Matt Murdock (saint_matthew) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-08-06 21:00:00 |
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Most of the work that Frank did day-to-day on construction sites was destruction, demolition. It was very satisfying, an outlet for the anger he never could quite seem to get rid of, which kept it at reasonable levels. It had been simmering higher lately, ever since Michael had showed up at his work and put him into an illusion. It was still strange to think about, in retrospect; it had all felt very real, and he’d truly believed there was at least one life on the line. And then… it had all just disappeared. Frank was left feeling angry and deflated all at once, and questioning his choices. Of course, it didn’t help that Michael was now bringing him lunch every day at work. Just to rub it in, it seemed. Or maybe that was part of the bet, too. Either way, it was actually comforting to do similar work in a different location for once, instead of on the site he’d been at for months. He was at Matt’s office, painting the walls. It wasn’t going to take very long, but he was still grateful for the change of pace. He was working on the second wall when Matt came back into the room. Frank had barely even noticed him leave, or the time that had passed. He paused, set down the paint roller carefully, and looked over at Matt. “You got my beer?” he asked, with a slight smile. “It’d better be cold.” -- Tumbleweed meant a new life, a new partnership, and thus a new office. A part of him was disappointed that Foggy wasn’t around - it really didn’t seem right to go into this venture without him - but there was always a bit of hope that maybe the Portal would bring him, after all. The people he was working with, Laurel and Harvey, seemed like decent enough people, and according to their credentials, very good lawyers. With a bit of luck, they’d pick up clientele quickly. The office they’d rented, especially Matt’s space, needed a bit of sprucing up. His powers could hone in on the fact that the job was halfway done just by smelling which walls were finished, but it wouldn’t help him tell whether it was painted neatly, or even if the color was off. For that, he trusted the likes of Frank and Karen, who were kind enough to help. Karen was away at the moment, leaving the guys to their devices. When Frank mentioned he could use something to drink, it was the least Matt could do to go to down the corner to the shop and bring back what he wanted. Otherwise, Matt felt a little stupid, just standing around. “Straight from the cooler,” Matt said with a smile, setting the paper bag on the desk and pulling out a four pack of beer. “I also took the liberty of ordering that pizza. They ought to be delivering it here in fifteen minutes.” He took one bottle and held it out toward Frank for him to take. “How’s the job going? Ready for a break?” He was joking a little, especially since he knew the task wasn’t that labor intensive. --- “Going alright,” Frank answered. “Hardest part is the setup. All the taping. That’s all done, so it’s smooth sailing from here on out.” He moved over toward the desk -- which was currently covered in plastic -- and accepted the beer. It was indeed nice and cold in his hand, and he opened the bottle immediately, eager for the refreshment. Painting wasn’t hard labor, but the Texas heat was intense. He took a good pull from the bottle, and considered the paint flecks on his hands. Unfortunately, the mention of pizza had brought all the things he’d been trying not to think about the surface -- because one day, when he wasn’t at work, there had been a pizza delivered to his house at lunchtime. He was pretty sure it was Michael. This one was from Matt, and he was definitely going to eat it, but… He took another sip of his beer, then asked, “Hey, can I ask you a weird question?” -- Using his echolocation, tilting his head this way and that, he was able to locate where the chairs were, also covered in plastic. He walked over and removed the covering so he could sit down, then twisted the cap off his beer. “You can ask,” Matt said, feeling very lawyer-like. “But my answer may depend on just how weird the question is.” He finished his statement with a teasing smile, and to joke even further, he said, “No, I don’t wear women's underwear.” --- Frank snorted. “Not that kind of weird.” He took a deeper pull from the beer, to get rid of that mental image. Though now he wasn’t sure if he should have brought it up; Matt was clearly in a good mood. He leaned against an as-yet-unpainted section of the wall and silently considered his options for a moment. “What do you know about that old guy? Michael?” -- “MIchael?” During the week that he had sight, Michael was one of the people who was pointed out to him, so Matt had a clear mental image of the person. For some reason he didn’t think Michael as old, despite the stark white hair. Maybe it was the energetic expression and the way he moved? “Sorry, I don’t know anything aside from what was posted over the network. That he’s a demon of some sort, with the ability to influence people’s minds, sort of like how Kilgrave did? He comes across as condescending, and judgmental, but he doesn't seem to be much of a threat? All this month, he’s been bringing chocolate chip cookies here. They’re pretty good, there’s some in the lobby if you want to try?” Matt turned his face in Frank’s direction. “Why do you ask?” -- Frank truly wasn’t sure how much of a threat the demon really was, when it came to assessing his capability for bodily harm. But that wasn’t the only kind of threat that he could be, and not the kind that he seemed interested in. He seemed more interested in psychological damage. He didn’t say that, though, because it was the assumption he’d made. Instead, he gave Matt the facts. “He showed up at my work,” he said, “Used an illusion to make me think I was near a seedy bar, and a woman inside it was screaming. He’d apparently made a bet with someone that I’d go in and kill them all to save her.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “That happened right before he decided to start giving out lunches and cookies to everyone, including me.” -- Matt was silent for several seconds to process what he’d just been told before exclaiming, “What?” It’s not that he didn’t believe Frank, but how Michael had the gall to do something like that. A strong sense of justice, the need to right the wrongs, flared. At first, he stammered a little, his emotions getting in the way of his speech. Then, “Who did he make the bet with? Did you tell anybody else what he’d done?” Automatically, out of anger, his hand tightened around the bottle he was holding. -- “I don’t know,” Frank answered. “And no. Just Karen and Cassie.” He paused. “And Furiosa.” He wasn’t sure how he felt about telling anyone else. He didn’t really know them, or necessarily trust them. And he half-suspected that Michael had been giving out cookies, coffee, and lunches specifically to earn some goodwill in case Frank did tell everyone. Certainly a lot of people had felt warmer toward him as a result of it, even Matt. Though Frank was relieved to see that Matt was angry about it regardless. -- Matt glowered, then took a swig of beer as he collected his thoughts before finally asking, “What did you do?” --- “I told him to use his powers to solve the problem,” Frank answered. “Any other day, if I’d just heard someone screaming… but he had put me there, I knew what he wanted me to do. And I knew I shouldn’t do it.” He took a deep pull from his bottle. “Can’t tell you how much I wanted to put my sledgehammer to his skull, though. Especially after he told me it was all just some stupid bet.” -- Matt rolled his tongue inside his mouth and then nodded with satisfaction at the way Frank had dealt with the problem. Internally, he wondered if he’d been placed under the same circumstances that he’d be as level headed. God help him, he missed beating up criminals. “It was a temptation. Which makes sense coming from him, since he’s a devil. I doubt a sledgehammer would do the trick, though.” He inclined his face in Frank’s direction. “I do think that you ought to tell the Bureau. He can’t go around messing with people’s heads on a whim, there needs to be accountability.” After a thoughtful pause, Matt curiously asked, “Does it give you any consolation that you passed the test?” --- “That’s the main reason why I didn’t,” Frank admitted, wryly. “Didn’t think it’d work. And figured the bastard would look real smug if I tried.” Otherwise, there had been no real good reason not to hurt him. Aside from any moral objections to hurting people in general, which Frank didn’t really have. Not for people (or demons) like Michael. “What would I tell them?” he asked, genuinely wondering what Matt was thinking. “He put me in an illusion. Nothing else happened.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “I didn’t pass. I am glad I didn’t play right into his hands, though.” -- “Tell them that he fucked with your mind for his amusement. Used his power to manipulate, put you in a compromising position. If he did it with you, who is to say he won’t do it to anybody else? Luckily nothing happened, but what if something did? Don’t you see? It would be like tempting a recovering addict by putting drugs in front of him to see what he’d do.” Matt scowled on Frank’s behalf. “If you didn’t think what he did was wrong, then why did you ask me about him in the first place?” --- Frank raised his eyebrows at the comparison to drug addiction. “That’s an insult to drug addicts. Don’t compare them to me.” There was a lot more he could say on that subject, but it hadn’t really been the heart of Matt’s point, so he left it there. He lifted a hand, rubbed at the back of his head. “The thing is, none of those people were real. None of it. It all just goddamn disappeared with a wave of his hand as soon as he’d decided that I wasn’t going to fall for it.” But he almost had. He’d been tempted. And it wasn’t because he was addicted; addiction was a serious disease that compelled people beyond their willpower to stop themselves, but Frank had always made all of his choices consciously and purposefully. He knew exactly what he was doing, and there was nothing compelling his actions. He was angry, yes, but he was still fully in control. He could and would stop himself if he chose to, which was precisely what he’d done. “Plenty of people here think the same way about me he does. Or worse. Some of them with good reason, because they know another version of me, and the shit I’ve heard about him… makes me look like a fucking angel. He’s killed kids.” He paused, shrugged. “Besides, I know how this place works. They give everyone the benefit of the doubt, including me, and people have to prove they’re really doing shit wrong before anyone does anything about it. If he’d gotten me to hurt someone, it would’ve been my ass on the line, not his. Now if he’d killed me, maybe you could’ve talked them into doing something. But that’s it. That’s how this system works.” He shook his head. “I saw a guy try to tell people he was messing with people’s heads, and plenty of people chewed him out for it. I’m telling you because, well, you’re eating his goddamn cookies, and in spite of what history we’ve got, I knew you’d believe me.” -- “I don’t agree with you,” Matt flat out told Frank. “And now that I know what he’s done, I’m not eating his goddamn cookies anymore. From what I remember, Michael used his power to prevent somebody from saying bad words, which goes against one’s free will. Is that the guy you are talking about? This isn’t a single incident, Frank, but a behavior that needs to be changed. He fucks with somebody for entertainment, and then thinks he can buy people’s favor with cookies and coffee? That’s bullshit, and you know it! Talk to Jessica, she’ll tell you. This is on the same sort of level as Kilgrave. And if you don’t step up and say something, then it will give Michael the okay to do it again to somebody else. How many more people does he have to screw over?” This was the sort of thing that got Matt’s blood boiling, the fuel that drove him to put on a mask as a vigilante - an injustice that couldn’t be solved by going through legitimate channels. Because no matter what Frank thought, Michael had done him wrong and needed to be corrected. Daredevil wanted to find a way to make Michael pay, though it wouldn’t be with his fists - maybe by some other means. There were people around who were used to dealing with the supernatural, maybe they could help. Sam Winchester came to mind. A part of of him realized he was also being tempted and tested just like Frank was, and while he acknowledged this, he purposefully dismissed it in favor of righteous indignation. As long as he didn’t let the devil out, Matt reasoned he was alright. --- “Same guy,” Frank said. He remembered that incident, remembered seeing people getting up in arms over both sides of it. “Yeah.” He understood why Matt disagreed with him. He didn’t like it either. But he didn’t believe in the system the way Matt obviously still did. He believed the people would rally behind him if Michael really started hurting people. But he didn’t think this would meet their standards. Lives hadn’t really been endangered. “You go ahead and disagree with me. You want to tell them, that’s fine, and I’ll answer any questions they got for me. Otherwise… I’ll think about it.” The doorbell rang, indicating a visitor, or more likely the pizza delivery, which Frank had nearly forgotten about. He nodded in the direction of the door. “Might want to get that first.” |