Chapter Text
*
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were keeping tabs on me,” Matt says to the open air of the courtyard as he dresses after raiding the Clinton Church’s Lost & Found for spare clothing. The box the Father keeps can be hit-or-miss when it comes to finding things he prefers, but he knows he can usually find something at least semi-wearable, even if what he finds inside isn’t entirely weather-appropriate. Tonight, he found a small crocheted baby blanket that fits over his shoulders like an awkward, tiny cape, a sweatshirt a size too small for him, thin cotton boxer shorts, and a pair of faux-fur-lined moccasins. The soft slippers are nice, and they’re warm, too, which is a bonus in this cold, but they are not well-suited for running, should the need arise (and it’s always best to be prepared for any eventuality), but he’s managed worse.
He has no idea when he is, but the night air is crisp, smelling strongly of impending snow. If he’s still here in the small hours of the morning, he’ll try to sleep someplace inside the church for warmth; he grew up here, and he knows a lot of hiding places.
Anyone else could be forgiven for thinking he was alone out here behind the church, but he’s not. Her heartbeat gives her away.
“And you’re sure you know better?” Elektra says. She strolls out from behind a tree and joins Matt on a small bench in front of a water feature constructed out of stone, a small facsimile of a stream, or a babbling brook, which is currently devoid of any flowing water. Matt knows it gets drained and cleaned on the first Saturday in November in preparation for winter. It was a task the other boys normally avoided, so Matt would volunteer to do it just for an excuse to go outside for time away from the noise of the orphanage. Matt recalls his time here raking out mucky, soggy leaves and scrubbing up algae-covered stones as a peaceful reprieve from the chaos that was his life. He wonders if that’s why he was brought here now; as if his subconscious and his body conspired together to force him into taking a much-needed break. It’s a break he can’t afford, not right now. But he doesn’t ever get a say in these things, so instead of worrying and getting in his head about it, he moves the small crochet blanket from his shoulders and sets it across his lap. It isn’t nearly enough to keep his legs warm, but it’ll have to do. Running his fingers over the soft yarn of the baby blanket, he says, “No, I’m not really sure of anything.”
She hums and pats the blanket on his lap, pitying him. Of course, she’s decked out in a thick winter coat, fleece-lined leggings, and ankle boots, all a far cry from Matt’s sorry excuse of an outfit.
He wants to ask her how she always seems to find clothes—fashionable, expensive clothes, at that—but he doesn’t. He recalls a previous encounter with her out in Time Travel Land and receiving a vague, unsatisfactory answer when he asked that very thing. He expects to receive a similarly unhelpful answer now.
“Well,” he says, “we keep running into each other, and I don’t know the first thing about you.”
“I could say the same,” she says, and Matt barks out a short, harsh laugh.
“No, I don’t think so. You had my number right out of the gate. Who are you, Elektra. Who are you really.”
“I'm only a fellow traveler,” she says, carelessly brushing a few snowflakes from her hair.
“Ha. That’s funny. I suppose I can’t get you to tell me why we keep running into each other?”
“Fate?” she suggests.
Fate,” he repeats. “Something happens, then,” he guesses. “Or has happened.”
“Is there a difference?” she asks, and he concedes the point with a tip of his head.
“Whatever it is, though, it’s important.” That’s been his experience, anyway. Recurring events almost always hold some sort of meaning. Recurring people do, too. She has to be significant to his life in some way. He just isn’t there yet. “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“Not everything is a conspiracy, Matthew.”
A conspiracy. Now there’s an interesting choice of words. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, standing. Now it’s snowing in earnest, and Matt knows from experience that it's not going to let up any time soon. Everything’s always so quiet when it snows like this. The snow blankets and muffles the whole world, which Matt has always found to be both a blessing and a curse. He loves and hates it in equal measure. But his bare legs are starting to go numb, so he says, “I’m going inside; don’t follow me.”
“I have bolt-holes of my own for inclement weather, thank you.”
“I’m sure you do,” he says, turning to head back inside the church. There’s a secluded spot he knows where there’s little chance to be found by the priest or a nun or anyone else who might still be inside the church—he used to hide there a lot as a kid whenever things got to be too much—so he can attempt the impossible task of catching a little sleep before he’s dumped back into the present.
*
The city streets in the present are thankfully devoid of the eight inches of snow that fell the night before (well, “the night before”), and Matt could almost pretend he didn’t spend those overnight hours huddled and shivering in a dank corner of a cold church, having only a too-small baby blanket for warmth.
Matt and Foggy are exiting the police station when Foggy says, “I didn’t want to say anything before, but you, my friend, look terrible.”
Matt offers a tight smile. “Thanks, Foggy.”
“No, I just mean, you’re getting enough sleep, right? You’re sleeping?”
Matt throws back his head and groans. “Don’t—You don’t need to mother hen me all the time, you know.”
“Someone’s gotta look after you.”
Matt scoffs. “I can look after myself just fine, thanks.”
“Hm,” Foggy says. He grabs Matt’s elbow as they cross the street. “No comment on that one.” Foggy’s quiet for a long moment. Then he adds, faux-casual, “You ever… Have you ever thought about just getting away from it all, you know, like, getting out of the city and taking a nice vacation somewhere? Turns out I know a guy with this great cabin up in the Adirondacks—”
“You always know a guy.”
“It’s good to know people; you should try it sometime.”
“Ha, well, that’s more your thing.”
“I know, you’re too busy brooding in dark corners, carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders to spend time with us mere mortals.”
“What? What are you even talking about, Foggy. I don’t—When do I ever brood.”
“You brood! You totally do! Which is exactly why I suggest we get out of Dodge for a few days.”
Matt cannot imagine himself holed up in a lakeside cabin. And doing what exactly? Fishing? Playing board games? Maybe that sort of thing would have appealed to him as a kid, but now he’s certain he’d be bored stupid. Besides, there’s too much to do here in the city. There’s the Russian mob still left to contend with, for one. No. He can’t afford to take a break. Not now. Not while he still needs to keep people safe.
“Okay, what’s that face for?”
Matt shrugs, and what he says next isn’t entirely a lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either. “I just. Foggy. What happens if I start introducing new locations into my life? What if I end up traveling to this cabin by the lake in the wintertime or when someone else is occupying it? I can handle myself just fine; I’m not worried about surviving, I just don’t like the idea of being so far away from my city and my home.”
Foggy stops short, and Matt nearly collides with him. “Holy shit,” Foggy says. “I hadn’t thought of that. You know, I’ve always joked around about how you never leave the island of Manhattan, but is that why? Is that the real reason you’ve never been anywhere? Because you could… end up going there?”
Matt spreads out his hands. “I mean,” he says, as he and Foggy continue walking. “This is the kind of thing I have to think about. But,” Matt adds. “It’s not the only reason.”
“Okay,” Foggy says.
“Look. Even as chaotic as my life is, the only thing I want to do is help people.” Matt hooks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction they had just come from. “People like Ed back there.”
“Ah, yes, there’s nothing more noble than bailing out piss-drunk electricians who nearly burn their houses down.”
“C’mon. It’s not about that.”
“I know, I know. Listen. I am all in with this Nelson and Murdock thing. You say we go on to do big, important things in the future? I am all in with that. I trust you 100 percent. We’re good. It’s good. I’m good.”
“We’ll get there, Foggy,” Matt says.
“I know,” Foggy says. “Like I said, I believe you. I know you’ve been there. I know you’ve really seen it. I know you’re not bullshitting me with that. Just. In the meantime, can we maybe get some actual office equipment? You know, the type real, actual, successful people have in their offices? And, I don’t know, maybe plantery of some type?”
Matt laughs. “Is that even a word?”
“If it’s not, it should be.”
They’re stopped on a street corner, and Foggy flags down a cab.
“It’ll work out, Foggy. You’ll see.”
Foggy sighs. “You always say that.”
“And I’ll keep saying it for as long as I have to.”
A taxi pulls up just as Matt’s burner phone rings. The one for Claire.
“Oh! The new girlfriend!” Foggy sing-songs. ‘You never told me how that went!”
“Give me one sec,” Matt quickly says into the phone by way of answering. Then to Foggy: “Hey. I’ll catch up with you in the morning. Cool?”
“Okay,” Foggy says as he climbs into the cab. “Just don’t hold out on me!”
The cab pulls away, and Matt puts the burner phone to his ear. “Yeah,” he says, and the only thing he hears is the unmistakable sound of Claire screaming.
*