As the lecture finishes up and the students begin to filter out, the background murmur gradually increasing to a loud hum, Mike closes the laptop, slides it into its bag and tries to slip out as unobtrusively as he can. His fellow students surround him, as he enters the hall outside the lecture room, the crowd begins to thin out as they go in different directions. Mike pays careful attention to maintaining the realistic swing of his borrowed cane as he walks as quickly as he should be able, in the direction of the nearest exit.
Not fast enough though, unfortunately. A hand clasps him on the back and he flinches in surprise. In his haste to get away before Foggy caught him, he had focussed too much on his escape route and what he could see, and forgotten to use his heightened senses to monitor what was happening around him. He had forgotten the first lesson that Stick had ever thought them - that far from being the most important sense, sight was a distraction that may be his undoing if he was unable to train his focus in other directions.
Foggy’s hand grips his shoulder tightly. Mike allows his eyes to close before he turns to face him, not willing to make the same mistake again.
Mike grimaces inwardly and allows himself to slump just slightly before he replies. He tenses his throat and speaks in a hoarse whisper. “It comes and goes.”
Eyes still closed beneath his glasses, he can hear Foggy’s eye roll in his answer, “Nothing to do with you not trusting me with your dictaphone then?”
Mike hesitates. His heightened sense of touch allows him to feel the pale foundation that he had applied before the lecture sitting heavily in every pore, he had put it on like an expert, and he knows that he realistically looks like shit, even if his performance the lecture hall hadn’t backed that up.
“It’s not like that, honestly, I just felt better, so I…” He sways slightly, reaching out his hands to the sides as though to steady himself and allowing his cane to slip from his grip as he does.
Foggy catches first it, and then Mike, grabbing him tightly by his shoulders to steady him.
“Jesus, Matt, look at yourself. You’re ready to fall down from exhaustion.”
Mike shakes his head, “I’m fine, seriously.”
“No, you are the least fine person I’ve even seen. There are people that are dying who look better than you. I know you can’t verify that for yourself, but trust me, man, you need to be back in bed.”
Mike takes back the cane and gave Foggy a weak smile in return. “You’re probably right,” he agrees.
Foggy puts an arm around Mike’s chest and tucks his hand under his arm, as though to support him as they head back to the dorm. Mike allows himself a moment of victory before moving on to the next problem to solve. They can’t go back to the dorm, Matt is already there, tucked up in bed and probably fast asleep.
They turn a corner and walk through the door into the cool outside air. Mike slows a little, and Foggy reduces his case to compensate.
“You couldn’t do me a favor, could you?” Mike asks.
He feels Foggy shrug his shoulders through their close contact.
“My head is killing me. You couldn’t pick me up some tylenol, could you? And maybe something to settle my stomach?”
Foggy hesitates. “Sure, just let me get you back to the dorm and I’ll…"
“I’m fine,” Mike insists, allowing a little more strength to ebb back into his voice. “We’re practically there anyway, I’ll be fine.”
Foggy’s grip on him loosens, just sightly at first, and then, as though testing whether or not he will fall down if left to stand unaided, Foggy retreats completely. There is something about his heart rate that speaks of uncertainty, “You sure?”
Mike nods. “I’m good Foggy, honestly.”
Foggy takes a hesitant step in the other direction, then pauses. “If I come back this way and find you passed out on the ground, there’ll be hell to pay, Murdock.”
Mike smiles. “I’ll probably be asleep when you get back, but I promise it’ll be in a bed.”
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Foggy tells him, before turning and heading away.
Mike relaxes as soon as he turns away. He takes a moment to orient himself, and then walks back to the dorm to check on Matt, cane swinging ahead of him as he goes, and eyes still tightly closed. He had forgotten a valuable lesson just then, and although nothing had come of it, there was no excuse for not keeping his senses sharp.
Especially when his teacher could be anywhere, checking up on him, ready to serve up another harsh lesson. Better to do it himself than to be forced to swallow the bitter tea.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Where Matt has a real identical twin named Mike who is sighted and is Daredevil
Date: 2016-08-20 11:43 pm (UTC)Not fast enough though, unfortunately. A hand clasps him on the back and he flinches in surprise. In his haste to get away before Foggy caught him, he had focussed too much on his escape route and what he could see, and forgotten to use his heightened senses to monitor what was happening around him. He had forgotten the first lesson that Stick had ever thought them - that far from being the most important sense, sight was a distraction that may be his undoing if he was unable to train his focus in other directions.
Foggy’s hand grips his shoulder tightly. Mike allows his eyes to close before he turns to face him, not willing to make the same mistake again.
“You’re looking better suddenly,” Foggy tells him.
Mike grimaces inwardly and allows himself to slump just slightly before he replies. He tenses his throat and speaks in a hoarse whisper. “It comes and goes.”
Eyes still closed beneath his glasses, he can hear Foggy’s eye roll in his answer, “Nothing to do with you not trusting me with your dictaphone then?”
Mike hesitates. His heightened sense of touch allows him to feel the pale foundation that he had applied before the lecture sitting heavily in every pore, he had put it on like an expert, and he knows that he realistically looks like shit, even if his performance the lecture hall hadn’t backed that up.
“It’s not like that, honestly, I just felt better, so I…” He sways slightly, reaching out his hands to the sides as though to steady himself and allowing his cane to slip from his grip as he does.
Foggy catches first it, and then Mike, grabbing him tightly by his shoulders to steady him.
“Jesus, Matt, look at yourself. You’re ready to fall down from exhaustion.”
Mike shakes his head, “I’m fine, seriously.”
“No, you are the least fine person I’ve even seen. There are people that are dying who look better than you. I know you can’t verify that for yourself, but trust me, man, you need to be back in bed.”
Mike takes back the cane and gave Foggy a weak smile in return. “You’re probably right,” he agrees.
Foggy puts an arm around Mike’s chest and tucks his hand under his arm, as though to support him as they head back to the dorm. Mike allows himself a moment of victory before moving on to the next problem to solve. They can’t go back to the dorm, Matt is already there, tucked up in bed and probably fast asleep.
They turn a corner and walk through the door into the cool outside air. Mike slows a little, and Foggy reduces his case to compensate.
“You couldn’t do me a favor, could you?” Mike asks.
He feels Foggy shrug his shoulders through their close contact.
“My head is killing me. You couldn’t pick me up some tylenol, could you? And maybe something to settle my stomach?”
Foggy hesitates. “Sure, just let me get you back to the dorm and I’ll…"
“I’m fine,” Mike insists, allowing a little more strength to ebb back into his voice. “We’re practically there anyway, I’ll be fine.”
Foggy’s grip on him loosens, just sightly at first, and then, as though testing whether or not he will fall down if left to stand unaided, Foggy retreats completely. There is something about his heart rate that speaks of uncertainty, “You sure?”
Mike nods. “I’m good Foggy, honestly.”
Foggy takes a hesitant step in the other direction, then pauses. “If I come back this way and find you passed out on the ground, there’ll be hell to pay, Murdock.”
Mike smiles. “I’ll probably be asleep when you get back, but I promise it’ll be in a bed.”
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” Foggy tells him, before turning and heading away.
Mike relaxes as soon as he turns away. He takes a moment to orient himself, and then walks back to the dorm to check on Matt, cane swinging ahead of him as he goes, and eyes still tightly closed. He had forgotten a valuable lesson just then, and although nothing had come of it, there was no excuse for not keeping his senses sharp.
Especially when his teacher could be anywhere, checking up on him, ready to serve up another harsh lesson. Better to do it himself than to be forced to swallow the bitter tea.