claire temple (mynightoff) wrote in saveatlantisic, @ 2018-09-05 16:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, *chel, *laura, claire temple, matt murdock |
26 august (backdated)
CLAIRE TEMPLE (EM) ✦ MATT MURDOCK (MICAH)
Em drives Micah home after his match. PG Complete |
As suspected, Micah was released without much fanfare. The doctors were concerned about his history of head trauma, but he wasn’t exhibiting any worrying symptoms. No brain swelling, no confusion. Em suspected he might be downplaying how he was feeling just to get out of the hospital, but she’d figure that out quickly on her own if he was. And then, she thought, he’d really be in trouble. For the moment, however, he was free to go. Neither of them had slept much that night, between the interruptions from nurses. She hadn’t complained at the time because she understood, but now she was staring down an hour and a half drive and feeling very grateful that this hadn’t happened in the dead of winter. “Do you wanna talk about what you’re gonna do?” she asked, glancing at him quickly. They hadn’t had much privacy at all since their first conversation, and she was itching to hear his thoughts now that he was a little more clear-headed. Indeed, Micah had passed much of his wakefulness in stoic silence. Not because he didn’t have an ocean of thought roiling beneath his impassive exterior, but because he wanted to ensure a swift exit from the hospital so that he could be home. So that they could be safe. So that he could consider what was next for him. He was slumped in the seat next to Em, eyes covered by dark glasses. When she asked her question, he felt like she lobbed a haymaker he didn’t catch in time. It was on his mind, of course. But … he took a breath. “Well first off I’m getting a new manager.” Em snorted. “That’s a good place to start.” If she ever saw that good-for-nothing manager of his again, she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Yell, probably, and loudly at that. She might even kick him somewhere unpleasant if she could get close enough. She’d always known that men like him existed in Micah’s boxing world -- and in so many other sporting worlds, at that -- but it was personal, now, and she wasn’t likely to forget or forgive. “I guess they can’t be too mad if you gave them what they wanted in the end, even if it wasn’t by choice,” she continued, frowning as she watched the road in front of them. “Do you think this’ll become a thing? Trying to kick your ass?” Since Micah’s ass was still pretty kicked, he didn’t really know how to respond to Em’s question. He squirmed a moment and leaned forward for a bottle of water. When he turned to her, his lips made a very stiff grimace. “I think I’m probably not going to be considered to be a kind of guy you wanna work with.” And that was frightening. Micah knew he was pushing the age limits of his boxing career. But he also couldn’t see what else there was to do with his life. This was the edge of a precipice he had hoped would have opened into something simple like teaching or owning a gym late in life. But this seemed like it was ten years too soon. That was what she was afraid of. Beyond how worried she was that this would paint a target on his back as someone easy to beat, just because he had stronger morals than most, she didn’t want him to have to stop doing what he loved. “Hmm.” Em reached over and put her hand on his thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We gonna find out if that’s true, or… do you want to try something else?” The older he got, the longer it’d take to rebound - and the harder it’d be to find people willing to toss him into a ring, because it might not be worth their while. But Em knew how hard this edge was. If someone told her she couldn’t be a doctor anymore, she wouldn’t have known what to do. “I don’t really do anything else.” Micah would have scoffed, if his ribs had been at all up to the task. But being as it was, he covered Em’s hand with his own and let it linger. The next logical step in the conversation would be to suggest: school, being a house husband, not contributing. He shook his head. “Feeling kinda stuck, babe.” “I know.” She wished she could make all of the trouble go away by snapping her fingers. She could fix so much with her hands, but this was beyond her abilities, and she didn’t know what to do for him. “There’s no rush,” Em reminded him. It pained her a little to think about trying to get by on her salary alone, but it wasn’t impossible. They could do it. Her parents had done more with less, although they didn’t have the student debt that she did. “You can’t do much either way while you can’t breathe right, anyway. But --” What she really wanted to do was run her fingers through his hair again, but she should probably keep her attention on the road. “We can brainstorm. This doesn’t have to be the end of the road.” There was rush enough. They could get by - but he needed to be bringing money home. Not just sitting around and breathing through his mouth. He needed to be making some kind of purse money. “Hey, um.” He leaned back. “Can we just do a thought experiment? What if I start flipping matches for them? We’d get more cash.” Em stiffened, immediately wary. “I thought you were being all noble and shit,” she commented lightly, trying to stay relatively neutral and hear him out, even though something deep inside her wasn’t sure it liked where his mind was going. “What do you have in mind? I mean, what would you have to do?” “Yeah and it doesn’t always pay the bills, does it?” Micah shrugged stiffly. “Tell me what you think would happen if I started losing for them on purpose.” Because, of course, there would be no possible circumstance under which they’d fix it so he won. “You’ll keep getting knocked out,” she answered, “maybe you’ll start forgetting things because cumulative brain trauma isn’t just a small thing. You’ll hate yourself. You’ll bring that home along with whatever they pay you, and then we’ll both be miserable. Tell me how that’s worth more than a paycheck because I’m not seeing it.” “ … it’s still doing the only thing I’m good at, still providing for my family, contributing to our house. If I can stand it for a handful of times, we could take the money and I could buy a gym. Start teaching, maybe.” Because she was right, too. He could only take so many knocks to the head. But he knew, deep down, that his heart couldn’t take the hit. Even if his body could. Em wanted to laugh at how ridiculous that sounded -- like the most important thing was to provide for his family, like that somehow outweighed everything else. But he sounded sad enough, lost enough, that she tried to hide the part of her that wanted to tell him off for thinking that. “You’d be a good teacher,” she conceded, finally, “but, listen. Micah. I need you here with me, okay? Fully present, happy, not permantly injured, not constantly miserable and hating yourself. That’s more important to me than all the money in the world. I don’t care about money. I just want you. That’s it. We can figure everything else out. I just want you.” If a tear slid down Micah’s cheek, he quickly brushed it away with a shrugging shoulder. Em’s words rang true. It cut through the anxiety and the pique that every mile closer to home brought him. He took a shallow breath. “Okay, Em.” “That’s it?” Em tossed him a surprised half-smile. She hadn’t expected him to let it go so easily, to give in to what she was saying and accept it. Maybe he wasn’t really, a small voice at the back of her mind suggested. But he was still looking at her like he had stars in his eyes, so maybe not. “You’re good at a lot of other things, you know. Other reasons why I might want you around a little longer.” She tapped her fingers along his leg so he’d get the point. “Just for the record.” He smiled wanly. “Yeah. I look good in a grass skirt.” “Do you?” She shrugged a shoulder, playfully feigning ignorance. “I mean, I haven’t seen that yet. I couldn’t possibly know. Since someone didn’t want to show off.” “Give the bruises half a moment, then I’m all yours.” He smiled crookedly and reached over, capturing her hand to pull into his lap. Holding onto her tightly, he sat back in his seat and prepared for the ongoing drive. “I’m always yours.” Even after all the years they’d been together, Em’s heart still skipped a beat when he said things like that. She hoped it never stopped: his charm or the flutters inside when she found herself on the receiving end. “And I’m yours, cariño.” She squeezed his hand for emphasis. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you when we’re home.” |