aheroliveshere | [for man_without

She moves to the refrigerator, pulls out two beers, uses the church key on a chain to pop the caps off. She takes a long pull off her own, holding the other where it rests on the counter.

She thought she was over the being angry part. She hates feeling like this, like she wants to hit him. Like she wants to hurt him the same way he hurt her. She wants to yell and throw things and just make it really clear just what a shitty thing he did.

But he's not stupid. He's here, trying to do -- something. She stares at him, trying to puzzle out if this is one of those 'please forgive me for hurting you' apologies or if it's the other kind. The 'please make me feel better' apologies. In which case, he can seriously go fuck himself.

Eventually, she holds the beer out to him so it thunks him in the chest, and waits for him to take it.

He tries to stand through her scrutiny, waiting for her reaction or reply.

He doesn't move until the cold bottle hits his chest, and then he fumbles to grab it. "Uh, thanks."

"Why are you even here?"

Her bluntness makes him grip the bottle tighter and he's out on a limb trying find words he can give her.

"To say I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you like that."

"But you did it anyway. Didn't seem like an accident."

She flops onto the couch, her feet curled beneath her.

"What do you want me to say, Matt? No, it's cool. It's totally cool that we were having a moment and you fucking bailed in the middle of it. Is that what you want me to say?"

She wasn't going to get angry. Yeah, that seems to have lasted about two whole seconds.

He stays standing, tracking her as she moves but maintaining the distance.

"No, of course not. I just need you to understand I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Come over here and sit your ass down."

That's unexpected, but he doesn't hesitate.

Bottle in hand by the neck he navigates the space carefully, finding a spot to sit on the couch.

"I really was having a nice time." Before he left.

"Yeah, so was I."

She sounds genuinely disappointed. And yes, hurt.

"What the fuck happened? Was it something I said?"

"No, it was nothing you did at all," he replied, trying to assure her.

"Something just came up." He knows how that sounds, but it's the truth even if it's vague.

"Right. Of course. After we toasted to us and no bullshit, you stood up and walked out because something," she makes air quotes with her fingers, "'came up.'"

She turns her head to glare at him, for all the good it would do her. "Do you trust me?"

He can feel that glare aimed at him but can't react to it or get defensive, because she's right. If only he could explain.

The hesitation after her question is telling as he searches for an answer that won't piss her off or invite questions that he can't answer.

"Of course I do, but some things are complicated."

"No, no they aren't. How many times have I trusted you with my life? Do you know, because I think I've lost count."

She doesn't want to sound petty, but this isn't something she takes lightly.

"Look, forget it. I just -- I care about you, Matt. I care about you a lot. More than is -- probably sane or healthy at this point. And I had really high hopes that you felt something..." Her voice trails off. "I really thought you felt something, too."

His hand is resting on the cushion between them, and he almost lifts it to reach out for her, but curls his fingers against his thigh instead.

"I do, Karen. I care about you a lot as well," he replies. "There are just aspects of my life that I can't let you into." Yet. Maybe ever.

Hoping to make her understand he turns it around on her. "I know you trust me, but I also know you haven't told me everything about yourself, either."

Really, Matt? Really? He wants to turn this back on her?

"You haven't really given me the chance. We didn't even make it through the main course, or dessert, or or or walking me home with an awkward but incredibly hot goodnight kiss! Much less the cuddling on the couch and sharing life-altering secrets part. God damn it, you've doomed us without ever giving us a chance!"

He didn't want to get defensive, or turn this into an argument, but every retort she gives to his words is backing him into a corner. Unable to give the truth she wants he's running out of replies that aren't going to make this a fight.

"I know I ruined things tonight by leaving. All I can tell you is that I'm sorry, but it couldn't be helped. If that's enough to ruin this completely then... I don't know if it ever had a chance to begin with."

She grabs his hand in both of hers, holds on tight.

"You didn't ruin it by leaving, Matt. You ruined it by not telling me why. I get that there was something or someone more important that us having a quiet dinner and playing footsie. I'm not stupid. I'm even okay with it on some level. But you coming here, like."

She shrugs with her whole body, and then she goes still.

"What the hell..." Her fingers touch his shoulder and come away wet. "Matt, you're bleeding."

"No, there's no one else," he says, quick to deny that. "I promise you, I'm not-- "

He goes still when she touches him, then pulls back, turning his shoulder away from her.

"Am I?"

Taking his hand away from hers he dabs at his shoulder and feels that the slapdash bandage he put on is seeping through.

Damn it.

"It's fine, I just-- I'm fine."

"You are so full of shit, Matt Murdock. Here, get your shirt off. Don't even try to argue with me. I'm not gonna continue this conversation while you're fucking bleeding."

She gets up and grabs a first aid kit from the kitchen.

"What. The. Hell." The last is muttered to herself, under her breath, as she returns to sit next to him again.

He begins to argue or hesitate, then thinks better of it given her tone and anger already and starts to work on his shirtfront buttons.

He shrugs out of the shirt, carefully peeling it away from the wound and useless bandage covering it.

"It's just a scratch," he says when she gets back, his words trying to convince her, but his voice has notes of his own anger and aggravation.

Yeah, she gets that, loud and clear.

"It's not a scratch. It's bled through a four by four."

Despite her ire, her touch is gentle, almost reverent, as she removes the bandage. She hisses under her breath.

"Oh Matt." All the heat disappears from her voice, her concern overwhelming everything else.

He remains still for her, very conscious of every wound fresh and scarred his torso has to show her.

The light touch of her fingertips is warm on his skin, and he doesn't flinch at all as she peels back the bandaging.

"There isn't anyone else," he says again, going back to their conversation; hoping to distract from the injury, but also still trying to salvage things between them.

It takes her a moment to register all the other scars, she's so focused on the fact that he's actually bleeding from a fresh (is that a gunshot?) wound. Once she's cleaned it, replaced the dressing, and taped it up again, only then do all the rest come into focus.

Her hands smooth down the last strip of tape, and then, slowly wander over his torso. Over his chest and back, reading his story in his own personal braille. It's clear to see some of the wounds healed years before, and others overlap them, more recent. Some are still red from healing, others gone silvery with age.

She's quiet for the entire time, her breath shuddering in her chest. Maybe he can smell the tears that have sprung to her eyes.

When she doesn't reply he gives up for the now, allowing her to work and letting silence fall between them.

He tenses for a moment when her hands start to wander, but he doesn't stop her. Bullets, blades, and everything else, his body is a road map of the path he's been traveling. There are memory flashes attached to every bumpy knot of skin her fingers pass over and he's glad she cannot see them.

She sees enough, though, and when the scent of saltwater hits the air he lifts a hand to take hers, holding it in place against his skin.

"I'm sorry." For tonight. For right now. For is inability to tell her the truth or explain any of it.

The gears are already turning in her head, deep beneath the tumult of emotions. Rage that someone would do this to him, rage that he'd suffer this alone. Fucking Catholic guilt had destroyed so much in her life, to see its marks left so brazenly on Matt's flesh made old memories twist in her gut. She isn't ready to say it out loud, not yet. It's his secret to keep or reveal.

But he's here, saying the words, and she'd wanted this, wanted to get close to him. And like he said, it isn't like she doesn't have her own ghosts, her own dark secrets that she'd tried to forget. This is something -- dark and powerful. And right now, she isn't sure she wants to understand.

She just wants him to know she's here for him. She bends her head deep, the ends of her hair brushing his arm as she presses a soft kiss to the peak of his shoulder. Her eyes close and she lingers there, in his scent, in his warmth.

"It's okay," she whispers. "I'm just glad you're okay."

[for man_without_fear]

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