They wanted to walk, but the rain was awfully heavy. Vera didn't really mind – they had an umbrella after all and she would be home in no time, but Matt would have to walk home after. When she told him, he waved it off.
"You sure you don't mind?" she asked him for the third time, after they took about ten steps and their shoes were already soggy.
He embraced her tighter, so they were both properly hidden under his huge umbrella. When he spoke, his voice was filled with smile. "We're good. I don't mind walking in the rain. As long as you don't want me to sing."
She laughed. "And what would I have to do to make you sing in the rain?"
Matt stopped in his tracks and shifted slightly, so he could face her. He let go of her arm in favour to rest it against her cheek. He was indeed smiling and Vera regretted the glasses were covering his eyes – she had a hunch they were full of amused sparks. He leaned in, lips softly touching her cheek before moving to her ear. Her body shivered involuntarily – she felt his lips twitched at her movement.
"Sing with me," he whispered, barely containing laugh. Vera jumped away, not caring she was in the rain.
"You-"
He swept his hand, grabbing hers again and drew her back, arm wrapping around her waist and giving her an apologizing kiss. And hello, he could definitely mock her more often if he would always kiss her like this after.
Car honking and a splash of water. Vera's jaw fell down in disbelief and she gasped, letting out a mixture of laughter and silent gaping. Matt was about the same. And they were both soaking wet.
"You gotta be kidding me."
She couldn't find a righteous rage towards the driver, because she was too happy and high at the moment. In Matt's arms, she didn't care much for her clothes being drenched.
"Guess we tempted fate," he remarked, giving her a small kiss on her nose.
"Yeah. That's one way to put it. Let's go."
Vera was very cold by the time they reached her apartment and she presumed Matt probably wasn't much better. She did the thing she did the best – put her foot in her mouth.
"Wanna go upstairs?" She only realized how it sounded when she said it out loud and his eyebrow shot up unwillingly. "Oh my god. For tea. I have covers and tea."
Matt laughed. "I always thought there was a coffee in that pickup line."
Vera wasn't red-faced. Nope. "There is," she declared, "but I am not trying to seduce you and I don't have one, so..."
"Uh-uh." He made a step in the direction of the door so Vera took it as a yes.
"I don't drink coffee," she assured him and opened the door.
"You don't drink coffee? At all?"
"Nope. And I'm talking about actual coffee drinking. If you laugh at me for working in a café despite it, I won't lend you my only hoodie that you could actually fit in."
He followed her up the hall and stairs, using his cane since she left him behind. "I won't. Also, are you saying that I am chubby?"
She laughed out loud, because he sounded honestly offended. "No, I'm saying your shoulders are like... something. Broad. Whatever."
Matt didn't comment.
They reached the apartment, she unlocked the door, came in and spread her arms. "Welcome to Macháčková's, pretty much. And please, leave your shoes at the door. I'll shove the heating thingies in them as soon as I put the kettle on."
She put her shoes off and walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on. When she came back, she found Matt in the small space, stripping his coat which was dripping water. His socks were soaked as well and he was curling his toes in it, while raising his head to look in her direction, glasses already off. His eyes were fake hurt and his lips pouting. He was a picture of pure cuteness. It made her heart flutter.
Vera hung their coats, led him to the couch where she left him in favour to find some dry clothes. She realized her hoodie wasn't washed-up and hoped he wouldn't notice. She found her black sweatpants (least girly) for him and some clothes for herself too. In the top shelf, she discovered a soft blanket, most likely Nina's. She took it as well, together with some warm socks.
Matt stood awkwardly by the couch, unsure what to do.
"Here. Hoodie, sweatpants, socks," she handed it to him and chuckled, "no man underwear, sorry. You can change here, I swear I won't peek. Is chamomile tea okay with you?"
He grinned. "Shame. Also, you're a liar. You've only invited me here so you could see me naked," he joked but then tilted his head and smiled with gratitude, "thank you."
"Sure."
Vera walked to the kitchen part of the room and tried really hard not to peek. She was tempted though. Very, very much. His other outfit, the black one, was extremely tight and didn't leave much room for imagination (none, none of it). She could recall his body extremely vividly in retrospect. And it was an image which made her insides burn hot.
Tea. She was making tea. She wanted to turn back, but she fought it. And won. "You're good?"
"Just a second." She heard the zipper of her hoodie. "Done."
Vera finally turned back to him and made her way to the living room with two mugs in her hands. She placed them on the small table and navigated Matt to sit on a couch. She changed herself as well (behind the corner, which made him laugh), spread their wet clothes and nestle in one of the armchairs. He frowned, but didn't say a word.
Vera remembered the tea bags and threw them to the bin and then led Matt's hand to the cup. As he leaned forwards, the hoodie shifted slightly and revealed a fraction of his torso.
Vera's heart fastened. It wasn't from excitement though, she hadn't seen his skin, muscles. It was an elastic bandage. Matt's ribs were injured. Bruised. Possibly cracked. And earlier that night he was acting like it was nothing. Leaning into her. Pulling her close.
"Oh my god," escaped her lips and Matt froze, his breath hitching. He sat back to the couch carefully. "What-"
"It's nothing," he said quietly and faced her, his eyes burning with honesty.
Except Vera remembered her own ribs hurting and it was agony. "It's not nothing. Why didn't you say something? Matt, I had injured ribs. I know it hurts like hell!"
He made an unhappy face. "I know you did."
"Not the point!" Vera burst out. She huffed when he didn't say anything else, his expression equivalent of guilt.
That guilt again. 'I think he's feeling guilty about something' and Claire's pointed look at her. Her mind started racing, recalling her earlier thoughts. Could it be because of her? Was she the reason he was overstretching himself, why he was getting hurt? Some kind of a... redemption? For what? Saving her too late for his measures? Did he believe she had been taken because of him? Hurt because of him? That was...
She remembered his face when he squeezed her too tight in the gym (ribs, fucking ribs again). The relief, when she said she forgave him.
Vera made a decision, screw the consequences. She inhaled shakily and nestled in her armchair more comfortably. "I never told you about the kidnapping," she started and his head snapped up.
"I never asked."
"No, you didn't. But... I would like to tell someone about it. Can... can I?" she wasn't really asking. She had to share it with him, because he needed it.
Matt hesitated. She was sure he could hear her frantic heartbeat. She was afraid of his reaction. He could snap, he could leave. He could do anything – except for hurting her. Vera didn't believe he would hurt her.
"Okay. Okay, if you need someone to listen."
She smiled for herself. "Well. It's not about the kidnapping. It's... it's about the save to be honest." She could see his body tensing. "I guess you know the Devil of Hell's Kitchen saved me."
"Yes," was all he said, no emotion in his voice or on his face.
She continued. "It was... it was terrible, Matt. I don't know how— they took me and they... they beat me up. And he came to my rescue. He knocked them out and freed me. He's a real hero.... Matt, I... uhm. I was so tired. And everything hurt, I was out of my mind. I hugged him and he hugged me back and he kept saying he was sorry. I didn't have enough strength to think about it at the time..."
She had to break off and steadied herself. The upcoming part was important; she gulped as she was getting to her point. She needed her voice to be strong, determined.
"Later, I realized he was apologizing because he thought it was his fault. That they took me. Which is completely ridiculous because it was one of the cops who assumed some pretty weird things. It definitely wasn't the Devil's doing. In contrary, he came for me. Saved me. And I wish I could meet him again."
Her gaze flickered to Matt, making sure he was still listening to her heart-spilling. She hoped he was – his figure was created of stone, paled, rigid, hands in fists on his thighs, knuckles white. His eyes were staring on the same spot on her wall. He was barely breathing. He didn't say a word.
"You know why? Because I never told him! I never told him it wasn't his fault. And I think he still feels guilty. So if I met him again... I would say that to him. And if he didn't agree— I have this... this crazy idea about his hearing being so good he can hear people's heartbeats and he can tell when they lie and when they are being honest. He would know I mean what I am saying. I would make him tell me he's sorry, once again. And I would tell him: I forgive you."
Vera stared at him with intensity, aware he couldn't see it.
She wasn't even sure he was still with her or lost in his own mind. She took all her courage, pushed the table aside just a little and kneeled in front of his frozen figure, sitting back on her heels.
Matt didn't react to her movement. If anything, his posture tensed more. She carefully touched his clenched fist, inhaling deeply. "I forgive you, Matt. If that's what you need to hear, if you're seeking forgiveness... It wasn't your fault, but if you believe it was... then I forgive you."
His statue came back to life. He squeezed his eyes shut. His jaw was tight, but his lips were trembling. His throat was working. Tears slowly found their way to his cheeks. She sat up, invading his space and wiping the tears away with her better hand. Others took their place immediately. She left her hand on his face. Now, when she was closer to him, she realized his lips weren't trembling; Matt was whispering, barely audible noise. She focused, attempting to hear him better.
Vera recognized his words. She didn't understand the meaning, wouldn't be able to repeat them, but she heard them before. Twice, actually. She couldn't help herself. "That's it! That's what you said in... in the dark room and in the gym. What is it? What does it mean?"
His lips stopped moving, falling into silence and she regretted asking her question. He exhaled shakily, swallowed.
"It's Ángel de la misericordia. Means the angel of mercy." His voice was very quiet. He didn't try to prove her theory about him being the vigilante wrong. He must have sensed she was sure.
Huh. Vera blinked in surprise and couldn't help feeling like he was talking about her mercy. She thought back about the room and she couldn't agree with him.
"Matt, you and I, we apparently have a very different idea of mercy." She recalled her wish, her desire to Matt hurting them. She was getting sick all over again. His eyes snapped open, pain in them. "I practically incited you to... to break their bones. There is no mercy in that."
His hand relived under her left one. He opened his fist and hid her hand in it carefully.
"Vera, they hurt you, beat you up. You were in pain. There is no way anyone could blame you for wishing them to be scared and in pain as well." His face was finally showing emotions - his expression darkened. "I didn't need you to encourage me. I wanted to hurt them, it wouldn't make any difference whether you would guide me or not. You stopped me though. You... you begged me to spare the man who injured you so badly that you're still recovering. That's mercy."
Vera let her hand fall down from his cheek. He caught it, following its motion with his sightless eyes.
"How?" he asked, voice suddenly weak again.
Vera knew what he wanted to hear. How did you find out? She shifted in her position and then decided to snuggle on the couch next to him instead. He let her, keeping one of her hands in his.
"Uhm... it's hard to explain."
"Try," he breathed.
"It... it was the little things. Similarities between you and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Body built, jaw, posture. Voice. Gestures. I don't know if you're aware, but you always do that thing with your head, the tilting – when you're listening... I guess. Or considering something, trying to understand. Like when I... when I gave you a midnight snack. When you asked me about boxing. In the bank before I—uhm.... All the time. You're going to the gym after hours so no one could see what you're capable of. The Devil has a mask covering his eyes. Details. I would never make the connection though. It was in the gym when I asked you about your shoulder. You got so mad. You never got mad, yet your expression was too familiar. It started clicking together..." she stopped, because Matt's body, slowly relaxing, tensed up again. She looked at his face and saw a mask of horror.
"Matt?" Vera called out, worried. His eyes were dismayed. "Matt!"
"You already knew," was all he said, his voice sharp like razors. He was whiter than before. He tried to breathe in but he gaged. He looked like was going to be throw up.
Vera suddenly realized why he freaked out.
She hurried. "Matt, Matt, it's okay. I didn't tell them. I swear I did not." She took his face in her hands, ignoring the persistent pain in her wrist. She levelled her gaze with his. "Matt. They don't know. You're just Mike to them. Nothing else. Your identity is safe. I didn't tell them."
Matt's expression didn't change. He whined, sounding like a lethally wounded animal. "Exactly."
Vera was absolutely baffled. She traced the lines of his face, searching for clues of what he was talking about. "What?"
He squeezed his eyes shut. He seemed near gaging once more. "You knew. When they tortured you. And you didn't tell them."
Oh. "Of course not. I mean...I almost did. So I had to make up a name starting with M. I had no idea I was giving away your middle name, sorry." Vera made an attempt of a joke. He didn't laugh.
"Jesus Christ."
They sat there, Matt's face in her hands, processing. Then he suddenly wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in his lap, hiding her in his embrace, face burying in her hair. She yelped in surprise, the noise muffled in his chest. Injured chest.
"Your ribs," she protested, but didn't fight with him – it would only hurt him more. Tightening his grip was the only answer she got. She was curled up in a ball in his lap, protected from the outside world and it felt good. She relaxed and carefully rested her head against his heart.
"Can you... can you really hear it?" she asked hesitantly, unsure about his temper at the moment.
"Hm," he hummed to her hair, agreement and misery. It shouldn't have surprise her; she knew that already. Yet, her pulse spiked at his exclaim. His lips moved in her hair and she hoped it was a beginning of a smile. "It's... it's very important for me. The sound of your heart."
It made another jump and his smile widened. Vera understood. She liked the fact she could hear and feel his own when leaning into his chest. He shifted and wrapped the blanket she had tossed on the couch earlier around them. She forgot about it completely. And she didn't realize she had goose bumps until he reached for it.
Just minutes ago, he would have acted like he hadn't known it was there. He wasn't hiding anymore.
"Can... can I ask something else?"
"Of course you can. You have every right, Vera."
She thought about all the question marks popping in her head. She couldn't choose what to start with. "What can you do... it's incredible. I mean... you're blind, right? Completely?" She felt his nod. "Right. Your hearing is good. Like very good, it-kinda-freaks-me-out good. What else? Is it the touch too? Oh god, is it the smell?" She was appalled at the idea.
His chest vibrated with a silent laugh. "Yes. Yes it is." She groaned, feeling her cheeks burn. "You smell like vanilla and coconut shampoo. And coffee, which is ironic since you don't drink any. Sometimes, you smell like Fogwell's, like the leather from the punching bags. I like it."
Matt chuckled, and then continued. "But it's more than that. Hearing, smell, taste, touch. Sense of balance, the air shifting when something or someone moves. Temperature changes. The sound waves refracting when touching a surface. It helps me to do... everything."
Vera was lost in thoughts, trying to wrap her mind around it. The more questions he answered, the more she wanted to ask. "But... the pain. Does it mean the pain is worse too?"
He sighed. His heart made a small jump before he spoke and then it sped up. "No."
Lie, Vera realized.
She gasped. "How dare you! I can feel your heartbeat right now!" she announced, outraged.
He huffed. "That's very rude and invasive, you know. Sorry. Yes. It does. You're too smart for your own good."
Her lips formed a smug smile. "I know. But what you can do... all the fighting? How? Someone taught you?"
He shifted slightly, his pulse doing funny things. "I... I might tell you about it one day. For now, I can tell you a blind man found me in the orphanage and somehow knew about my enhanced senses. He trained me."
Vera felt a sting of guilt. It was a sore subject. Also, she never asked about his mother, she simply assumed they had been a complete family and she had taken care of him after his father had died. But Matt didn't talk about his mother not treating him differently after his accident. Vera should have known it was because she hadn't there at all. An orphanage. How old was he when he started his training? How much pain did he go through? Psychical and physical? And god, a blind man trained him; talk about anti-ableism.
None of them spoke anymore. They just were.
Vera was relaxing more then she would admit. Matt's embrace was comfortable, warm, the blanket covering her, Matt's heart in her ears instead of a lullaby. She would be sleeping within moments. He placed a kiss on the top of her hear, sweet and caring. She hummed contentedly just like the night he had saved her and felt his smile.
"Matt?" she mumbled, half asleep, "I can't believe you brought me a balloon."
His whole body shook with hushed laughter. "Yeah. Me neither."
She left the real world and entered the dreamed one.
---
Vera was woken up by a light touch on her forehead. She was no longer in Matt's arms and she did not like that. She was now lying on the mattress of her bed, him hovering over her, kissing her goodbye most likely. She swept her hand on instinct, colliding with his torso.
"What is it?" he whispered, inches from her face.
"Stay," she mumbled sleepily, not sure he would understand her. Her lips were too heavy to form words the right way.
Matt didn't move for few moments, the periodic movements of his chest the only indication he was alive. Then the mattress lowered and she let her hand fall down, rolling over on side to make a space for him. He lied behind her back, his arm carefully wrapping around her waist. She shifted slightly in his direction, feeling his torso. A light kiss on her temple and she was out cold again.
She woke up again about an hour later, stinging feeling in her eyes.
"Sakra."
She disentangled from Matt's hug and found her way to the bathroom to put her contacts away, removing make-up and brushing her teeth. She also remembered to text Terri she had gotten home safe a while ago and just forgotten to let her know.
When Vera returned to the bedroom, Matt was still asleep, face peaceful like she had never seen before. Her/his hoodie was unzipped, covering his bandaged torso – how he had managed to carry her to bed with his injury, she had no idea. She changed to her pyjama as quietly as she could. She crawled into his arms again and froze when he shifted, hoping she didn't wake him up. She probably didn't, because he just pulled her closer and went limp again. She smiled for herself and closed her eyes contentedly.
-----Notes:
Alternative chapter title - Fluffiest fluff to ever fluff with a touch of angst.
In case you have time, please find a moment to appreciate Matt sleeping next to her (not with her). I like the idea and it didn't occur to me before I read The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera, where he wonders about sleeping with (having sex) and sleeping next to someone. Sleeping next to someone is the biggest display of affection and trust, because we are most vulnerable when sleeping. (I know, I'm an idealist and hopeless romantic.) Also, read the book. The movie is a crap (sorry if you liked it, anyone), but the book is a treasure. Anika out.
Title from Florence and The Machine – No light, no light