Chapter 1
Clint poured himself a cup of coffee, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, while he tried to think of a good reason, as to why Tony should spend some resources on the vigilante Daredevil, who'd helped a lot in putting away that uncomfortable looking man-child Fisk. Twice.
Maybe Clint could convince the genius, that Daredevil had some sort of powers. After all, the guy kept his face – and therefore his eyes – covered at all times, and for some reason the archer doubted, that the eyes in that stupid looking new helmet were actually functional. Maybe it helped the vigilante to focus while fighting? Clint had to admit that even that would be an odd reason to cover up the, in his opinion, most important sense for fighting. And, that much was obvious, Daredevil's fighting skills could easily compete with his own, and maybe even with Natasha's.
However, truth be told, Clint didn't actually care too much about those potential powers. He was just insanely curious about the man wearing those pants, that made his look even juicier than Steve's. Clint grinned at the thought of the soldier furiously trying to keep a straight face when confronted about that. Steve might pretend to be a good choir boy, but the fact that he swore like a sailor when bickering with Bucky, kind of put a dent in his reputation.
Clint facetimed Tony.
It took a minute, before a slightly dishelved mechanic appeared on the archer's screen.
“What?” Tony asked and suppressed a yawn. Going by the dark circles under his eyes, he'd spent the night in his workshop again.
“Can we find out who Daredevil is?” Clint figured there was no use in dancing around the subject. Better get it over with and be done with it. At least this way he didn't have time to build up anxiety about asking a question that might have a disappointing answer attached to it.
“Uh …” Tony frowned. “Why? I mean probably, yeah, but why?”
Clint drew in a breath in an attempt to convince himself that he didn't sound like a child when he replied: “I wanna know. You know, he's done some good things; helped put Fisk away and all. Just … I just wanna know what kind of man takes it upon himself to keep an entire city district safe. And all that with no help.”
“Well it sure ain't safe to rob a store in Hell's Kitchen, that much is for sure.” Tony paused, before lowering his head, shaking it softly. “Fine. I'll see what I can find out and then you can go and meet your hero.”
“He's not my-” Tony had already hung up, leaving a pouting, yet excited Clint staring at his phone. He took another sip of coffee. Then he grinned. He'd finally get to find out who this vigilante really was. Because it was only a matter of time before Tony would find out where to find the man in the mask.
“Tell me again, why we're drugging Daredevil?” Bruce asked, frowning suspiciously.
“Well, he clearly doesn't want to talk to us” Clint carefully took the sedative Bruce handed him and filled it into his arrow. “and if we don't sedate him, he'll probably be able to somehow free himself and I'm not overly eager to get my ass kicked.”
“Have you ever considered to just … leave him alone?” The scientist closed the cupboard and locked it. “You know, like a normal person?”
Clint scoffed and rolled his eyes. It's not like he actually liked this plan a whole lot. He just couldn't bring himself to stay away from the man in red. “No, of course not. Tony already spent a good amount of time on finding out where this guy usually patrols and if we don't find and identify him, good ol' Starkie-boy will pull at least one other all-nighter.” He paused pointedly. “And you know how Pepper gets when he does that.”
Bruce grimaced. He was painfully aware of what Pepper's wrath could do. Last time, she'd banned Tony from coffee and his lab. In return, he'd spent three days snapping at everybody – including a fridge on several occasions. It had been very tense around the tower.
The scientist sighed. “Alright fine, but don't pull me into this if it goes south. Your vigilante, your responsibility.”
“Sure thing, buddy.” The archer shouldered his bow with a smirk. He'd point a finger at Bruce in a split second to avoid getting run over by Pepper or Nat. Both were very scary and not something he wanted to be threatened with. “Sure thing.”
Matt had acquired a therapist not too long ago. It had taken a very annoyed Foggy and a concerned Karen, to convince him, that maybe losing his girlfriend, being buried under a building and coming back from the dead, wasn't something he could just work through on his own. Of course Matt had never mentioned the hallucinations he'd had after he'd found out Fisk had gotten out of prison, but he was smart enough to know that they would have dragged him to the next best shrink immediately.
The first thought that popped up in Matt's head, was, that he could talk to father Lantom. Then he remembered that the man was dead, too and he had agreed to find a therapist.
It had taken weeks until he'd finally found somebody he'd somewhat liked, although he hadn't trusted Mrs. Bloom yet. So he'd spent the first two sessions finding out what she thought about Daredevil, and whether she would keep his secret.
After that, he'd slowly revealed himself to her. She'd taken it quite well, actually. Sure, she'd asked how he did it, with him being blind and all, but she'd kept cool and hadn't shown any indications of judging him.
She was simply guiding him through his confused mind and helped him understand his own feelings. Which, in turn, helped a lot in easing the pain and stress of balancing work at day, fighting at night and keeping up his friendships with Foggy and Karen.
So now he was sitting across from her, excitedly telling her about his last trip across the rooftops. He'd never realized how much more fun his vigilantism was, when he could talk about it afterwards, without being judged to hell. In front of his therapist, Matt was able to drop all pretences and stop worrying about coming across like a violent psychopath. Right here was his safe space; no judgement, no fear, no fake facades.
Mrs. Bloom leaned forwards on her seat, her pen hovering just above the notepad she was holding, ready to take scribble down bits and pieces she thought important. “So then how did you react to the mugger's comment?”
He frowned. “Well, naturally, I kicked his face in.”
She nodded slightly. “Naturally. And how did that make you feel?”
Matt considered the question before slowly answering: “I mean it didn't make me feel bad.” He paused. “I hurt him, to protect those women from him. So he got what he deserved. Plus, he's still alive and will be up and walking again in no time. I don't think I should feel too bad about it.”
“But you do feel some kind of remorse? Or guilt?”
The lawyer let out a sigh and shrugged weakly. “I guess. I just don't know why. It was the right thing to do.”
Mrs. Bloom smiled gently. “Yes, but it's apparent, that there is some part of you, that disagrees with violence.”
“That would be the lawyer-part of my brain, then,” Matt helpfully supplied.
“Exactly.”
“It annoys me,” he huffed, then. “I know why I'm doing this; I know I'm helping people. But there's always this stupid guilt that keeps me up at night.”
“We'll find a solution to that.” She shot a look at the clock. “Our time for today is over. See you next week I presume?”
Matt nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Of course.” She smiled and walked him to the door. Before he left, she quietly added: “Be safe out there.”
He chuckled. “I'll do my best.”