I was trying to come up with a way for Matt to notice something is wrong without Mike outright telling him, but without making it too obvious (like him bumping into something, because I don't think he would. I came up with this, but I dunno...
There is someone in his apartment.
Matt’s hand freezes on the door handle, key half way into the lock. He listens to the sound from within, the one that had given the intruder away. His heart rate is steady, unconcerned with the possibility if being caught. His presence is familiar. Matt relaxes as he recognizes it. Mike.
He opens the door and allows it to swing wide. “What are you doing here?” he asks, before Mike can say a word.
He can hear the grin in his brothers voice as he answers. “Lovely to see you too, Matt, and how are you this evening?”
Matt sighs and closes the door behind him. “Breaking into my apartment isn’t okay, Mike.”
“Who says I broke in?” Mike asks him. He rummages in his pocket and pulls something out, holds it aloft as though for Matt to inspect. “I have a key,” he says. “I didn’t think I’d need to use it though. Why are you so late back?”
Matt hangs up his cane and his jacket before sinking into the sofa. “Busy day,” he says. He decides to let the key thing slide for now, but sooner or later he is going to have to deal with it. Or get comfortable with Mike having easy access to his apartment. Which now he thinks about it, he probably does anyway. Not having a key had never seemed to be much of an obstacle for his brother.
Mike opens the refrigerator door and begins to rummage around inside. It isn’t well stocked, but Matt listens to him moving things around for a minute or two, then to the sound of two bottles of beer being placed on the counter top, and then more searching.
Mike's heart rate increases a little and he blows out a frustrated gust of air from between pursed lips. “Don’t you have milk?” he complains. “Literally the only thing in your kitchen that resembles snack food is this cardboard cereal, and you don’t have milk.”
“Third shelf, left side, behind the tomatoes,” Matt says automatically. It isn’t until his brain, still addled from the long day, catches up with his mouth that he realizes what had seemed so strange about Mike’s question.
He hears Mike pull the packet of tomatoes out and leave them on the counter, then the milk after it. “I’m leaving these out,” he says. “You don’t keep tomatoes cold, Matt. They have no flavor that way.”
“Why couldn’t you find it?” Matt asks softly as he listens to Mike pouring the milk over his stolen cereal that he must have helped himself to before Matt arrived, and grabbing a spoon from the drawer.
Mike scoffs quietly at the question and puts the carton of milk back where he got it. “Because you keep it in a stupid place. Why not leave it in the shelf on the door like a normal person?” He picks up his bowl in one hand and the two beers in the other. Matt hears then clinking together as he walks over to the sofa. Matt listens carefully to his footsteps as he does. Nothing sounds out of place. Or maybe it does. Is he walking a little slower than normal? A little more hesitantly?
The cold of the chilled bottle on the back of his hand is Matt’s signal to take it, which he does without thinking. Mike sits opposite him in a chair, puts his beer on the floor by his feet and begins to crunch his cereal.
“Mike?” he says.
Mike fills his mouth with a spoonful and talks around it. “Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
Mike laughs. “I’m a bit beat up, but no worse than usual. He took me on a mission, some warehouse the enemy were using as a base of operations. Decided to make it a training exercise too, so…” he tailed off and shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Hungry, though,” he added around the food.
“He… Stick?”
He is answered with silence for a moment. “Shit. I wasn’t going to mention it. Yeah, he’s back in town.”
Matt feels a slight chill at those words. He inhales deeply through his nose, searching the accumulated scents in the apartment for any hint that his former teacher had been there. He finds nothing. He relaxes just slightly, enough to realize that Mike’s accidental slip had been no accident, he was deflecting from Matt’s original line of questioning.
Somewhere deep inside Matt’s stomach, a creeping uncertainty began to spread. “What color is my t-shirt?” he asked.
“I haven’t been here for weeks,” Mike tells him. “I haven't switched anything around, honest.”
“Humor me,” Matt says. “Prove it.”
Mike sighs. “What does it matter what color it is, Matt? It’s just a t-shirt.”
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Where Matt has a real identical twin named Mike who is sighted and is Daredevil
Date: 2016-04-27 04:17 pm (UTC)There is someone in his apartment.
Matt’s hand freezes on the door handle, key half way into the lock. He listens to the sound from within, the one that had given the intruder away. His heart rate is steady, unconcerned with the possibility if being caught. His presence is familiar. Matt relaxes as he recognizes it. Mike.
He opens the door and allows it to swing wide. “What are you doing here?” he asks, before Mike can say a word.
He can hear the grin in his brothers voice as he answers. “Lovely to see you too, Matt, and how are you this evening?”
Matt sighs and closes the door behind him. “Breaking into my apartment isn’t okay, Mike.”
“Who says I broke in?” Mike asks him. He rummages in his pocket and pulls something out, holds it aloft as though for Matt to inspect. “I have a key,” he says. “I didn’t think I’d need to use it though. Why are you so late back?”
Matt hangs up his cane and his jacket before sinking into the sofa. “Busy day,” he says. He decides to let the key thing slide for now, but sooner or later he is going to have to deal with it. Or get comfortable with Mike having easy access to his apartment. Which now he thinks about it, he probably does anyway. Not having a key had never seemed to be much of an obstacle for his brother.
Mike opens the refrigerator door and begins to rummage around inside. It isn’t well stocked, but Matt listens to him moving things around for a minute or two, then to the sound of two bottles of beer being placed on the counter top, and then more searching.
Mike's heart rate increases a little and he blows out a frustrated gust of air from between pursed lips. “Don’t you have milk?” he complains. “Literally the only thing in your kitchen that resembles snack food is this cardboard cereal, and you don’t have milk.”
“Third shelf, left side, behind the tomatoes,” Matt says automatically. It isn’t until his brain, still addled from the long day, catches up with his mouth that he realizes what had seemed so strange about Mike’s question.
He hears Mike pull the packet of tomatoes out and leave them on the counter, then the milk after it. “I’m leaving these out,” he says. “You don’t keep tomatoes cold, Matt. They have no flavor that way.”
“Why couldn’t you find it?” Matt asks softly as he listens to Mike pouring the milk over his stolen cereal that he must have helped himself to before Matt arrived, and grabbing a spoon from the drawer.
Mike scoffs quietly at the question and puts the carton of milk back where he got it. “Because you keep it in a stupid place. Why not leave it in the shelf on the door like a normal person?” He picks up his bowl in one hand and the two beers in the other. Matt hears then clinking together as he walks over to the sofa. Matt listens carefully to his footsteps as he does. Nothing sounds out of place. Or maybe it does. Is he walking a little slower than normal? A little more hesitantly?
The cold of the chilled bottle on the back of his hand is Matt’s signal to take it, which he does without thinking. Mike sits opposite him in a chair, puts his beer on the floor by his feet and begins to crunch his cereal.
“Mike?” he says.
Mike fills his mouth with a spoonful and talks around it. “Hmm?”
“Are you okay?”
Mike laughs. “I’m a bit beat up, but no worse than usual. He took me on a mission, some warehouse the enemy were using as a base of operations. Decided to make it a training exercise too, so…” he tailed off and shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “Hungry, though,” he added around the food.
“He… Stick?”
He is answered with silence for a moment. “Shit. I wasn’t going to mention it. Yeah, he’s back in town.”
Matt feels a slight chill at those words. He inhales deeply through his nose, searching the accumulated scents in the apartment for any hint that his former teacher had been there. He finds nothing. He relaxes just slightly, enough to realize that Mike’s accidental slip had been no accident, he was deflecting from Matt’s original line of questioning.
Somewhere deep inside Matt’s stomach, a creeping uncertainty began to spread. “What color is my t-shirt?” he asked.
“I haven’t been here for weeks,” Mike tells him. “I haven't switched anything around, honest.”
“Humor me,” Matt says. “Prove it.”
Mike sighs. “What does it matter what color it is, Matt? It’s just a t-shirt.”
Except it isn’t. He is wearing a suit.