Archive of Our Own ^beta

You adjusted the blanket that lay softly on your lap. Your laptop rested on your thighs, the underneath of it omitting a comfortable heat, while you caught up on your favorite TV show. You were on the couch in the living room of the apartment you shared with your boyfriend. The leather of the sofa squeeked as you adjusted your position, cuddling yourself deeper into the plush cushion. A routine you were overly familiar with.

Matt Murdock’s evenings were consistently occupied by crime fighting. You had known this before you ever even dated. Because of it, you liked to keep yourself awake until he got home. The second half of your days were occupied with showering and watching television.

While you didn’t love the idea of him being in danger, you knew he could handle himself. Fear never quite consumed you over the thought of him beating up an organized crime leader or two.

The door that accessed the rooftop opened, revealing your boyfriend.

“Hello, my love,” You called out as he slowly made his way down the stairs.

“Hi, darling,” He said back, his voice unsteady and laced with pain.

His steps were heavy, practically pulling him to the ground with every movement his feet made. His knuckles paled as he gripped onto the railing beside him.
Alert, you shut your laptop closed, placing it on the coffee table in front of you. You rose from your seat to approach him.

“Are you alright?” You ask as he nears you.

He removes his black mask from the top of his head. It seemed to hold more gravity than usual, as if it were sodden with a liquid of sorts.

“Something hit the back of my head,” His fatigued tone and, lack of story accompanying his answer, proved him to be tired and dancing a fine line between consciousness and unconsciousness.

You reached your hand up towards the back of his skull. His hair was wet to the touch.

Pulling away, you looked down at your fingers. They were slick with a dark layer of blood. Sticky, coppery, and warm. It shone a reflection of the fixture illuminating the room around you, glimmering in its light.

You tried to control the fear rising within you, not wanting Matt to pick up on your concern.

“Let’s get you into the bathroom,” You spoke softly, taking his arm and leading him with you.

You’ve had your fair share of cleaning and stitching Matt up. Over the years, you have learned enough to be able to help him with ease. You knew how to make sure all wounds were properly disinfected, you knew how to tie off a stitch, and you knew how to make bleeding stop. As much as Matt loved how gentle you were, you knew he liked the process to be quick. There was no need to take more time than necessary.

In the bathroom, you instructed him to sit on the lid of the toilet. With a half-wince, he did as told. You reached forward, your soft hands about to search his body for wounds you needed to tend to. Matt was slumped over, seeming to slip away from his weakening grip on consciousness as the seconds went on.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” You stated, rushing to the kitchen. You decided to grab a bag of frozen veggies from the freezer as well, hoping that it would serve a double purpose, reducing inflammation and keeping him awake.

“If you could please drink this,” You said, handing Matt the cold bag, “And put this on the back of your neck”.

He took a few sips, they were a good enough size that it eased a worry or two. He held in a groan as the biting cold of the plastic touched his warm skin. The combination of water and frozen pain relief that you had handed him made him sit up straighter, brightening up to himself and his surroundings.

“Thank you,” He tried to smile, the pain amounted it to a half-smile at best. Your heart held on to the effort, causing you to smirk ever so slightly. You placed a hand on the side of his face, tenderly grasping his cheek.

“How do you feel?” You asked. You could predict he didn’t feel his best. But, you wanted to know whether or not there was anything he needed that would ease the troubling sensation that was no doubt flowing through his body.

“Fine for now,” He responded honestly.

“Would you like me to get anything for you?” You asked, readying both him and yourself to clean and cover the large cut on the back of his head.

“No, thank you,” He replied, short and sweetly.

You grabbed the first aid kit from underneath the sink. You eased Matt’s shirt over his head, avoiding any freshly scraped, scratched, or bruised spots.

You washed your hands thoroughly, pulling on a pair of stretchy plastic gloves. You were overwhelmed by the abundance of smells that were held within the small kit. The fresh latex of the gloves, the nostril-burning fumes of the rubbing alcohol, the sterility of the products you slathered on his skin in hopes of a quick and easy healing process. It pained you to think of the effect they had on Matt’s senses.

To your relief, the rest of his injuries were limited to harmless scrapes and nearly-colorless bruises. The sticky, bloody mess on the back of his head was what consumed your worries most.

“Will you tilt your head down, please?” You reached for a thick piece of gauze.

Matt reached forward, wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in close. His body was warm. The feeling of being within his grasp kept you whole. It reminded you of all things good, all things that kept you smiling. He pressed his forehead against your stomach, the back of his head facing up for you to tend to.

You held the side of his face for a moment, gliding your thumb up and down against the length of his cheek. His muscles relaxed beneath your touch.
You pulled away, picking up your materials. You let the gauze pad absorb a small puddle of rubbing alcohol. Lowering your hand, you gently placed the white cloth to the back of his head. It turned from a crisp white, to a deep shade of pink, before fully absorbing the frightening shade of red.

You could feel Matt moving uncomfortably against you. His grip tightened, his fingers moving along your torso in search of comfort. His body melted into yours, the contact of skin sparking a comforting warmth of familiarity within you.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered softly, tossing the saturated, woven fabric into the trash can, “You should be happy to hear you won’t be needing stitches at least”.

You were finishing up, applying a thick layer of a jelly-like substance on the separated skin.

“What hit you?” You asked, curious as to what caused today’s slew of injuries.

“The Russian mob was trying to force a group of three girls into a shipping container,” He said, “I thought I had them all, until one of the guys snuck up on me with a metal pipe.”

You grimaced internally at the thought of Matt taking a metal pipe to the back of the head. The loud, metallic ‘whack’ of the pipe, the coppery smell of his blood chasing itself down his neck, the pain that pulsed underneath his skin.

“Impressive that this was all the Russians were capable of,” You smirked, “Those poor girls, though. They were all fine and uninjured and everything?”

“They were scared. I was worried for them, being as young as they were. But, I sent them to the nearest police station. So, they should be okay,” He relieved part of your worries for the youthful women.

Placing a bandage on the backside of his skull, you stripped your hands of the tight gloves. Like the gauze, they met the bottom of the trashcan. Matt lifted his head, his arms remaining snaked around your waist, holding you to him. You held your hand to his chin, placing a small kiss on his lips.

As you pulled away, Matt smiled, “Thank you”.

“If only I got paid for this,” You joked. His hand tapped your ass, amused at your statement.

“If your payment is anything like the firm, you’ll be wealthy in chickens and homemade pies,” He said, sarcastically.

“What more could a girl ask for in payment for stitching her boyfriend and his big muscles back together?” You grinned, squeezing his bicep.

“I love you,” He spoke, an affectionate look settling on his face.

“I love you, too”.