Drink with the Devil
Daredevil and related characters belong to Marvel Comics.
Other Marvel Re-Imagined titles can be found here.
Rating: T (Just covering my bases)
It had been a long while since Matt Murdock showed his face in Garvey’s, but when a person’s recovering from being violently mugged it takes a while before they start re-appearing in bars. He’d been read Urich’s article on the purple man incident. Sure, he’d been told to start writing while Killgrave was still directing his mind, controlling him like an expert puppeteer, but he’d had time after that to edit his piece. Matt knew it had been edited. No one writes about screaming in their mind the entire time even if they were controlled by somebody else. They don’t write how the voice of their dead sister called to them, seemingly stroking their brain and whispering that everything would be alright if they just listened to what Killgrave had to say. Urich was definitely free when he wrote his article.
Lining up his pool cue, Matt readied himself for his shot. Being blind he couldn’t see which ball was his, let alone where the balls were, but with quick shots and a faith in the steadiness of his arm he hadn’t done too badly before. John from the bar had offered earlier to meet with him weekly for matches. There’d been a shared laugh, Matt nodding and promising John that he’d keep in touch about it. He was a lawyer after all and he had his cases to study and fight. He was also a costumed vigilante and if Daredevil’s last outing was any proof, Matt’s body was going to need its rest whenever he could grab it. Not tonight, though. Tonight was for a quick drink, a game of pool and a revelling in getting out of the hospital. Matt could allow himself the celebratory night off sleeping. He hit the white ball. The pool table exploded in a cacophony of sound as the balls rolled around, clipped into one another and rippled like a wave over the green felt.
“Good shot Murdock,” a man said, his voice faintly German but his words unmistakeably clear English. “Lieber said that you’d be here.”
“Thanks,” Matt said. He breathed in before he walked around the table, trying to re-find the white ball. Touching the ball’s surface, he could just feel the chalk. Pulling a stick out of his pocket he redrew his marker before lining up his cue again. One fluid motion later and the ball had been hit with a sharp crack. “Lieber said I’d be here? I didn’t know he went to bars.”
“Not many do,” the other man replied, laughing. Matt could feel the man’s hand gripping his own. The grip was firm, but his hand felt weathered. He shook it. “I met Nelson here last week.”
“You’re Miller, aren’t you?” he asked, taking his hand back and running it over the balls on the table. “Foggy mentioned you; said you scared him a bit.”
Miller laughed a laugh as ripe as fruit, despite the slight creak in his voice and his old hands. Still had a bit of youth left in him, it seemed. Matt ran his hand over the chalk. That’s where the white had gotten to. He leaned over the table and readied himself for another shot. Yes, Foggy had mentioned a Miller. He’d asked him what he’d do if a friend lay dying, whether he’d contemplate signing his soul over to even the devil himself when confronted in the darkness. Who are you in your darkest heart, Nelson?
To Be Continued.