Matt Murdock (blindlawyer) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2017-09-04 16:16:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | marvel: mcu: matt murdock, the young pope: lenny belardo |
Who: The Pope & Matt
When: Shortly after the Pokemon experiment finishes
Where: The chapel
What: Epic fanboying with unintended homoerotic undertones, misconstruable subtexts and an unhealthy side serving of unresolved daddy issues Just your average Sunday chat.
What relief he'd managed to find after having a chat with his new friend had been promptly quashed by the arrival of a familiar face and accompanying accusatory remarks. It took him an inordinate number of times mashing the repeat button and much longer than he thought it would to try and make sense of what Claire had written to him. Unlike the other people in the facility who claimed to know him, he knew Claire and she wasn't insisting on some other version of him or whatever it was they were on about. He'd presumed he had gone missing from his apartment and that, without a way of sending a message to Foggy or Karen, they'd eventually figure he must have run into some trouble and... well, who knew? Maybe they'd look for him. Maybe they'd stop hoping and move on.
But then being blown up and dying and - and Elektra might still be alive? And- what- just- he didn't know what was happening.
When the experimental scenario ended sooner than he had anticipated, Matt had every intention of seeking Claire out anyway despite not being ready to face her. He could hear her heartbeat and knew she was close by. But when he heard her coming in his general direction, his feet carried him the other way, away from what should have been a more comforting than confusing confrontation and to the one place he always found some small measure of peace in - a place of worship.
Taking his cane apart, he ran his fingertips over the side of each pew he walked past. The chapel was silent save for his footsteps, and he picked up an open bible from the frontmost bench before sitting down and setting it on his lap. Matthew Michael Murdock. 1985-2017. Was it a good service? He felt terrible for making Father Lantom bury his empty casket. Comparing the difference in weight between the left and the right halves of the open book told him he was in Psalms without even having to rub his thumb over the corner of the page. Whoever left this behind might also be looking for some comfort. He ran his fingertips over the ink and focused intently on trying to feel the outline of the words printed on the thin paper, too lost in David's words to realise that someone else was approaching.
Turn to me and be gracious to me, for I am lonely and afflicted. Relieve the troubles of my heart and free me from my anguish.