or visibly rankle at what he knows is pity. “Uh, speaking of which, I should get to work. What will you…?”
“I can just hang out in the other room,” Matt says.
“Won’t you be bored?”
Matt smiles. It feels more forced than usual. “The days where you just stand around doing nothing are the good ones in this business. Don’t worry about me, Mr. Nelson.”
“Well, if you say so,” Nelson says as Karen’s footsteps draw nearer and the doorknob clicks. “I won’t.”
Lie.
Karen comes in, a cardboard tray with three cups in it balanced in one hand. “Black coffee,” she says, pressing a warm cup into Matt’s hand and brushing off his murmured thanks, “and a vanilla latte for the boss-man.” Well, that explains the vanilla scent. “Also, I used petty cash to buy myself a cookie because you make me stress-eat, Nelson.”
“That’s fair,” Nelson says. “Thanks for picking these up.”
Matt stands up and follows Karen out of Nelson’s office, positioning himself by the front door so that he looks professional and ready, but not threatening. He doesn’t want to scare Karen - from what he can tell, she hasn’t done anything wrong, and besides, Nelson’s clearly protective of her. Matt needs to be in her good graces to maintain Nelson’s trust.
Still, a bodyguard in her office, even one calmly sipping coffee, is clearly unsettling Karen. She keeps fidgeting. “Are you sure you’ll be comfortable like that?” she asks finally.
Matt nods. “I’m fine, thank you. Pretend I’m not here.”
“Unlikely,” she mutters. There’s a swish as she tucks her hair behind her ear. “Do you think Foggy’s really in danger?” Her heart pounds. She’s worried.
“Not while I’m around,” Matt says, which is absolutely true.
“Okay,” she says, and turns back to her computer. “Good.”
But she doesn’t sound convinced at all.
*
The next eleven days do their best to be boring.
Normally that’s par for the course. Matt wasn’t lying when he told Nelson that standing around doing nothing is the bulk of a bodyguard’s job - especially a bodyguard who happens to know that there’s no actual threat. He spends his days standing by Nelson’s door, or following him to court or the local precinct or his client’s apartments and businesses. Those last visits are the most interesting - Nelson’s clients tend to be hard luck cases, working class people being pushed around by the cops or their insurance companies or faceless government bureaucrats. Matt drinks countless cups of coffee in narrow, threadbare kitchens while Nelson listens to his clients’ stories and explains their legal options in friendly layman’s terms, often while jouncing a baby on his knee - babies universally love Nelson, it seems, and the feeling appears to be mutual - or scratching the chin of an inquisitive cat.
The Nelson of these visits, warm and relaxed, is in marked contrast to the Nelson Matt hears the one time he gets to observe him arguing a case. In court Nelson’s wit goes sharp-edged, digging into the soft underbelly of the prosecution’s arguments and eviscerating them. It’s not hard to see why Wilson Fisk would want a man like Nelson representing his interests.
Unfortunately for Matt, Fisk never gets in direct contact with Nelson. His assistant, Wesley, does stop by twice. His footsteps are nearly silent, drowned out by the tick of his expensive watch despite the leather-and-polish smell of good shoes, and Matt imagines it's because he doesn't walk so much as glide in on his own oil slick. He is unfailingly polite, and every word out of his mouth, even his “Good morning” to Karen, sounds like a lie. Matt wants to punch him whether he's committed a crime or not.
Maddeningly, though, his conversations with Nelson don't give Matt anything to go on - just dry specifics about cases. Neither of them ever even says Fisk’s name, though Matt cranes his ears to hear every word.
Rummaging through Nelson’s office at night doesn’t give him anything either - the few files that aren’t laser-printed and thus impossible to read by touch have no bearing on Fisk or his doings. Another dead end.
Matt works his frustrations out on patrol. Nelson sleeps like the dead, and after that first night it's a simple matter for Matt to evade the building’s security cameras by slipping out the window, to shake off the too-steady beat of Nelson’s heart and trade it for the wildness of the streets. He keeps his patrols short and pointed - he's not going to be much of a bodyguard if he's falling asleep at his post - but he can't avoid the occasional injury.
Luckily, he has Claire.
“For a bodyguard, you’d think you’d be better at keeping yourself in one piece,” she says as she applies a butterfly bandage to the knife wound on his tricep. He’ll have to keep that side angled away from Nelson until it heals a bit to avoid uncomfortable questions. At least it doesn’t need stitches - Matt would have done the bandaging himself, but the angle was bad.
“I didn’t get this on the job,” he says.
“Of course you didn’t. For that you go to the hospital. Like a sane person,” she retorts, and tosses him his shirt. “How do you keep paying for all these fancy compression shirts you’re shredding if you only use all those muscles pro bono?”
“Oh, I have a client. In fact, I’m technically on the clock right now.” He tries not to wince as he pulls the shirt back on. Claire always makes a little gloating noise when he admits to pain, even non-verbally, as if it’ll help convince him to stop doing what he does.
If pain bothered him, he’d never have started.
“Wonderful. I’m sure Mr. or Ms. Moneybags feels very safe with you half-dressed in my kitchen,” she says, tone laced with wry amusement.
“He’s asleep, and that place is a fortress. And in a just world he’d sleep a lot less soundly than he does,” Matt says. He frowns once it’s out of his mouth, uncomfortable. Nelson may be pleasant to be around personally, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s working for - and, Matt’s pretty sure, knowingly aiding and abetting - a criminal. There’s no reason Matt should feel guilty for what he just said.
“So why are you working for him?” Claire asks.
“Do you like everyone you stitch up?” Matt asks.
“Of course not. You’re here, aren’t you?”
Matt laughs. “I’m working an angle,” he admits. “This client might have information that could lead to something. You remember those Russians that roughed me up the night you found me? I think he’s connected.”
“‘Roughed you up’?” Claire repeats. “Matt, they almost killed you! You sure you should be protecting whoever this guy is?”
“I’m fine,” Matt assures her. “Trust me. I may not like how he makes his money, but my client’s harmless. He’s basically fooling himself into thinking he’s doing the right thing. He might not even have the intel I need, he’s got his head so far in the sand.” He shrugs, then winces when it pulls at his bandage. Claire makes the triumphant noise. “I’m probably just going to give it another few days and then try something else.”
It unsettles him, saying it out loud. He’s getting nowhere with Nelson but things still feel unfinished, like there’s something there that he could figure out if he just tried hard enough. And he doesn’t have any other angles to work if this one doesn’t pan out.
But following Nelson around all day isn’t stopping Fisk.
“Well, be careful,” Claire says, and Matt smiles as he reaches for his mask.
“Don’t worry about me,” he says, heading for the window, and pulls the mask on. “This guy can’t hurt me.”
*
He really is on the verge of telling Nelson there’s no discernible threat and giving the whole thing up as a bad job. That is, until the argument.
It happens on the tenth day. Nelson’s visited by a new client, a little old lady named Elena Cardenas who’s being strong-armed out of her rent-controlled apartment. She smells like soap and rosewater and calls Nelson “Senor Foggy.” Matt stands quietly out of the way and doesn’t let himself interrupt Karen’s clumsy translation of Mrs. Cardenas’s Spanish.
“I’ll talk to Tully for you, get you a better payout,” Foggy offers.
Even in the other room, Matt can sense her shaking her head. “No,” she says. “Senor Foggy, we do not want money. This is our home.”
“I understand that, Mrs. Cardenas,” Foggy says, very kindly. “But I used to work for Tully’s lawyers. He’s been selling all his holdings up and down your block for the past two years. If you want to try to stay in your apartment, it’s gonna be a long hard fight, and we still might not win, and in the meantime there won’t be any repairs or maintenance done in your building while he tries to force you out. Why not take the settlement and move somewhere where the landlord isn’t an asshole? Excuse me, a...a jerk.”
Matt frowns. That isn’t right. Even if Mrs. Cardenas takes Tully for a few grand more than his initial offer, it’ll barely be a drop in the bucket compared to what he’s liable to earn selling the whole building. Sure, it could make a big difference to someone like Mrs. Cardenas, teetering on the edge of the poverty line - but this is her home. If she wants to fight to stay in it, Nelson shouldn’t be talking her out of it.
Mrs. Cardenas clearly isn’t thrilled with Nelson’s advice, but the man is convincing, and by the time she leaves the office she’s kissing his cheek and thanking him. Matt opens the door for her and bids her a pleasant goodbye in Spanish.
“You speak Spanish?” Nelson asks, sounding surprised.
“My language skills were listed on the tablet,” Matt points out.
“Right.” Nelson pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, are you okay?”
Matt tilts his head, puzzled. “Of course,” he says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sure,” Nelson says after a pause, and walks away.
But that evening, while they’re cleaning up after an unusually quiet dinner - Nelson insisted that Matt shouldn’t have to do anything approximating chores when he’s already working every second he’s with Nelson, but Matt hates feeling useless, so they’ve settled into a routine where Nelson washes and Matt dries - Nelson suddenly turns the sink off, dries his hands, and leans his hip against the counter, facing Matt. “Okay, seriously, what’s with you?”
“What do you mean?” Matt asks. “Nothing’s with me.”
Nelson snorts. “Buddy, we’ve been living together for over a week now, I think I can tell when you’re in a bad mood. What’s going on? You’ve been all…” He waves his hand. “Exuding waves of disgruntlement since the appointment with Mrs. Cardenas this morning.”
“I’m not…” How does Matt even reply to that? “I’m not exuding anything.”
“Please. You exude. You’re captain of the S. S. Exudery.” Nelson folds his arms. “Spill.”
Matt tries not to make a face. He’s not thrilled that apparently his emotions show on his face more than he thought, and he doesn’t know what to think about the fact that Nelson can read him so easily. He’s supposed to be observing Nelson, not the other way around.
“I…” he starts, pauses, then tries again. “Do you think it was right, telling Mrs. Cardenas to sell out like that?”
Even as he says it he knows he phrased it poorly; suggesting that Nelson is in the moral wrong isn't likely to go over well. But Nelson just makes a thoughtful noise. “I'm trying to get her the best deal I can. Sometimes that means compromising, even when the client doesn't want to.”
“But she shouldn't have to compromise,” Matt argues. “What Tully did, sending guys in to smash up the place, that's illegal.”
“Well, yeah, obviously,” Nelson says. “But Tully has a fleet of lawyers who’ll say it wasn’t.”
“And Mrs. Cardenas has you,” Matt points out. “You’re a brilliant lawyer. You’re saying you can’t beat them?”
Nelson’s body temperature goes up half a degree in what Matt can only assume is a pleased flush. “I probably can, eventually,” he says. “But the legal system is slow, and Tully’s lawyers will drag this case out as long as they can, hoping to outlast her. If he has to wait six months or a year to sell the building, it doesn’t make a huge difference to him - but it’s six months Mrs. Cardenas is living without clean water, without electricity, without a working lock on her door, and for what?”
“For the principle of the thing!” Matt says. “To show that she won’t be railroaded!”
“She can’t drink principles,” Nelson says. “She can, however, use me to negotiate for a better payout and move to a better apartment where the landlord isn’t a total shithead.”
“While this total shithead gets his way.”
“I don’t care what Tully gets!” Nelson says. “I mean, yeah, sure, if the world were a fair place he’d lose all his money and have to live in the kinds of slums he’s been putting people like Mrs. Cardenas through for decades, but I’m not going to drag Mrs. Cardenas into a fight just to beat Tully, especially when he’s gonna stay a filthy rich douchebag either way.”
“So you just roll over because you don’t want to bother?” Matt asks before he can stop himself.
“No, I protect my client,” Nelson snaps. “Yes, she’s losing her home, and that’s wrong, and I’m sorry about it. But at least my way, she’ll have money in the bank, and she’ll be safe.”
Matt frowns. “What do you mean, safe?”
Nelson’s heartbeat ratchets up. “I...nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Safe from what?” Matt presses.
Nelson turns his head away, then back, all nervous tension. “Hell’s Kitchen is changing, Murdock. I work for a real estate developer, okay? This is not something that is going to slow down, or stop. The neighborhood you and I grew up in is going away, and for someone like Mrs. Cardenas, the best thing to do is take what she can from it before she leaves.”
“Or what?” Matt asks. This is starting to sound what he came for - inside information on Fisk’s illegal activities. “What is F-- your employer doing?”
Nelson’s heartbeat goes even faster. “I didn’t say my employer was doing anything. His records are clean. I’m just saying that there are people out there who would go to extreme measures to get a few tenants nobody cares about out of their rent-controlled apartments. I don’t want Mrs. Cardenas to run afoul of them.”
It’s not a lie - not exactly. But his heart is racing, and Matt can smell the beginnings of sweat at his palms, his temples. There’s something behind this, something close to what Matt’s been trying to uncover.
Matt licks his lips. “Mr. Nelson, if there’s something you know…”
“You know what? I kind of have a headache,” Nelson interrupts. “I’m gonna go lie down for a bit. Don’t worry about the rest of the dishes, I’ll take care of them in the morning.”
And Matt can’t think of a way to keep him from walking away.
*
“I was thinking,” Nelson says over coffee the next morning, and Matt puts down his cup and turns his full attention to Nelson, because Nelson’s heart is going fast enough that this must be important. “Maybe we should call this off at the end of the week. The bodyguard thing, I mean.”
Matt’s very glad he already put his coffee down, otherwise he probably would have spilled it. “What?!”
Nelson’s heartbeat speeds up further. “I mean, no offense! You’ve been...great, it’s been great having you here. You’re good company.” That...doesn’t sound like a lie, which is sweet but strange. “But, I mean, no one’s come after me this whole time. Maybe the masked weirdo realized he had the wrong guy.”
No. Nelson is definitely the right guy. Matt just needs more time. “Or he’s waiting until you’re unprotected.”
“I think you’re overestimating how much time anyone is going to spend paying attention to me,” Nelson says, sounding amused. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the concern, but come on. You’ve got to be bored doing nothing but hanging around me and twiddling your thumbs.”
“You’re not boring,” Matt says automatically, because that’s ridiculous. “Mr. Nelson, I’m sure Ms. Walker would be happy to rework your contract with us to suit your needs, but I cannot advise dismissing your security entirely.”
“Seriously, Murdock, I’ll be fine. I always thought hiring a bodyguard was an overreaction, and now we know I was right.” Nelson stands up and pats Matt on the shoulder as he walks past him. “Let’s just finish out the week and call it a win, okay? I’m gonna go get ready for work.”
He’s not lying. But Matt can’t help but notice that Nelson’s trying to dismiss him less than twelve hours after he implied that it was unsafe to push back against his employer - less than twelve hours after Matt pushed a little too hard for the truth.
Maybe Nelson truly believes there’s no threat; maybe he’s just worried that Matt’s getting too close; maybe it’s a combination of the two. Either way, Matt’s going to have to do something about it.
Chapter 3