[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.]
[ It's exhilarating and confusing all at once. The feel of this place. The way the memories come up and wash over him, not in overwhelming waves, but more gentle. ]
Cheater.
[ They always know when the other is telling the truth or not. Or when they are trying to hide things. He gives a soft noise of complaint at the tug, but relents after a moment to let Matt get some of the blanket. ]
Where exactly do dumpsters land on the lucky scale?
[ They can both hear it, and it earns an answering sound of one from Mike. ]
Oh, right. Last night must have been awful. Are you going to be okay? Did the stray cat follow you around and harass you for food again? She's relentless.
[ He sits up a little, and reaches out to grab at his brother, tugging to pull him off balance and into the bed. The same way they used to wrestle when they were younger. It never really was something they grew out of. ]
Sleeping in sounds great. I just need a pillow, c'mere.
[Only he settles close again, bringing his portion of the blankets to share. Being pulled upon, right on off of his feet, he wasn't ready and so the tumble is all the more dramatic. He laughs and they scuffle without any actual blows. How does it feel living through this as a passenger? Matt eventually settles, laughing and stills, pulling on Mike again to come up closer.]
No, I wish it was just that cat. She's pregnant. We should give her to the neighbor.
[ He groans in fake disbelief at that comment, but chuckles once his brother is settled. A brief wrestle and covers tucked back around them a few minutes later, and they settle. He leans up so he can kiss his brother's forehead, small and affectionate.
It's so strange that he can feel some of these feelings but still feel at a loss. ]
Again? Yeah, she'd love that, but could she handle a whole bunch of kittens as well? Was everything else okay tonight?
[Matt blinks softly and he stays still for that touch. No fighting, totally trusting his brother. Yes. That's this connection. That's this feeling. Familial and caring.]
I don't know. I hope that she'll be willing to try. It's getting cold. They won't last long out there.
[Nothing does with winter. And huddling close the way that they do as people, they're going to have a more cozy time.]
[Helping strays like themselves. That's the real irony. Matty shuts his eyes.]
I'll put it on the list.
[Of things to figure out. And none of these actions are in some grand orchestration as one would believe. Slapping on one task with the others. Check up on the usual suspects, patrol the areas that are problematic.
[ He tries not to think about it like that. It's true, though. They can't really deny it. ]
If you don't get to it, I can give it a shot one of these nights. See if she'll come over to our rooftop at least.
[ Might make it easier than a masked vigilante trying to coax a pregnant cat into a warm apartment. He's glad the last few nights have been quiet comparatively. It's a nice change of pace. Rough days seem to come in waves. ]
It was. I took the opportunity to clean up a bit. Even made us some meals for the week.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
calltoaction) wrote2019-09-13 04:07 pm
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? ]
no subject
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?
no subject
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---
no subject
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.]
no subject
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 subject
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?]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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?
no subject
Cheater.
[ They always know when the other is telling the truth or not. Or when they are trying to hide things. He gives a soft noise of complaint at the tug, but relents after a moment to let Matt get some of the blanket. ]
Where exactly do dumpsters land on the lucky scale?
[ They can both hear it, and it earns an answering sound of one from Mike. ]
Oh, right. Last night must have been awful. Are you going to be okay? Did the stray cat follow you around and harass you for food again? She's relentless.
[ He sits up a little, and reaches out to grab at his brother, tugging to pull him off balance and into the bed. The same way they used to wrestle when they were younger. It never really was something they grew out of. ]
Sleeping in sounds great. I just need a pillow, c'mere.
no subject
[Only he settles close again, bringing his portion of the blankets to share. Being pulled upon, right on off of his feet, he wasn't ready and so the tumble is all the more dramatic. He laughs and they scuffle without any actual blows. How does it feel living through this as a passenger? Matt eventually settles, laughing and stills, pulling on Mike again to come up closer.]
No, I wish it was just that cat. She's pregnant. We should give her to the neighbor.
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It's so strange that he can feel some of these feelings but still feel at a loss. ]
Again? Yeah, she'd love that, but could she handle a whole bunch of kittens as well? Was everything else okay tonight?
no subject
I don't know. I hope that she'll be willing to try. It's getting cold. They won't last long out there.
[Nothing does with winter. And huddling close the way that they do as people, they're going to have a more cozy time.]
...maybe there will be another Caramel.
no subject
[ Especially if it would ease his brother's mind. He wants to be able to do that for him. Mike takes the opportunity to snuggle close. ]
I think you'd like that and so would Butterscotch and Mrs. Davis.
no subject
I'll put it on the list.
[Of things to figure out. And none of these actions are in some grand orchestration as one would believe. Slapping on one task with the others. Check up on the usual suspects, patrol the areas that are problematic.
And then come home to comfort and quiet.]
...your night must have been nice, hmm?
no subject
If you don't get to it, I can give it a shot one of these nights. See if she'll come over to our rooftop at least.
[ Might make it easier than a masked vigilante trying to coax a pregnant cat into a warm apartment. He's glad the last few nights have been quiet comparatively. It's a nice change of pace. Rough days seem to come in waves. ]
It was. I took the opportunity to clean up a bit. Even made us some meals for the week.
[ Simple. Mundane, even. ]
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Matt smiles and rests his head against Mike.]
Thank you so much. God, that's gonna make things so much easier.
[For the both of them.]
What would I do without you?
no subject
You can say it, I'm amazing.
[ Better excuses than the questionable food carts around town sometimes. He laughs a little and sighs dramatically. ]
Oh, crash and burn, totally. Some hugely dramatic affair. Hollywood type thing.
[ It's then that he rouses from sleep with a car horn not a block away and the memory still lingering in his mind. ]