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Matt hates this part.
The problem of being blind and yet seeing is that when people crash onto you, you must let them. There is no way to avoid it without people start asking questions — ‘wow, that was lucky!’, ‘are you even blind?’, ‘how did you do that!?’. Still, it never stops annoying him.
The man he just crashed — earthy scent, a few days without showering, maybe a homeless man? For some reason, Matt smells snow on him, even though this is impossible. There is also a different smell, a flower, maybe? Incense? It makes Matt think of the way people described the 70s. The incenst reminds him of someone else — makes a sound and laughs a little, almost as it was funny. He is not drunk, or high, so he probably is crazy.
These days, they all are.
“Sorry, man.” The guy says. His voice denotes that he is younger than Matt and very American, even though there is an Asian accent Matt cannot place. “Didn’t see you. Maybe I should be the one using the cane.”
“Perhaps.” Matt says and smiles without wanting to. He tightens his grip around his cane and listens to the man’s heartbeat. Soft, calm, harmonic, the type of sound that Matt would love to listen to for more time — and he isn’t flirting. Not everyone has this type of heartbeat around New York. It is almost like bird chirping in the middle of Hell’s Kitchen, away from its parks.
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just not used to, y’know, all this.” There is this almost imperceptible sound of the wind being cut. It indicates the man is doing some sort of movement with his hands. This kind of talker, it seems.
“I imagined.” A pause. “Because of your accent.” Matt would love to be less curious, but he cannot help it. And when the guy’s heartbeat stutters for a second, he knows there is something there. The smell of incense that he cannot quite place where he smell it last is the first clue.
“Oh. Yeah.” The man says and cleans his throat. “I guess the accent is still pretty strong, huh?”
“Not much, really. It’s only in a few words, but kinda obvious if you are used to New York’s. Where does it come from? China?”
There is hesitation, suddenly. The guy in front of him takes a few steps back while he makes a sound with his mouth. Wondering if he should say the truth? Wondering if he should say anything at all? “Tibet, actually. Technically.”
“Technically.”
“Technically.”
The silence between them should indicate that whatever they are having — this weird interaction between a blind lawyer and a homeless American man that just came back from technically Tibet — should be over, even though Matt is more suspicious now than ever. Before Matt can cut it off and leave, however, the man talks again, hesitating one more time.
“Hm, look. This is gonna sound weird, but I don’t want it to make it weird, but I guess it can’t be helped.” There is a pausa and Matt counts how many times he used but in one phrase. Somewhere, his professor of Philosophy weeps for the future of mankind. “Could you, like, lend me some money? I need to get somewhere, but I guess it will take a while if I walk. Well, I don’t mind walking, I’m using to it more than you think, but… It would be easier and, anyway, I’ll pay you back.”
Matt keeps the silence after it extends too much. He is right, it is a weird request from this man with a familiar trace and technically from Tibet. And yet his heartbeat is steady again. Truthful. Matt smiles in a way that he knows it must confuse the guy in front of him, but he searches for his wallet. This has to be the weirdest moment in his life and he did some weird things these past few days.
He does not have much these days, that’s for sure. Still, the heartbeat, the way the man inhales and exhales, how easy he says he will pay him back, like a promise. It screams honesty, something he has not felt in a long while since Foggy, before he knew about Matt being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.
Matt is a fool, he knows that.
“Here. It’s all I’ve got.” He extends fifty dollars and the man hesitates into taking for a moment. Guilt. Worry.
“Hm, are you sure you’re not gonna need it later?”
Probably. Yes. “No.”
The man approaches to take the money. His fingers are calloused and there are some scars on their tips. Hardworker, tough. Matt thinks of these fingers on his back for a moment and holds back a shiver.
“Well, then.” The man is chirp again. “Thank you! So much! I’ll give it back to you very soon.”
“How are you going to do that, exactly?” Matt asks, because he has to. New York city is a big place.
“I’ll find you.” The cocky tone on his voice says it is a promise he intends to keep, as he walks away to the direction opposite from Matt.
Matt believes him, again. It’s New York, anything can happen. Will happen, too.
.
By the end of the day, when his mask is leather and not one of a blind, helpless, very poor lawyer, he forgets about the interaction as a fist collides with his chin.
.
“There is a new guy in town.” Cage says. Jones rolls her eyes, Matt is so sure he can almost hear it.
“Rich guy.” She adds, the tone suggesting she is very disgusted by this.
“How rich?” Matt asks as he sips from his coffee. He has to be early on the courtroom tomorrow, but still has too much to do that day. And, no, he will not give this mission to Jones, with her drunk tirades, or Cage, who needs to keep her out of trouble while pretending he is not attracted to her.
“Tony Stark rich.” She whispers.
“Oh no.”
“Yeah.”
“Sweet Christmas.” Cage interrupts. “He is not that bad. You didn’t even meet him yet. He’s a cool guy.”
“I don’t have to.” Jones says, her tone stating the obvious. “Because he is Tony Stark kind of rich guy.”
“Wow.” A fourth voice interrupts and the three of them jump. Yes, even Matt. How? He has no idea. He did not hear anything at all. Or maybe he was too distracted. “What did this Tony guy do?”
The voice of the man is familiar. As he approaches, the smell of soap and bath bubbles fill Matt’s nose with memories of past scents. Elektra loved bath bubbles and had the most expensive types on her apartment. She said they made her feel prettier, which was impossible on Matt’s opinion. The guy’s steps are easy going, light, almost untraceable. This man is good. Too good.
“Seriously? Where did you live before this? Under a rock?” Jones asks.
“Ehhh” The man says, young, almost like Spider-Man, but without the crack on his voice that shows he still is a teenager. His voice is tougher, raspy. “More like an ancient city that exists in another dimension with an entrance on Tibet.”
The way he says Tibet is enough to Matt. He stares the man, focuses on his heartbeat — a little faster than he remembers, but they are on the top of a building and he came from God’s know where.
“Anyway, you guys can call me Iron Fist.” He says and his left wrist makes a clicking sound when he repeats a movement a few times — a wave, probably. “Oh, hey. It’s you.”
It’s you, even though Matt is wearing a mask. Even though here Matt is Daredevil.
“Do… You know each other?” Cage starts, a little confused.
“Not really.” Matt answers, but he is smiling. “We just talked once.”
“Here, thanks for that day.” Iron Fist says, even though he still is searching for money, the pat pat that echoes around him showing he does not remember where he put it.
This. This is his life. The homeless man he helped is the new hero in town, who names himself Iron Fist. Cage comments on why he is owing money and why he even has money while dressed as a ninja, to which he replies that having money is always a good idea — “I have a credit card too, just in case I need it” —, dressed as a ninja or not.
Calloused fingers touch his hand and Matt jumps. Between them there is a fabric that Matt soons finds out is more than just fifty dollars, not just by feeling them, but also by Jessica’s whistle. “Well, do you greet everyone you know by giving them money?”
“Only the cute ones.” Iron Fist answers and there it is: his heartbeat is steady, never wavers. He thinks Matt is cute. For real. This time, Matt does not suppress the shiver. “Anyway, I told you.”
“Hm?” Matt says, very helpfully, when he notices Iron Fist is talking to him. “What?”
Matt can feel the smile that is given to him. It makes him smile too. “I told you I’d find you. By the way, I’m Danny Rand, ex-missing billionaire.”
His fingers are long and they brush Matt’s wrist as they shake hands. Matt’s heartbeat skips a beat and he is sure Iron Fist — Danny — noticed it.
“Exactly like Tony Stark!” Jones exclaims.