Underworld, Part I
You and Matt had agreed: no more secrets.
That is why today, while you were at work, you texted him to say you'd be running by your apartment to grab a few things of yours for the night ahead. Of course, with Inframundo being such a swanky club, you needed to look the part - and a proper outfit for that sort of environment doesn't come cheap.
It was also imperative that you had your motorcycle tonight. Given that you and Matt would be all the way on the Lower East Side, it wasn't exactly the best idea to rely on a nighttime cab to get you home safe or out of what could become a bad situation. The motorcycle offered a quick escape - and, although Matt did admit he understood this, he wasn't exactly overjoyed that you'd made the decision to hit up your apartment all on your own. Again.
You'd assured him all you could, but he ultimately had to understand that this was a necessary risk for the benefit of a successful mission. So, you'd gone straight to your place after work, collected what you needed amid the remaining wreckage, and sped to Matt's on your bike with a bag containing your things and an extra helmet.
Eying yourself in Matt's bathroom mirror, you slipped in your second earring. Dangly strands of rhinestones sparkled as they hung elegantly from your earlobes, especially noticeable with your hair slicked back into an elegant updo. The gold dress you wore, though, teetered just on the right edge of tasteful and far from it, ending mid-thigh with rhinestone-encrusted straps that crisscrossed along your otherwise open back. Partly spandex, the shimmering fabric clung to you, cowling slightly at the neck - and hugging your hips in excellent measure. It was just loose enough at the thighs for you to perfectly hide a knife holster outlined in black lace, concealing the longest of your three knives.
Lucky thing about the lace - if anyone sees it, they'll likely just chalk it up to poorly-sized lingerie.
This one of your daggers was engraved in the beauty of the night sky. It held a crescent moon on either side of the base, along with constellations you'd never discovered the meaning of but saw beauty in nonetheless. The longest and the sharpest, it was your favorite to wield. There was something you found metaphorically comforting in these knives, engraved in flowers, in waves, and in the moon and all its surrounding stars. When you were on any mission as the Nightingale, your sheath carrying each blade tight to your body, it was as though you had the earth, the sea, and the sky at your back, ready to fight alongside you.
Tonight, you were technically Carmen Harlow, but having the stars beneath your dress still might make all the difference.
Matt walked in from work just as you'd stepped out of the bathroom. Briefcase in hand, he entered the apartment with a tight jaw, wasting no time in voicing his discontent.
"I wish you'd waited for me to go with you."
Though you were half-expecting him to bring up the events of yesterday morning, which he surprisingly hadn't mentioned at all since returning to work with a smirk, you were a bit relieved that the topic hadn't come up. You were also surprised that he hadn't talked to you about Ben Urich yet - who you knew he paid a visit to last night at your suggestion. Matt leaned his briefcase against the side of the staircase before standing tall with a sigh, hands on his hips. Where you stood in his living room, you crossed your arms with a joking sigh of your own.
"Nice to see you, too."
Matt hung his head. He shook it once and promptly walked toward you, reaching his arms out for your embrace. Though a part of you would be entertained by playing into some joke of false annoyance, you wanted a hug from your Devil, wanted the comfort of his lips. Matt's arms wrapped around you in full offering of this, and you couldn't resist matching his embrace, allowing his mouth to collide with yours in a soft kiss.
With his arms heavy and warm around your waist, you pulled your lips back just enough to whisper.
"How many times do I have to reiterate that I'm a vigilante, too?"
Matt sighed, wordlessly nudging your nose with his. You smiled at the tiny gesture, your voice still soft.
"We need the bike. Can't stand there hailing a taxi back to the Kitchen if we end up in a bad situation."
"I get it," Matt breathed. "I just worry about you."
You smiled, and his eyes crinkled, the glasses unable to mask the softness in his expression.
"You don't have to worry about me," you insisted, your hands stroking along the back of his neck. You smiled. "I'm a big girl, you know."
Smiling down at you, Matt pulled his hands to land at your waist, tilting his head lightly with an eyebrow raise of his own insistence.
"Yeah, well, I care about you. It's kind of inevitable at this point."
Though it wasn't something you hadn't heard before from Matt, the air felt heavy at his statement - almost as though it was weighed down by words unsaid, a fuller statement not yet made. Your eyes tightened mildly at the strange feeling, and your heart began to pound. The gentle part of Matt's lips, tender and true, made your heart pound harder in your chest, a thin shred of adrenaline dancing up your spine.
Before the sensation could take you over too far, you pulled back from Matt, striding over to the couch - upon which lay a few items you hoped would prove useful for the night ahead.
"Maybe I can cheer you up," you hummed. "Got you something."
Matt waited with a patient half smile as you grabbed two items from the couch and strode back over to him. Standing in front of him now, you felt almost nervous with the weight of that strange energy that had fallen over the room. He was just so strong, and tall, and kind, standing there in his work clothes, his tender expression. Still, you didn't understand the feeling in your chest, as overpowering as it was. So, you handed him the first item - a black button-down in his size with just the right amount of shine under light, the right shade of shadow to blend well with the dark. As Matt's hands wrapped around the shirt, his brows twitched. He took it into his hands with interest, stroking along the fabric, his head tilting to the side.
"That's really nice."
You blushed, shrugged - glad that your purchase seemed to be a success.
"It's, like, discount silk or something. It felt the same to me. You'll probably feel the difference, but I hope it's close enough." As Matt remained seemingly entranced by the shirt, you held out the second item. "I also got these."
Matt took the small container from you, shook it once, then tipped his head the other way with a pointed nod in your direction. His brows twitched up. "Earplugs?"
"Yeah. In case the club is too loud. I don't know how sensitive you'd be in that sort of setting." Though you felt your explanation was perfectly reasonable, you couldn't help but nervously twist your hands together as Matt stood there, observing you, lips parted and eyes soft. Trying to fight that feeling in your chest even more, you cleared your throat, gesturing to the case-covered earplugs in Matt's upright hand. "And you can still hear past them, obviously. I just thought they might make things more comfortable, maybe."
The room was otherwise silent as your name fell, whispery and soft, from Matt's lips. He stepped toward you, and although this was more normal than not, now, you found yourself panicking just slightly, even as his item-holding hands lifted in the direction of your jaw.
"Too much? Or maybe it's the wrong material? I tried to find a hypoallergenic sort of thing - I don't know how sensitive your skin would be to the- "
Matt's lips interrupted your panic, his hands cradling your jaw even as he held the items - more like gifts, really - that you'd gotten for him. Under his touch, his affection, you relaxed. The mild blush over your face shifted from a worried heat to a tender, pink mist of peace. Matt pulled his mouth off yours, only tugging away by an inch, if that. You smiled.
"…So I did good?"
Matt shook his head at you, smile wide and warm and sending your already pounding heart into overdrive.
"You're perfect."
You couldn't help but smile back at him. As you did, Matt moved his hands from your face and back to your dress. He stroked the backs of his fingers along the fabric, movements slow over the front of your abdomen.
"I like this," he murmured. "Feels different."
You tilted your head at him, focused on the light behind his glasses. "Good different?"
"Excellent different."
Matt's hands held the shirt and the earplugs tight, but all his attention seemed to be on the sensation of your dress. You straightened the straps and looked down at what Matt was observing.
"It's gold. Sparkly. Hides the knife at my thigh really well."
Matt chuckled. "Important for a dress."
"Quite so." You swallowed, admiring his focus. "The straps are covered in rhinestones, too, and they match my heels."
"Really blending in."
"To the swanky environment we're about to enter, yes," you laughed. Your eyes drifted back to Matt's, catching on the unique red of his shades. "Speaking of - would you have any glasses that are a bit less recognizable?"
Matt nodded. "I think so. I've got an old black pair."
"Perfect."
Matt smiled and tipped his head at you. For a moment, you were so lost in the feeling of his hands along your dress, so lost in his eyes, you almost forgot the last piece of what you had to give him. Your eyes flicked wide, and you pulled back, Matt's arms left outstretched as you grabbed the small plastic card from the couch.
"Oh - and your ID." The card reflected the light as you placed it in Matt's shirt-holding hand with a grin. "Nice to meet you, Oswald Cletus."
Matt snorted before raising his eyebrows as you stepped away to grab your heels from the bedroom. "Sexiest Oswald you know."
"Only Oswald I know, sweetheart," you called out with a smile. Matt laughed.
"And that makes me the sexiest."
The city was alive as you raced through it. Lights and cheers alike, all your surroundings were a colorful, vibrant blur with every rev of your engine, Matt's arms wrapped tight at your waist as you handled the helm of the bike. His hands were flush against your body, muscles straining around you with every turn, as though he was your protection should the two of you crash. He was warm against you in the wind.
You and Matt stashed the bike in a wide alley at the back of the club. Luckily you had a locking trunk on the back - where you promptly stashed your baggy riding pants, the small jacket you'd brought, your gloves, and your sneakers, and drew out your small purse, stilettos, and Matt's cane. Peeking around the shadowed space between buildings, you found a small nook to stash the helmets.
"Okay," you huffed, placing your hands on your hips as you finally got the straps of your heels tight enough. You flipped your head back up, smoothing your hands over the slightly mussed slick of your updo, and shot Matt a grin. "Let's go."
In front of you, Matt undid his cane, the white stick snapping to attention before him. The shirt you'd got him fit like a glove. A popped top button drew just the right amount of attention to his chest, and his open black blazer gave him every inch of sophisticated charm. His black lenses suited him now, just as you were sure they'd suited them during his college days - which he'd told you was when they were from. Matt shot you a grinning nod in the dark, and you blushed, striding forward to wrap a hand around his bicep.
"Remember," you whispered as the two of you strode out of the alley. "I'm a charming, rich socialite with a history of financial contributions to the club's overhead company," you paused, smirking, "and you're my arm candy."
Matt chuckled, then gave a quick nod, a purse of his lips. "Got it."
Turning the corner, you and Matt grinned to yourselves, straightening your posture and preparing to dive in - only to see a line the length of the entire side of the building before you. People chatted amongst themselves in clothing that captured the essence of high-class fashion without appearing prudish, with many bright colors and swishes of satin wrapping around bodies in selectively revealing cuts of cloth.
"Shit," Matt let out under his breath. You pressed your lips together and stepped out onto the edge of the sidewalk to get a closer look. Cars whizzed past with a couple honks as you craned your neck out, squinting at the club's front entrance. It had a set of a few broad steps and wide double doors, black and intricate, opening every few minutes to give a glimpse of the dim neon lights inside. Above the doorway was a sign of simple lettering, bloodred and glowing all-capitals font reading "INFRAMUNDO" over a deep violet background.
A single bouncer with slicked-back hair and an all-black ensemble checked IDs at the door, clipboard in hand. His expression was simple and plain - not threatening, but not exactly the sort of welcoming customer service that establishments hoped to offer by daylight. You'd looked him up - along with ensuring you and Matt were on the list - and found that he was a relatively new employee. Another two bouncers - more burly and much less charming - stood back by the club doorway, watching the potential patrons and the work of this new kid. As you looked over these guards of the fortress, looked over the line, your eyes flashed.
"This line is crazy," you whispered, stepping back to Matt. "I knew it'd be long, but damn."
He pressed his lips together. "Maybe we should have left earlier."
"No, no," you assured him, turning your face to his. Matt's brows drew together, and you stroked a hand along his bicep, giving the muscle a sure squeeze. "I've got it. Just follow my lead."
Matt's brows and lips quirked up at your confidence. Though he was a tad wary, his open stance and accepting nod showed all the trust you needed.
With a lick over your lips, a deep breath, and the most poised sheen of wealthy confidence you could plaster over your face, you drew Matt forward in a strut along the sidewalk - your crystalline stilettos and dress straps reflecting traffic light and club glow alike. Many of those in line seemed to find their eyes wandering toward this, whether in admiration of how the dress hugged your curves and that blazer hugged Matt's shoulders and arms or, perhaps, in envy. You smirked to yourself, not considering their gazes to be attracted to you, per se, but to the stacked gentleman at your side, filling out his role with more than enough dapper charm.
"They're all looking at you," you whispered. Matt clicked his tongue, his purr sending your body abuzz.
"It's not me they're looking at, sweetheart."
You bit back a grin.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
Reaching the front of the line, this younger bouncer had just turned to let another patron inside. Turning back and catching your gaze, he frowned, opening his mouth to speak - but you beat him to it.
"Hi," you drawled sweetly. "It's Alessio, right?"
He was mildly taken aback, evidenced by the twitch of his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."
"Ah. I knew there were some new employees starting here." You shone him a bright smile before pointing to the clipboard. "Carmen Harlow. My name should be in there - along with his," you added, tipping your head to the side, toward Matt.
Alessio eyed Matt for a minute and nodded, flipping through the pages, but you stopped him with a slight lean forward and a lilt of overconfident sugar in your voice.
"I'd start at the top of the list."
At your side, Matt kept his expression still as the bouncer turned back to the first page. The man's tiny nod showed that he'd found the name where you planted it, and he tipped his tired eyes back to yours. "ID?"
"Of course," you hummed, handing the bouncer your card and Matt's, "and my plus one."
The bouncer studied the cards for a minute, then studied the two of you, checking back to the list to find a certain Oswald Cletus listed alongside Carmen Harlow. Though your process was flawless, you still felt a twinge of anxiety that you'd be caught, revealed, shown to be a fraud. Less than a second later, though, the bouncer gave you a short nod and stretched an arm out toward the main doors - where the tougher-seeming bouncers began to pull the entrance open.
"Ms. Harlow."
You smiled with a nod and stepped forward.
"Thank you," Matt offered - but Alessio placed a firm hand at his shoulder, Matt's arm falling out of your grasp.
"Not so fast, buddy," Alessio asserted gruffly. "We don't know you here."
From where you stood, just ahead of the first step, your eyes were back on Matt, waiting. Matt swallowed - the only sign of any nerves - and promptly stretched his expression into a serene smile. "My name should be on the list."
"Sure, Mr. Cletus." The guard then stepped between you and Matt, crossing his arms over his puffed chest, chin held high. "But, as I mentioned, we don't know you."
This can not be happening.
"Excuse you," you huffed, high-pitched and privileged, "I know him."
"I understand that, ma'am," the bouncer offered, "but it isn't my-"
"You didn't turn my plus one away when he happened to be another benefactor for the club," you kept on, staring Alessio down with ice-cold eyes, "who, might I remind you, was also an associate of Tony Stark. And a close personal friend of mine."
"Ma'am, I mean no disrespect. I only concern myself with the safety of all our clients." He gestured to Matt somewhat dismissively, and a line within you grew taut.
Protective.
"I don't know whether this gentleman would be able to see the same priority or not," Alessio expressed. "His… condition isn't exactly conducive to this sort of environment."
Okay.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
While Matt remained calm - aside from an upward jerk of his eyebrows - your first instinct was to haul off and punch the bouncer in his miserable face. You felt flame rise in your gut, adrenaline surging along your limbs as if to motivate you further to break one of the jerk's bones for being so disrespectful.
You are not going to speak to my…
My…
You're not going to speak to Matt like that and get away with it.
A moment of clarity came over you, though. As horrible as the guy was acting - this could very well be the in you need.
Steady.
Use your emotions. Play into the situation. Make it yours.
Three…
Two…
"What?"
Your exclamation was screeching, offended, and full of diamond-encrusted rage. Matt's mouth - which he'd opened in an attempt to respond somehow to the ridiculous comment - promptly shut. You stepped around the bouncer to stand between him and Matt, your face jeering, spittingly angry as you shoved yourself into his space.
"Are you patronizing my boyfriend because he's visually impaired?"
Alessio was stunned. Gave stunned into silence a whole new meaning. His deer-in-the-headlights eyes went wide, and that mouth opened and closed with no real thoughts behind it, no way to defend himself.
"Jesus. I didn't know this club served ableism with their drinks," you huffed, the seething red behind your eyes exaggerated but far from false. "And in this day and age? How problematic can you get?"
In the line, a chorus of whispers had begun. Frantic looks split their time between you, Matt, and this Alessio guy - though the looks at Alessio were more like glares. In front of the open doors, the other bouncers gave each other a look - and you saw one of them wave over another guy from inside the club. This man wore a full suit, and as the left bouncer whispered to him, his eyes went wide. He then began to stride toward the three of you, urgency in every movement. If you were remembering your research correctly, this man was one of the primary security coordinators for Inframundo.
Score.
Matt placed a soft hand at your back - though something in you knew it was a touch of support, of go on, of you are absolutely killing it.
"Carmen, honey, really, it's okay-"
Glad he was playing into the scene, you turned back to Matt, voice just as impassioned as before.
"No, it's not, Ozzy. My family pays good money to support this establishment. I pay good money, too. There's a reason my name is at the top of that list." You turned back to the bouncer, sneering at him. "And I am not about to let them treat you with so much disrespect."
At that moment, the security coordinator grabbed Alessio by the shoulder, yanking him back into an intense whispering session - though, to your ears, it seemed to be more of a 'you just lost your fucking job' type of talk. You fought to hold down a smirk, glad that if you couldn't have broken his nose, at least his actions would earn him some sort of punishment.
After a terse few moments, Alessio stood back - red with embarrassment - and the security coordinator turned back to you. His earnest eyes graced yours with more respect than you'd expected.
Guess he cares about the list.
And about - oh, I don't know - not being a fucking douchebag.
"Ma'am, sir, I am so sorry," he breathed, pleading. "Is there anything we can do to remedy this unfortunate situation?"
You pursed your lips and held your head high.
"Let me and my man the hell inside."
Though he didn't show it - you could feel Matt biting back a heated smirk.
"Of course," the security coordinator breathed, nodding eagerly. You reached back to wrap a hand around Matt's bicep again - but didn't waste a second in pointing your free hand at Alessio's guilty face.
"And I want a drink - off his paycheque." Alessio clenched his jaw. "My money, anyway," you whispered under your breath - just loud enough for the security coordinator to hear. He promptly nodded again, stepping back to offer you and Matt free entry to those broad double doors.
"Our bartender will take good care of you both. Again," he offered, pressing his hands together, "we extend our apologies."
"As you should," you huffed - then gave the man a pointed, graceful look. "Thank you for stepping in."
He nodded once more as you led Matt up the stairs - doubtlessly leaving an angry 'you're fired' confrontation in your wake. The bouncers pulled the door open further for your entry, and that haze of violet reached out from the depths of the club as if to wrap around your bones and your mind and eagerly pull you inside.
"Nicely done, Carmen," Matt whispered. You smiled, whispering back.
"I kind of can't believe that worked. But we're in."
Blaring through the club was a mix of Latin music and hip hop, throngs of people in various levels of dress and style dancing in couplings and in groups - and dancing closer and less discretionary the further they got into the main dance floor. The ceilings were high, sloping upward and curving back down at certain spots, and light fixtures that looked like strings of bubbles hung from the ceiling at various points in exaggerated fades from red to gold and back again. Ahead and slightly to the left was the bar area - expansive, with multiple tables and a teal glow along the floor stretching up the walls - and you and Matt made a beeline for it.
“Are you okay?” you asked Matt, pulling out two of the leather seats at the bar for each of you. The bar curved around in an oval shape; from where you sat, you could peer into the rest of this more laid-back section and even further into the darker, more saturated dance floor. Along the dance floor’s edge was a slightly raised platform holding a few sets of double doors. And although mapping out the place in person was a crucial first step - you had to check in with Matt.
The two of you took your seats, and you eyed Matt sharply, watching him shake his head nonchalantly as he lowered into the barstool.
“I’m fine,” he assured you, then tipped his head to the side, the one-sided quirk of his lips more accepting than you thought was reasonable. “There are assholes like that everywhere.”
You frowned.
“That’s not something you should have to be fine with.”
As Matt’s small smile curved up into shape, he let out a sigh. Your eyes caught on the fluff of his hair, the way the blue and purple light reflected off his glasses, off the slight sheen of his shirt.
“No. It can feel pretty shitty sometimes. But,” Matt dipped his head slightly, purple on his glasses glinting into a dark blue, “if I let myself get caught up in the words of every ignorant prick, I won’t have any time to live my life in the very way they think I can’t.”
Matt’s tone was thoughtful, wise - and although you knew there was a hint of wistful sadness behind it, you also knew how strong he was, how comfortable he’d become with the hand he’d been dealt. You felt your body lean closer to Matt’s, your elbow sliding along the bar surface. “And what way is that?”
Matt shrugged. “Fully.” As you tilted your head to the side, Matt took a breath, the second word coming out a touch lower than the first.
“Happily.”
That last word held weight in its near-whisper. You eyed Matt, caught a twitch in his jaw, and couldn’t help but touch your knee to his.
“How’s the happiness coming along?”
At that, Matt’s mouth spread into a broad smile, his tongue running along that lower lip as a vibrant grin took hold. He rested his elbows on the bar and slid his body sideways, close enough to almost bump your shoulder, but not quite.
“Better, recently,” he hummed. You grinned and leaned forward.
“Oh, really?”
“Really. Don’t know what it is,” Matt rumbled. His voice then hit a whisper - and it was so soft, it was as though he tuned the volume just so that only you could hear. “Might have something to do with this bird I saved. Think it was a nightingale.”
You laughed, though it quickly turned to a joking scoff, and turned your body to face Matt’s head-on, your rhinestone straps dragging along your skin with the twist. “I don’t think you saved any bird, Matt.”
“Sure, I did.” His lip curled up at the corner, brows raised. “Poor thing would’ve been lost without me.”
Your brows shot to the ceiling as you eyed him, a blue glow flashing over you as music blasted in the background. “Think it’s probably the other way around.”
At that, Matt tipped his head toward you, his jaw shifting slightly as his lips parted in the ghost of a smirk. His shoulders lifted and dropped, his voice slipping into a low rasp, truthful and clear as every word fell from his lips.
“Maybe we saved each other.”
You bit your lip with a grin.
The bartender sauntered over with another apology and promptly took your orders - you opting for their most expensive option for a Mai Tai and Matt a neat Macallan.
Like at the gala - for a free drink, go big or go home.
Your drink was a perfect orange, vibrant and tropical in a florally engraved glass. This orange faded up into fiery red, licks of flame gliding upward through ice cubes to meet a lime wheel, a sprig of mint, and a single maraschino cherry. The first sip came tart along your tongue, rum washed over with a wave of orange and lime. After a nod of thanks to the bartender, he offered another gift from the house - a shot of tequila for each of you. Said it would be up in a few minutes, and you offered him your thanks.
Placing his drink back onto the bar as the bartender walked off to help another customer, Matt turned to you with a smirk.
“It’s not what you can do for ableism…”
You hung your head with a cringing smile as he laughed, the last ‘it’s what ableism can do for you’ part coming out between a few chuckles.
“Believe me. I would much rather have to pay for my drinks than have that asshole harass you.”
Matt breathed out through parted lips, swirling his whiskey in the glass, the drink’s rippling top reflecting shades of purple alongside its natural caramel hue. “So protective.” He then smirked again, his eyes narrowing behind the jet-black glasses. “What was that line you used? ‘Let me and my man the hell inside?’”
You chuckled, the sound breezy as you turned to face the wall of liquor along the back of the bar, various colors and bottle designs stacked along an exorbitantly fancy shelving system.
“Even undercover,” you mused, “you want to flirt with me.”
“Can’t help it when you call me your man.”
You scoffed, took another sip of your drink, and turned your head to the side, narrowing your eyes and quirking your lips. “Keyword there was undercover.”
Matt smirked into his glass as he went for another sip. “Right.”
Ignoring your blush and your grin - and that of Matt’s, the heat of the club only growing as he continually pressed his knee to yours - you reviewed the objectives of the night with him. Cruz would likely walk through one of the many double doors to peruse the club at some point. According to your research, he enjoyed checking in on things, making sure it was all running smoothly; he was an investor in the place, after all, and although his goals did not include legality, Cruz was not one to shy away from taking care of a booming source of income. After Cruz did his club stroll, he’d step back into a set of double doors - where Matt would use his senses to track Cruz through the building until he got to the meeting space. From there, you’d do your best to gather whatever information you could get.
Hopefully, a connection to your situation, information on upcoming hits - anything. The well had been dry for too long; even a repetition of a connection you already knew would be valuable.
“So,” you finished up, pressing your lips together, your voice low and cautious as you sipped at your drink, “whatever you can manage to overhear should, hopefully, help us - as long as we’re right about this being a Fisk connection.”
You were ready for this. Though you were happy to be here with Matt, happy to have him close - you were in business mode. A job is a job; a mission is a mission. This mission, though, had a lot riding on it. Potentially, your home, your life, your identity. The time you’d spent with Matt made it a lot easier to push many of these feelings aside, but now that the stakes may be in your hands again, you couldn’t help but feel that fear rushing back.
“Hey,” Matt hushed your racing thoughts. You snapped back to attention, not realizing your focus had drifted into worry, lines formed between your brows and along a thoughtful purse of your lips. Normally in your life, your fears were stamped down, concealed by hardened rock in the caves beneath your heart - but Matt offered another option, another place for them to go. His half-curved lips offered you a glimmer of peace again.
“We’ll get something,” he hummed softly. You nodded.
“Yeah. We will.”
You were happy to be around Matt. You were happy to stay with him, more than happy to have grown so close, only growing closer. A part of you, though, didn’t like that it had been partly out of necessity. Sure, your connection developed naturally, but you didn’t like having to depend on him. You wanted and needed your freedom - and, just as you’d rather be wanted than merely needed, you wished to offer him the same lightness, the same lack of life-altering strings hanging both of you in the balance.
You didn’t want to be a burden to Matt. You wanted to be someone he wanted, just for the sake of wanting you. And no, nothing from him was telling you that he felt this way - but still. You felt it.
Maybe it’ll just take time.
And getting safe access to my apartment back.
If that’s even possible.
The club was booming, packed, and the next song - a recent Nicki Minaj collaborative hit - sent everyone into a cheering frenzy.
Even in a chic-seeming place like this, people know how to let loose.
With an entertained grin, you sipped at the waning flow of your Mai Tai, watching as various patrons ran off the dance floor and toward the bar with tired smiles, others striding from the bar and back into the pit with their heads held high on alcohol-assisted confidence. One couple sauntered toward the bar, landing at the end of it, their matching black ensembles clinging to their bodies as they smiled at each other, catching their breaths. Though your attention had been drawn by their bright smiles, their eager entrancement with one another - your gaze quickly flitted to a woman striding behind them.
This woman wore light blue, a shirt and skirt ensemble, tight at her hips, loose at her killer thighs. She walked with all the confidence of a Victoria’s Secret supermodel - and had the looks for it, too. Blonde curls spilled over the front of her shoulders, long and glossy and perfect, even as they extended to splay over her chest like the hair of a fucking fairytale mermaid.
And you weren’t the type to ever tear another woman down, no, no.
That’s not what this was.
No, while you were staring down this blonde bombshell, glass clutched tight in your hand - this blonde bombshell was staring down Matt. She was headed straight for him, the click of her strappy silver heels blocked out by Nicki’s effortless flow and all the shouting voices trying to excitedly keep up.
Energy of a territorial green fluttered in your gut, and you tried to roll your shoulders back, stave off the tension starting to string through them and up into your neck. Matt’s head twitched to the side, his brow furrowing slightly.
“You okay?” he asked. You nodded sharply, though your eyes remained on the woman - not stopping for a second in her stride. The Mai Tai glass felt cool and damp against your parted lips as you tried to take a nonchalant sip.
“Oh, yeah. I’m good.”
Blondie slowed as she met the bar, and you caught her eyes narrow just slightly at Matt as if in further consideration of what her next move should be. Though you and Matt were sitting next to one another, other people had taken seats on either side of the two of you - so it wasn’t totally obvious that you were there together.
Still, though. Your blood began to boil as the mermaid lady flounced up to Matt, interrupting him mid-sip on his Macallan.
“Hey, there,” she drawled, her voice pouring out lilting and soft like syrup. She smiled sweetly, revealing teeth so perfectly pearly they almost glowed. Matt’s head tilted toward her as she spoke - but only after a quick moment of pause where he drew his glass from his lips. “Big crowd tonight, huh?”
A beat passed, and Matt chuckled, one of his hands gesturing to the folded cane in his lap. “Sounds like there’s a lot going on, yeah.”
Her eyes widened. You were surprised she hadn’t noticed you were blatantly staring at this point, daring her to make one wrong move.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she breathed, “I didn’t realize.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
The girl twisted her lips for a moment, wide eyes trailing over Matt - and then she settled, her glossy lips perking back into a smile.
“You know,” she purred, all sugar, “if you need anyone to guide you around, I’m happy to help.”
Adrenaline poured down your back like rain, and you craned your head forward. And, although Blondie’s eyes had been unassumingly sweet until now - they narrowed sharply as she finally got her eyes off of something other than your… your…
Other than Matt.
“I’m sure he can handle himself-“
“Sorry, I’m trying to have a conversation here,” the woman cut you off, sharp and high and haughty. She then smiled, though the look in her eyes was more like that of a snake than a lady, more like a siren than a fairytale mermaid. “Do you mind?”
Your jaw dropped.
Excuse me?
Matt’s brows jerked up, his lips forming that tight line they sometimes did in a non-ideal situation. As much as you wanted to come back at her, this wasn’t the time of the night to cause a scene. Besides, you couldn’t think of a good enough response, anyway.
As if satisfied by your silence, the woman offered a snarky purse of her lips before turning back to Matt, whose hands lay out on the bar counter, his index fingers tapping lightly over the surface.
“Anyway,” she drawled, those wide eyes zeroing in again on her target as she shot him a smile she should have known he couldn’t see. “Hi. Can I buy you a drink?”
You shifted your jaw and turned your head back to the bar shelves across from you. A butterfly-shaped bottle here, a glittery flask there. You focused on counting the bottles, drowning out Blondie’s flirting with numbers and the words of the current song’s next verse.
Matt gave a small, awkward laugh at your side, swirling the last drops of his drink.
“Nice of you to offer,” Matt hummed, “but I haven’t quite finished my first.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the woman nod - but open her mouth to speak, not done with the conquest.
“I’m happy to give you a second,” she assured, then leaned in lower, your insides simmering as her curls fell ever closer to Matt’s shoulder. “Also happy to lead you out to the floor after. Get you away from all these other prying ladies at the bar,” she whispered, her eyes darting in your direction before flitting back to Matt.
You scoffed hard into your glass and shut your eyes with a strong breath out. Matt, though, with a pointed curl of his lip and a sharp draw of his brows, shook his head.
“I don’t want a drink, thanks,” he expressed firmly - before tilting his head to the side, his tone going light and inquisitive. “Although - I mean, if you’re sweet enough to offer - maybe my girl would like one.”
As Blondie’s eyes went wide, her glossed lips curling in an o-shape, your eyes went into their own wider shaping as they darted to Matt. He turned back in your direction, and though your gaze caught on the way his top-unbuttoned shirt revealed just a taste of his pecs, you were promptly drawn in by the slight quirk in his lips, the soft warmth in his expression - all for you.
“Carmen, honey,” he purred, hot and offering at your side as he couldn’t help but smirk, “want a drink?”
Your eyes sparkled - and you drew your lips into a smirk of your own.
Matt Murdock, also known as the death of me, and the man I cannot wait to properly thank for everything he’s done.
“Thank,” as in sleep with - any time, any place, any position.
Matt’s palm promptly turned upward as you slid a hand down his forearm to meet it. Your gaze then floated back up to the blonde woman, who stood there, fuming, as you matched her haughty glare and snakelike smile. Every inch of your tone was tauntingly soft, and you didn’t take your eyes off Blondie for a single syllable.
“I would love one.”
It only took a half second of wide eyes darting between a silent, barely-smiling Matt and a smug you for the woman to huff, spin on her heel, and saunter briskly back toward the dance floor. You gripped Matt’s hand tight as she walked off - distracted back into shades of emerald green at the swish of her hair, the model-esque strut of her stride, the new memory of her so blatantly flirting with Matt right in front of you.
I mean, yeah, there were other people sitting around us, but it should have been pretty fucking apparent that we’re here together.
Come. The fuck. On.
“Maybe don’t break my hand tonight,” Matt whispered, leaning his head closer to yours. You frowned - and realized just how tightly your fingers had curled around his hand. Gave a whole new meaning to death grip. Relaxing your hand took a second, but you did it, pulling it back to rub at your temple as you shut your eyes and tried to shake that exchange from your mind.
“Sorry.”
Matt’s eyes flicked narrower, and he tilted his head just slightly at you - licking his tongue along the part of his slowly curving lips. He dipped his head closer to yours, and you fought to ignore it, not wanting to be chastised.
“Aw,” he purred, the sound of his voice like lava pouring out from his chest and right into the chasms of yours - all low breath and hot rasp. “Is somebody jealous?”
Your scoff was sharp and quick and close to a snort.
“Of what?” You sneered toward those glowing bar shelves, then pointed your nose back in the direction Blondie had strutted away. “Her?”
Matt raised his brows, and you pursed your lips, something bitter crossing over your forcefully relaxed brow. Disdain bloomed through your eyes as you drew that glass to your lips to suck back a last melted ice cube, shrugging as you hummed out your poorly-masked discontent.
“Nothing to be jealous of.”
The bartender arrived back in front of you and Matt, two tequila shots in hand, the sloping shot glasses engraved in a crystal design that looked like fireworks along the sides.
“Sorry about the wait, ma’am, sir,” he offered, placing two lime slices atop the shots and an even-fancier-looking salt shaker between them. “Compliments of the house.”
With a curt nod, you thanked the bartender, and he strode off. Matt’s focus remained on you as you reached for your shot glass - ignoring the salt and the lime and downing the drink in one go. You grimaced slightly at the burn but recovered fast. Matt, on the other hand, remained still with his brow furrowed. You frowned at him and jerked your head toward his tequila.
“Take the shot. Don’t wanna look stiff here.”
He didn’t move, just leaned closer. “You know I’m yours.”
A bitter laugh escaped you. It was muted, though, by Matt’s earnestness, seeming somewhat out of place after the exchange. Tingling and broad, a flower of warmth bloomed in your chest at his statement - though you couldn’t quite embrace it right now.
“She doesn’t,” you huffed, narrowed eyes darting to the dance floor, “but she will.” One of Matt’s brows lifted, his still-full shot standing tall and strong on the counter as you hopped out of your seat, grabbing his arm with one hand. “Come on.”
Before you could yank him away from the bar, Matt grabbed his shot and quickly downed it. It seemed to slide down easy - he skipped the whole lime-and-salt thing, too - and the shot glass was placed back on the counter with a firm tap. Continuing to drag Matt along, he got off his seat and slipped the folded cane into the back of his waistband beneath his blazer.
“Helping guide me around?” He laughed as you wrapped your hand around his bicep, stepping down a small set of stairs toward the main dancing area. “Thought I could handle myself-“
“Shush,” you hushed him, rolling your eyes with a small smile as he promptly laughed. Ahead of you and Matt lay the dance floor, bodies writhing and swirling as if in some crazed celebration of the night. Walking in synchronous steps with Matt, you pursed your lips and whispered softly toward his jaw.
“Keep an ear out for Cruz. He’ll likely have security around him, and I think I remember he wore this odd cologne. Otherwise: pretty shortly buzzed curls, about your height, he’s a smoker, and he’s got a habit of speaking very disrespectfully about women. And… that’s about all I’ve got, but if I see him, I’ll do my best to point him out.”
At your side, Matt’s brows flicked in a quick jump at your description. “Got it.”
His jaw then clenched, as did yours. The easy part, really, was getting into the club, ensuring your covers were good enough, and making your objectives clear: get Cruz, track him to the meeting, listen in, and get the hell out.
Now, with the two of you entering the depths of the dance floor in well-postured stride, under flashing lights and music of the night - the real work could begin.