A Really Good Lawyer [Spider-Man]

Chapter 4: Vigilantes Don't Have to be Alone

It's been three days since Peter met with Matt Murdock. Three days to replay that hour he'd spent in a cramped office, shoulders hunched as Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock led him through the process of signing on a client. After Mysterio, he's had more than enough experience with lawyers to know they'd kept him there longer than necessary. It should have bothered him, knowing they were throwing legal jargon around and urging him into conversation just to get a better read off the kid that had come in claiming to know Spider-Man. But truthfully? It had been the longest interaction he'd had in three months. It had been the most anyone had cared to learn about him since he'd fucked up Doctor Strange's spell, and paid a price that sometimes hurt worse than when he'd seen MJ fall and had known, with startling clarity, that he wasn't going to catch her. And Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson had been nice. So nice.

He didn't tell them much, not about himself, but he'd felt his limbs loosen the longer he listened to them talk. Muscles he'd long forgotten how to untense had relaxed and the constant pinging of his Spider sense had faded into background noise. Safe, his body had decided. We're safe.

(Peter's long since stopped calling it his "tingle." Every since Osborn had betrayed Peter's trust, destroyed Happy's apartment, and killed... and killed... ever since Osborn had taken away the only family Peter'd had left, calling it a "tingle" had felt juvenile. And he knows now that it's more than just a tingle. More than just a feeling that pokes at the corners of his mind.

It's the hairs on the back of his neck rising. It's a heat that begins at his collar, flushing his skin. In his first month alone, he'd realized that it didn't distort his world, it snapped it into focus. Brighter colours. Stronger smells. An awareness of his surroundings that felt like a free dose of adrenaline. And there, in that office, Peter had realized he'd been running off adrenaline for a long time.)

They had needled him with questions, though Mr. Murdock ("You can call me Matt, if you prefer, Peter.") had been quick to reassure him that Nelson, Murdock and Page did not need to know Spider-Man's identity. In fact, it would be better if Peter didn't tell them.

"Call it plausible deniability," Mr. Nelson ("And you can call me Foggy.") had said, his shoulder almost bumping against Matt's. Foggy had dragged a chair from the foyer into Matt's office, muttering under his breath about how they really should be investing in better seating arrangements. They'd sat across from Peter, passing documents for him to review and take home.

Matt had smiled. "Aside from the essentials, like your contact information, we don't need much from you right now, Peter. We'll likely put you down as Spider-Man's negotiator rather than as a client, but you're more than welcome to request services for yourself as well. That extends to any friends or family that might need our help should Spider-Man face any legal trouble."

"Oh, that's good," Peter had said, words escaping his lips before he could swallow them. "But, uh, nobody knows him but me. You know, under the mask?"

"That's fine, Peter. The offer still stands." Matt's eyes had been almost visible under the soft lights. They hadn't focused on him, veering off just over Peter's left shoulder and tinted a smoky red from his glasses, but they'd been kind. Reassuring. Like May's had been when he'd talk her ear off about the classes at MIT. Outside, the sun had started to set. Even in March, the sun goes down too early. Peter's counting down the days before Daylight Savings time finally gives him back the hour it's been hoarding all winter. It's easier to still feel like himself in the daytime.

About a half hour into their chat, Peter's stomach had betrayed him with a growl that made his face grow hot. His metabolism still hadn't caught the memo about Peter's financial situation and hunger had become a constant companion. Nothing debilitating. Just a knot in his stomach that had grown tighter each passing day. Almost casually, Matt had paused, leaning back into his chair. "You know, our firm is often paid in baked goods. We still have some paperwork to cover and I wouldn't be opposed to trying Ms. Chen's pineapple buns while we work on it. Foggy?"