Work Text:
It’s a cold Thursday afternoon, the skies threatening snow, the day Matt gets the package. Foggy was with him. They were planning to order in, go over a case together at Matt’s place. “What’s that?”
“Don’t know.” Although he could smell paint, almost undetectable beneath the strong scent of cardboard. Matt shrugged and started to open the box. “Let’s find out.”
Foggy waited anxiously as Matt opened the box carefully and slid the contents out onto the coffee table. It was clear now that they were two paintings, meticulously wrapped in tissue paper and bubble wrap. There was a letter among them, printed in Braille. Matt started to read before bothering to unwrap the paintings. Foggy gave him a moment to read, heartbeat slowly ratcheting up in impatience as time dragged on. The paper was rough under his fingers, rustling highly audible.
Thought these would add some warmth to your apartment.
Vanessa
That’s all there was. Just a briefly worded letter, two paintings, and the thinly veiled threat. Of course he remembered their conversation at her art gallery.
“You’re probably wondering what a man who can’t see is doing in art gallery.”
“I didn’t want to be forward.”
“I’m told by my guests my apartment’s a bit…stark. I thought maybe some art would warm it up.”
Only he didn’t want art, obviously. He’d been searching for something on Fisk. Now her fiancé. And in the end he’d helped send her fiancé to prison, and Vanessa herself was on the run, forced to leave the country. She knew it, and this was a little reminder for him. To intimidate him. Matt couldn’t help it; couldn’t help the little smirk that crept over his features.
“Paintings—what’s the letter say?” Foggy asked, noticing Matt’s smirk. “Who are they from?” There was a note of dread to his voice, like he already suspected who it was. Even though he hadn’t visited the gallery with Matt, Foggy probably remembered her just as vividly.
“Vanessa Marianna,” Matt confirmed for him.
“Shit,” Foggy swore. “These aren’t to be nice, Matt—we helped put her fiancé behind bars! Why the hell are you grinning like an idiot?”
“Why not?” Matt started to unwrap the paintings.
“Why not?” Foggy spluttered. “Maybe because I take threats seriously—”
“I’m not going to let her intimidate me,” Matt scoffed. The wrappings for the first painting were placed haphazardly on the couch cushion as Matt unveiled the first painting. Foggy opened his mouth, about to describe the painting, Matt guessed. But he shut it quickly as he’d opened it, obviously refusing to have any more to do the paintings. Matt stood with a sigh, ignoring Foggy’s discomfort.
“What are you doing?” Foggy broke his silence as Matt walked across the room, painting in hand.
“Think it’ll look good here? You’re probably the best judge of that,” he replied.
“You aren’t going to keep those,” Foggy hissed in disbelief.
“It’s not like I can see them…” Matt replied, smirking again. Foggy waited sullenly as Matt hung the paintings. It was a quick job, and Matt joined Foggy back on the couch to finally get on the case within a couple of minutes. The art wasn’t mentioned again that night.
But it certainly hadn’t been the last time it was discussed.
*
Karen scooped more of the Thai takeout onto her plate. “Foggy’s late.”
“He’ll be here,” Matt reassured, starting to reach for his glasses. Remembered at the last moment he didn’t need them. Not around Karen and Foggy.
“So that’s new,” Karen said suddenly.
“Hm?”
“The, uh, painting.”
Right. “Yeah.”
“It’s nice.”
“Well, I’m glad someone can appreciate it,” Matt replied with a laugh as the door swung open, announcing Foggy’s arrival.
“Foggy!” Karen stood.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“It’s fine. Matt and I got to talk about his new paintings.”
“Oh, those,” is all Foggy mumbled in reply, his heart rate spiking in dismay. He clearly hadn’t warmed to the art after all this time.
“You don’t like them?” Karen asked in confusion at Foggy’s tone.
“I just think…” Foggy paused, and Matt guessed he was looking at the painting from his movements, “I just think they don’t fit, with the….color scheme and all.”
Karen shook her head at Foggy’s weak excuse for his hatred of the paintings. “What do you mean? They look great, Matt,” she added, turning towards him.
“Looks like you’re the only one who dislikes them, Fog,” Matt said, knowing just how his words would irritate his friend.
“Let’s just get to business,” Foggy blurted, brushing past Karen brusquely, plunging the apartment into awkwardness for the rest of the night.
*
Elektra stretched across his bed luxuriously, rustling the silk sheets with every minuscule movement. She lifted her hand and placed it over his, the pad of her thumb running gently over his bruised knuckles. Matt offered a smile, absently playing with her hair, cascading over her back in silky waves. It seemed impervious to tangles. He tilted his head when she shifted again. The cut on her abdomen was healing nicely, now that the poison had been washed out, no signs of infection or irritation.
“You’ve been resting, at least,” Matt murmured.
“Mm. Nothing but me and that painting.” Elektra pushed herself into a more comfortable position. “Didn’t think you were an art person, Matthew.” Curiosity. She wanted to know why, where he’d gotten it.
“It was a gift. This one,” he gestured, “And the one in the living room. Together.” Elektra raised her eyebrows. He hadn’t quelled her curiosity over the paintings. He’d piqued it. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve both time,” she pointed out, and pulled him closer, curling into the blankets contentedly in wait.
*
“Sorry about the mess,” Matt apologized as he pulled his jacket on, standing in the ruins of his apartment with Jessica Jones.
“It’s alright,” she sighed, turning to survey it. “You should see my place.” Jessica paused. “Although you could do without the finger painting there…”
Matt gave a half-smile that he couldn’t feel. “Yeah. Probably.”
“You aren’t going to keep those.”
“They look great, Matt.”
“Didn’t think you were an art person, Matthew.”
“You ready?” He snapped himself away from the echoes. His city was at stake.
“Yeah.”
The Braille-printed Bible lying on the floor had him stop. He picked it up, flipped through it to make sure. The dried orchid flower’s gone, along with the funeral pamphlet.
“Everything okay?” Jessica again.
“Yeah. Uh, yeah.” Matt dropped the Bible back in the chest with the suit. “Let’s go.”
On the way out, he thought he could make out Elektra’s scent, faint. But when he double checked all he could smell was ash.