[Their breathing, the movement of their weapons. They want them dead. The night is getting damp. A mist in the air. Fighting at close range is the distraction. Matt pushes the both of them to the side to avoid arrows.]
This isn't--[He knows it isn't. This was supposed to be a chance for them both to break away, maybe for Matt to agree and let go. Except having both the halves of his heart on either side its unfortunate that it won't be like this. That's not the way of things. Not before and likely not going ahead.]
So four... good odds.
[To the what? Seventy to eighty ninjas around them?]
[ This isn't fisticuffs with the local drug dealers and muggers. This is war. This is the war that Stick talked about, or a skirmish at the very least. The wet in the air makes it harder to focus, keep traction, but he has to push past that. Focus on the now. ]
I know. [ Then break away. Things haven't been the same since Elektra showed back up and Frank wanted more than to test Mike's bible school mettle. He grins a little once they are out of range of the volley of arrows. This is insane. ]
[Fisticuffs and the every day scum would be a wonderful work out. They would go for a drink after. The whiplash in comparison to the now...]
Mike... [No space for tender moments. They are all being swept apart. Matt keeps trying to drive his way closer. They're stronger as a unit. The Hand knows what to do. Divide and conquer is an age old tactic.]
They want--they're trying to get--[Elektra flips her way nearer.] Michael, it seems they want a play thing.
[ A drink after, and that Thai place they like that doesn't do any of the additives they can't stand in most foods. It would be a nice thing to go to after this. Maybe in another life. ]
Don't. Later. [ They don't have the time for this. They have a battle in front of them right now. They'll get through this. Mike has faith in that. ]
We fight together. As long as we stick close, don't let them separate us.
[ Except it never goes that way, does it? Somewhere in all of this mess, they do get separated, but it's bound to happen when you're this badly outnumbered. Naturally skilled fighters or not. He gets separated from his brother and Elektra during the fight, and Nobu makes a move on Matt
[In another life they would be supportive of one another, not joined at the hip and beyond. Same fingerprints, same laugh, same quest to save the soul of Hell's Kitchen.
Yes, Mike is right. Matt still feels as though there is something important he's supposed to say or do. Beyond the fighting. The fighting though is all that they have. If they can just get through this. Matthew is the one in the helmet and armor. Mikey is the most vulnerable. No handiwork of Melvin Potter. That's why he's so distracted, trying to fight his way back closer to his brother. Nobu comes up on him fast.
[ In another life, maybe it would be a quest in a different way. The kind where they just work together to save it's soul on the side of the law that doesn't require masks and fists. It's a nice fiction.
They survived without Melvin's handiwork for a long time. They couldn't risk two suits. It had more of a probability of someone figuring it out. More than anyone who has already. They can only risk so much.
Both Mike and Elektra can hold their own. She ends up getting closer to Matt before Mike can, only to be batted away by Nobu as if it were nothing. He can hear his brother losing ground by the moment, and desperation forces his hand. He's not thinking about anything but protecting his brother, not the sai that Elektra lost when she hit the roof, and maybe that's the part that costs him.
His breath leaves him in a rush, forced out of his lungs by the blade of the sai, and for the first time in years his focus narrows to just a singular sensation. Funny enough, it isn't the sai. It's Matt's arms catching him when he doesn't realize he's started to crumple.
Elektra doesn't hesitate when Nobu does, since that was not his original target, and she pushes the advantage to fight him back long enough to join Matthew.]
[Do right and harm none. That was the basics. The rest they made up along the way. They shared the womb and cradle together. Jack had an arm for each of them to hold an embrace. And they held onto one another in happiness and sorrow that came after
When you care so deeply for a person it hurts to argue or fight. After this, they'll talk and suss it all out. Matt will have a chance to apologize. Maybe they might take up Claire's less than subtle hinting that they could seriously benefit from some therapy. There was another side before tonight. Even though it seemed like a final divergence, coming in two... this was not supposed to happen.
Matt braces for pain that doesn't come, not in the conventional way.]
Mike....Michael. No, no, no, no.
[He holds on tightly and pulls away the flimsy black mask, fumbling with his gloves to feel for the wound and put pressure on it.]
[ They've always done the best they could with what they had. Always in trouble for beating up the bullies instead of telling the grown ups. Telling the grown ups didn't always work. They did what they thought was right. They backed each other up.
After this. It's a good plan all the way until it isn't on the table anymore. Sure, this has always been a possibility. Something will go terribly wrong. One night, one of them will go out, and not come back. Always a possibility. They never really stopped to consider the finality of it actually happening.
Pain makes his breath stutter on the next inhale that he can't draw in fully. His jaw quivers, and he grits his teeth as his brother tries to help him settle. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, or is that Matt's in a state of panic? Oh. ]
I missed the sai. I didn't---should've---
[ A grimace and a pained half-laugh. The pain makes his eyes water, sending itching trails down his face after the mask is pulled off. ]
[You have each other, that's what they said after Jack Murdock died. No matter what, you have each other.
Matt hasn't noticed that bullets are raining over the roof top. He hasn't noticed that Elektra is fighting to give them space. His eyes well over with tears and he keeps his hand pressed to the wound as blood just keeps coming and coming, wet and warm over his touch.
It wasn't supposed to end like this, not tonight. Michael was careful, quiet and considerate. He was the heart.]
Ssh. Save your strength. Just hold on, you're gonna be okay. We're gonna---we're gonna be okay.
[Laying the way that he does, the breathless and weak tone of his voice. He doesn't want to believe it.]
[ Thick or thin, even on their worst days. They've had so many of them lately. This one definitely takes the cake.
Mike's focus is purely on trying to draw in the next breath, and his brother's voice. The pressure on the wound earns a sound of protest, but he knows he has to do it.
His teeth chatter as he reaches up for his brother's hand. He doesn't have enough strength left to reach up for his face, but he wants to try and offer a little comfort if he can. Everything feels so slow and hard to do right now. Even the weak little smile he manages. ]
It's fine. You'll be fine. [ He hiccups on the next breath, and pain laces the exhale as he digs deep to finish what he's got to say. ] We'll be together again.
[ Oh, that's such a strange feeling washing over him. Like being underwater, and he can't hear Matt's heartbeat. Confusion takes over for a moment as things quickly fade out, breath stuttering before a long exhale out. ]
[Spoken in question, than resolution. Matt's lips quiver and he feels absolutely helpless. The blood is still running. It's warm but cooling. The beating of his heart is stuttering, slowing.]l
I'm sorry-I'm so sorry for everything. I-I never meant---Mike, please...
[Sniveling words of any kind in this moment won't change what's happening. Matt doesn't move. His fingers clench at the frayed, torn black cotton of the suit.
This can't be happening. This can't be real.
Elektra's blade sings in the air as she continues the fight though knowing the tide has changed.]
[ Elektra is sure to give them as much space as she's able. While she didn't have the same connection to Michael as Matthew does, it doesn't mean that his death means nothing to her. She fights with a viciousness borne of anger for the pain that it causes Matthew at the very least, aided by the barrage of gunfire from above.
There's a palpable change to the night air when it's over. She knows that Michael is gone even before she hears Matthew stop pleading with fate. While she feels for him, there is a largely selfish part of her that is glad it was not Matthew. Even if it isn't said out loud it sings in her heart and it may well be as unforgivable as the member of the Hand that attacked them in the apartment.
Only the end of this fight will tell, and Nobu is still in it. ]
[The months after he has felt cold. Alone. Elektra has been in Matt's orbit. It's clear he is not the same person that he was. No one close to him is truly privy to understand save for Frank, for Elektra and Stick. All of them are people that Matthew is certain do not understand him the way he so desperately wants to be understood. He is suffering a serious loss of a half of himself, his best friend and all the guilt and remorse with that.
At least as far as matters go with Elektra she won't press him any more than necessary. She knows him as well as anyone could know Matthew. She knows he needs to grieve and while he won't speak to her about the depths of his grief, she will do what she can. As usual though, she is ever more than what she seems. Not just his lady love, but a covert agent of The Hand. If only she had been able to see three steps ahead, she might have been more insistent to press Matthew. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen has been dormant. She and the city will need him.
He visits the grave only as much as he can emotionally take. It isn't much. And perhaps that was the first clue that something would be amiss.
There is more at play. The earthquake. And before long he finds himself chasing another thread, going to Rand and all the hell that broke loose. Falling in with other heroic types. And now The Hand. Why can't he be left alone?]
[ Elektra stays as close as Matthew lets her, but also not so close as she once might have dared. She can't afford to. Yes, Matthew is grieving, but her contacts came back to her with information she could not pass up. Information that had her leaving her grieving love in order to try and secure the shell that was once the other half of him. If she has to play this game in order to do that, then she will.
She never considered that there could be two Black Skies. Perhaps Nobu, in his shor-sightedness, didn't either. It takes every ounce of Stick's training and her own resolve to steel her features when she first sees Michael again. She gives away nothing. She can't afford to. Of course, it never goes to plan though, and it all goes to hell before she can regroup and contact Matthew again.
Michael doesn't remember much before the stone sarcophagus. The blood. Clawing and gasping his way back into life, or that's what he's told. He has the scars to prove it. He doesn't have the memory to back it up. It doesn't matter. Alexandra has looked after him in this time when he's been weak and scared. She helped him return to some semblance of himself, and taught him what his true purpose was. To serve life itself.
He never questioned it until Midland Circle. The man he fought in the hall wasn't like the others he's helped remove from the Hand's path. The Black Sky is what they all call him. Alexandra calls him her child. Elektra, the other like him in most ways, is the only one who ever whispered anything different and he kept that to himself. The man he fought whispered that in a voice that sounded like his own. It caused him to falter, and the Iron Fist took the advantage. It left him rattled and frustrated. He had yet to fail a task.
Which is why when they go to the restaurant, he is resolved to not fail again. He waits, as instructed by Alexandra, before entering, keen to follow her ever simple instruction: serve life itself. ]
[Long ago at St. Agnes Matt and Mike would read to each other. Adventure stories, mysteries and the occasional horror meant for children. Terrible stuff. The witch of the forest, the specter at the lake, the vengeful woman in the bathroom mirror. Matt didn't put too much stock into it. Just amusement to pass the time, an excuse to scare one another and distract from the day to day. He has never felt the presence of any one or anything otherworldly than in the house of God. So when the fight breaks out, the panic sets in and the only defenders of the city are caught in the melee Matt feels a chill strike right to the bone.
As usual, he can't count on Stick. Not for this, not for anything. They're brothers, they're more close than he can understand or imagine. So of course he makes his own plans, immediately fixing to separate Michael from the rest.]
Can we just--[Oof, a blow to the gut.] Wait. Just--[okay avoided that one catching both hands.] I want to talk to you.
[That's not his heartbeat, that's his breath, his moves. The set of his jaw and the way he grinds his teeth when he's particularly irritated.]
[ Stick is a fatalist masquerading as a realist. Convinced of his own right path and damn the consequences. He warned Matty about all this. He warned them both, but did they listen? No. Too caught up in their own daddy issues to really open up those senses and see the world for what it is. Hard. Brutal. Cold.
He doesn't want to think about the stab of heartbreak he felt when he realized it was Mike standing at Alexandra's side. Of the two of those boys, he was always the most gentle. They've destroyed that in such a short amount of time. He tried to tell the kid that he wasn't in there anymore, but did he listen? Does he ever?
Michael is dazed only a handful of moments from being struck by the vehicle. He should've sensed it, but he was too focused on the enemy at his front to worry about behind. Foolish. Luckily, it does little more than irritate his present mood which is already murderous. Literally. So when the one that fights like he does manages to separate them from the others, he decides he'll finish him first and then rejoin the fight inside.
If only it were that easy.
He gets a few hits in, but he's been disarmed of his blades. He can't manage to hit him each time, he seems to know it's coming in a way that should be impossible, but here they are at an impasse. It isn't what stops him. This isn't you!
He knows him, and Michael hesitates, fists lowering as he tilts his head in confusion to listen to the other man's heartbeat. He isn't lying. Alexandra told him---told him the memories---that life---it wasn't worth keeping. He was so confused in the beginning.
[Supposedly Stick is in his holy war for retribution, for a balance. How can you have that when you don't even give a shit about what you have? His two pupils could have been more than pawns, they could have been sons and he threw them away. And what about Elektra? All of them are equally twisted and marred by this war before it had even reached the doorstep. That had nothing to do with the Hand and everything to do with how this bitter old man tried to teach them. One shouldn't make hindsight jokes involving blind people.
Matt is horrified to say the least at seeing his sibling hit. Yet remarkably so, he stands. It's just. This is all too strange. A horror movie, a nightmare. Everything in such unrecognizable proportions.]
Michael, please. We don't have to fight.
[And is he--? He's pausing.]
Michael. Mike... that's who you are. Don't you remember?
[ The three of them were broken in ways that couldn't possibly be mended well before the war came to New York. Before the rooftop that Michael doesn't remember. Before Elektra was forced to play along with this tedious game to try and save the other half of her love's soul.
He's standing still, frozen in confusion and shock as Matt continues. His breath hitches a little, and he shifts back jerkily when the other man takes a step towards him. He almost bats at an outstretched hand, but something stays him. Is it the pleading? No, he's heard that before. Often. Mostly when those he fought lost too much ground to be regained.
He licks at dry lips, and his face scrunches up in upset. ]
[Matt can't forget that night. And it keeps him up. Remembering, regretting. He could have been faster. Or maybe if he had just been honest with how he had felt from the beginning than everything wouldn't have fallen apart in such a colossal way. They were orphans in this world but they had found one another. There could have been peace beyond what the grave had to offer. Though it seems these days death does not give peace anymore.
No violence in this moment so he'll take what ground he can get, a hand outstretched.]
What have they done to you, Michael?
[Though that is about the last word he can get in at all. The rushing footsteps and door open noisily.]
[ Alexandra told him that he was failed by those who should have protected him. Understood him. She promised she would not make the same mistakes that they did. But she did not have the answers that he wrestled with still. Flashes of memory that try to resurface in the night and choke him in his sleep until he wakes up and trains so he can exhaust himself into forgetting again.
The other man's hand again, closer to his face as if he might touch. He thinks, for a moment he might let him, and confusion grips him at the question. He doesn't know. He doesn't have that answer.
The footsteps break the quiet standoff, and his heart beats, this time in anger as Murakami demands to know what he's doing. Why he hasn't killed this one yet. When he moves to take his own shot, Michael reacts with an instinct he isn't sure where it is borne from, and backhands the man viciously with a cry of anger. The force of it sends him flying into the wall adjacent to them.
Michael takes the moment of violence and confusion to disappear from that place. ]
[No words, nothing. The slate is utterly blank. An open book but nothing but empty pages. Matt feels so gutted. It isn't enough that someone if not his actual brother is walking among the living once more, it's that there is no shred of familiarity there.
Don't cry, Matthew. He is having a terrible time getting a grip on himself. They're in the middle of a scrimmage and it takes so much more in him to gather himself and join with the others. And yes, he knew there would be harsh words. Fine. Whatever. They're dull pains compared to what he's feeling.
Michael Matthew Murdock where have you gone? Where are you?]
[ It isn't until the restaurant that Michael begins to question. It's mostly to himself, of course. Whispers to Elektra when the other members of the Hand can't possibly hear. Confusion.
She doesn't answer with what she knows, it will do him little good. Instead she tells him to go to a street. He goes after the threat made that if he is not of any use to them, Alexandra will kill him. He understands. He states as much. It doesn't stop him from going. His feet carry him after.
Up fire escapes and over rooftops in the middle of the day. He knows this path. It's familiar. His body moves along it as if he's done it a million times, but he just can't remember it. He stops on a rooftop at a door, and it's unlocked. It squeaks a little, used a lot, and there's a lack of dirt around the path to the door. Still the inside assaults his senses with more familiarity as he goes in.
Matthew's scent is there. There's things knocked all over the floor by the earthquake still, and he can smell old blood from bandages in the trash can near the sink in the kitchen. He lets his senses draw him around the rooms, and lets his instincts speak to what is most familiar.
Eventually it leads to the bedroom, and he curls up on one side of the bed, tucking his body up into a ball as he breathes in. He knows this place. He can feel it just out of reach of his mind. ]
[This was their home. For better or worse, they lived in these walls as one person and separate people. With only one Murdock in the vicinity it could seem cavernous. There is so much to be relayed in the silence. Busted bits of plaster from confrontations with Stick, with each other.
Matt is unaware of this intrusion. He's out in the city looking for answers in the daylight as a blind man. Both hope and despair come to him in turns. Michael is in the world. Or at lest someone wearing his skin. Funny how he thought that there was no more pain to be had here.
Sleep creeps up on Michael if he lays still enough. The subconscious creating a scenario. The man with his face close by. So close that he's on the other side of the bed.]
[ Michael can hear the history in the floor and the walls. The glass on the floor. The items in the fridge, and hanging in the closet. The soap in the bathroom.
He doesn't realize sleep is creeping up on him in the stillness until it's far too late, and the dream comes. Senses alight with it, familiarity rushes over him. There's a soreness to his body from fighting that is familiar. He can feel the warmth and movement of another body near his own.
With a groan and a huff that turns into a smile, he manages to roll over and playfully toss an edge of the blanket in the other man's direction. ]
I didn't steal them. You were out and they just happened to migrate to my side of the bed. [ Searching for anything out of the ordinary that might stand out by scent or any other sensation. ] Must not have been too bad out there, you didn't break much of a sweat.
How come you always get the quiet nights? [ He doesn't, but it's a familiar tease after all this time going out. He tucks his left arm up under the pillow so that he can rest his head and still face Matt. ]
[This whole place is haunted as well as inhabited still. And it isn't just memories around him everywhere. It's the echo of a life. They're coming back to him in waves through the silence and the damage done to his mind and body.
The person is close to him, close as a lover but the familiarity and playfulness is not that. Not at all.]
Liar.
[Matt comes up closer and gives a sharp tug. No harm, no force. They fought together what was it, days ago? He reached out to the Black Sky and called him another name.]
Just lucky.
[He smiles, the sort of a grin they both can hear but never see.]
I'm fine. Thank you for asking.
[Again loving and playful, no barbs or true swings.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
calltoaction) wrote2019-09-13 04:07 pm
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This isn't--[He knows it isn't. This was supposed to be a chance for them both to break away, maybe for Matt to agree and let go. Except having both the halves of his heart on either side its unfortunate that it won't be like this. That's not the way of things. Not before and likely not going ahead.]
So four... good odds.
[To the what? Seventy to eighty ninjas around them?]
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I know. [ Then break away. Things haven't been the same since Elektra showed back up and Frank wanted more than to test Mike's bible school mettle. He grins a little once they are out of range of the volley of arrows. This is insane. ]
Better than two. We've got this.
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Mike... [No space for tender moments. They are all being swept apart. Matt keeps trying to drive his way closer. They're stronger as a unit. The Hand knows what to do. Divide and conquer is an age old tactic.]
They want--they're trying to get--[Elektra flips her way nearer.] Michael, it seems they want a play thing.
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Don't. Later. [ They don't have the time for this. They have a battle in front of them right now. They'll get through this. Mike has faith in that. ]
We fight together. As long as we stick close, don't let them separate us.
[ Except it never goes that way, does it? Somewhere in all of this mess, they do get separated, but it's bound to happen when you're this badly outnumbered. Naturally skilled fighters or not. He gets separated from his brother and Elektra during the fight, and Nobu makes a move on Matt
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Yes, Mike is right. Matt still feels as though there is something important he's supposed to say or do. Beyond the fighting. The fighting though is all that they have. If they can just get through this. Matthew is the one in the helmet and armor. Mikey is the most vulnerable. No handiwork of Melvin Potter. That's why he's so distracted, trying to fight his way back closer to his brother. Nobu comes up on him fast.
Just as much of a son of a bitch as he had been.]
Jesus Christ.
[And with a sword this time. Great.]
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They survived without Melvin's handiwork for a long time. They couldn't risk two suits. It had more of a probability of someone figuring it out. More than anyone who has already. They can only risk so much.
Both Mike and Elektra can hold their own. She ends up getting closer to Matt before Mike can, only to be batted away by Nobu as if it were nothing. He can hear his brother losing ground by the moment, and desperation forces his hand. He's not thinking about anything but protecting his brother, not the sai that Elektra lost when she hit the roof, and maybe that's the part that costs him.
His breath leaves him in a rush, forced out of his lungs by the blade of the sai, and for the first time in years his focus narrows to just a singular sensation. Funny enough, it isn't the sai. It's Matt's arms catching him when he doesn't realize he's started to crumple.
Elektra doesn't hesitate when Nobu does, since that was not his original target, and she pushes the advantage to fight him back long enough to join Matthew.]
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When you care so deeply for a person it hurts to argue or fight. After this, they'll talk and suss it all out. Matt will have a chance to apologize. Maybe they might take up Claire's less than subtle hinting that they could seriously benefit from some therapy. There was another side before tonight. Even though it seemed like a final divergence, coming in two... this was not supposed to happen.
Matt braces for pain that doesn't come, not in the conventional way.]
Mike....Michael. No, no, no, no.
[He holds on tightly and pulls away the flimsy black mask, fumbling with his gloves to feel for the wound and put pressure on it.]
Hold on. Hold on, okay?
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After this. It's a good plan all the way until it isn't on the table anymore. Sure, this has always been a possibility. Something will go terribly wrong. One night, one of them will go out, and not come back. Always a possibility. They never really stopped to consider the finality of it actually happening.
Pain makes his breath stutter on the next inhale that he can't draw in fully. His jaw quivers, and he grits his teeth as his brother tries to help him settle. He can hear his own heartbeat in his ears, or is that Matt's in a state of panic? Oh. ]
I missed the sai. I didn't---should've---
[ A grimace and a pained half-laugh. The pain makes his eyes water, sending itching trails down his face after the mask is pulled off. ]
---okay.
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Matt hasn't noticed that bullets are raining over the roof top. He hasn't noticed that Elektra is fighting to give them space. His eyes well over with tears and he keeps his hand pressed to the wound as blood just keeps coming and coming, wet and warm over his touch.
It wasn't supposed to end like this, not tonight. Michael was careful, quiet and considerate. He was the heart.]
Ssh. Save your strength. Just hold on, you're gonna be okay. We're gonna---we're gonna be okay.
[Laying the way that he does, the breathless and weak tone of his voice. He doesn't want to believe it.]
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Mike's focus is purely on trying to draw in the next breath, and his brother's voice. The pressure on the wound earns a sound of protest, but he knows he has to do it.
His teeth chatter as he reaches up for his brother's hand. He doesn't have enough strength left to reach up for his face, but he wants to try and offer a little comfort if he can. Everything feels so slow and hard to do right now. Even the weak little smile he manages. ]
It's fine. You'll be fine. [ He hiccups on the next breath, and pain laces the exhale as he digs deep to finish what he's got to say. ] We'll be together again.
[ Oh, that's such a strange feeling washing over him. Like being underwater, and he can't hear Matt's heartbeat. Confusion takes over for a moment as things quickly fade out, breath stuttering before a long exhale out. ]
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[Spoken in question, than resolution. Matt's lips quiver and he feels absolutely helpless. The blood is still running. It's warm but cooling. The beating of his heart is stuttering, slowing.]l
I'm sorry-I'm so sorry for everything. I-I never meant---Mike, please...
[Sniveling words of any kind in this moment won't change what's happening. Matt doesn't move. His fingers clench at the frayed, torn black cotton of the suit.
This can't be happening. This can't be real.
Elektra's blade sings in the air as she continues the fight though knowing the tide has changed.]
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There's a palpable change to the night air when it's over. She knows that Michael is gone even before she hears Matthew stop pleading with fate. While she feels for him, there is a largely selfish part of her that is glad it was not Matthew. Even if it isn't said out loud it sings in her heart and it may well be as unforgivable as the member of the Hand that attacked them in the apartment.
Only the end of this fight will tell, and Nobu is still in it. ]
no subject
At least as far as matters go with Elektra she won't press him any more than necessary. She knows him as well as anyone could know Matthew. She knows he needs to grieve and while he won't speak to her about the depths of his grief, she will do what she can. As usual though, she is ever more than what she seems. Not just his lady love, but a covert agent of The Hand. If only she had been able to see three steps ahead, she might have been more insistent to press Matthew. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen has been dormant. She and the city will need him.
He visits the grave only as much as he can emotionally take. It isn't much. And perhaps that was the first clue that something would be amiss.
There is more at play. The earthquake. And before long he finds himself chasing another thread, going to Rand and all the hell that broke loose. Falling in with other heroic types. And now The Hand. Why can't he be left alone?]
no subject
She never considered that there could be two Black Skies. Perhaps Nobu, in his shor-sightedness, didn't either. It takes every ounce of Stick's training and her own resolve to steel her features when she first sees Michael again. She gives away nothing. She can't afford to. Of course, it never goes to plan though, and it all goes to hell before she can regroup and contact Matthew again.
Michael doesn't remember much before the stone sarcophagus. The blood. Clawing and gasping his way back into life, or that's what he's told. He has the scars to prove it. He doesn't have the memory to back it up. It doesn't matter. Alexandra has looked after him in this time when he's been weak and scared. She helped him return to some semblance of himself, and taught him what his true purpose was. To serve life itself.
He never questioned it until Midland Circle. The man he fought in the hall wasn't like the others he's helped remove from the Hand's path. The Black Sky is what they all call him. Alexandra calls him her child. Elektra, the other like him in most ways, is the only one who ever whispered anything different and he kept that to himself. The man he fought whispered that in a voice that sounded like his own. It caused him to falter, and the Iron Fist took the advantage. It left him rattled and frustrated. He had yet to fail a task.
Which is why when they go to the restaurant, he is resolved to not fail again. He waits, as instructed by Alexandra, before entering, keen to follow her ever simple instruction: serve life itself. ]
no subject
As usual, he can't count on Stick. Not for this, not for anything. They're brothers, they're more close than he can understand or imagine. So of course he makes his own plans, immediately fixing to separate Michael from the rest.]
Can we just--[Oof, a blow to the gut.] Wait. Just--[okay avoided that one catching both hands.] I want to talk to you.
[That's not his heartbeat, that's his breath, his moves. The set of his jaw and the way he grinds his teeth when he's particularly irritated.]
Stop.. this-this isn't you!
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He doesn't want to think about the stab of heartbreak he felt when he realized it was Mike standing at Alexandra's side. Of the two of those boys, he was always the most gentle. They've destroyed that in such a short amount of time. He tried to tell the kid that he wasn't in there anymore, but did he listen? Does he ever?
Michael is dazed only a handful of moments from being struck by the vehicle. He should've sensed it, but he was too focused on the enemy at his front to worry about behind. Foolish. Luckily, it does little more than irritate his present mood which is already murderous. Literally. So when the one that fights like he does manages to separate them from the others, he decides he'll finish him first and then rejoin the fight inside.
If only it were that easy.
He gets a few hits in, but he's been disarmed of his blades. He can't manage to hit him each time, he seems to know it's coming in a way that should be impossible, but here they are at an impasse. It isn't what stops him. This isn't you!
He knows him, and Michael hesitates, fists lowering as he tilts his head in confusion to listen to the other man's heartbeat. He isn't lying. Alexandra told him---told him the memories---that life---it wasn't worth keeping. He was so confused in the beginning.
What did her heartbeat sound like then? ]
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Matt is horrified to say the least at seeing his sibling hit. Yet remarkably so, he stands. It's just. This is all too strange. A horror movie, a nightmare. Everything in such unrecognizable proportions.]
Michael, please. We don't have to fight.
[And is he--? He's pausing.]
Michael. Mike... that's who you are. Don't you remember?
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He's standing still, frozen in confusion and shock as Matt continues. His breath hitches a little, and he shifts back jerkily when the other man takes a step towards him. He almost bats at an outstretched hand, but something stays him. Is it the pleading? No, he's heard that before. Often. Mostly when those he fought lost too much ground to be regained.
He licks at dry lips, and his face scrunches up in upset. ]
I--I'm---[ He shakes his head. ]---I don't---
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No violence in this moment so he'll take what ground he can get, a hand outstretched.]
What have they done to you, Michael?
[Though that is about the last word he can get in at all. The rushing footsteps and door open noisily.]
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The other man's hand again, closer to his face as if he might touch. He thinks, for a moment he might let him, and confusion grips him at the question. He doesn't know. He doesn't have that answer.
The footsteps break the quiet standoff, and his heart beats, this time in anger as Murakami demands to know what he's doing. Why he hasn't killed this one yet. When he moves to take his own shot, Michael reacts with an instinct he isn't sure where it is borne from, and backhands the man viciously with a cry of anger. The force of it sends him flying into the wall adjacent to them.
Michael takes the moment of violence and confusion to disappear from that place. ]
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Don't cry, Matthew. He is having a terrible time getting a grip on himself. They're in the middle of a scrimmage and it takes so much more in him to gather himself and join with the others. And yes, he knew there would be harsh words. Fine. Whatever. They're dull pains compared to what he's feeling.
Michael Matthew Murdock where have you gone? Where are you?]
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She doesn't answer with what she knows, it will do him little good. Instead she tells him to go to a street. He goes after the threat made that if he is not of any use to them, Alexandra will kill him. He understands. He states as much. It doesn't stop him from going. His feet carry him after.
Up fire escapes and over rooftops in the middle of the day. He knows this path. It's familiar. His body moves along it as if he's done it a million times, but he just can't remember it. He stops on a rooftop at a door, and it's unlocked. It squeaks a little, used a lot, and there's a lack of dirt around the path to the door. Still the inside assaults his senses with more familiarity as he goes in.
Matthew's scent is there. There's things knocked all over the floor by the earthquake still, and he can smell old blood from bandages in the trash can near the sink in the kitchen. He lets his senses draw him around the rooms, and lets his instincts speak to what is most familiar.
Eventually it leads to the bedroom, and he curls up on one side of the bed, tucking his body up into a ball as he breathes in. He knows this place. He can feel it just out of reach of his mind. ]
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Matt is unaware of this intrusion. He's out in the city looking for answers in the daylight as a blind man. Both hope and despair come to him in turns. Michael is in the world. Or at lest someone wearing his skin. Funny how he thought that there was no more pain to be had here.
Sleep creeps up on Michael if he lays still enough. The subconscious creating a scenario. The man with his face close by. So close that he's on the other side of the bed.]
Don't steal the covers again.
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He doesn't realize sleep is creeping up on him in the stillness until it's far too late, and the dream comes. Senses alight with it, familiarity rushes over him. There's a soreness to his body from fighting that is familiar. He can feel the warmth and movement of another body near his own.
With a groan and a huff that turns into a smile, he manages to roll over and playfully toss an edge of the blanket in the other man's direction. ]
I didn't steal them. You were out and they just happened to migrate to my side of the bed. [ Searching for anything out of the ordinary that might stand out by scent or any other sensation. ] Must not have been too bad out there, you didn't break much of a sweat.
How come you always get the quiet nights? [ He doesn't, but it's a familiar tease after all this time going out. He tucks his left arm up under the pillow so that he can rest his head and still face Matt. ]
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The person is close to him, close as a lover but the familiarity and playfulness is not that. Not at all.]
Liar.
[Matt comes up closer and gives a sharp tug. No harm, no force. They fought together what was it, days ago? He reached out to the Black Sky and called him another name.]
Just lucky.
[He smiles, the sort of a grin they both can hear but never see.]
I'm fine. Thank you for asking.
[Again loving and playful, no barbs or true swings.]
...let's sleep in today?
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