Who: Heather and Matt What: Dinner When: Sometime in August Where: Heather's place Rating/Warnings: Teenish/Talk of violence, about Heather killing a guy but there aren't many details in regards to that. Status: Complete
Cooking meat was something that Heather was quite proficient in. She'd asked her former mentor to teach her that as well, and while the old man hadn't exactly shared all of his cooking secrets, he'd shared enough for Heather to feel comfortable cooking on her own. The steak had been marinating in the fridge overnight, and wouldn't take very long to cook over a hot skillet or grill. Unfortunately Heather didn't have a grill at her place, she had nowhere to put it, but it would be fine. She did know how to pan fry a good steak. Heather busied herself with steaming some fresh green beans that she'd gotten from Rick at the farmer's market, and there was summer squash frying in the deep fryer that sat on her counter.
No steak meal, however, was complete without baked potatoes, and those were still in the oven cooking along with the rolls she'd just tossed in.
Glancing up at the clock, Heather noted the time and then put the steaks on. They were sizzling in the pan when she heard the knock at her door, and quickly she wiped her hands off on a hand towel. Her eyes darted over to the closet where she'd stashed the bloody pitchfork from her dreams. She still wasn't sure what to do with it exactly, but she figured that she would figure it out eventually.
Pulling open the door, she offered Matt a smile. "Come on in, shut the door behind you. I've got to get back to the steaks before they cook too long on one side." Heather turned to head back to the kitchen, "So, how are you doing today, Matt?" She asked as she used a pair of tongs to turn the steak.
~*~
Heather was one of the only people Matt had allowed to see him using his enhanced senses. She made him feel comfortable, not as if he were some sort of oddity to be stared at or studied; Matt surmised it was due to her own Dreams which were not precisely the kindest to her. He took his sunglasses off to lay them on the edge of the table inside the door, putting his folded cane beside them as he made his way with ease into her home, not bothering to play the bumbling blind man around her any longer.
"The steaks smell as if you're going in the right direction. Personally? I like a good sear on mine so you can feel free to let mine go a little black on the outside. They're thick enough cuts I doubt I'll lose any flavor from the extra crunch. Did you happen to slaughter someone recently? There's a blood smell in here not from the cooking."
Blunt was the easiest way Matt knew to be with people. It made them feel more at ease with him which was hard for most people who were deemed 'whole' by society's standards since there was an innate instinct in people to pity those without all their faculties intact. Matt had never been sighted. His new abilities had opened the world to him in a way he'd never imagined possible. Some days he woke up so glad for the Dreams he had to lay in his bed for an extra hour simply taking it all in; other days Matt couldn't sleep from the cacophony of sounds, smells, sensations bombarding him from every direction and all he wanted to do was find the 'off' switch so he could go back to his own version of a normal life.
"I'm not in criminal law so if you did kill someone? You don't have to worry about me turning you over for prosecution. Legally speaking, I'm supposed to be obligated to do so, but from a technical standpoint? I don't have any ties to the DA for Criminal Court."
~*~
"Duly noted." Heather replied, turning her steak but leaving Matt's in the pan for a few more moments. "No, well…" She paused for a moment, "I didn't kill anyone here. In my dreams I did kill one of the mayor's henchmen with a pitchfork. Said pitchfork appeared here this morning, and it's in the closet until I can figure out what to do with it." Heather figured it was better to be honest with Matt instead of attempting to lie to him.
He knew about the dreams, they'd spoken about them before and Heather had not been shy about sharing her dreams on the network. She had, however, left out the part where she'd killed someone. Well, for the most part, some people had figured it out though.
Heather finally flipped Matt's steak, there was a nice dark crust on the outside of his and she moved hers out of the pan to let it rest.
"So if you have any suggestions on how to get rid of it, or what I should possibly do with it? I'm open to suggestions." She waited until there was a nice sear on the other side of Matt's steak before she lifted it off and set the meat off to the side to rest.
"What do you want to drink? I have beer, wine, water, milk, orange and grapefruit juice, and there might be a Coke in my fridge." Heather rarely drank soda only because she didn't like how sweet it was, but sometimes she did crave it so she tended to keep a 2 liter in the fridge as a just in case.
~*~
"I'll have whatever you're having. As long as you're not having grapefruit juice because I have a severe aversion to grapefruits. I think it's because I'm still bitter towards them from when I first tried one as a child and realized their name? A complete lie."
Matt went to the closet and opened it, rapping his knuckles against the door once to identify the location of the pitchfork. It was larger than he thought it would be. The handle was smooth when he gripped it and he lifted it to see how heavy it was in his hand. He didn't take it out of the closet because he had a feeling Heather had stashed it away because she had no desire to see the thing. Given she had murdered a man with it? Matt couldn't honestly say he blamed her.
Settling the pitchfork back into place, Matt closed the door to the closet as if he'd just put away an umbrella. He walked to the kitchen in order to wash his hands in the sink. He liked the antibacterial scent of the dish soap Heather used. It was clean without being overpowering. She was the kind of woman to have hand soap at the sink as well, but he preferred the simpler scent and imagined she wouldn't care so long as he did wash his hands after handling a murder weapon.
"Do you have any idea how disappointing it is to think you're going to taste grape flavor in an orange consistency and then get the acrid burst of actual grapefruit instead? It should be renamed. I have no idea what they should call it. But. It is not a grape fruit. Also? That's a heavy weapon of choice. I'm impressed. Personally? I would bleach it and then throw it out unless you're feeling as if you might need it again. Then we could come up with some clever decorating use for it, I'm sure."
~*~
With a laugh, Heather gave a small tip of her head in Matt's direction. "Fair enough. I like it some mornings instead of orange juice." Heather liked a little variety in her life, and well she enjoyed the taste of grapefruit juice herself. Beer, however, was typically her choice during the evenings when she wanted to kick back and relax.
The brew was a local one from a brewery that she happened to enjoy, and had found only a few months ago. Heather pulled two beers from the fridge, placing them down on the counter only to peer out and watch Matt pull open the closet door.
It didn't bother her that he went to check it out, she would've been curious herself. The steaks were plated, along with the other food and sat on the table that was off to the side.
"I can understand. I just happen to like it." She spoke as she brought his beer out to him after popping the bottle caps off. "Well, sometimes you have to improvise, and I'm a butcher in both worlds so I'm a little stronger than I look." Okay, she worked in a supermarket as a meat cutter in her dreams, but looks could often be deceiving.
Heather was fairly certain that Matt would understand that.
Taking a sip of her beer, Heather nodded thoughtfully. "That's probably a good idea. Well, at least the bleaching it part. I'm sure that we could." She offered Matt a smile, "Food's done whenever you're ready to eat."
~*~
"I'm always ready to eat a perfectly cooked steak. You know if you decide to ever give up on being a butcher? You have an excellent reference for a job as a personal chef. I'm not flattering you to get the opportunity to spend the night either. I have a very good nose for how I prefer my steak."
Matt had a very good nose for everything. His senses were painfully acute as Heather was aware; it occurred to him he was the strange one in their friendship even if she was the one who'd committed murder. Violence was something Matt embraced in his Dream life while he was only learning how to use his body's full capacity in this one: a new bird stretching its wings to test out the theory of flight.
Heather Dreamed of a world of violence not of her choosing. It was forced on her the way blindness had been forced on Matt as a boy in his Dreams. He had his enhanced senses as a way to adapt while Heather had clearly found a way to adapt to the violence of her life as well. She accepted things with a quiet aplomb Matt envied. There was so much rage inside him at all the inequalities, injustices, and cruelties in the world both this one and his Dreams.
Which of them was really the monster? The raging vigilante or the resourceful survivor?
Picking up his beer, Matt too a deep draw from the bottle, before offering, "I wouldn't recommend behind the couch. I think it might be intimidating to guests. I do think it could be rather striking if you placed it horizontally on hooks beside the dining room table, right on the wall there. It would be a nice rustic touch---and in the event some insanity comes to town where you need a weapon appropriate for a butcher? Well, it'd be easy enough to lift up and defend yourself with while not needing any kind of permit at all. Sorry. I realize this is not exactly the most appropriate dinner conversation. I'm feeling awkward so I---talk. It happens."
~*~
Heather lifted a shoulder with a slight chuckle, "I'll keep that in mind. Who knows, one day I might end up deciding that I've had enough of being a butcher." Heather doubted that, but one day she might become bored and decide to change careers. "I'd say your chances of spending the night might be good. Just so you know." Heather wasn't ashamed to admit that she was a woman that enjoyed sex even if it was just causal.
Heather's eyes went to the hooks beside the dining room table, and she pursed her lips in thought. That actually wouldn't be a bad place for it, well after she cleaned it of course.
A dark brow rose as she looked over at Matt and she let out a long breath, "There's nothing I'm not willing to talk about, especially concerning my dreams. I've been pretty open with everyone about them, at least on the network, and in the grand scheme of things? This isn't that weird of a dinner discussion."
She sat her beer bottle down, feeling bad that Matt was feeling awkward. "So why exactly are you feeling awkward?" She asked, reaching for her knife and fork. Picking it up, she cut into the steak and took her first bite.
~*~
Casual sex had never bothered Matt much before the Dreams. He was getting more and more guilt creeping in on him from his religious beliefs. Catholicism taught respect for one's body. Sex was reserved for within the sanctity of marriage. There were too many reasons for Matt to avoid casual sex than to give in to it, but he was well-aware he had problems which extended far beyond sex outside marriage.
Besides, what he and Heather did in the privacy of her own home was their business. No one else's---and Matt hadn't been to confession in too long to care about confessing one more indiscretion.
"I'm having a lot of Catholic guilt from my Dreams? I'm not used to feeling guilty about anything. Somehow finding out I'm a violent vigilante is more traumatic for me than I thought it would be. I never imagined I would be violent unless my life was threatened and even then---"
He was a blind man. Matt had spent his whole life adapting to a world with only four senses. It bothered him when people called him disabled, but he was aware his blindness was a disability. A lot of criminals took advantage of the disabled in poor areas; Matt Murdock had grown up privileged, protected, and peaceful as a result. There had never been a time when he'd worried about being attacked or having to defend himself for real in a fight.
"I was a blind guy. Not a lot of robbers are willing to stoop to the level of robbing a blind guy."
Matt took a bite of steak while it was still perfectly warm. He wasn't embarrassed to admit he'd never had to fight for himself before.
~*~
"Ah," Heather replied with a nod, and then she reached over to pick up her beer. Taking a swig she washed her food down, and then took another bite. Heather hadn't been a religious person in this life, or the other one. She had no idea what he might be going through, however, she didn't think it sounded like any fun.
"True enough. I don't think a lot of people would hit that low." She cleared her throat, and shifted slightly in her seat. "I'm sorry about the guilt. I won't even pretend to know how that is, I mean." She let out a long breath, "I felt a little guilty after killing that guy, but in the end it was him or me and well…" She lifted a shoulder, and shook her head once more.
She didn't think that what he was doing was wrong per se, but she could understand how it could weigh on him. "If the people that you're defending the world against are bad people who hurt others? Then I don't see exactly what's wrong with that. I'm not condoning violence, but I think sometimes that it's needed in the world. I think that the good guys? It's not always clear cut and they have to do everything by the book you know?"
She didn't know if her words were the right ones or not, but she hoped that they helped ease his mind a little.
~*~
"You're very good at saying what I need to hear."
Matt meant it as a compliment. Heather had a sincerity to her which was priceless. She didn't make pretenses or play games the way some women did when they flirted with him or tried to pick him up based on the cut of his suit. Money was important in the OC as much as anywhere else in their world. He constantly had to deal with extricating himself from situations which had nothing to do with his guilt and everything to do with his desire to avoid having a leech attach itself to him.
He ate his steak as they sat in companionable silence and drank his beer, wishing he could get another while knowing he wouldn't need it. Heather didn't need a drink to get interested; Matt didn't need to be drunk to want the woman sitting at the table with him. They had a working, functional friends-with-benefits situation going on. Matt didn't want to screw it up by saying too much or making her feel uncomfortable.
Finishing his beer, he asked, "Would you mind saying a few other things I don't need to hear, but I'd really like to hear before we start the sleeping part of our sleepover?"
~*~
"Eh, I have my moments." Heather replied with a wry grin before she continued eating. It was fine to eat in silence. Heather was comfortable enough in her own skin to not mind the sound of forks scraping against the plates as opposed to chatter going on around them.
Pushing her plate away, Heather wiped her mouth off with her napkin and then glanced over at Matt with a small smile. "A few more things huh?" She pushed back from the table, moving over to where Matt sat. "How about we go talk those things over in the bedroom. I think that'd be a better place than out here."
Heather figured it was a start, and she didn't mind helping to stroke his ego a little bit. They could have a night after dinner to let go and have a little fun. After all, they both did deserve it.