Work Text:
Falling Asleep On Christmas
The apartment smelled like cinnamon and vanilla and the faint burn of something you had pushed off the stove at the last second. The warmth inside hit Matt before he even closed the window behind him. Lights wrapped around the living room in soft loops. Some blinked at a lazy pace. Some hummed with the buzz of old wiring. A few drooped as if they were tired of being festive.
Matt slipped in with the kind of care that came from too many long nights. His boots touched down soundlessly. He pulled off the mask first. Sweat had dried along his hairline, leaving the curls above his forehead stiff. A bruise sat beneath one eye, deepened by the way he kept squinting against the light. His shoulders sagged slowly, a quiet surrender to the hour.
He closed the window and paused.
You were awake.
Your movements reached him before you did. A shuffle against the floor. The gentle thud of a cabinet closing. The steady clink of a mixing bowl you should have retired hours ago. You were tired, but your heartbeat held a sharp, bustling rhythm that matched the way you worked when you refused to stop.
Matt smiled. The smile tugged at the bruise, but he let it stay.
“You realize Santa is the one supposed to stay up all night, right?” His voice was warm, a little rough. He could smell chocolate on the air between you.
You froze for half a second, then twisted around with a determined grin that did nothing to hide the fatigue around your eyes. “Everything has to be perfect.”
He walked closer, guided by your breath and the heat of the oven. When he reached you, he dipped his head until your breath brushed his collarbone. Even in his exhaustion, his hands found you easily. His thumb swept across your cheek in a slow, tender line.
“Pretty sure it is….” He murmured. Then, with more conviction, “Actually, I’m certain it is.”
You shook your head. “Pretty sure it’s not. But I’m getting there.”
Matt let out a sound that sat somewhere between a groan and a resigned laugh. It filled the space between the two of you, soft and familiar. The kind of sound someone makes when they love a person too much to fight them on something trivial. It was also the sound of a man who knew you well enough to understand that if you stayed awake, he would stay awake with you.
He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “Of course you’re getting there….” He said. “Because you will not let yourself stop.”
You started to turn back to the counter, but his hands lingered a little longer at your waist, holding you still for one more quiet moment before he let you go.
Matt stepped back and tugged at the zipper of his suit, but not enough to take it off. “Let me help…” He said.
“You should get out of that thing and sleep for at least three days….” You said, eyeing him up and down. “You can barely stand.”
He rested his hands on your hips, gentle but sure. “If I help you, it’ll all go faster. Then we both get to sleep.”
There was a softness in the way he said it. Not bargaining. Just wanting to be beside you. Wanting to be part of the quiet work that shaped your joy for other people.
You gave in with a reluctant smile. He bumped his nose against your temple as if thanking you.
The two of you moved through the kitchen like you had done this a hundred times. Maybe you had. Maybe this was simply your rhythm now.
You iced cookies, humming under your breath. Matt hovered behind you, stealing one the second you placed it down. He bit it with exaggerated thoughtfulness.
“You put too many sprinkles on this….” He said.
You swatted his arm, and he caught your wrist in one hand, turning his head to kiss the corner of your mouth. His lips were warm. You felt him smile against your skin.
Another length of lights needed hanging. You climbed the small step ladder even though you could reach it without it. Matt stood at the base with both hands on the frame, steadying something that did not need steadying. He tilted his head up, tracking the soft rustle of your clothes, the scrape of plastic hooks against the shelf. When you stepped down, his hands brushed your hips, slow and familiar, like he was checking the world was still holding you securely.
Stockings waited on the couch. You filled them with tiny gifts and candy canes. Matt sat close enough that your shoulders brushed. Every so often he leaned more of his weight into you. His head would rest against your shoulder. He drifted for seconds at a time before pulling himself upright again.
You felt the exact moment he lost the battle.
His body sagged, breath slowing. He rubbed the back of his neck, which had gone rigid. Then he spoke in a voice edged with reluctance.
“I can’t keep going. Not tonight.”
You turned your head and kissed his cheek. His skin was warm, flushed from exhaustion. “I just need to finish one more thing.”
Matt let out a quiet exhale. He knew it was not true. You knew it was not true. But he also knew you needed to say it. So he slid off the couch and let you take his hand.
You guided him toward the bedroom. His fingers curled around yours, loose at first, then firmer when he realized you were trying to make him rest. At the doorway he paused, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the top of your head.
“You’re incredible….” He whispered. “But please sleep soon.”
He settled into bed still half in his suit, too tired to fully change. The sheets rustled around him. When you stepped back into the glow of the living room, he turned his face toward the sound of your footsteps.
You hummed under your breath as you worked. A soft, familiar Christmas tune you always drifted toward when your hands were busy. The sound wrapped around Matt like a blanket. His breathing slowed.
He fell asleep to the rhythm of your voice and the distant clatter of you making your home the warmest place in Hell’s Kitchen.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
You slid under the covers a little after six. Your body felt heavy, your head buzzing, your hands still smelling faintly like vanilla icing. You tried to move slowly, but the mattress still dipped enough to wake him.
Matt’s arm found you immediately. Not a search, not a question. Just a quiet pull, like his body already knew exactly where you were. He tucked you into his chest, half asleep, his breath warm against your hair.
“Hey…” He murmured, voice thick with sleep.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t…” He said, although you both knew you had. He kissed the top of your head. “Come here. Rest.”
You exhaled against his chest, and the last thing you felt before slipping under was his thumb tracing lazy circles along your side.
You barely noticed the moment you fell asleep.
At nine, the alarm went off. Matt groaned and buried his face in your shoulder. You were already reaching for the edge of the blanket when Matt’s hand slid across your waist, gentle but determined.
“Don’t…” He mumbled into your shoulder. His voice was warm, low, still gravelly from sleep. “Come back here.”
“We have to get up….” You said, pushing upright despite the ache behind your eyes.
“Not right now.” He tugged you back down, his arm tightening around you with sleepy insistence. “Ten more minutes.”
“We don’t have ten minutes.”
“Sure we do.” His thumb brushed your hip in slow, coaxing strokes. “Everyone’s always late.”
You shook your head, but he could hear the stubborn set of your jaw as clearly as he could feel it. “Matt, I have things to finish. We overslept.”
“We didn’t oversleep…..” His fingers squeezed lightly at your waist. “We need more rest.”
“I got plenty.”
“You got three hours….” He countered.
You scoffed. “You run on about three hours all the time.”
“That doesn’t make it good….” He murmured. He lifted his head just enough that his lips brushed your cheek. “And in case you missed it, I’m also a vigilante. I’m not exactly role-model material.”
You turned toward him, propping yourself on an elbow, and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. He chased it instinctively, eyes still closed.
“How about this….” You whispered against his lips. “If you stop complaining, we can shower together. That’ll make getting ready faster.”
His hand paused on your hip. Then, slowly, like his body was making the decision for him, he said, “Okay….I’m listening.”
“Thought you would be.”
He groaned, stretched, and finally let you sit up.
The shower did make things faster—at least for the first minute or two. But the moment the hot water hit Matt’s shoulders, he melted. His hands slid around your waist, holding you there, as if letting you go meant the day started too soon. You ended up staying much longer than you planned, your skin warmed by the water and his touch, your forehead resting against his chest while he breathed you in.
When he finally let you convince him to step out, he did it reluctantly, fingers lingering along your arm like he needed one more second.
Getting dressed took another stretch of time because the matching Christmas sweaters made him sigh in a way that was half dramatic, half amused, and entirely resigned.
“These things are torture…” He said, tugging at the collar.
“They’re festive….” You reminded him.
“They’re itchy.”
“You’ll live.”
He smiled and kissed your jaw. “For you, sure.”
Coffee helped you feel almost human again—almost. You were on your third cup when you drifted toward the tree, adjusting a ribbon here, straightening a garland there, moving an ornament two inches left then right. You didn’t even realize you’d stopped moving until Matt’s hands wrapped around yours.
He stepped behind you, his chest a warm line along your back, his chin hovering near your shoulder. “Hey….” He said softly. “Stop.”
“I just need to fix—”
“You don’t….” He said. His thumbs brushed the backs of your hands, grounding you. “I may not be able to see it, but I know all the hard work you’ve been putting in…..everything is already perfect.”
You exhaled, the breath catching a little.
He leaned closer. “And even if it wasn’t perfect, they wouldn’t care. They’re coming to spend the day with us. Not judge tree placement.”
You nodded, shoulders lowering a fraction. “Okay. Fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying….” He said, smiling.
You opened your mouth to argue, but a knock cut you off.
“See?” He murmured. “Late.”
It was ten thirty.
You shot him a look. He grinned like he could hear it.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
Foggy arrived first, holding a cardboard tray of coffees like he was presenting evidence in court.
“Merry Christmas….” He said, handing you the largest cup. “This one’s yours. Don’t argue.”
You hugged him, taking the cup with your free hand and muttering a grateful “You’re an angel.”
Karen followed with a stack of beautifully wrapped gifts, the edges crisp and perfect. She wrapped you in a tight hug before dropping her bags on the couch. “You two look adorable….” She said. “A little tired, but adorable.”
Peter squeezed through the doorway next, holding a casserole dish far too carefully. “I swear it was level when I left my apartment….” He said, already apologizing. “If it’s ruined I can make something else. Do you have flour? Eggs? A microwave?”
You laughed and guided him to the kitchen.
Frank appeared behind him, silent until he extended a six-pack with a crooked bow taped to one bottle.
“Morning…” He said.
“Merru Christmas Frankie!”
You kissed his cheek. He rolled his eyes, but you definitely heard the tiny huff of a laugh he tried to swallow.
Patsy barreled in last, wrapped in a coat that sparkled like it had been dusted with actual stars. “Merry Christmas!” She sang. “I brought pastries….”
The apartment swelled with voices and warmth. Coats piled on hooks, food filled every counter, music played low from a speaker Foggy turned on without asking.
You moved through the room with practiced ease.
Here—have some cider.
Your stocking’s over there.
Yes, eat, eat more.
No, you didn’t bring too much.
Yes, I love it.
Yes, I’m fine.
You were halfway across the living room, balancing a tray of fresh eggnog refills, when Peter and Karen’s voices rose over the music.
“No, no, no….” Peter insisted, gesturing wildly with his cup as you approached. “If the editor cuts out the entire second half of the quote, that completely changes what the guy said.”
Karen lifted her eyebrows in that patient, razor-sharp way she reserved for teaching interns. “Editing for clarity isn’t unethical, Peter. It’s normal.”
“But it’s misleading!”
“It’s concise.”
You slipped the refilled cups into their hands like a bartender in a newsroom. “Okay, both of you. Drink. Debate. Don’t spill.”
Karen mouthed thank you. Peter mouthed sorry. You smiled and kept moving.
Matt caught your wrist as you passed, his fingers warm, his touch soft but steady.
“Come here….” He murmured. “Sit. Five minutes.”
He guided you to the couch, thumb brushing slow circles against your pulse like he was trying to calm it by touch alone. You leaned into him without meaning to. His body was warm, grounding, familiar. His head dipped toward you, breath brushing your temple.
“You need a break…” He said.
“I’m fine…” You started, but that was when Frank spoke up.
“Hey, Murdock….” He called from the armchair, “...what the hell are you wearing?”
Matt stiffened. “…A sweater.”
“It looks like a Christmas tree threw up on you.”
Matt lifted his chin, trying for dignity. “She’s wearing the same one.”
“Yeah…” Frank said, deadpan, “....and it looks cute on her.”
You opened your mouth to defuse whatever snappy comeback Matt was forming, but a sharp, irritated groan cut through the room. You turned toward it instinctively.
Foggy had managed to wrap himself in a string of Christmas lights. Again. The plug dangled from his hand. He looked both betrayed and mildly offended.
You sighed softly and pushed yourself back up. “Foggy—how—”
“I swear these things start moving when I get close…” He said helplessly.
You knelt beside him and began working the lights free. Your shoulders ached. Your eyes stung. You ignored it.
Patsy appeared beside you the second Foggy was unwrapped, pulling you gently toward the hallway.
“Hey….” She said, her voice dropping to something warmer, more serious. “Look at me.”
You did, because she wasn’t going to let you not.
“You outdid yourself….” She said. “Really. The food. The decorations. The sweaters. It’s perfect.”
You shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable under her gaze.
“But you….” She continued, tapping your cheek lightly, “....look like you’re running on fumes.”
“I’m fine…” You said quickly.
Patsy raised an eyebrow. “Please. You look like the ghost of Christmas burnout.”
“That’s…..incredibly specific.”
“Because it is what you look like.”
Before she could dig deeper, you slipped away with a hurried, “I should check on the kitchen.”
You swept back into the dining area, already clearing empty trays and asking, “Anyone still hungry? There’s plenty. Seriously, eat more. I can reheat—”
Matt heard the strain in your voice before anyone else did. He shared a look with Patsy over your shoulder, both wearing the same quiet worry. They’d seen this before. You in motion until you literally fell over.
The party rolled on in a warm blur. Voices overlapped. Wrapping paper rustled. Music hummed low. You kept moving, kept smiling, kept hosting.
Until you didn’t.
It happened during the gift exchange, when everyone gathered around the tree. You sat beside Matt, leaning a little heavier against him each minute. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders without announcing it. You didn’t protest.
Karen handed Foggy a gift. Peter passed something to Frank. Patsy shrieked at the sight of a sequined scarf someone got her.
You blinked slowly. Then slower.
Matt felt your head drop against his shoulder. Felt your breath change. Felt your body soften all at once, like someone unplugged your last bit of energy.
He dipped his head. “Hey….” He whispered. No response.
Peter noticed first. “Uh…is she… asleep?”
Matt brushed your hair back with a gentle thumb. “Yeah.”
“Should we wake her?” Peter whispered.
“No….” Patsy said immediately. “She does this every holiday. Burns herself out then face-plants. Let her sleep.”
Matt slid his arm under your knees, the other behind your back, lifting you like you were something soft and familiar. Your body curled into his instinctively, breath brushing the hollow of his throat.
The room quieted without being told to.
He carried you to the bedroom, nudged the door open with his foot, and laid you gently on the bed. He pulled the blanket up to your shoulders, smoothing it once, twice, lingering long enough to hear your breathing settle.
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and whispered, “Sleep.”
Then he stepped out, closing the door with barely a sound.
The living room resumed in hushed tones: presents unwrapped, soft laughs shared, the warmth of friends holding steady.
Just a little quieter.
Just enough for you to rest.
❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆☉❆
You woke slowly, the way someone surfaces from deep water.
Warmth first. Then weight. Then the faint stiffness in your neck that told you you’d been out for a long time.
Your eyes blinked open to dim amber light. The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that settles only after everyone has left and the day has finally exhaled. You lay wrapped in blankets tucked around you with more care than you ever managed for yourself.
It took you another few breaths to notice the steady, familiar warmth beside you.
Matt lay on his side, one arm loosely around your waist, his fingers resting against the fabric of your sweater like they had been there for hours. He turned his head when he felt you stir. His hand slid up, the back of his knuckles grazing your cheek in a soft, instinctive check-in.
“Hey….” He whispered. His voice was low, weighted with the softness of someone who had been awake but quiet. “You’re up.”
You blinked again, disoriented. “What time is it?”
His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. “A little after four.”
Your stomach dropped. “Four? As in….four four?”
“Mhm.”
You pushed up immediately, panic flaring through your chest. “Oh my god. Where is everyone? Did they leave? Matt, why didn’t you wake me? I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I—”
He pulled gently on your wrist before you could get too far. “Hey, hey. Breathe.”
You froze, shoulders tense, breaths short and embarrassed.
Matt sat up with you, his knee brushing yours, his hand warm around your forearm. “You fell asleep during the gifts….” He said softly. “Right against my shoulder.”
You let out a mortified groan and dropped your face into your hands. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not….” He said, utterly fond. “But you were gone before your head even hit me.”
You groaned and sank forward, your face dropping into your hands. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“Sweetheart.” He guided your hands away so he could touch your cheek. “You were exhausted.”
“That’s not an excuse…..” You argued, even though your voice was soft, small. “I planned it. I hosted it. And I crashed. In front of everyone. I missed half of my own party.”
“They didn’t mind.” His voice was warm, sure. “Really. Everyone said they had a great time. They helped clean up before they left. And they told me to make sure you slept as long as you needed.”
Your head snapped toward him. “You let them clean?”
“Foggy said, and I quote, ‘It’s our Christmas gift to her. Don’t snitch.’”
You dropped your face into your hands again.
After a beat, Matt’s hand found yours, weaving your fingers together. “Can I ask you something?”
You nodded without looking up.
He waited until your breathing settled. “Why do you push yourself so hard every holiday? You know you don’t have to do all this.”
You swallowed. “Because…..because none of them really have family around. None of us do, really. Not for the holidays. Not in a way that feels steady or safe.” Your voice thinned. “So I want them to feel loved. Like they belong somewhere.”
Matt squeezed your hand. His thumb traced slow, reassuring strokes across your skin. “They feel that way already. Because of you.”
You blinked at him, caught off guard.
“You do that….” He said softly. “Just by being here. Being yourself. They don’t need perfect decorations or a hundred cookies. They show up because it’s you inviting them.”
You blinked rapidly, throat tightening. The tenderness in his voice made something inside you wobble. He leaned in, brushing a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth, another on your cheek, then finally your lips.
The kiss steadied you. Made your chest warm in a way nothing else today had.
You sighed against his mouth, some of the disappointment lingering but no longer sharp enough to hurt. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his.
“Did everyone…..at least like their gifts?” You asked.
“They loved them….” He said. “And yes, they took pictures. Peter took a hundred. He promised to send them.”
A tiny smile tugged at your mouth. “Good. Okay.”
Matt’s hand left yours, sliding down to the side of the bed. “Speaking of gifts.…”
“Matt…..” You said warningly, “....you already got me—”
He ignored you, reaching under the bed. When he came back up, he held a small wrapped package. Sloppy wrapping. Uneven tape. Definitely not Karen’s handiwork.
“I didn’t get this….” He said. “We all did.”
He set it in your lap.
“What….is this?”
“Open it…” He murmured.
You tore the paper slowly, still half convinced it was something silly. Something small. Something meant to cheer you up after your party-crashing fail.
But when the cardboard peeked through, your breath hitched.
You slid the rest of the paper away and stared.
It was the DVD you’d watched a hundred times as a kid. The one you mentioned offhand once, not even thinking. The one you thought didn’t exist anymore except in your memory.
Your vision blurred instantly.
Matt straightened, his hand finding your knee. “Hey….sweetheart…”
You bit your lip, but the tears spilled anyway—hot and helpless and overwhelming. “Matt, I—I thought this didn’t exist anymore.”
“It wasn’t easy….” He admitted, thumb stroking the side of your knee. “Foggy found a collector online. Karen hunted down the audio description track. Peter made sure the disc actually played. Everyone pitched in. We were going to watch it tonight after presents.”
A tear slid down your nose. You sniffed.
Matt reached up and brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. Then another. Then the next. Each touch slow, careful, achingly gentle.
“You’re allowed to cry…” He murmured. “It’s kind of adorable.”
You let out a trembling laugh and leaned into his hand. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“We wanted to make sure you felt loved today too.”
Your chest tightened again, but in the best possible way.
Matt lay back against the headboard and tugged you gently into his arms. You settled against him, the DVD still clutched to your chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.
“Stay here…” He whispered. “Let me put it on.”
But you didn’t move. Not yet. Not until you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw and whispered, “Thank you.”
He kissed the top of your head. “Merry Christmas.”
A few minutes later, the movie started playing softly in the dim room—complete with audio description Karen had helped find. You curled into Matt’s chest under the blankets, his arms around you, warm and safe.
And the two of you spent the rest of the evening like that: wrapped in each other, wrapped in nostalgia, wrapped in a moment that finally—finally—felt like it belonged to you too.