“You do,” Matt tells him. “Every time you put on a pair of sunglasses and steal one of my canes. People who are happy with their lives don’t waste them pretending to be someone else.”
Mike shrugs. “Yeah, well, as I remember it, the whole switching places thing was your idea in the first place when we were kids.”
“My point exactly.”
Shit. Mike stares at him brother. He is leaning forward slightly, hands resting on the table in front of him, one to either side of his coffee. His glasses are flecked with dust and fingerprints. Steam rises from the mug and mists them slightly. If Matt has noticed, it clearly doesn’t bother him. “Matt, I…” Mike sighs. “I never…”
“It’s fine,” Matt tells him quickly. “That was then. We were eleven, we'd lost dad, neither or us was particularly happy.”
“Can’t argue with that. It was a pretty shitty time.” Mike reaches across the table and carefully takes the sunglasses from his brother’s face with practiced care. Matt, having sensed the move, barely reacts. Mike rubs one lens and then the other with the bottom of his shirt before sliding them back across the table.
Matt accepts them and slips them back on with a smile so small that Mike wouldn’t have recognized it it he didn’t know him so well. “Thanks,” he says.
“This is what happens when I’m not around for a while, your whole concept of personal grooming goes out the window. I mean, have you seen what you’re wearing this morning?”
“Funny,” Matt deadpans.
The waitress brings over two plates and places them on the table the wrong way around without saying a word. She retreats to the counter to resume the uninteresting conversation about the night before, that she was having with her friend.
Matt switches the plates around before he picks up his fork. He pauses, fork half way to the plate and smiles.
"What?" Mike asks.
Matt shakes his head. "Nothing. It's just I wouldn't have been able to do that with anyone else. I'd have had to wait for Foggy to notice we had the wrong food, or take a bite of it first. It's nice not to have to pretend again."
Mike reaches over and steals the strawberry from his brother's plate, pops it in his mouth and talks around it as he answers. "All that time you've spent trying to get me to fess up to your friend, maybe you should stop keeping secrets too."
"That's different," Matt tells him. "People are supposed to have brothers, they're not supposed to be able to hear a conversation from a block away."
"Hard to argue with that logic. Besides, you can't get the guy to believe you have a twin, what are the chances of him believing in what you can do?" Mike fours a generous helping of maple syrup onto his waffles and digs in. He deliberately doesn't think about the fact that he is keeping that same secret from his own brother. There is no possibility of convincing himself that Matt wouldn't believe it. The danger with that particular confession is what he might do if he found out.
Re: Where Matt has a real identical twin named Mike who is sighted and is Daredevil
“You do,” Matt tells him. “Every time you put on a pair of sunglasses and steal one of my canes. People who are happy with their lives don’t waste them pretending to be someone else.”
Mike shrugs. “Yeah, well, as I remember it, the whole switching places thing was your idea in the first place when we were kids.”
“My point exactly.”
Shit. Mike stares at him brother. He is leaning forward slightly, hands resting on the table in front of him, one to either side of his coffee. His glasses are flecked with dust and fingerprints. Steam rises from the mug and mists them slightly. If Matt has noticed, it clearly doesn’t bother him. “Matt, I…” Mike sighs. “I never…”
“It’s fine,” Matt tells him quickly. “That was then. We were eleven, we'd lost dad, neither or us was particularly happy.”
“Can’t argue with that. It was a pretty shitty time.” Mike reaches across the table and carefully takes the sunglasses from his brother’s face with practiced care. Matt, having sensed the move, barely reacts. Mike rubs one lens and then the other with the bottom of his shirt before sliding them back across the table.
Matt accepts them and slips them back on with a smile so small that Mike wouldn’t have recognized it it he didn’t know him so well. “Thanks,” he says.
“This is what happens when I’m not around for a while, your whole concept of personal grooming goes out the window. I mean, have you seen what you’re wearing this morning?”
“Funny,” Matt deadpans.
The waitress brings over two plates and places them on the table the wrong way around without saying a word. She retreats to the counter to resume the uninteresting conversation about the night before, that she was having with her friend.
Matt switches the plates around before he picks up his fork. He pauses, fork half way to the plate and smiles.
"What?" Mike asks.
Matt shakes his head. "Nothing. It's just I wouldn't have been able to do that with anyone else. I'd have had to wait for Foggy to notice we had the wrong food, or take a bite of it first. It's nice not to have to pretend again."
Mike reaches over and steals the strawberry from his brother's plate, pops it in his mouth and talks around it as he answers. "All that time you've spent trying to get me to fess up to your friend, maybe you should stop keeping secrets too."
"That's different," Matt tells him. "People are supposed to have brothers, they're not supposed to be able to hear a conversation from a block away."
"Hard to argue with that logic. Besides, you can't get the guy to believe you have a twin, what are the chances of him believing in what you can do?" Mike fours a generous helping of maple syrup onto his waffles and digs in. He deliberately doesn't think about the fact that he is keeping that same secret from his own brother. There is no possibility of convincing himself that Matt wouldn't believe it. The danger with that particular confession is what he might do if he found out.