Getting a Clue

by raggedyred

Summary:

It really, truly, genuinely has been a long-ass day. Tony’s good at board meetings and show ponying like his life depends on it, but—as everyone but especially Pepper knows—he would literally rather be doing anything else with his time.

Unfortunately, some things are serious and pressing enough to need his attention, namely because they have to do with the company’s image. Seeing as Tony is the company’s image, involvement simply makes sense.

Eight hours of meetings, hour one being the resolution that they absolutely need a good lawyer to take point on their ADA compliance and unfortunate lack thereof in many spaces, and yet no lawyers had shown up, nor had anyone even given Tony a name so he could run one of his own private background checks.

He had called for everyone to break for ten, that way he can drink coffee and contemplate his life choices before he’s dragged back into the thick of everything else, too.

***

The Avengers meet Matthew Murdock. And have some light gossip on Daredevil, too.

Notes:

• For EvilDime.

finally brave enough to post HUZZAH!!

Chapter 1

It really, truly, genuinely has been a long-ass day. Tony’s good at board meetings and show ponying like his life depends on it, but—as everyone but especially Pepper knows—he would literally rather be doing anything else with his time.

Unfortunately, some things are serious and pressing enough to need his attention, namely because they have to do with the company’s image. Seeing as Tony is the company’s image, involvement simply makes sense.

Eight hours of meetings, hour one being the resolution that they absolutely need a good lawyer to take point on their ADA compliance and unfortunate lack thereof in many spaces, and yet no lawyers had shown up, nor had anyone even given Tony a name so he could run one of his own private background checks.

He had called for everyone to break for ten, that way he can drink coffee and contemplate his life choices before he’s dragged back into the thick of everything else, too.

It’s not a total surprise to hear the elevator ding and spot Barton therein, even if—objectively speaking—it is weird to spot the man on this floor, considering it mostly consists of conference rooms and break areas.

It is a bit of a surprise to see him towing a man with him—blind, obviously, based on the cane—right along with him.

The man is holding Clint’s arm as they walk in. Clint freezes upon spotting Tony.

Tony raises his mug. “Good to see you, too, Katniss. Who’s your friend?”

Clint makes one of his infamous, ‘oop,’ faces, pulling his lips back and lifting his shoulders like he’s trying to turtle back inside himself.

The other man’s head cocks slightly. “You must be Tony Stark.”

“And I am as handsome in person as I surely am in your dreams,” Tony chirps, leaning forward at the counter. He barely spots the beginning of a twitch in the man’s expression before he’s looking back at Clint, pointing a thumb at the man. “And why does he get to wear sunglasses inside but when I do it, I’m apparently a douchebag?”

“Because,” the man says slowly, recapturing Tony’s attention—and doing so with a sarcastic little smirk that has Tony grinning at the challenge—“you’re already a douchebag without them. Why bother advertising that so freely in appearance when you already do it so thoroughly with your mouth?”

Tony lifts his eyebrows, then begins to let out a low whistle. Before he can say anything, though, the man is pulling free from Clint, stepping forward, and holding out a hand. “Matt Murdock. I wouldn’t say Barton and I are friends, seeing as we just met—”

Tony snorts. Clint rolls his eyes and makes a face at Tony.

Murdock goes on, “and since I am here in the capacity as legal counsel.”

Oh, hell yes.

Tony puts his mug on the counter, swings around, and takes Murdock’s outstretched hand in a shake before just as quickly wrapping his arm around the man’s shoulders and beginning to steer him away, throwing a, “Thanks, Katniss!” behind him as he does. “I was just wondering where the hell you were. Not one person was saying a word to me. Ridiculous, honestly,” he goes on, pushing through the first set of doors.

Murdock’s cane is clutched tightly in one hand, not touching the floor as Tony keeps on steering him.

“Stark!” Clint is calling. “What are you— Let go of him, for Christ’s sake, what are you doing?”

Ah.

Tony makes a face, then releases Murdock with a sharp laugh as Clint jogs up to rejoin them, giving Tony another look.

Tony holds up his hands. “My bad, my bad. I didn’t think. I do it with everyone, bud, don’t worry; it wasn’t about— the, uh.” He shrugs, waving his hand in front of his face—and immediately thinks it uncouth and is immensely glad that Murdock can’t see it. Boy, his head must be a mess from all the meetings. Dragging around a blind dude, really Tony? “Blind thing.”

Murdock purses his lips, driving the tip of his cane to the ground with a solid, thonk.

“Okay, awesome,” Clint says. His mouth is slightly ajar, pulled into an awkward brand of frustration as he goes on, “now can we just—”

“Right, right, of course,” Tony says, then gestures at the door. He’s definitely about to be the last one back in the room, considering he’s been out for fifteen instead of ten. Always makes a better entrance that way. “Right this way.” He opens the door, waving Clint to go in as the wash of discussion abruptly cuts short and the rest of the board looks their way.

Clint, who looks extremely unsure of himself. Which makes sense, seeing as he has no part in the meeting other than to guide in Murdock.

Murdock leans over to Clint. “This isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Me neither,” Clint says.

Tony raises his eyebrows and gestures again.

Clint shrugs, muttering an, “Alright,” then saying, “your two o’clock, five paces in.”

Murdock nods, then begins tapping his cane back and forth while stepping into the room, followed shortly by Clint, then Tony himself.

Tony gestures toward Murdock and Clint with both hands as the door closes. “Was nobody really going to tell me we’d already found a perfect lawyer, or did I actually have to run into him myself? Come on, people.”

Pepper is making one of her own faces. She’s blinking twice, lips pursed, expression otherwise completely void in that way that means she knows she’s missing something crucial that she can’t reveal.

They hadn’t told her either? Utterly ridiculous. Tony is one thing, sure. Pepp is another entirely.

“Sir, we didn’t—”

Tony lifts a hand to cut Pierce off. “Buh buh buh. No need. An excellent choice, though, I do have to give that to you all. Didn’t realize you had it in you. Oh, right! Matt Murdock, meet the board. The board, meet Matt Murdock.”

Complete silence.

Murdock clears his throat. “Right. Pleasure. Do you think you could bring my client and me up to speed?”

His client?

Oh, damn, apparently Murdock knows how to play it. Or Clint does—that raggedy scoundrel always does have weird tricks up his sleeves in or in the vents, but to know about the ADA meeting and use himself as a representative with his deafness? If nothing else, Tony respects the hustle, even if it’s a little underhanded considering every problem Clint has ever raised, Tony has instantly fixed.

“Of course.” He tilts his head to Clint—as Clint looks on, evidently bewildered by how quick Tony is on the uptake—and gestures. “Mind showing Murdock to his seat? Then we can really start to dig into the minutia of ADA compliance.”

Murdock’s expression goes instantly flat in a manner to rival even that of Pepper. Then his tongue flicks over his lips, and he puts on that sarcastic almost-smirk again, and says, “Ah. You assumed I was here as a civil rights attorney.”

…Alright. Tony will admit that maybe he’s missing something. “Compliance law, maybe? I don’t really keep up with brands of lawyers.”

Clint facepalms.

Murdock does this circling head motion that must be some version of the man rolling his eyes. Do blind people not roll their eyes? “In any case, we’ll be taking our leave. Disability services, in spite of what you may believe, are not my specialty.” He starts moving again, his cane in front of him. “If you do want my services—or to talk at me again—you’ll need to put forward a retainer.” And then he’s finding the door handle and heading out.

Clint curses under his breath. “You—” And then he looks at the rest of the board of directors, all of whom are still staring, then back at Tony. “Talk later.” He bustles on out after Murdock, leaving Tony alone once more.

Pepper, standing near the windows, mouths, ‘Really?’

Tony shrugs. “Honest mistake. It’s not often I find lawyers willingly in my building. Now, where were we?”

***

“Just in case you didn’t figure it out for yourself,” Clint says, approaching Tony in the lounge floor’s kitchen that night, “you were really shitty to Matt.”

“To Nat?” Steve squints, leaning in, his eyes flickering over Tony’s face as he waits next to the microwave, popcorn bursting inside. “I don’t see any black eyes. Or makeup covering black eyes.”

Tony… is privately wishing he still let himself drink these days. Especially right now.

He takes a sip of the coke, wincing a bit as he hears Thor’s voice boom in some debate with Bruce about… Is that radiophysics? Alright, gotta move on from that.

And, well. Acknowledge the same elephant Clint’s just acknowledged, seeing as he did screw up. “Not Nat. Matt Murdock. He’s a— lawyer. Is he still around? I need to make it up to him. JARVIS, I hate to treat you like Alexa, buddy, but can you get an extra fine bottle of scotch sent to wherever Murdock works?”

“Right away, sir.”

“That isn’t— Y’know what? Going to cross that bridge later, I think.” Clint is shaking his head, waving a dismissive hand as Steve raises his eyebrows.

“You know a lawyer?” Steve asks, grabbing the handle to the microwave just before it can ding.

“I have a lawyer,” Clint corrects. “Daredevil recommended him to me.”

“Daredevil?” Maybe Tony’s grateful for the redirection. Not something he’ll ever have to say out loud. “That little freak in Hell’s Kitchen? You talked to him? He talks?”

Clint huffs, grabbing a bowl for the popcorn and handing it to Steve. “I wouldn’t call it talking. Dude snuck up on me and basically told me to fuck off. It’s only because of my charisma—”

“Being especially pathetic,” Natasha interrupts, stealing up from behind Tony (the only reason he doesn’t jump is because his body is evidently too tired to react) and stealing some of the popcorn.

As if she hadn’t spoken at all, Clint goes on, “That he actually let me stick around long enough for the recommendation. Apparently I’m kind of a landlord? But, like, a criminal landlord. Which I’d rather not be, which is what Matt’s helping me out with. You know how it is.”

Steve and Tony both are staring at Clint.

Steve speaks first. “How do you accidentally become a landlord?”

Tony lifts a finger. “Happens a lot more easily than you might think.”

“Not all of us are billionaires, Tony.”

“Fair enough point.” Tony reaches forward to grab a handful of his own popcorn. Maybe he just needs to unwind, even if it means joining in on a discussion about radiophysics with Thor of all people. “Good luck landlording, Katniss.”

Notes:

you ever hold a praying mantis? they're super cute. I have been jumped by a full size female one though. she was an opp, but I respected her. no doubt she cannibalized her whole society successfully. before her, though, I met a tiny one that was all white and named him Hops or something equally stupid. poor little guy almost certainly perished in The War.

Chapter 2

Clint ends up back in Hell’s Kitchen.

He’s jittery with nerves, of all things. It’s not like he actually believes any of the rumors that flood every inch of New York City about the vigilante. He’s a man, not a demon. Even if he does give off so many preternatural vibes, and also even if Daredevil is literally the only person Clint knows that can lose Nat as his tail almost quicker than she can pick him up in the first place.

Still, he needs to talk to Daredevil, and the best way to do that is to head into his territory and really, really hope he doesn’t get jumped.

Clint picks a high point to stake out on, mostly just looking out to the skyline as he slowly works his way through a six-pack of tacos, eyes flickering this way and that. Hell’s Kitchen’s staple is the flash of blue and red down too many streets at once, evidently, the effect picturesque in the dark, bringing a rounding fullness to every brightened shadow. Highlighting the swaths of shadows that still can’t be reached.

He spots the baton slicing his way at the last moment, and falls onto his back to dodge it with a small, “Oomph.” He drops the remainder of taco number five because of it, and that fact alone is nearly enough to convince him to retaliate—but, well. He’s in the devil’s territory. And that was the devil being nice. “Y’know, usually people say hello?” Clint offers, cheerlessly grabbing the remains of his dropped taco.

“What are you doing here?” Daredevil demands, his voice gruff as he appears in Clint’s line of sight, his mouth at an annoyed slant as he looks down at him, holstering his truncheon.

Now Clint raises his hands best he can in the universal gesture for innocence. “I come in peace. Just wanna talk. And maybe say thank you? For the, uh, referral.” He scoots to sit up, then, arms wrapping loosely around his shins as he meets Daredevil’s eyes.

Daredevil, who is still frowning, one hand opening and closing, otherwise completely unmoving. His head is cocked ever so slightly. It doesn’t even look like he’s breathing.

Clint looks away before he can get vertigo. “Right. Thank you. Murdock is— nice. Are you two friends? You worked together, right?”

Abruptly, Daredevil brings his foot down hard enough where Clint’s is that he has to scramble up and out of the way. He doesn’t, however, expect the devil to actually follow up on the attack, and he ends up getting kicked hard directly in the solar plexus.

Winded and off balance, he still manages to nail the devil in the head with his taco remains.

The victory does come at the cost of the… man? (Yes, man, he isn’t actually the devil, c’mon, Clint—) — grabbing him by his throat and hauling him toward the edge of the building. It happens far too quickly for Clint’s liking, especially since he’s still struggling to breathe. He grabs Daredevil’s arm—doesn’t break the hold, God forbid he antagonizes him further—and holds for dear life. “What?” he chokes out.

“You and the Black Widow both need to lay off and get the hell out. I especially don’t need you making some heavy-handed attempt at interrogating me. Don’t go looking for information about me, and don’t bother pressing Matt Murdock about—”

“Natasha?” Clint wheezes. He frees one hand to flap it in front of Daredevil. “Didn’t— didn’t know she—”

Daredevil’s hauling him again, this time throwing Clint back onto the roof.

Clint starts to roll, aiming to distribute the landing along his side, bruised hip be damned, only to trip over his last freaking taco.

His life is truly just some poorly written comedy of errors.

With a yelp, he hits the ground hard on his hands, barely managing to avoid eating a faceful of concrete. His head still clacks hard enough against the ground to knock out one of his hearing aids and set the other to a ring. “Dammit.” He rolls over, briefly spotting Daredevil and waving his hand in a, ‘Gimme a sec,’ gesture as he collects the aid, puts it back into place, then presses them both to recalibrate.

Sound washes back in, the ringing stops, and Clint says, “I swear I didn’t know Natasha was out here, too.” And it’s something else to know that Daredevil somehow always knows when people are lying, but at least it works in his favor here.

Daredevil’s head slowly tilts the other way. “I see.”

The silence builds, and Clint throws out to fill it immediately with, “If you are friends with Murdock, can you apologize on my behalf on Tony’s behalf? Again?”

Daredevil leans in. “No. Now get the hell out and stay out. You can pass that along to your friends.”

Oof. He didn’t expect Daredevil to be warm and cuddly by any means, but he expected… Well, something? There had to be some connection in knowing a mutual person, right? And Daredevil had not only trusted Matt enough to recommend him to Clint: he’d trusted Clint enough to get along with Matt.

“I would think your overprotective streak would at least extend a little to me by proxy of Matt.” And because he had listened before when Clint was moping in confusion about certain warrants for his arrest.

“Not how this works,” Daredevil informs him, and maybe it’s something that he doesn’t sound as mean when he says it.

Clint huffs, glancing at his taco remains for just a moment before opening his mouth again and looking up to respond— only for nobody to be there.

Immediately, Clint is up, running to the edge of the building, scanning around for any sign of where the devil may have managed to scatter off to so quickly.

Nothing.

There’s no way someone moves that fast.

Unless…

Clint smacks the side of his head. “Stop! Thinking! That!”

He’ll ask Matt later. And then he’ll be certain Daredevil is just… normal human weird and not a demon, or something. Maybe he can turn invisible? Among… other weird enhanced things?

Whatever.

Clint begins collecting the rubbish from his taco fiasco, tired and headachey enough that he doesn’t actually feel like making the trudge back to home. To the tower he goes. Again.

***

“Stop stalking Daredevil,” Clint says accusingly at Nat.

Natasha, for her part, doesn’t pause for even a moment in her reps. “Is that what he called it?”

Clint gives a noisy harrumph in return, but nevertheless positions to spot her on her chest presses. “Not exactly. He just knew you were trying to find him, I think. What was that about?”

Natasha’s eyes flick over lazily to meet his as she pauses on a downstroke. She’s tense, technically, but she’s gotten too good at hiding whether or not she’s struggling for him to be able to tell if this is a difficult weight for her. “So he does talk to you?”

“He kicks me in the face and tells me to get out, more like. He was just extra pissy since it was both of us, which is your fault, by the way.”

“You see,” Natasha says, somehow managing to perfectly sweep her hair with a quick shake of her head and pushing the bar up again, “I didn’t know he could get pissy. I would like to see it myself.”

“He’s a hand-to-hand primary tactician, Nat. He’d rather talk to me than someone who also is insane with hand-to-hand.”

“Eh.”

“Eh,” Clint parrots back, making a face. “Also, why wouldn’t he be pissy? He breaks people like they’re paper mache or something. Pissy sounds like his territory.”

“Trust me, Clint: there’s just as much simmering rage in that category.”

“We’re not gonna psychoanalyze someone who may actually be the real devil,” Clint says.

“You cannot possibly believe that.”

“Have you ever talked to him? No. Just look into his eyes, Nat. Pits right to hell.”

“Circumventing right back to Hell’s Kitchen, more like,” Nat says, finishing her reps and allowing Clint to help her slide the bar back into place. Then she’s twisting out from under and turning on the bench to face him properly. “He’s got powers, at least. I’ll give you that much.”

Clint frowns. “Didn’t we already know that? He literally disappeared into mist right in front of me.”

Nat stares at him, and for a second Clint has that giddy glee of having baffled her just enough that she needs a second to parse if he’s being serious. Then she says, “So now at least I know he can’t do that.”

“He did disappear, though! Poof, gone! I glanced away for half a second. Have you seen Doctor Who? He’s one of those weeping angels! Weeping devils? Whichever!”

That earns him a snort. Nat goes on, “Your nonsense aside, he’s strict about territory. Didn’t budge on it once even when I tried herding him.”

“You can’t herd something you can’t keep track of.”

“You’d be surprised. And besides, he was busy. Whether he liked it or not, if I know where crime is happening, I know where he’ll be. Otherwise, I think he keeps two blocks between. At the very least, he has some ability that allows him to know exactly where I am at all times the moment I step into or near Hell’s Kitchen. I’m good, Clint, but nobody’s that good. I just needed to test some of his limits.”

Clint winces, stepping away from the machine to pace in a small circle, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “He probably knew what you were doing, too. God, no wonder he hates the Avengers. Probably. He attacked me, Nat.” He lifts one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Daredevil had attacked him, even if it had been—

…It feels very wrong to call any form of attack gentle. And yet.

He sighs sharply. “Look, maybe we should just leave him alone.”

“I don’t plan on visiting him every night. But you were already heading out, so.” She shrugs, a picture of innocence. “Besides, I’d like to know what I’m getting into at any given moment. You never know.”

If she’s implying that they may either team up with Daredevil or go head-to-head, Clint isn’t sure. Really, he’d rather not find out, either. “I was just trying to thank him for introducing me to Matt for all the legal stuff. And was maybe trying to learn a tiny bit about him. And about Matt. And apologize for Tony. Nat, that man dragged Matt around.”

She frowns, reaching over to pick up her water bottle. “Which Tony does to everyone who lets him grab them.”

“Yes, but Matt’s blind.”

Understanding lights up her eyes, and she says, “Ah,” taking a sip of water. Clint feels briefly… victorious, for some reason, that Nat had trusted Clint enough to not immediately dive into who his lawyer was. “You didn’t mention that,” she finishes.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Hi. This is Clint, and he’s deaf.”

She purses her lips, something else nearly imperceptible crossing her features. “Fair point. What did you do?”

“Do when?”

“With Tony? What’d you say to him?”

All of a sudden, Clint is back to being acutely aware that even he is still mostly in the dark about the majority of what goes on in Natasha Romanov’s head. She’s revealed things to him before, of course—more than to anyone else that he knows of. But she’s still an enigma, and as she has told him directly, still influenced by the Red Room and her training in some of the most casual of ways. The thinking patterns are always the first to take root.

So he has to wonder if maybe she’s on the defensive, strategizing in some instinctive reflex to put him on the defense in return. Completely obliterating the point and topic of the conversation, which does happen to be a person who isn’t here, who was also treated poorly, and yet that ceases to matter in the face of strategy.

Maybe that’s not what’s happening. Always best to just be upfront. So Clint shrugs. “I told Tony to stop, but I’m honestly not really sure if I did enough, considering I’m the one who landed Matt in that situation. Plus, Tony was already being an ass before then, though. And after. Which I think he realized. He brought us in front of his whole board and said Matt was their ADA lawyer, or something. I’m still trying to figure out if there’s some kind of ‘walking into a bar’ joke with a billionaire, a deaf guy, and a blind guy, but I’m pretty sure that scene was the whole punchline as is. Gotta love… irony, or whatever it is.”

She blinks, and her demeanor shifts a fraction. She slowly stretches out her arms over her head, then puts the water bottle down again. “I’m glad I wasn’t a fly on the wall, then. Hopefully it doesn’t make the lawyer drop you outright.”

“No, no,” Clint says, waving a hand. Without thinking—and unfortunately, with total honesty—he says, “He acted like he was pretty used to it, if I’m honest.”

Notes:

sometimes I convince myself in the morning that I'm super duper tired and MUST go back to sleep but I'm beginning to ask myself. if this is just the weirdest new self fulfilling prophecy. because if I bite the bullet and get up? nine times out of ten the exhaustion leaves me. weird time to be alive. I hate sleeping during the night. love it in the mornings though. that' my premiere catholic sin. (premier? premiere? eh.)

Chapter 3

“Matt! Matthew! Murdock!” Foggy is tilting the box this way and that, wrinkling his nose, trying to discreetly sniff once, then less discreetly sniff again. Unfortunately, no spontaneous super-smell happens upon him. “We got a package and I wanna make sure it’s not another stink bomb!”

When Foggy turns to look, Matt’s head is poking out of his office as he wears a small frown. “I’d already know from here if it was. And you don’t have to yell.”

Foggy hums, carrying the package over, slipping past Matt and into his office to put the box on his desk. “It’s addressed to you. Doesn’t say who it’s from.” He pauses, then slowly looks at Matt again. “I didn’t just unwittingly carry a bomb into your office, did I?”

That earns him a snort, a near smile, and a shake of Matt’s head. “Definitely not. I think. You mind…?”

Foggy hums his affirmation, already digging for where he knows the boxcutter to be. And then he’s slicing open the package and staring at… what is probably the most expensive bottle of scotch whiskey he’s ever laid eyes upon. “Matt. Buddy.”

“Mm?”

As carefully as he can, he starts to pull out the bottle. “Dude, it’s one of those ridiculous horizontal bottles. Mahogany whiskey, insane packaging that’s all fine and appropriately woody. Like, uh, tree branches encircling each other? Except they’re smooth and it’s fancy. Dude, I think this is that one thing where that guy wanted to make a Bentley of whiskey and came out with this. I– Jesus, this has to be worth several grand at least, holy shit. Where did you— Why are we getting the most expensive booze I’ve ever seen, Matt?”

He sets the bottle aside immediately upon spotting a card. He pulls it out. It’s printed with ink, but there’s braille lettering along the bottom, too. Foggy frowns, reading it. “Apologies from Tony Stark. And no, this will not stand in place of a retainer. Enjoy.” He stares for a moment longer. “Here, I’m holding the card out to you,” he says, handing it over.

Matt plucks it from his hand, fingers grazing along the raised lettering. “...Guess I should have expected this.”

Foggy squats to examine the bottle again, hesitant to dare touch it again. “For what? Why is Tony Stark sending us— this? And apologizing?” He tilts his head up and makes a face. “Besides, like… the usual, I imagine.”

Matt hums, setting the card aside and collapsing back into his chair. “He saw me with Barton and assumed I was there to help with ADA compliance.”

…Ah. Foggy makes a face. “Dude.”

“Yep.”

“Did you ream him a new one?”

It’s not like Foggy can actually understand what it’s like in Matt’s position—obviously, he isn’t blind, and obviously, he was inclined toward faux pas himself, if their introduction and comment about peepers was any indication. Which Matt hadn’t reamed him about then or since. Honestly, Foggy’s never seen him ream anyone about anything like that… basically ever. More just the quiet simmering or the pointed requests (poised rightfully as demands) for accommodation in the too-many instances their college and, these days, opposing counsel tried to refuse. So… mostly politeness and passive aggression and pointed remarks.

Which, admittedly, Foggy has never really asked about. Matt’s advocating for himself when he needs to, that much is obvious, but the rest of it? Those social blunders? That, he has far less of an idea what to make of Matt’s choice to often just grit and bear it.

Now, Matt shrugs. “Embarrassed him a bit in front of his board. I’m not going to… ream the richest man in the world. Unless he’s really asking for it.”

…And now it’s hard to tell what Matt actually means in this context. Could be innuendo. Could be him earnestly talking about Tony Stark crossing some social line. Really, it’s just Foggy’s fault for entering the word, ‘ream,’ into the conversation in the first place.

Probably best to move on, then. “Well, we may as well enjoy it. How’s Barton’s case going, anyway?”

“Good enough, I think. I’ll give it over to you to check over.” He pauses. “He showed up again. Last night. Him and Romanoff both, apparently independently.”

Foggy lets his head roll back and groans. “Please tell me we’re not about to start getting Avengers level threats in Hell’s Kitchen, Matt. I can’t deal with more of their mess. Attractiveness of Captain America aside.”

Matt snorts. “No, no. At least, not that I know of. Barton was trying to thank me. And pass along his apologies for Stark’s general behavior.”

Foggy blanches, even as Matt just sits there, looking thoughtful, if only mildly put off. Which is insane. Matt is insane generally, but this feels particularly insane. “You told him you’re— Daredevil?” Foggy hisses the last word, as if anyone else could possibly be living right now.

“What?” Matt’s face scrunches up a bit (which should be painful considering that bruise on his cheek, but oh well, apparently). “That— no. No, nothing like that, God, no. As far as he knows, Daredevil just recommended our firm to him. And then he wanted Daredevil to proxy for even more apologies.”

“Oh. Right. And what did you say?”

Matt extends his hands. “I told him no? And to get the hell out.”

Foggy’s eyes narrow as he studies Matt’s expression. “You didn’t hit Hawkeye, did you?”

“If I did—”

“Matt!”

“It was probably deserved. Allegedly.”

“Why don’t I believe you? Oh! I know why! Because you just told me he was both saying thank you and apologizing. C’mon, Matt. Is your little… devil-sona reputation that important?”

Matt mouths the words, ‘devil-sona,’ with an adorable, perplexed look on his face. Then he says, “I don’t want the Avengers getting any ideas. Even him.”

“Well, I’m sure that’ll make things all the more interesting for Matt Murdock.”

He gets a head cock at that. “Why?”

“Because! You just played up Daredevil’s mysterious unknowable person aura! Someone is bound to ask civilian-you about it.”

“Oh,” Matt says.

“Yeah,” Foggy says, prodding at the bottle again. “Oh.”

***

Clint is determined to make his next meeting with Matthew Murdock as seamless as possible.

…And, well. He’s also curious about the Daredevil situation. That can’t be helped.

Regardless, he offers to cook Matt a meal as his thanks while they review his case and Matt inevitably probably throws legal jargon at Clint that Clint won’t bother to pretend to understand. Tenancy cases are already weird, and this is just another level of that. At least the word “insurance” hasn’t come up yet, but Clint’s pretty damn nervous it’ll show up pretty soon. That stuff’s always been beyond him..

Which does mean they’re back at the tower. Matt’s disinclined to meet at his office if it can be helped—apparently they deal with enough vandalism as is, and he isn’t interested in whatever attention an Avenger showing up might bring.

Personally, Clint believes—at least a little bit—that it’s actually because Daredevil told Matt to keep Avengers out of Hell’s Kitchen, period. Which, rude. And especially rude to force some poor lawyer dude to keep that kind of boundary up for him.

JARVIS notifies Clint that Matt is approaching the tower, and Clint’s on the first elevator down to the ground floor.

Really, he’s hoping to be extra polite and get the door for the man, jogging to try to get the timing right, only to barely miss it.

By the time he’s at the doors, the door is just shutting behind Matt. Still, Clint waves (habit) and says, “Hey, Matt—”

JARVIS speaks up. “Hello, Mr. Murdock. I have detected that you are blind. Would you like me to enable our advanced directive assistance for the visually impaired?”

Matt freezes. His head cocks.

Clint pauses at that, too. New, definitely. That hadn’t happened the last time Matt showed up, so it sounds like Tony took some swing in the other direction. Which is… something.

Matt’s still not moving, other than to cock his head. Then he says, “Mr. Barton. Was that you I heard?”

“Oh, I— yeah, on your seven o’clock.”

He gives a short nod. “And was that Stark’s AI just now? JARVIS?”

That tone is very, very lawyerly. And doesn’t sound at all happy, made all the worse by the contrite smile he’s wearing. “Uh,” Clint says, “yeah. Yeah. That was JARVIS.”

“JARVIS?” Matt says, cocking his head away from Clint now.

“Yes, sir?”

“Get Tony Stark down here for me.”

“I am afraid he is presently involved in a meeting with Mr. Steve R—”

“Now, JARVIS. And while you do it, please send a copy of the recording of me entering this building to my personal email address.”

“Right away, sir.”

Matt mutters something that sounds a little like, “Of fucking course,” and Clint’s now officially somewhere firmly in the anxious category about whatever’s going on right now.

“Matt, sorry, I– uh, are you okay?”

Matt’s shoulders seem to relax a bit. It hadn’t been entirely lost on Clint how high-strung the man had become so quickly, but the difference is palpable regardless. Matt nods. “Yeah. Sorry. Something I need to take care of with…” He gestures upwards.

“Oh, yeah,” Clint says. “The big G upstairs. Me too.”

That cracks even more of the hard exterior, and Matt laughs, facing Clint again with a more genuine grin this time around. “Something like that.”

And though it maybe doesn’t actually get quieter, Clint’s pretty sure it still feels like it does. Most of the people in this building are well accustomed to seeing the Avengers around—certainly nobody batted an eye when Clint came barreling through—but apparently seeing Steve Rogers and Tony Stark make an entrance together is enough to give an ambiguous profound effect, or something.

Regardless, the two make an entrance, heading straight toward Clint and Matt.

“Murdock!” Tony says, raising a hand. “JARVIS was under the apparent impression you have something urgent to tell me. If it’s about the scotch, no thanks is necessary. Least I could do.”

Clint doesn’t miss the withering look Steve throws in Tony’s direction, but then they’re both standing before Matt, who is managing to look casual enough to imply he meets with superheroes regularly.

“I’m Steve,” Steve offers. “Nice to finally meet the man who’s helping out our resident sharpshooter. Mind if I shake your hand?”

Clint’s automatically moving to stand in place next to Matt—it’s not picking sides, seeing as he doesn’t really know what’s going on, but it feels necessary, regardless.

Matt holds out his hand, and Steve shakes it, the exchange about as graceful as a handshake gets. “Always happy to help,” Matt says. “I’d actually like to have a quick word about JARVIS.”

And now Clint sucks in a breath, trying to decide if he should be nervous or excited, because it definitely feels like he needs to be one of the two.

Tony glances over to Steve for some reason, then gives a slow nod. “Sure thing. If you’d like, we can head to one of our offices over—”

Matt lifts a hand. “That absolutely isn’t necessary. I have no need to step further into your building. Are you responsible for programming the directive assistance feature your AI introduced me to today?”

Now Tony goes a little straighter. It definitely has the air of him being on his heels a bit, but Clint thinks he knows the man well enough to at least be somewhat capable of identifying what brand of that in particular he’s witnessing.

Right now, it’s more protective than defensive. So the update JARVIS had may have had to do more tangentially with Tony rather than directly. For better or for worse, Tony will always take the credit and the blame, and it looks like he’s preparing to do the latter here. “I am.”

Steve looks at Clint.

Clint makes a face to show that he doesn’t know what is happening. Even if he kind of suspects what is happening.

Steve tilts his head at Tony and makes a face of his own.

Clint shrugs, giving a nod.

Steve rolls his eyes and gives Tony a flat look, which Tony opts to ignore.

“Mr. Murdock,” Steve says, “if my friend here—”

“Ah, no need, Mr. Rogers,” Matt says, smiling more thinly now. “But I appreciate it. Mostly I’d like to inform Mr. Stark that in what I assume to be an attempt to correct for a lack of ADA compliance—if the meeting I was dragged into is any indication—has been overcorrected into a direct breach of personal privacy and security.” He lifts his chin. “And if it isn’t amended—and the records of that amendment sent directly to my office by the end of the day—I’m going to be sending your lawyers one hell of a document.”

Tony lifts an eyebrow. “Alright, bud, I’m definitely missing something here. Mind being more specific?”

Definitely a popcorn kind of conversation.

Steve looks at Clint again. Clint pretends not to notice this time around.

“Your AI identified me, violated HIPAA, and proved that it wasn’t using solely publicly available information to do so by sending a copy of the event to my personal address. Scans like that are not currently permissible, and while you’d usually get a pass because we live in a panopticon where it is understood to be happening constantly in private, to do so openly and without consent is another matter entirely. And seeing as I only have myself for reference, I have to wonder just how thorough the scans are considering JARVIS phrased it as having detected that I was blind.”

Okay, well. This does, indeed, make sense.

Because he has a penchant for bad ideas, Clint chooses now to tilt his head toward the ceiling and ask, “Are you running basic physical diagnoses on everyone here, JARV?”

“As part of our new compliance program—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Tony grumbles, “JARVIS, cut it out. Murdock, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t sue us. Pepper would have my whole ass upside down and sideways.”

Matt lifts his own eyebrows, his mouth forming a thin line.

Clint snorts.

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, alright. Murdock, how much would a retainer on you or your business partner cost?”

“Depends who’s asking,” Matt chirps then. “And why.”

“Ten thousand?” Tony offers.

“Ten minutes,” Matt says, that too-chipper tone back in place again. “But I’m afraid it would have to be later. I need to have a discussion with my business partner.”

Tony’s eyes narrow. He leans toward Steve and Clint, his voice pitched low. “Did I do some other microaggression just now or—”

Matt snorts, covering it up by clearing his throat. Then he turns to Clint. “Sorry about all this. It may be best if we meet another time. I’m not expecting to hear back from Djorner until later this afternoon, and whatever she hits me with would probably take the bulk of our conversation, regardless.”

Clint waves a hand. Maybe he should be upset that his lawyer is basically flaking out in front of him while literally standing right here, but it’s hard to hold onto given the conversation he got to witness. And, more importantly, because Matt’s actually doing this pro bono. Which Clint absolutely will find some way to repay him for later, in spite of Matt’s claims of it being unnecessary for the reason of Clint actively being willing to provide plenty of affordable housing. “No worries. Unless something world-ending comes up, I’ll probably be around. And you have my number.”

Matt nods his thanks, and then is immediately turning on his heel to leave.

Notes:

is it niche or weird to always have ads-b pulled up on my phone? it's a BITCH to load but if you are flying and i see you i MUST know what you are up to king. get on my level

Chapter 4

Steve keeps up with the exchange. He knows details can get lost on him—he’s been quick to acclimate, sure, but less quick to truly understand the depths of which technology has changed, even if the Stark he knew indicated how much was possible—but there are the simple matters within it, too. There was a violation of trust, to put it as simply as possible. And though it seemed like Murdock was framing that violation as a larger one for the everyman, Steve got the impression there was something abruptly personal in it for him.

Based on his talks with Natasha, he assumes she likely would have had some opinion similar to Murdock’s. It sure seems like everyone is being surveilled all the time with limited oversight, but a medical-grade ability to do so rather than solely visual identifiers… Steve’s a lot less sure if that’s normal. Maybe it is. He’d rather not be quizzed on it.

Either way, the whole line of thinking—paired with Murdock’s uptightness when they’d arrived—has Steve rushing forward with a, “I’ll get the door.” And then as Murdock nods and turns, Steve tacks on—not looking back to Clint or Tony as he does so—to say, “Mind if I walk you to your office?”

Murdock pauses. He holds himself with a curious kind of feline consideration Steve’s used to with Natasha, and while maybe he shouldn’t be surprised to see it from a lawyer… Well, it just feels more fitting for a spy.

“You can,” Murdock eventually lands on, though he doesn’t sound pleased with it. There is no way Steve will go the extra mile to offer and guide—Murdock likely knows the way there better than he does, and after that scene, he doesn’t want to risk further offending the man. Especially considering why he’s asking to tag along. Which Murdock may potentially resent him for, but there’s only so much Steve can willingly ignore.

He keeps close at Murdock’s brisk pace, noting the passersby—who tend to notice Murdock first with his cane, stepping to give him berth in unexpected New York generosity.

Steve slides on his emergency baseball cap—it’s not a great disguise, but it’s good enough.

“You’re wanting to talk to me about something,” Murdock says. Then he angles his head Steve’s way as he keeps sweeping forward, pace unchanging. “Thought you might be too polite to bring it up first. If it’s about suing Stark, then I don’t think you need to actually be concerned. Or try to butter me up into changing my mind.”

Steve is glancing around them, having that brief thought of sheer wonder at the fact that Murdock looked at him that whole time without once checking if there was something or someone in his way—and then the obvious kicks in, and he feels like an idiot. “Nothing like that. When it comes to Stark, his business is his business. I’m not going to pretend to have anything to do with all that. Or to want anything to do with all that, unless someone’s getting hurt.”

It’s a segue, but he pauses. Somewhat predictably, Murdock huffs. “Of course. You just live there. People will be getting hurt regardless.”

Well. He might regret this later. “Like you?”

Murdock’s expression twists, confusion at the comment coming first, but he doesn’t fire anything back. In fact, he’s quiet until they make it to the next crosswalk, where they’re forced to pause. Then Murdock says, “I’m getting the feeling you’re not referencing Stark’s brand of troubling accommodations when you say that.”

“Afraid not,” Steve says, putting his hands in his pockets as he watches the light. “Has more to do with that nasty bruise on your face.”

Murdock remains still, unreacting. Steve listens closer, eyes narrowing and ear tilting Murdock’s way. One of the lesser known effects of the supersoldier serum—he notices things better. Those frustrated twitches or beads of sweat when people lie being one of them.

“Ah. No story there, I’m afraid. I’m still a blind man who occasionally gets overconfident about the layout of my own apartment.”

“Mm.” Steve nods. The light changes, and the mechanical voice calls out the ability to pass the crosswalk. He moves as Murdock moves. “I might believe that if I didn’t know exactly what kind of bruises a nasty left hook would leave behind. Pissed off Bucky with that a lot. When I was scrawny, I had black eyes more often than I didn’t. Had those exact kinds of bruises, too.”

Murdock has gone slightly more stiff, his sweeping taps more pointed. “ Like I said. Sometimes, I’m just clumsy.”

“Maybe you are,” Steve relents. “I just tended to tell my ma the same thing.”

Murdock’s head rolls, and he scoffs, making an abrupt turn through an alley. “Believe it or not, I’m a grown man. Not the boy you were when you were getting beat up in Brooklyn.”

“Not quite what I was implying.”

Murdock stops, then turns on his heel to face Steve. It’s only because of his reflexes that he doesn’t outright run into the other man. “I think we can stop here,” Murdock growls.

Steve lifts his hands, trying to withhold a wince. “We can, if you want. But if someone’s hurting you—”

“Nobody’s hurting me, and if there was, I imagine that would be for my friends to discuss with me.”

Unless they’re the ones hurting you. Steve doesn’t say it, doesn’t need to. He’s plenty confident that Murdock’s aware hurt like that comes too often from people you’re supposedly close to. “I agree. But even if you’re getting mugged—”

“Report it to the police? Tell them how the assailants smelled? Come on.”

It feels almost like a give. An inch he wouldn’t have expected Murdock to give him—accepting the possibility that something else was the reality. Simultaneously making it clear to Steve why he wouldn’t find it worth it to get justice.

The irony of it rankles his nerves. “At the very least, I’d hope you have people keeping an eye out for you. Clint mentioned that you knew Daredevil. I can’t help but wonder why he wouldn’t stick around to help someone like you.”

Matt’s expression twitches. “Someone like me?” he parrots.

“I– I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I just mean that he’s in your territory protecting people very specifically in danger in Hell’s Kitchen. If he cares about you, it’s hard to fathom why he’d let that danger get to you, especially in a way like that.”

Murdock’s tongue flicks out over his lips, and he turns away, his jaw tight. “Well. Daredevil’s far from perfect, isn’t he.” He jerks his chin. “Head on back to your tower. I can make the rest of the walk on my own.”

***

Natasha’s fixing herself a cup of tea when Steve walks in, radiating a kind of dejection.

Thor apparently picks up on the mood just as quickly, as he raises his hands. “Captain! Lose a battle today?” And then, more seriously, “Did you and Stark have another, ah… falling out?”

Natasha takes a long sip of tea.

Steve shakes his head, making for the counter to lean against it, crossing his arms as he does. “Nothing like that. Just talked with Clint’s lawyer. Murdock.”

Natasha lifts an eyebrow. She already knows about Tony’s blunder. Clint made the rounds to tell her as soon as she got back. “And?”

“And he’d clearly been punched in the face recently.”

She hops up onto the counter, then, letting her legs hang. “Clint mentioned that Matt’s into boxing.” It’s a probe, one that Steve likely recognizes for what it is.

Still, he sighs. “Would’ve been nice to know. Except he tried to say he walked into something in his apartment. And then got cagey about being mugged, and even cagier when I brought up Daredevil.”

It piques her interest, of course. Daredevil isn’t her pet project by any means, but maybe a… pet curiosity. That might suffice.

She doesn’t bother responding, opting instead to sit back. She doesn’t have anything to offer with regard to Murdock. He’s in a messy situation helping Clint, sure, and Clint perhaps hasn’t quite realized that his choice to help an Avenger paints a target on his back. Not helped by the minor mob bosses Clint has displaced over the years who would love an upper hand on the tenancy case, with Murdock being an easy target to get to.

She keeps it to herself. He’s supposed to be Daredevil’s business, if they know each other, and whether Murdock likes it or not, he’s an indicator into the devil’s behavior patterns. Her own curiosity, ridiculous that it might be, has to do with a suspicion that if Murdock really was mugged, it must have happened outside the kitchen, and if that was true, it meant Daredevil couldn’t go outside the Kitchen’s bounds.

Which, of course, made it odd that Murdock didn’t want to meet at his own office. And odder still that Murdock would lie about where the injuries came from. Unless he was attempting to avoid the Devil and his interference, for some particular reason. None are obvious to her, and she has no inclination to jump to conclusions on the limited information she does have.

She could get more information, of course. But she would rather not harass the man helping Clint. Her interference will only go so far as to keep an eye and ear out where she can, and anything that has the misfortune of running into her can be dealt with accordingly.

“The devil’s patron,” Thor rumbles, nodding.

“Pretty sure it’s just a name, Thor,” Steve says.

Thor hums dubiously.

Steve narrows his eyes. “What?”

“It is a possibility that he is related to some foul deity, is all I mean. From the discussions, he sounds rather like a demon, though I have not encountered too many of them over my years.”

Damn. It almost feels like a loss to have Thor, out of everyone, have a line of thinking most in line with you. But he does have contect: he’s thousands of years old and has traversed far more than the Earth Natasha herself is familiar with. Creatures lay abound in all corners of the universe, from Thor’s descriptions, and she can’t decide if that’s a good or bad thing to know at this moment.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve says, but he sounds more thoughtful than anything else.

“I can be serious sometimes!” Clint’s shouting as he steps into the room, lifting his hands. “I can be very serious! What are we being serious about?”

“Thor thinks Daredevil’s the actual devil,” Natasha offers dryly.

Clint’s hands drop. “Huh? Why?”

To Thor’s credit, he doesn’t outright dismiss the idea in the face of incredulity. “Extremely territorial, or perhaps bound to a specific area. And, if your descriptions are indeed apt, he has a supernatural sense of goings-on within that territory. All that besides, he embodies the spirit of fear. Very typical for a demon, I would say.”

“Isn’t his moniker the man without fear?” Natasha says.

Thor shrugs again. “What Midgard finds familiar is not for me to discern, my friend. What I call a demon, you may still call a man. You would, however, be wrong.”

She snorts.

Clint puts his hands into a t-pose. “Hold on, are we serious? I mean… I don’t know. He talked to me. And I feel like demons would kill people.”

“Not all of them.” Thor’s grinning outright now, and infuriatingly, Natasha can’t pin down why. “Plenty prefer the simple pleasures. Or tortures. I would have to meet him myself. Vanquish as needed, perhaps, but if he has an unnatural air, I am more likely to detect it than Midgardians.”

“I appreciate the thought, Thor, but, uh, Daredevil kinda had my ass about Avengers showing up in Hell’s Kitchen, so maybe we don’t do that?”

“Let’s assume Thor’s right,” Steve says, and Natasha has an internal, Oh, here we go, moment. “Does this mean he’s dangerous? Could that be related to why Murdock is lying about where his injuries come from? And why he was cagey about Daredevil?”

“Oh, so I missed a whole different chapter, holy shit,” Clint says, his hands dropping again. “Hi, hello, where is this coming from? Is that why you chased him out of the building?”

“He’d been punched in the face, Clint,” Steve says, lips pursed. “And, boxing or not, he lied about how. I’m worried about him, especially since he’s getting mixed up with the likes of us.”

Ah. Good to know she isn’t the only one who had thought about that, then.

“Oh,” Clint says again. “That… He didn’t mention anything like that to me. You think he’s being threatened? And what does Daredevil have to do with it?”

“That’s the question,” Steve says, his mouth pulling to the side as he looks out the window. “I don’t want to get on either of their bad sides, but…”

“I’ll talk to Matt tomorrow,” Clint says. His voice is firm—no real air of compromise even though he’s wearing a friendly enough expression as he says it. “Until then, let’s give him a break, alright? It’s not like anything too crazy is gonna change overnight.”

Notes:

ya like jazz

Chapter 5

The only reason Matt is successfully kidnapped is because of the flashbang.

It’s a total assault to his senses, and he hadn’t expected it, either. Maybe he was getting careless, or maybe whoever came after him is unusually good at what they do—he hadn’t noticed anyone following him. In fact, he’d argue there is no way he was followed, which leaves the next reasonable conclusion that somebody knew the path he’d be taking home and planned accordingly.

Further still, it may have been a remote impact detonation. No heart rates had risen as somebody spotted their target sweeping his way onto the scene, and technology as it is operates often as a blur to Matt, individual cameras hard to note unless he’s specifically seeking out where they are. Which he wasn’t. Or, rather, he hadn’t detected any cameras that weren’t already in the area.

Reminiscing isn’t going to help. He has still been kidnapped, regardless, as is made clear when he comes to thoroughly bound against a hard surface—load-bearing pole in a warehouse, concrete, three floors tall, ropes a tough plastic-imbued fabric that barely stretches when he struggles—with a bag over his head, four people immediately around him. More further out still.

He’s on the ground, too, legs splayed out in front of him. It’s almost reminiscent of Frank’s escapade tying him up, were it not for all the little disparate details, the most notable of which being the fact that Matt is in his civilian attire. They came for him, not for Daredevil.

Which makes this situation so much more of a pain.

He grunts, starting to shake his head in an effort to knock the hood off. For his trouble, he gets a swift kick to his leg.

“Cut that shit out, counselor, if you know what’s good for you.”

“I dunno,” someone else says. “Isn’t he blind? I feel like the hood’s still redundant.”

“Fuck’s sake, Joe.”

Matt blinks hard, leaning back against the pole and trying to make sense of what he can. “This— Can someone tell me what’s going on? Hello?”

The hood is abruptly ripped off, and there’s the click of a light being turned on—which clues Matt in on the fact that, at some point, they must have taken off his glasses.

While the light obviously has no effect, the way the man grabs Matt’s chin and jerks his head does, a wave of nausea building at the base of his throat as a result.

His head’s pounding by the time he’s let go. Whether or not it’s a concussion, he can’t be sure, but considering the flashbang was loud enough to knock him out, and he imagines his head hit the concrete pretty hard? Yeah, stupid concussion.

He wriggles in the binds again. “What’s going on?” His voice is appropriately panicked, even if—so far—he’s mostly just annoyed. Considering the number of people inside and surrounding the building, he has to assume this isn’t actually about him. They’re waiting for something, or someone, and if it’s the goddamn Avengers—

“We know you’re not the type to drop a case, Murdock,” one of them says. He shuffles closer—still too far from Matt for him to land a kick if he really wanted to. “We’re gonna make it drop another way. I respect your ability to stick your nose into shit you shouldn’t—”

Well, that’s a little funny.

“—but this ain’t Hell’s Kitchen. And none of our crews plan to stand by while goddamn fuckin’ Hawkeye eats up our territories, loyalties be damned.”

“You kidnapped me because I’m— right. Of course. Should’ve expected.” He sighs, eyes closing as he bumps his head against the poll, immediately regretting it with the ensuing ache.

“A little. But not completely. Some of us got bigger fish to fry than apartments. We saw you at their tower today.”

He deflates a bit at that, resisting the urge to grumble a petty, Don’t remind me.

It’s— fine. The Avengers are about what he expected, really. Completely, utterly, mundane human beings who are incredibly fallible in all aspects of life, regardless of their attempts to remedy this. And liable to be sued, in some cases.

He’d hated that. Not likely for the reasons they think. He’d felt the moment of the scan, had hardly even noticed it happening—something that could easily be misconstrued as an errant breeze, some shiver down his form. And then there was the AI, and the invasion became abruptly clear and—

And, well, he’d tried not to panic. He has learned well enough how to maintain his composure, and yet half of him wanted to rip himself apart while the other wanted to go for the server, for Stark, for whatever the hell was holding onto that information, caused the intrusion in the first place.

Matt hates hospitals for a myriad of reasons. But the possibility of invasion is one of them, and considering he’s already underestimated and infantilized as a blind man, the bruises and scarring from years of what he does could get him 9.39’d for mental hygiene quicker than he can blink, for one. Checked for other signs of so-called abuse—and, Jesus, he still can’t even confront within himself that possibility when it comes to Stick, let alone be confronted by other parties—and, most notably, the nature of his remaining senses abruptly revealed without his consent. He doesn’t know how or if they would show. He doesn’t want to find out.

And now he’s in a situation where a tech billionaire casually has scans that are acute enough to detect that he’s blind, and therefore—

Christ. And then Captain America tried walking him to his office. Foggy’s a fan, because of course he is, and that had taken up 90 percent of the deliberation for Matt to let him join only for it to turn into some poor excuse of an intervention.

It’s all just a stark reminder of how the world really sees Matt Murdock, and he hates every reminder of it.

He exhales sharply out his nose. “If you saw me there, you know I was barely there longer than a few minutes.”

“Sure. But you had Stark and Rogers at your beck and call, and that’s not somethin’ we’re gonna scoff at.”

“That’s hardly how I would characterize our interaction.” He hears chatter from outside and cocks his head to listen.

Should he be relieved to hear that loud whooshing whir of metal hovering above him that’s… probably man-shaped, if his senses aren’t too knocked by the head wound?

“We’ve got company,” one of them says, walking briskly from the window.

“Lights are still on,”another chirps, “so we at least know it ain’t the Devil.”

“Not fuckin’ funny, man.” The one furthest from him makes some sweeping gesture, his hand cutting abruptly through the air. “Somebody knock out the lawyer again.”

“With pleasure.”

Fuck his life.

The man nearest takes loud, long steps for him, and Matt’s kicking out his leg to sweep the man to the ground.

The hit connects, his hell slicing across, hitting just below the man’s knees mid-step, and in his apparent surprise he falls over entirely, his head slamming to the ground with a horrible crack.

The commotion sends two of the others over, and—still bound to the pole, arms wedged there and useless, he has to make some kind of decision.

Dammit. Dammit.

Matt scrambles his legs back, tucking them in as close to his chest as he can, reeling back and shoulders hunched, head dipped in as clear an expression of cowering as he can manage. “Don’t. Please, don’t. You don’t need to do that. I can cooperate.”

Then there’s a hand at his throat squeezing hard. Matt wheezes, automatically bucking up, arms trying to escape the bounds. “Check on Joe, Raflin,” the man growls, and the other scrambles to attend to the man groaning on the ground. “And seriously, Murdock? You just attacked one of our guys, and we’re supposed to think you’ll cooperate?”

Matt’s mouth opens and closes, eyes blinking. He doesn’t have to fake the rasping, helpless attempts to get even a single word out as his senses begin to close in.

And then he’s released.

Air soars into his lungs, and Matt’s gulps at it, coughing around the new painful bruising at his throat.

“Christ, just fuckin’ leave him there.”

Joe is stumbling to his feet with Raflin’s help, cursing sourly under his breath. He wasn’t knocked out, but Matt can taste the lick of blood that isn’t just his own. When he sucks in another breath through his nose, he can tell that Joe’s lost some decent amount of it. Not atypical. Almost impressive to still be conscious.

“I ought to take out those stupid fuckin’ eyes for that,” Joe snaps, bearing down at Matt, held back in part by Raflin.

He means it. Matt knows he means it, knows people like him always mean it, take some sort of desire in the harm, a twisted satisfaction at the idea of giving him a permanent reminder of what he’s already lost, a signal to the world around him about what and who he is, as someone like Joe perceives him.

Matt bites his tongue and turns his head away, breathing hard.

And then, because apparently he can’t held himself, because he’s had fucking enough already to take that kind of perverse threat quietly, he barks back, “Fuck you.”

Joe lunges for him.

Matt lifts his legs to kick back, only for the man who’d had his throat before to bodily pin them down. There’s the distinct sound of scuffling, boots scratching against concrete, skin against fabric against skin—maybe Raflin’s still trying to hold Joe back, but the movement continues, continues even when there’s a barked order of, “Enough!”

Something like panic—God it can’t be panic he isn’t supposed to— rises up his throat, and he manages a wordless yell as Joe’s hands find his face, his thumbs digging into his cheekbones, fingers scraping around his forehead and brows—

There’s a burst of sound, a heat that manages to simultaneously feel icy in its force as it whips across in front of him, and the men around Matt are knocked aside all at once.

Matt had registered vaguely that he’d been buying himself some time—it didn’t have to be much, but enough for the Avengers to rally quickly through everyone gathered outside and into this building—but he has lost almost all sense of that as people pour in the room and a body of metal lands almost quietly directly in front of him. Somehow, Matt still manages to flinch.

Another whir of mechanical movement, a hiss. “Hey, hey, you’re alright, Murdock. We’ve gotcha. It’s Stark, by the way.”

Matt nods, slowing his own breathing, trying to manage his own heartbeat as well. “Gathered that.” His voice sounds vaguely hoarse to his own ears, maybe not noticeable to anyone else yet, but likely to get there.

“Eh, figured you would. Just love to take a chance to introduce myself.” Stark’s voice is light, relaxed, but his heart is betraying some sense of urgency or anxiety. “I’m gonna get you out of these ropes, alright?”

Again, he nods. Then he just sits back, vaguely listening as JARVIS directs Stark where to cut through the ropes, as Steve Rogers starts rounding up all the people who’d attacked Matt in varying states of consciousness, Romanoff and Clint already peeling off to make sure no stragglers get away.

No Hulk. No Thor, either, it sounds like.

The binds drop, and Stark returns again with an unexpected gentleness, saying, “Easy, Murdock. No need to get up just yet. You injured anywhere? ‘Sides the obvious?”

Matt blinks, the question taking a long moment to process. And then a laugh yanks itself out of him. Christ, Stark’s trying to be polite, stopping JARVIS from just scanning automatically to catalogue the injuries.

Stark reels back a bit, and Matt waves a hand, bracing one hand on the load-bearing pole behind him and dragging himself up. “Just, ah. The obvious. Thanks.” And then he gives himself a moment to just… lean back and breathe.

“...You’re not about to pass out are you? I will carry you like a swooning maiden. Don’t ever put that past me.”

Matt snorts. “No, Stark.” He opens his eyes. “I would take a ride home. Via car. No offense.”

“And, no offense, but I feel like hospital is the next reasonable stop.”

This part, at least, isn’t pissing him off. Maybe he’s too tired to still be pissed off, too caught up in the fact that a man had his hands on his face prepared to do that before Stark blasted them away. “You’re an idiot,” Matt says, “but you learn. I’ll give you that.”

Stark huffs, and there’s a larger, echoing whir as the rest of the suit recedes, leaving the man in what seem to be civilian clothes. “Don’t look so smug. That’s supposed to be my expression. How you’re even wearing it right now, Christ. But I do learn. Sorry about before.” He pauses, his footing shifting a bit. “Need a hand? I don’t think anyone’s happened across your cane.” There is a wisp of movement. Stark turning away? “Or your glasses, either. But I can definitely manage a car.”

Matt hums, cocking his head again. Rogers is herding everyone downstairs and out—odd, since Matt could have sworn he was still in the room a second ago. Police are already on their way, and—

And his own blunder finally registers at the sound of a click.

He barely has time to react, grabbing Stark and throwing him to the ground just as the gun goes off.

The last man—similar body type to Rogers, but not a fucking super soldier, Matt should have noticed the difference—moves to fire again, and Matt’s already upon him. The man’s aiming for Stark, not Matt himself, and though Stark’s calling back his suit, it isn’t fast enough, and with a shove of adrenaline, Matt manages to knock his arm hard to redirect the bullet—and subsequently earning a knife to the gut that the man had been carrying in his other hand.

Matt growls, grabs the knife arm, and cracks it backwards at the elbow, kicking the man away in the chest and holding onto the knife to keep it in the wound.

The man stumbles back a step, clutching at his arm with a whimper, and though it’s unnecessary at this point, Matt spins into a kick to the man’s head, instantly knocking him out.

Maybe it stretches the wound some in the process, but he’s pretty sure some part of him needed that.

More mechanical whirring.

Then, “Alright, gonna try to not be a dick again about the blind thing, but I feel like that isn’t something… one could have anticipated. You could do.”

Practical way of putting it.

Matt clutches at his side, wincing a bit, fingers straddling the blade of the knife. “It’s a lawyer thing.”

“If my lawyers did that, they wouldn’t be lawyers. They’d— oh. Shit.”

Matt stumbles forward a step. Disappointingly, the adrenaline’s starting to fade again. “Just noticed the knife?”

“Oh, I noticed the knife immediately. It’s something else I just realized.”

There are probably only a few things that can mean. Matt should probably dread them, but really, he just wants to lie down. Let the implications sink into some later version of himself.

He turns his head in the direction of the window, and a moment later, Clint’s crawling through. “Shit, Matt, I’m so fucking sorry—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s really not. They— Jesus, Tony, he got stabbed!”

Matt swats at Clint. “It’s not that bad. Didn’t hit anything major. Now can I please just go home? I’ll email everything case-related tomorrow. With… all this, it’ll be pretty straightforward from here.”

There’s silence. Matt assumes Clint and Stark are exchanging expressions.

“Pretty sure you have to do a police report,” Clint eventually chirps. “And then mandatory visit to our private medical ward on Tony’s dime, and then you go home. Because I’m not about to let you let that get infected. But—” An increase in heartbreak, salty taste of sweat— “Steve brought some things up earlier, and your laissez faire attitude right now is starting to make me wonder if he was onto something.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Matt grumbles, and then he lifts his head, pinning his stare somewhere near Clint’s face. “I’m Daredevil. And I’m used to it, I could smell any infection and have managed to take care of myself just fine without being herded around like some feeble dog by the Avengers before and will continue to do so now.” He exhales sharply. “And no, I’m not a demon. No, I’m not being abused, yes, I am actually blind, and no, I absolutely still do not want any of you coming into Hell’s Kitchen at any point if you can help it so help me God.”

There’s a long, pregnant silence.

Then Tony says, “Yeah, I’ll get that car.”

Matt lets his head drop and closes his eyes. “...Appreciate it.”

“Oh, don’t appreciate it yet. Appreciate it later when you learn I paid for your partner’s retainer. And when you’ve learned JARVIS expunged any and all relevant data you’d prefer wiped away. Very generous of JARVIS.”

“And I’m absolutely going to be in the car that takes you home, just so we’re clear.” Clint’s voice is caught in a way Matt can’t make sense of, the emotions hard to read. “You tried to kill me. I deserve a conversation.”

He sighs. “I did not—”

“Same thing. And then we’ll call the whole thing even.” His heart jumps briefly, then Clint’s clapping his hands together. “Actually, we’ll call this whole thing even if you help me out with one teeny tiny thing because, my friend, I’m in a rare moment of knowing something Nat doesn’t, and she almost definitely thinks you’re a demon.”

This is… smoother. Than he expected. If such a thing can be expected, and he’s really counting on it not being that.

He blinks, then eventually puts on something akin to a smirk. “Fine. You’ll just have to dress the stab wound for me.”

“Deal.”

Another small, chuffing laugh escapes Matt, a bit more painful than before. So, maybe he was right. Deplorably human. And maybe not such a bad thing at the moment. He can probably… work with this, at least a bit. At least enough to stand having a couple conversations.

God knows Foggy is going to go full steam ahead the mention Matt mentions this to him.

…Except for the fact that Tony seemed to imply that he may have hired Foggy on as his lawyer. In which case, Foggy probably knows… some things.

…Whatever.

“Great,” Matt says. “Mind leading me out?” he asks Clint. “Still missing the, ah. Cane and glasses.”

And with that, Clint is offering his arm and directing him for the stairs, past Tony.

Matt pauses long enough to briefly grab Tony’s arm. “You can get me a new cane and glasses. Then we can start with a clean slate on the whole… ‘yanking me around to be your ADA showpony lawyer’ thing.”

“Deal times two,” Tony says, just as chipper as Clint. “The car’s gonna be outside waiting for you for after you give your statement. And I’ll take care of this guy up here.”

Fantastic. Nevermind that’ll almost certainly mean the paramedics are going to attend to him as he does.

Matt lets him go, then returns to Clint.

“If you ever want some branding ideas,” Clint starts, “I think we could make a good ‘see no evil, hear no evil’ duo. Just a thought.”

Matt grunts. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll even let you design the t-shirts!”

“Please don’t make me regret this.”

“Oh, you will.” Matt can hear the too-wide smile in Clint’s voice. You absolutely will.”

Notes:

thank you for reading AHHH i hope you enjoyed. staring at u with big round unblinking eyes i hope u enjoyed.