Cut It Out and Restart *Daredevil*Damned*Agents of SHIELD*

Prologue: With Eyes Closed

Matt bit his lip. He was not about to admit that he might have been a little reckless just to be with her sooner. With both of them. His beautiful wife and their child. It wasn't virtuous, so sue him, he wasn't perfect. He was well-aware it was dangerously close to cheating, but not quite, he hadn't pulled the trigger. He hoped it would be enough, that he could be forgiven for that.

"I was... I was hoping you'd be waiting for me."

She kissed his forehead lovingly. His heart fluttered happily at the soft warm touch. She slowly moved to his lips as well, nibbling on them sweetly, tender, like a breath of life. Matt felt several tears escaping his eyes and unable to resist, he sunk into her lips, chasing the feeling he missed so much.

"I'll always wait for you, Matt. You know I'll be here, waiting for you to come home."

Matt's mind refused to decide between sobbing and chuckling, so he let out a little bit of both, a strange choked noise.

"Shhh," she soothed him again, running her hand through his hair, meeting his lips again.

Matt breathed her in, like a drowning man earning some oxygen after an endless time under water. Vanilla and coconut, coffee and her. And him over her. Warm skin, silk hair. His fingers eased the pressure against the blood flow, until he finally gave in completely and reached for her face with both his hands, pulling her closer.

"Come on, don't do this to me," she whispered exasperatedly, stopping the bleeding instead of him. Strangely enough, when she did it, it hurt less. Matt didn't think it hurt at all actually, not anymore. "Not yet."

Matt didn't have to wonder what she meant. He should probably feel guilty, but for once in his life, he didn't. This wasn't his doing.

'Not yet.'

'Came so early.'

Matt had lost awareness of time, but there had been moments he knew exactly how long it had been, counting it over and over again. That had been usually on the particularly bad days, the kind of days he would rather wear the same clothes over and over again than stepping into their bedroom to change, overwhelmed by the empty bed, the empty crib. The kind of days he would open his freezer where she had stocked the Christmas sweets leftovers and he would let one piece defrost just to crumble it between his fingers, letting the aroma spread in the apartment, lulling him to sleep as he would nestle on the couch, cold and alone, just like every other night for the past four years.

God, it had been four years. Four years, two months and nine days in his very own personal hell with no way out. The others had tried. Oh, they had tried so hard, to make him hang out with them, to make him get rid of her stuff, because until he would, there was no getting get over it.

The thing was, he didn't want to get over it.

He knew it was sick; her shadow still being here, her words so sweet, the feeling of her skin and lips on him so real he could cry, her soap and shampoo he kept buying over and over just to hold onto her scent – and she always thanked him so sweetly for it in his mind –, because he was scared of forgetting. He was nursing the memories, the most precious thing, the only thing left.

The only thing left apart from his wedding ring. Foggy had tried to convince him to take it off, just once. Matt was doing it when going out at night, wearing it on a necklace instead, but when he had once done it outside that routine when meeting a client, a panic attack had him forget how to breathe. She had kissed his forehead then when he had returned home, whispering that it was alright, that she had forgiven him for the moment of confusion and weakness. He hadn't done it since, only protecting the ring under his armour when punching people.