Chapter Text
“Okay, don’t freak out,” Sam said, balancing a pizza box under one arm. “But I invited Daredevil to game night.”
Tony dropped a handful of poker chips onto the table. “Wait, what? Why?”
“Because we’re trying to be a team,” Sam said, nudging Clint with his elbow. “And maybe if some people”—he glanced at Clint—“hadn’t been throwing shade about him all week, we wouldn’t have to play nice now.”
Clint crossed his arms. “I wasn’t throwing shade. I was expressing valid concerns about his complete disregard for communication—”
“Okay,” Bruce interrupted, lifting a tray of drinks, “let’s just see how it goes.”
The door opened—and in walked Daredevil.
Clint waved awkwardly. “Hey. Glad you showed.”
Daredevil nodded once. “Figured I’d give it a try.”
Natasha was already at the couch, watching Daredevil from behind her drink. She didn’t speak, but her eyes didn’t leave him.
Tony clapped his hands. “Alright, team bonding time! Poker, charades, maybe some Exploding Kittens later. Barton, you’re on ASL tutoring duty.”
“Wait—what?” Clint blinked.
“Well, he clearly doesn’t know sign,” Tony said, grabbing a slice of pizza. “So maybe if you teach him, we can avoid another mission full of mutual glaring.”
Clint shrugged. “Alright. Easy enough.”
He sat beside Daredevil on the couch and began signing slowly, saying the words out loud as he went. “This means ‘hello.’”
Daredevil turned toward him politely, nodding at the sound of Clint’s voice. “Hello,” he echoed aloud. His head tilted very slightly. He was listening.
Clint continued, “This is ‘how are you?’”
He signed it. Daredevil’s gaze didn’t track his fingers—at all.
Clint frowned. “Here, I’ll go slower.”
He tried again. Slower, more exaggerated.
Still no response.
Daredevil turned toward him again, calm as ever. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Oh. Cool,” Clint said, momentarily thrown. “Guess you’re a quick learner.”
“Something like that.”
They moved on to charades. Daredevil never guessed the visual ones. But somehow, he always got the ones based on sound cues—like Steve humming a theme song off-key, or Tony shaking a bottle of soda and miming explosion.
Clint scowled. “I swear, he’s trolling me.”
Tony smirked. “Honestly? I kind of love it.”
Throughout the night, Daredevil remained reserved, but courteous. Every time someone spoke aloud, he replied promptly. Every time someone signed, he… didn’t.
But no one pieced it together.
Except Natasha.
She caught it in the way his eyes never flicked to the cards in his hand. The way he paused—barely a heartbeat—before reacting to a tossed bag of chips, as if timing the sound rather than the movement.
She didn’t say anything.
She just smiled a little.
Game night ended with laughter, a few spilled drinks, and a very intense round of Uno.
“Same time next week?” Sam said, stretching.
“Sure,” Daredevil said, already halfway to the door. “Thanks for the invite.”
Clint called after him, signing “See you later.”
Daredevil didn’t turn back.
Clint frowned, scratching his head. “Still doesn’t get that one.”
“He’s probably just shy,” Tony said.
Natasha stayed silent.