Chapter Text
So. Peter was Spider-Man.
Matt was in his office, trying to focus on the case files in front of him while his knuckles ached from last night. It was a simple enough affair, restraining a small group of drug dealers in a warehouse just tightly enough to be both uncomfortable and impossible to escape before the police showed up.
It was, of course, made easier by Spider-Man’s help.
He’d swung onto the scene saying some witty one liner Matt didn’t even remember anymore. What had mattered in the moment was Matt knew that voice.
It was the same voice he’d heard earlier that day. The same voice that had guided him through a bookstore, helped him find a present for Karen, and asked him if he’d wanted coffee.
Peter’s voice.
And then Spider-Man had shot his webs, used them to pull guns out of the drug dealers’ hands and wrangle them into tidy bundles. And the smell of his webs—synthetic, and vaguely chemical—was the same smell that had hung faintly around Peter when Matt encountered him.
Which made Matt about 98% sure that Spider-Man and Peter were one and the same.
Spider-Man hadn’t stayed to chat, of course. He’d fled at the first sound of police sirens, as had Matt. So Matt had grappled with this newfound knowledge all night, into the morning, and up until now, in the middle of his work day. He was trying to focus on the screen reader playing through his earbuds, but his thoughts kept wandering back to that bookstore, a couple blocks away. Would it be weird for him to show up again so soon? He had said he’d take a rain check on that coffee. What was an appropriate amount of time to wait before cashing a rain check? Or to tell someone you knew about their secret identity?
“Matt,” Foggy said, “you’re glaring at your laptop like you’re trying to set it on fire with your mind. Though knowing you, maybe that’s something you can actually do.”
Matt blinked and paused the screen reader. “No fire. I was just… thinking.”
“About work, or,” Foggy’s voice dipped into a stage whisper, “your side hustle?”
“Really, Foggy?”
Foggy continued, “Or is it a Matt problem?”
Matt thought about it. He shrugged. “Weirdly, a mix of both.”
A pause. “I really don’t know what to imagine here. None of the possibilities seem good.”
“Then don’t imagine anything.” Matt closed his laptop and took off his earbuds. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
Foggy sighed. “Not always reassured when you say that, but fine. Anyway, I was gonna meet Marci for lunch. You want me to bring you back anything?”
Matt stood and tugged his coat on. “No thanks. Think I’m gonna get a coffee, actually.”
“I know grad school made you think otherwise, but coffee isn’t food, Matt.”
Matt smiled and picked up his cane. “I’ll see you later.”
On the walk to the bookstore, Matt considered his words carefully.
Obviously, there was no outright saying, “I know you’re Spider-Man.” Matt could imagine how he himself would feel if someone only a step above a stranger came up to him and said so point blank. But it didn’t feel right keeping it to himself. And considering their similar… hobbies, it might be relieving for Peter to know that they were on the same side.
Matt had heard, lately, that Spider-Man was branching out of his usual borough. The Daily Bugle was in an uproar about it, as Karen occasionally complained about with Foggy and Matt. But Matt had heard mutterings among the underground of Hell’s Kitchen too, something about having two red pains in the ass to worry about.
Peter was keeping himself busy, it seemed.
The thing was, revealing that Matt knew who Spider-Man was necessitated admitting who Daredevil was. And as nice as Peter seemed, Matt couldn’t just go sharing that without careful consideration.
He rounded a corner and was met by the familiar sounds and smells of the dry cleaners, which meant the bookstore was just ahead. Careful consideration. Maybe Matt could talk to him a bit more before coffee. Get a sense of Peter’s character first—
The bell over the bookstore entrance jingled just before Matt reached it. Someone stepped outside.
“Oh!” Peter said. “Matt?”
Matt froze. There was the scent of Spider-Man’s webs again, the detergent of Peter’s clothes, pages and ink from the air inside the bookstore just before the front door swung shut. Faint music came from what must have been Peter’s earbuds, but Peter paused the music once he saw Matt.
“Looking for another present?” Peter asked.
And his voice—
Yeah. This was Spider-Man.
Matt opened his mouth and said, “Looking for you, actually.”
“Me?” Peter’s surprise was cute in its familiarity.
“I was wondering if you were free for that rain check?”
Well. So much for careful consideration. Hopefully Peter wouldn’t immediately dismiss Matt as a total weirdo.
Peter’s heart rate kicked into overdrive, and he shuffled around as if to confirm Matt was talking to him and not someone behind him. Matt tried not to smile in amusement.
“You have really good timing,” Peter said. “I just clocked out.”
“Is that a yes?” Matt said, and did smile this time.
Peter laughed lightly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
They walked to a coffee shop nearby, a place Karen frequented back when she kept the office well-supplied with coffee every morning. The nice thing was Matt already knew the menu, though he always ordered an Americano everywhere he went anyway.
Peter, on the other hand, shifted on his feet while he perused it, sighing thoughtfully as they waited in line.
“First time?” Matt asked without thinking and could have throttled himself.
Peter choked and started sputtering. “No, I mean, yes but—“
Matt laughed. “I’m sorry. Please take your time.“
Peter coughed, his skin hot with a blush. “It’s just—anything besides black coffee is always overpriced.”
“I got it, don’t worry. I’m the one who asked you, after all.”
“I couldn’t—“
“You can, and you should.” They moved forward in line. “Order the most expensive thing on the menu if you want. Add four extra shots and a pump of every syrup they have.”
“I’m not gonna be that customer,” Peter said. “And I don’t want to have a heart attack.”
“Fair enough.” It was their turn at the register. “But really, Peter. Don’t worry about it.”
In the end, Peter settled for a caramel latte with oat milk. Peter found them a window seat in the corner of the coffeeshop, and the table between them was so tiny their knees nearly bumped together.
It was nice.
“You from around here, Peter?” Matt asked, sipping his Americano while it was still scalding.
Peter hesitated. “I’m kinda new to the neighborhood, actually.”
“Oh? Where from, if I may ask?”
“Um, Queens.”
“And are you going to school nearby, or?”
“Uh, not exactly. They’re online classes.”
Matt nodded. “What kind of classes?”
“GED, actually.” Peter fidgeted with the paper sleeve of his coffee cup.
He was nervous. It was obvious. Matt felt a little confused, considering things were going well up until they sat down and started talking. The whole point of this was to get to know Peter better, and Peter had seemed talkative back at the bookstore. Right now he was downright reticent. Matt recognized sensitive topics when he reached them.
So. Maybe no more talk about school. “You like Queens, Peter?”
“Yeah. It’s still home, in a lot of ways,” Peter said. “Uh, no offense to Hell’s Kitchen.”
Matt smiled. “What are your favorite things about it?”
Peter blew a breath and took a moment to think. “Oh man. I really miss the sandwiches at Delmar’s…”
It turned out that Peter loved a lot about Queens. He talked about his favorite places to eat, his favorite shops, and where he used to go looking for abandoned electronics.
“I know that sounds weird,” Peter said, halfway through his caramel latte and speaking about five times faster than he was twenty minutes ago, “but people just throw them in the trash when you can fix them! Or if you can’t fix them, use the parts for something else…”
Peter had a promising future in electrical engineering, it seemed.
“Should you be the one I call to troubleshoot the office printer?” Matt said, grinning over the lip of his coffee cup. “Or will you just build a new one?”
Peter laughed and shook his head. Then he asked, “What kind of office do you work in?”
“Law firm. Nelson and Murdock, of which I’m the Murdock half.”
Peter’s pulse picked up. Matt recalled their last meeting, when Peter had muttered to himself that Matt was his old lawyer. There was a thread there to be unraveled, and Matt was never very good at holding back his curiosity. But one thing at a time. He just wanted to get to know Peter, first.
“I’ve heard of you guys,” Peter said. “You do a lot of pro bono work.”
Matt shrugged. “Helping people was the reason we opened our own practice.”
Peter went quiet, his heart thumping. Some kind of emotion pulsed through him, and Matt was dying to know what.
Peter murmured, “Someone has to look out for the little guy.”
Matt leaned in, as if to catch the last remnants of Peter’s voice. Inadvertently, his knee touched Peter’s. “Exactly.”
Peter didn’t pull away from the contact. The rest of the café bustled around them: the clink of ceramic cups, the hiss of milk steaming. People’s voices, everywhere. And on a TV screen mounted on one wall, a news report played.
“… police are in pursuit of a vehicle heading southbound on 12th avenue… Suspects were involved in a shootout…”
Not far from here, actually. If Matt were higher up and somewhere quieter, he’d probably hear the police sirens.
Peter stiffened.
Then he said, “I’m so sorry, Matt, I… I just remembered I have a, uh—an appointment this afternoon. Totally forgot about it. I’d better go if I don’t want to be late.”
Matt didn’t need to listen to his heartbeat to know Peter was lying. But he also wasn’t surprised.
He knew well what it was like to be called to action.
“Of course,” Matt said and leaned back in his seat. “It was nice talking to you, Peter. Thanks for joining me.”
“Thanks for the coffee.”
Peter stood, and his breathing came and went like he was ready to bounce out of there. But he lingered.
He said, in a voice so painfully hesitant, “Will I… see you again?”
Matt’s heart squeezed. He dug into his pocket for his wallet, pulled out a business card.
He held it out for Peter. “The second number is my personal one.”
Peter’s heart rate just about skyrocketed.
“Cool,” Peter breathed. “Cool, cool, cool. Okay. I’ll, um. I’ll call you.”
Matt smiled. “I look forward to it.”
Peter gave a little breathless laugh. Matt was struck, suddenly, by the desire to know what Peter’s full laugh might sound like.
But then Peter left, and Matt could hear him wait until he rounded the corner of the building before breaking into a sprint. Towards the sound of police sirens, Matt imagined. He stood and tossed his empty coffee cup in the trash, left the café, and walked back to the office with the distinct feeling he was starting to get in over his head.