Everything hurts.
That’s the only coherent thought that Marcia can hold onto as she lies on the couch. And of course, it was one hundred percent her own doing.
She was working on a mission with Nat and Clint, nothing too fancy. They needed to extract a high value target and get him to safety, but the weather was shit and it turned out that there were even more people guarding him than they thought. And as Marcia was prone to do, she overdid it. She has a high metabolism and strong immune system, but the amount of energy she used left her vulnerable and susceptible to the cold/flu that now wracked her body.
Marcia had felt fine when she reached Manhattan, maybe a little run down when she got to Hell’s Kitchen and surprised Matt, Foggy and Karen in their office. Nothing was going to stop her from visiting, though. It had been a few months since she left in the first place, to try and finish her work, and she wanted to take advantage of her time off.
Matt immediately noticed something was wrong, but Marcia brushed him off. It was her body fighting off a cold, nothing more. She would recover before anything worse happened. So she crashed at his place and when she woke up the next morning, she was fairly sure she had been thrown from the roof of his apartment building while she slept.
So now, there she was, laying on his couch. Every muscle and joint in her body throbbed painfully, and somehow a jackhammer had made its way inside of her skull. A small garbage can and box of tissues sat next to her on the floor and god damn it, this was not the way this trip was supposed to go. Some drinks at Josie’s with everyone, kick Foggy’s ass at some pool, a nice dinner with Matt and maybe they could…talk more about things. But instead, the universe laughed cruelly and took advantage of her stupidity-
Now she was being ridiculous. Had to be due to the awful fog her brain was currently floating around in. A pitiful sounding sigh escapes her and she carefully turns on her side, facing the back of the couch, pulling the soft blanket up to her chin.
Marcia isn’t sure how long she’s slept, or if she’s even slept at all, but at some point the sound of a key inside a lock reaches her ears. Her eyes slowly open but she can’t bring herself to move...she just listens.
The door opens, paper bags rustle as he moves over the threshold, then the door closes with a click. His steps move down the hallway, his walking stick no longer tapping along the floor because there was no need for a ruse in his own apartment. Especially not around her.
He sets the bags down on the bureau and there’s a pause. Even though Matt couldn’t see in the traditional sense, Marcia got the sensation that she was being looked at. And she supposed that he was, in his own way. Her heart speeds up, something that happened whenever they were in the same room together these days.
“Still with me?” He asks softly, and her pounding head thanks him for it.
Now she shifts and turns to face him with a groan. “If you insist.” Marcia whispers roughly. She watches as he shrugs out of his coat and hangs it up, then turns toward her. He was still partially dressed for the office; white shirt, deep blue tie and black slacks.
That had been the plan, and Marcia was going to sleep in. Then she would have shown up to have lunch and hang out. But that was all before she woke up and gave her first death rattle in the form of sprinting to the bathroom to throw up.
Marcia had insisted that she could care for herself, but...Matt wasn’t hearing it. Convenient, given the things he could hear.
He lets out a chuckle, it drifts through the space between them and settles over her. Aches and pains temporarily forgotten. “I’m afraid I do.” Matt says as he makes his way toward her. “Several people would not be happy if I let you succumb to something like the flu.”
“Eh, they’d get over it.” She grumbles and looks up at him. He navigates his way around the table, being careful not to knock anything over (thank goodness the can was empty for the smell alone) and sits on the wooden surface.
“Maybe. I’d be bummed about it, though.” A half smile briefly flickers across his stubbled face, and he removes his red sunglasses. All fondness and warmth in his gaze that doesn’t quite meet hers, and Jesus she just wants to kiss him.
“Oh, well in that case…” Her sentence drifts off as Matt brings his hand up and rests the back of his fingers against her forehead. He then moves to her temple and finally, her cheek. The amount of comfort from such a simple touch is overwhelming, and she’s closing her eyes and letting out a contented sigh before she even realizes it. Marcia leans into it, then his hand turns over to cup her cheek. His thumb gently running along her cheekbone.
“Fever’s down. That’s a good sign.” Matt speaks up after a moment, like he was remembering what he was doing in the first place. His fingers curl behind her ear. “Did you get any more sleep?”
“Um...I think so. I know my eyes were closed for awhile, at least.” Like they are now as she leans in a little more. Marcia knows she’s being terribly obvious, but she doesn’t care. It felt good while everything else felt awful.
One last swipe of his thumb and he slowly pulls his hand away, calloused fingertips grazing her jaw. She damn near whimpers from the loss of contact. Or shit, she might have, it was hard to tell. It occurs to her then that he didn’t need to touch her to figure out if she was still feverish...he had just wanted to touch her.
There are few things Marcia regrets as fiercely as she does being sick at this moment in time.
Marcia opens her eyes and sees him smiling at her. Maybe he was regretting it, too. “Sorry it took so long. We had to go to a couple stores to get everything.” Matt says and gently touches her shoulder, then he gets up and heads back over to the somewhat forgotten paper bags on the bureau.
“You didn’t have to go through all that trouble…” She mumbles, guilt making her stomach feel even more unsettled.
“Oh, it wasn’t.” He answers simply as he holds the bags in his arms and walks to the kitchen. “Foggy would have traveled all over Manhattan for you. I’m starting to think he likes you more than me.”
She hums, amused. “Can’t blame him. I am incredibly charming.” She groans as she slowly moves to a sitting position, her entire body begging her not to. Her legs stay stretched out over the cushions and a half hearted attempt is made to smooth out her hair as she gazes over at him.
Matt smirks and he’s rolling up his sleeves. Marcia didn’t know what it was about men and dress shirts rolled up to their elbows, but it was a sight she could appreciate even in her current state. “And modest, too. Do you want to try and eat something?” He reaches into the bags, his eyes staring forward as he felt around. “There’s saltine crackers, chicken broth...ah, applesauce…”
Marcia listens and her stomach rolls uncomfortably. Guess that was her answer. She shakes her head slowly. “No food right now...you didn’t happen to get any-”
“Tea?” He finishes for her, and shuffles around in the other bag before pulling out a box with floral print. “Foggy said this one is good. There's ginger in it, so it should help your stomach.”
“Yes. Tea would be wonderful...thank you.” She presses her cheek against the cool leather and tilts her head up just enough so she could see him.
“You’re welcome.” Matt says, and he busies himself with putting things away. They fall into a comfortable silence, and Marcia continues to watch him. As well as she can, through blurry vision that pulses around the edges in sync with her aching head. It hits her then, just how much she actually missed him. They had talked on the phone while she was away, a few times a week with texting in between. They would talk about particular things they were working on, when they weren’t discussing hobbies and other things about themselves.
He’d laugh at her dumb jokes, and she would throw his sass right back at him. It got harder to hang up after a while, but the phone calls helped ease the desire to just...have him in front of her. The whole time she was gone, it didn’t feel right. Her work was important and it needed to be done, but there was no denying it. Marcia had left a piece of herself behind in Hell’s Kitchen.
Her eyelids become impossibly heavy, so she gives in and closes them as Matt is putting some water on to boil. “Matty…” She whispers.
“Yes, Marcie?”
“I…” The words she wants to say are slamming around her skull, a jumbled mess of nonsense she would have difficulty with even if she were healthy. She sighs. “I’m sorry.”
A pause as he turns the faucet on, and he’s searching her out again. “For?” He asks after a moment.
“For...ugh, I don't know, being sick I guess.” Marcia waits, and when he doesn’t say anything, she rambles on. “All I wanted was to get here so I could see you...and, ah, Foggy and Karen. Now you're stuck taking care of me and missing work and I feel like...absolute ass.”
“You’re making it sound like this is just the way your life is going to be from now on.” Matt responds, and she hears the smile in his voice.
“That your way of calling me dramatic, Murdock?” She grumbles. It’s hard to sound tough when she can’t bring herself to open her eyes or raise her head, but damn it if she tries anyway.
“I guess it is.” His voice is closer now and Marcia lifts her head, stars in her vision and a particularly nasty throb in her head telling her she did so way too fast. She hisses and winces. “Easy...here.”
Marcia looks up at the tall glass of water he’s holding in one hand, two bright orange gel caps resting in the palm of the other. She takes them. “You’re a saint, you know that?”
Matt laughs at that as he slides a chair out from the table and moves it so one side is against the back of the couch. “Far from it, but thank you.”
Marcia eyes him as she swallows down the pills. A wince of his own flashes briefly across his features as he sits down. He’d gone out last night and was favoring some aches and pains of his own. When wasn’t he, though? She holds the glass of water in her lap and bites her bottom lip. If he had just let her go with, she could have helped him. That had been one of the main causes of her guilt when she left, that he was fighting alone again and what if something happened while-
“Em. Stop it.” Matt says firmly.
“Stop what?”
His hands are clasped together, forearms on his thighs as he leans forward and shakes his head. “You’re already sick. The last thing you need to do is make yourself sick with guilt about things out of your control.”
“Oh, so only you’re allowed to do that?” She immediately regrets the harsher tone, even if she meant the words. She lets out a sigh. “Sorry, that was a shitty thing to say.”
Matt tilts his head to the side. “Not untrue, though. Guess we’re quite the pair.” Matt says evenly and smirks, that damn dimple of his making an appearance. Her gaze moves from his cheek to the healing cut on the corner of his bottom lip, then finally to the glass in her lap. Quite the pair.
He sits up and lays his arm out across the back of the couch, reaching out to her with his palm up. It takes her a few seconds to understand what he wants. Marcia shakes her head even as a tinge of pink makes itself known on her cheeks.
“Matt, you’re already risking enough of your health as it is, just being in the same room as me. I don’t want you to get sick.”
“That’s why soap and hand sanitizer exist. Plus, I’ve had my flu shot.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Pretty much mandatory when you work with the public as much as I do.”
Well, that was good enough for her. She takes one of her hands off of the glass of water and wipes the condensation on the blanket. Then she reaches up and intertwines her fingers with his, warmth blooming across her chest.
“I wish you weren’t sick.” He says, the sudden statement taking her by surprise. His thumb gently moves across her skin. “But not because you’re a burden, or in your words, because I’m ‘stuck taking care of you’. Even if you are considerably more mouthy than usual.” Marcia chuckles softly at this, which makes him smile briefly before continuing. “I wish you weren’t sick, because I know you feel terrible. Every available sense that I have is telling me that much, and…” His tongue darts out across his bottom lip and he bites it gently before continuing. “I’m more than happy to spend the next few days making sure you get better, because...I care about you, Marcia. And that’s what you do when you care about someone.”
His eyes are moving from side to side, and Marcia’s heart starts thudding in her chest. Her symptoms are momentarily forgotten as she stares at him. Words escape her completely except for his name, which floats out over a sigh. Matt rises from the chair, just enough so he can pull it forward, closer to her. He gently pulls his hand from her grasp, only to then grab her hand and place it against his chest, over his heart. He holds it there, his other hand resting on her forearm.
Her eyes slip closed as she feels his heartbeat. It was almost perfectly synced up with her own, and it was beating just about as fast as hers. “So…” Marcia says thickly, not wanting to ruin the moment but her sick-addled brain was trying to catch up with what was going on. She clears her throat. “It’s not just me.”
“No. It’s not.” He responds softly, holding the hand on his chest a little tighter as she gently clutches at the fabric of his shirt. “How long are you staying?” He asks, the vulnerability in his tone making something in her stomach knot up.
“A week.” After she says it, she shakes her head. Nowhere near enough time. “No. Two weeks.” She sighs, it wasn’t enough either but it was better. She opens her eyes and her breath hitches at the sight of his face. He was focused completely on her, his gaze settling on her mouth.
“Then, let’s get you better, because I would really like to take you out for dinner.” He grins happily and it’s a sight Marcia wants to see more of.
“I’d like that.” Even though they had a lot to talk about, that didn’t stop her from smiling at the man in front of her.
"Matty..." She says after a moment, glancing in the direction of the kitchen.
"Hm?" He hums in contentment, the hand on her forearm massaging the muscles there.
"I think the water is boiling." She chuckles.
"Oh, shit." Matt blinks once and stands up, gives her hand one last squeeze and reluctantly lets go before walking quickly into the kitchen. All Marcia can do is smile warmly as she watches him. Faith was something Marcia didn’t have a lot of sometimes, but she had faith that they could make this work.