Heartbeat
Matt hated when you got sick. He’s used to being able to help people, to fight off any danger that may fall upon them. But when you fall sick, there’s nothing he can do but slowly nurse you back to health. It takes far too long for his short patience, and he’s tense the entire time, something that drives Foggy insane.
Winter had fallen upon Hell’s Kitchen fast, a blanket of snow covering everything, the wind chilling against his skin as he patrolled. When he finally stumbled into your shared bedroom close to three in the morning, he was desperate to seek out your warmth under the covers. However, when he slid close behind you, your skin burned at his touch, and he realized your body was covered in a thin layer of sweat. You had vaguely mentioned that the flu was going around your office this past week, but you’d been part of the lucky few to not succumb to falling ill.
“Sweetheart, are you feeling alright?” Matt’s voice is soft and low in your ear, pulling you from the fitful sleep you’d been in. You grumble a bit, shaking your head and trying to ignore the dull throbbing in your head. Matt sighed softly, pulling you closer to his chest and curling around you. “I take it you’ve gotten that flu that was being passed around, hm?”
You moaned softly, shoving your damp face into your pillow. “John must have given it to me on Friday. He sent an email today saying he was taking a few sick days, but we were working on a project together.”
Matt nodded, burying his face in the crook of your neck, the chill still clinging to his skin sending a shiver down your spine. “I thought I smelled some bile coming from the bathroom. I’ll take it that you didn’t hold down dinner very well, did you?”
“Don’t tell me you can smell when I’ve thrown up, Matthew. That’s disgusting.”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m just worried about you.”
You sighed, turning over and burying your face in his chest. “Can you call Laura in the morning for me and tell her I won’t be in?”
“Sure. Get some sleep, I’ll be right here to take care of you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss into the crown of your head.
_
It took a week and a half, along with copious amounts of Foggy’s chicken noodle soup, before you started to feel somewhat human again. Your days and nights were mixed up for a while there, what with you sleeping off fevers and getting drowsy from whatever medicine Matt handed you. You ended up throwing up more than you cared to admit, but Foggy promised his soup was the only cure for a harsh New York winter flu. Sure enough, when Matt came home from work the following Friday, you were freshly showered, wearing one of his hoodies, and cooking dinner in the kitchen.
He smiled brightly when he couldn’t feel any excess heat radiating off of your skin as he hugged you from behind. “Well look who’s finally feeling better,” he said smugly, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck.
Your returning smile was soft, and you leaned your temple against his head. “I haven’t had a fever in 24 hours, at least. I’d say I’m over the worst of it.”
Matt released you reluctantly, padding over to the fridge to pull out a cold beer. He leaned against the counter as he opened it. “Good. It’s been lonely around here with you sleeping all the time,” he quipped, giving you a wolfish grin.
He managed to dodge the smack of the tea towel you aimed at him. “Now you know how I feel when you get so hurt you have to meditate for a whole day!”
Matt huffed quietly before taking a swig of beer. “That hasn’t happened in-“
You wordlessly point to the sign you kept on the fridge that read ‘It has been 83 days since Matt’s last near-death experience’ in black dry erase marker. “83 days. Granted, I think that’s wrong now, since I think I lost track of a few days somewhere in the past week,” you admitted, stirring the marinara sauce thoughtfully.
You both enjoyed a quiet dinner, the first meal of hearty food you managed to keep down in more than a week. And Matt made quite a spectacle of having you for ‘dessert’.
And when you returned to bed that night once Matt left for patrol, you didn’t quite realize you were one day behind in your birth control pack as you swallowed down the little pink pill.
-
It’s just around a month later, when you’re snuggled into Matt’s side on the couch, a book in your lap, when he hears it. Under the rustle of the page as you turn it, under the rasp of your soft fingertips against the grain of the paper, under the calm steadiness of your pulse, he hears a small, rapid, rhythmic thumping. His brow furrows as he casts his senses out further, trying to isolate the sound, but it’s so muffled and quiet that he can’t quite manage it. It reminds him of helicopter blades as the engine warms up, and he dismisses it as something he’s just misinterpreting. There’s so many other noises much louder than this one, and he focuses back on your slow breathing.
However, when you walk into his office to bring him, Foggy, and Karen dinner the next day, he realizes vaguely that the sound has followed you. You’re all sitting around Matt’s desk, Indian takeout sprawled over the dark wood surface, and Karen’s laugh is a tempting distraction, but he feels pulled to listen to that small sound again. It’s buried deep, under various other, much louder noises, but it’s a persistent thudding that captures his attention fully. It’s unlike any other sound he’s cataloged in his head.
“Hello? Earth to Matt?”
Foggy’s voice makes him raise his head again, his focus now on his friend. “Sorry, I just… thought I heard something.”
“Oh, anything exciting happening in a fifty mile radius?” Karen asked teasingly.
That earned a laugh from you as you pulled apart your naan bread. “I’m not sure his hearing stretches that far, Karen.” Your gaze shifts back to him, a smile on your face. “Have you ever tested it before?”
Matt shrugged, pushing around his food with his fork. “Everything sort of varies,” he answered, still somewhat focused on that soft, muffled sound. “For instance, heartbeats are easy to hear but there are so many of them it’s hard to isolate them sometimes. I can usually hear them up to 50 feet away.”
He doesn’t bother to listen to the rest of the conversation, but he vaguely picks up on Foggy theorizing a game of hide and seek throughout Hell’s Kitchen.
-
It doesn’t make sense until he visits Claire at work that night. He snuck in through a side entrance to the ER in a hoodie, pulled up to cover his face from the cameras, and sweats, holding a spare t-shirt he grabbed from Fogwell’s into his bleeding side. He manages to catch Claire’s gaze and slip through into an empty storage closet. He gave her an apologetic look as she slipped in after him, clearly flustered that he was visiting her like this.
“What the hell, Matt?!” She whisper-yells at him, eyes scanning over him until they lock onto the bloody shirt at his ribs.
“I didn’t want to make you leave work,” he admitted quietly. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”
Claire let out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head as she pulled up a storage bin for him to sit on. “What about your girlfriend? Thought she patched you up now.”
Matt shrugged, sitting down and reluctantly pulling the shirt from his side with a wince. “She’s at Foggy’s tonight, passed out there after she helped Foggy with his deposition. Didn’t want to deal with Foggy freaking out.”
Claire rolled her eyes and got to work, stitching him up with quick, practiced hands. He zipped his hoodie back up afterwards and thanked her, following her out of the closet. He was about to leave when he heard that noise again, but it was stronger this time, a little louder. But it was unmistakably the same fast thumping he heard from you earlier. It was coming from the exam room next to the closet, and he caught Claire’s arm, his head tilted slightly as he listened.
“What? What is it?” Claire asked, her gaze searching his face for any hint of danger. She knew him long enough to know when he was listening to something intensely.
“There’s a woman in the exam room next to us. There’s a noise, a - a sound coming from her. It’s fast and light, but it’s rhythmic. I heard it earlier and I didn’t know what it was. Is there something wrong with her?” Matt asked, his voice pitched low, the cadence of it picking up with worry and urgency. If that woman was making the same sound you had, and she was in the ER, there could be something wrong with you, something he needed to bring you to the hospital for.
Claire looked between Matt’s face and the curtain of the exam room, her brow furrowed. “Oh. Um, she fell down some stairs earlier, came in to check up on the baby. She’s pregnant, about 12 weeks along.”
And just like that, a chill overtook Matt’s spine, the sudden realization of what that sound was came crashing down upon him. A heartbeat. Not like yours, or his, or even a child’s. A tiny fetus, less than the size of a grape, it was… it was a baby’s heartbeat, before it was even born. He realized belatedly he had never had the need to know what that sounded like, never really had the opportunity to listen to it and know what it was. But now that he knew, it was unmistakable. A minute heartbeat under layers of skin, muscle, and organ, beating so fast that it was like the rhythm of a butterfly’s wings as they floated from flower to flower.
His grip on Claire’s arm tightened a fraction before he let her go, clearing his throat around the knot that had formed there. “Thanks Claire,” he mumbled before stalking off, out through the same side door he’d come through before.
-
Instead of going home as he had planned, he found himself opening Foggy’s apartment door with the spare key Foggy kept under the stairwell on the floor below, letting himself in with a quiet squeak of the door hinge. He found you curled up on the couch, Marci’s favorite throw blanket draped over your peacefully sleeping form. And beneath that blanket, beneath your skin, there were two heartbeats. Yours, and the baby you kept safe in your womb. Now that he knew what that sound was, the gravity of the situation made him sink to his knees.
There was a baby, his baby, nestled deep within you. That tiny, muffled heartbeat called to him stronger than any scream ever could. It thundered in his ears, overpowering everything else. It was overwhelming, made his chest ache and his ears ring.
And you. You had no idea, at least to Matt’s knowledge, that you were pregnant. You hadn’t given any indication that you knew, at least. No falter in your heartbeat, no nervousness when you talked with him. In fact, you had a drink with him at Josie’s just last week.
He started to wonder how this happened. You had agreed to put off kids until you both felt ready, until after you were married, preferably. You were so busy at work all of the time, and Matt had both his day job and night activities that kept him running ragged. Hell, you both still lived in his apartment, which was a one bedroom. Sure, there was room to put a crib and other things, but… You were always so good about taking your birth control on time every day. What changed?
He was so focused on that small sound coming from your stomach, and the thoughts whipping through his head faster than he could keep up with, that he didn’t register your heartbeat increasing as you drifted out of sleep. Only the soft moan you made as you shifted managed to snap him out of it, and he reached out to gently tug the throw blanket over your shoulder more.
“Matty?” You mumbled, voice thick with sleep. You didn’t bother to open your eyes just yet.
“Right here, sweetheart,” he reassures quietly, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. He paused then, inhaling once more to catch more of that odd scent on the tail end of your breath. He wrinkled his nose. “Honey, did you get sick tonight?” He asked softly, running his hand over your shoulder and down your side.
You nodded, brow furrowing as you peeked open your eyes to look at him. “Yeah. Must have been something I ate from dinner. Foggy gave me a new toothbrush so I could get the taste out of my mouth at least.” You reached out, pulling the hood down from Matt’s head. You gripped his chin, turning his head from side to side. “Your head looks okay, but you look like you had a rough night. Everything alright?”
Matt leaned his head down, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Don’t worry about me. Claire patched me up, I’m fine,” he murmured against your hand.
You nod and shuffle back on the couch, squeezing up tight against the back cushions. “Come on. I’m sure you need rest.”
Matt climbed onto the couch beside you, wrapping his arm around your torso and pulling you flush to his chest. His other hand skated down your side, his thumb nudging the hem of your shirt up to reveal the soft skin of your stomach. He rested his hand there, fingers brushing lightly across the exposed flesh. He allowed himself this moment to process, to work through the wave of emotions that came with knowing his child sat mere inches below his hand. He swallowed heavily and closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His breath was shaky as he dragged it into his lungs.
“I’m right here, Matty. I’ve got you,” you whisper, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Whatever is bothering you, we can get through it together, okay?”
Matt hesitated for a few seconds before he nodded, and he held you close as he drifted off to sleep.
And when Foggy woke up the following morning to you two snuggled together in a lump on his couch, he shook his head as he added another blanket over you both.
-
“What a surprise, Matthew. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Sister Maggie greeted as she slid into the pew next to him. He turned his head minutely, his hands stilling as he stopped fiddling with his cane. “You don’t usually show up unless you have something on your mind.”
Matt inhaled through his nose, the strong incense from the back of the church assaulting to his senses, but still comfortingly familiar. He let a pause hang in the air between them before speaking. “Let me ask you… do you believe people earn the miracles they’re given?”
The question itself seemed to catch the nun off guard, and she found herself staring at the cross at the front of the church for a moment. When she had collected her thoughts, she turned back to him. “Miracles aren’t earned, Matthew. They are given by the grace of God to those that need them. We should never expect them, but when they are given… we should not take them for granted either.”
Matt swallowed, turning his folded cane over in his hands. “I think… I think I was given a miracle. And I don’t know how to handle it, or how to accept it,” he admitted in a whisper, not trusting his full voice at the moment.
Maggie’s gaze burned into the side of his head. “May I ask what you were given?” She asked softly, reaching out to place her hand on his knee.
Matt struggled to answer, struggled to find the power to speak it into existence. He felt like the moment he said it, it would be ripped away from him in the cruel way life did. Everything he had dared to enjoy, to love, was eventually stripped away from him, leaving him bare and raw. He didn’t want that to happen to this, to his child.
When he did find the strength to answer, it came out barely audible. “A baby. God gave me… a baby.”
“Oh Matthew.” His name was spoken with such reverence, and he found himself being pulled into Sister Maggie’s embrace. And he couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that came with it, so his tears started to soak through her shoulder. “You’ve been given such a gift, my child. Such an amazing, beautiful gift. Don’t let your fear control you. God gave you this baby for a reason.”
He sniffled, trying to reel back the emotions pouring out of him. “What if I don’t deserve it? What if - if I can’t protect it? What if I can’t save… me?”
And there it was, the fear that has crippled him his whole life, laid bare in front of the altar of the church. The desperate desire - no, need, to keep his child away from the hurt he had felt as he held his father’s dead body in his hands, the overwhelming scent of copper filling his lungs and grating against his brain. His father’s life hadn’t been nearly as perilous as his own, and yet that didn’t matter. Jack Murdock had been ripped from him, leaving him scared, abandoned, alone. The fear that one day, his own child could feel that same devastation, the same loss, sent him reeling, floating in a vat of terror and anxiety.
Sister Maggie pulled back, holding him tightly by the shoulders. “Then you better become smarter, Matthew Michael Murdock. And I don’t mean lawyer-smart, I mean life-smart. You’re reckless, and you know that. You have to be smarter than that, better than that. You push through this because you have to, because your child needs you. Learn from my mistakes, my dear.”
There, in front of God at His altar, Matt made a vow: to fiercely love and protect his child, no matter the cost.
-
When he left the church, he made a quick stop before heading home. When he opened up the door to the apartment, the sound of two heartbeats greeted him. One yours - the familiar, comforting cadence he so often gravitated towards. And then there was that soft flutter underneath it all, as quiet as a butterfly’s wings, but no less beautiful.
He found you on the couch, curled up and a little flushed as you stared glassy-eyed at the TV. He placed the brown paper bag he had brought home with him on the coffee table as he sat by your feet. “Still not feeling good, sweetheart?” He asked quietly, placing a hand on your hip. You were wearing sweatpants, but he could tell the skin underneath was damp with a thin layer of sweat. If the smell from the bathroom was any indication, you’d gotten sick just about fifteen minutes ago.
You shrugged, not bothering to turn your head to look at him. “I thought it would go away after last night at Foggy’s, but the nausea came back around an hour ago. I tried to fight it off for as long as I could, but….” You trailed off.
Matt hummed and reached into the paper bag, feeling around for a moment before pulling out a box of tea. “Picked this up at the store for you. It’s ginger tea, supposed to help with nausea.”
That got you to smile a bit. “That was thoughtful, Matty. Thank you.”
He nodded, his fingers twitching in hesitation before he reached into the bag again, pulling out a long rectangular box this time. He offered it out to you. “This is for you, too.”
Your brow furrowed as you took the box from him, reading over the bold blue letters on the label. He heard your heart skip a beat just as your eyes widened. “A pregnancy test?” You asked, your voice hushed as you looked up at him. He tried to keep his face blank, but he knew you saw right through him, like always. “No, there’s no way…” you mumbled, reaching for your phone and pulling up the calendar app. After a quick scroll, your eyes widened even more, and your breath caught in your throat. “I’m late.”
Matt nodded, reaching out to stroke a stray hair from your face. He kept carefully quiet, allowing you to process it in your own time.
“No, no,” you repeated, your eyes flickering back and forth, although you weren’t using them to see, but to remember. “My last… it was before I got sick with that flu, but that was…”
“Six weeks ago,” Matt filled in softly.
Your head snapped up to look at him, the box held firmly in your grasp. “How did you…”
He pursed his lips, reluctant to answer. He supposed there was no surprise to be ruined now, and it didn’t really matter if you took the test or not. Not when that little flutter was so loud in his ears. Unmistakable. “I can hear it. The heartbeat.”
It took you a moment to process, but when it finally sunk in, a flood of tears appeared at your lash line, the test inside the box vibrating in your shaking hands. “You hear it? The… the baby?” You asked, your voice close to a whine, choked in your throat.
Matt nodded and gave you a small, hopeful smile, although he could feel tears of his own starting to burn in his eyes. “Loud and clear, sweetheart.”
His confirmation made your face crumple, and you rushed forward into his arms, throwing yourself against his chest. He caught you with a quiet ‘oof’, ignoring the way your knee knocked against his stitches as you settled into his lap. He couldn’t tell if the sound of your sobs were from fear, or sadness, or joy, but he stroked your back and whispered soft reassurances in your ear. “It’s okay, my love. I’ve got you. I’m right here, I’m not letting go.”
It felt like hours as he held you as you sobbed, but when your breaths slowed to hiccups and your sniffles started to lessen, he knew the worst of it was over.
“I’m sorry, Matty,” you whispered against his neck, your breath hot as it tickled his skin.
“What on earth for?” He breathed, tightening his hold on you. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We aren’t ready, not like we wanted,” you murmur, dropping your arms from his shoulders and allowing them to fall into your lap. Your hands played with the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing the skin below your navel.
Matt pressed his cheek against your hair, nuzzling into the soft strands. “We’ll get ready,” he said simply, his voice resolute.
You pulled back slightly, eyes flickering over his face. His expression was guarded, but there was a slight upturn in the corners of his mouth, and his eyes showed no hint of anger or sadness. He simply looked like he was waiting for you, waiting to see what you would say next.
Your fingers found his, and you caressed his hand for a moment before bringing it down, using it to shift the fabric of your shirt up over your navel. You spread his hand flat, palm pressed firmly to the low part of your stomach. Matt’s breath hitched in his throat, and he tried in vain to swallow the knot that formed suddenly. That’s when you allowed yourself to finally smile, placing your hand fully on top of his. “There’s a little baby Murdock in there,” you whispered in wonder, resting your forehead against Matt’s.
He let out a wet chuckle, his fingers flexing against the soft skin of your belly. “God, I love you,” he breathed, closing his eyes.
‘We love you too, Matt.”