Warmth. That's the most blissful thing when added to a deep sleep, a comfortable warmth that engulfs your whole body. The warmth of sunlight folding over a body like a soft blanket, wrapping itself tightly like a coiled snake around its prey. Everything in this moment is perfect, being sucked into the void that is sleep has never been more welcomed. At this moment, nothing has been more comfortable or serene.
"Charlie, hey Charlie you need to get up."
The voice was soft, with just enough edge to grab my attention. Groaning in response, the mound of blankets I'm piled under shifts slightly. As if one cue, "Wham!" fills the room and a chuckle mixes in the with music. Stirring ever so slightly, the volume continues to crescendo until the chorus. The laughter has been drowned out by the alarm, and this is my cue to officially wake up. Fighting with the blankets like a man stuck in quicksand, my head finally emerges to see Foggy standing at my closet. Slapping around carelessly, my palm hits the speaker loudly to mute the alarm. The messy noise catches Foggy's attention and his eyes crinkle with the softest of smiles. Bags sat sweetly beneath his hazel green eyes, the look of exhaustion being hidden with a smile. Foggy's hair was tousled messily, and his clothes were wrinkled at the corners.
"Hey Fog." The words were just barely audible, just barely able to find its way from my throat. He runs a shaky hand roughly through his hair, sending a look as response. My knees reach my chest and instinctively my arms wrap around them protectively. Foggy shuffles over to the edge of the mattress and sits gently. He rests his hand on my arm lightly, his thumb tracing small circles to comfort the almost break down. We sit in silence for a few moments, our breaths falling in sync with one another. The generic cell phone ringtone fills our silence, and Foggy looks at the table. The phone illuminates with a message, before he picks up the device.
"Are you supposed to be meeting Matt for breakfast this morning Char?"
With the end of that question, I am already out of bed and rushing towards the bathroom. Fuck. Of course I would forget about breakfast with Matt. Double fuck, my eyes are all puffy from crying. Triple fuck, I really don't have time to shower. Grabbing dry shampoo from the counter, I start to attack my hair while calling out to Foggy.
"Fog, can you ask him what time to meet at? Fuck, what time is it now?"
"Yeah sure, and it's seven-thirty." He calls in response, laughing loudly at the panic in my voice.
Cursing again underneath my breath, I continue the onslaught to make my self look somewhat presentable. Foggy yells that Matt wanted to meet at eight-thirty, making a small sigh of relief escape from a smile. Breathing deeply, I continue to try and make myself look decent as my alarm blares once again. Humming along quietly, Foggy peaks his scruffy head into the bathroom a smile gleaming from ear to ear.
"I can't believe you have this as an alarm Charlie."
"Listen here Fogger, our seventh grade talent show was the shit because of this song and you know it."
After another twenty minutes of trying to make myself presentable, I saunter from the bathroom to see a casual outfit laid out for me. A cream colored fitted sweater with a pair of black jeans sit neatly on the edge of the bed, a comfortable pair of NIKE's to follow suit. Shuffling to the dresser for the undergarments, I quickly switch out pajama's for grown up clothing. Dark brown, almost black loose curls pool to the middle of my back, creating a stunning contrast against the color of the sweater. Checking myself in the mirror once more, I nod absentmindedly before leaving the room. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee makes a smile appear and my pace quickens to the kitchen. Foggy sits at the breakfast nook, mug in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Leaning against the counter, I clear my throat slightly and arch a brow.
"Well? How do I look? Not too much right?"
"Huh- You know he can't see you right?" Foggy laughs, before taking a long sip of the steaming liquid.
Shooting him a hard eye roll, I reach for my phone that Foggy has left on the counter. The screen illuminates, another smile appearing as the background is revealed. There Foggy and I are, gleaming so happy on graduation day. The graduation cap sits awkwardly on his head, while the tassels were tied in a headband on my own. Our eyes are crossed to give the 'crazy' face vibe, with our tongues sticking out through our toothy grins. A wave of sadness washes over me while breathing in the nostalgia of this one picture. This time in our lives when were we carefree and openly happy. When men in red leather suits didn't save the day and break into my home. Where a guy called 'The Punisher' wasn't even a thought in our minds. I gulp slowly, trying to push down a scream that had begun to build. Blinking back tears, a text pops up from Matt.
Matt (Foggs Cute Friend): We can meet at Westway? I'm sure Foggy can give you directions
*********************************************************************************************
After a quick cab ride and a short walk, the diner came into the view. The neighborhood was decent enough, with men and women dressed in business wear. The echo of taxi horns and yelling pedestrians drown out the small talk among the people on the street. This city never ceases to amaze me. Was that a rat with a pigeon in it's mouth? Side stepping an oncoming woman with an angry scowl, I slink into the diner without much of an issue. Neon lights are the first to capture my gaze. Hidden within the ceiling, the neon changes color slowly; shifting through every color in the rainbow. The booths are wooden, with brown and yellow cushions clashing against the ever changing lights. The breakfast bar is long and has a shine of fresh cleaned steel. Reflections of the patrons sitting patiently for their breakfast are seen right from the entrance.
Scanning the room, I finally find my breakfast partner. His red sunglasses are sitting comfortably on the bridge of his nose, while his hair falls softly across his brow. Matt's head is tilted slightly, his attention paid to the room around him. He sits there listening, taking in all of the noises that fill the small diner and managing to process them all. Watching the man sit there and take in the surroundings holds my full attention. What seems to be hours of watching him was just mere minutes when a waitress asks if she can help. With a quick reply I make my way to the booth, taking a slow deep breath on the way. Just two feet away and his head snaps up, a smile ghosting what seemed to be stone like features.
"Hey Matt, sorry I'm late." I announce as I finally arrive to the table.
Matt stands quickly, extending an open arm for a hug. Hesitating briefly, I receive the warm hug hungrily. Reciprocating the sign of affection, I take in a deep breath enjoying the scent of cinnamon that follows the lawyer around. Not wanting to make this embrace awkward I pull away and smile lightly before sitting down. A waitress in her mid-thirties approaches pouring coffee before being summoned away.
"You're fine Charlie, you're actually right on time. I like to come early and um, people listen."
I chuckle while preparing my coffee. Hm, should I hold back on the sugar and cream? Maybe I should try and drink it black to make me look cool. That's smart Charlie, just make it like he's drinking his. Putting just a small spoon of sugar into the dark liquid, I stir my spoon while listening to him ramble about the people around us. The spoon clinks rhythmically against the glass mug, while I listen intently to the man across from me. Bringing the glass to my mouth, a quiet gag follows suit after taking a sip. Matt chuckles quietly and I ask what he thinks is so funny.
"You, you're funny."
"Well thank you Matty, but I don't remember performing my stand up routine."
He shifts slightly, his long fingers searching the table. The large spider like hands trace the table top, searching. When his hands finally reach the sugar he grasps the canister tightly. In a flash, more sugar is being poured while he asks the waitress nearby for a small pitcher of cream. A blush rushes to my cheeks, and I shuffle my hair to fall slightly into my face. Once the cream arrives, Matt takes it upon himself and finishes fixing my coffee to the exact way I prefer it. Astounded, I give a shocked thank you before taking a long sip.
"How does it taste?"
"Well Matt," I respond, taking a breath in through my teeth. "You made it the exact way I usually make it or order it. I'm not sure how you managed to do that Matthew, but call me impressed."
Chuckling quietly, Matt focuses his attention onto me "Don't be freaked out, but I kind of smelled it on you yesterday. I wasn't sure if I put enough sugar in it because that scent is harder to catch."
"I mean it's not the weirdest thing a guy has said to me, but it's up there for sure." We laugh together, our voices mixing together in a delicious harmony. The conversation flowed naturally between us. No awkward pauses were broke the flow as we discussed our lives and how we got to where we are today. We both told our 'Foggy' stories, laughing at the mention of our elementary school days. We continued to drone on and on, elaborating on our lives and drinking in each other's words. After another cup of coffee, that Matt had insisted on making we order and tension sits between us.
"Are you going to ask Charlie?"
"Ask what Matthew?"
"About Frank Castle and why Foggy and I have reservations about taking on his case."
"Well since you decided to bring it up, yeah I'd love to talk about it actually."
My reply is dry and he caught the tone right away. Crossing my legs, I fold my arms across my chest. As if sensing my change in position, he unbuttons his jacket getting a little more comfortable. Matt leans back, stretching his arms lazily across the top of the booth seat. Though he can't see me, his full attention is directed toward me. His body trained toward my own, head cocked ever so slightly to catch every word that will fall from my mouth. My tongue pokes out slowly, coating my lips in a thin sheen. Matt reacts quietly, a closed lip smile playing across his features.
"Matt, I don't really understand your reservations about representing Frank but-"
"Charlie if you even knew half of what he's done... To me, to Foggy, to Hells Kitchen in general, you wouldn't be so eager to help him."
"That's where you're wrong Matth-"
"I'm not wrong Char-"
"Tell me then, tell me everything he's done. What has he done that's so bad, that he doesn't deserve the help of people who literally spend their lives giving people hope?"
Matt had opened his mouth to retort but quit once my words finally hit home. Sighing loudly, he takes another sip of his coffee before asking if I was ready. A small grunt in response is enough for Matt to begin the story.
After what seemed to be hours the story had finished. Some parts had been left out due to the nature that Matt didn't think I could handle. When the last words had fallen from his mouth, the time to process seemed an eternity. Frank Castle had committed some serious atrocities, and taking them all in so quickly made the universe spin.
"Matt, I'm- I'm so sorry..."
It had been almost two hours since Matt had begun explaining everything Frank has done. I continually questioned and attempted to dig deeper to no avail. The information that had been given was taking an extremely long time to process. The man is a known murderer, taking justice into his own hands and being a vigilante. A murderous vigilante. As my head spins, words fall before I can stop myself.
"What about Daredevil?"
Matt chokes quietly on his coffee and my focus falls back to him. A wave of shock spread across his face before his stony facade took place again. Matt clears his throat a few times before taking a sip of water he had ordered in the middle of our conversation. He breathes as if trying to think of a retort to my question. Daredevil is a vigilante, and who knows if he's murdered anyone. I had to stop him from almost beating that guy to death. Plus when he came over last night, he had blood covering his suit. How can we justify one vigilante who murders when the other one may be a murderer also?
"I don't think we can put Daredevil into the same category Charlie."
"And why not Matt? Who knows if he's killed anyone?"
"He hasn't, trust me."
Leaning forward, I light grasp his forearm. Sitting stone like, I then move my hand to take his. The palms are callused, the rough skin sitting comfortably in my own. "Matt, how can you know? I basically had to rip the guy off of my mugger the other night, and-"
Pausing slightly, I lean in closer, dropping my volume before continuing. "And, last night he came over to my house. Don't give me that look, Foggy did the same thing. Just trust me. Anyway, he came over last night and his suit was covered in blood Matt. I mean, yeah maybe he doesn't outright kill them like Frank; but who knows how many have died from the beatings they've received. It isn't fair to put Frank into a category when this dude in red spandex is out there running around beating people up."
Leaning back cautiously, my eyes search Matt's face for some type of answer. An answer to a question that seems to hit Matt harder than I could've imagined. Across from me sat a man now questioning what seemed to be everything he's lived for. As if Daredevil himself was apart of the troubled man sitting there. The small smirk that seems to always sit gracefully among his lips has disappeared, replaced with a flat line. His brows knit together in thought, pondering each word that had transpired between us. Matt shifted, his foot lightly brushing my shin as he crossed his legs. The people in the diner seem to disappear as I wait for something. Anything for Matt to give some response to what I told him.
Matt clears his throat softly, finally meeting his attention back to my own. "I wish it were that simple Charlie. I really do. It's not though. None of this is simple, including everything with Frank. So fine."
"Fine? What do you mean?"
"Congratulations Charlie, you've just won your first client with Nelson and Murdock."
A grin settled onto his once solemn face, a grin that matched my own. Matt calls over the waitress asking for the bill. She obliges and he pulls out a different assortment bills placing them directly into her hand. She smiles softly walking away, while Matt gets his coat and removes himself from the booth. Extending his hand, I answer with a smile while he guides me from my own seat. Taking the lead, Matt escorts us from the small diner and back into the bustling city.
*******************************************************************************************