“Basically, yeah. But it’s not that I won’t do it. I can’t. You don’t get it, Matt. There’s stuff going on the you can’t even begin to…” He breaks off and sighs, running a hand through his hair. “He doesn’t need me, Matt. He needs soldiers, and it’s too late to start training someone from scratch.” He stares intently at his brother, trying to gauge his reaction.
Matt gives no outward indication that he understands. His heart beat remains steady at around 60 beats a minute, not even a minuscule variation. He doesn’t get it.
“Matt, what I’m saying is that if he feels like he can’t use me any more, he’ll recruit someone he’s worked with before. I don't know about you, but I can’t think of too many people who fit that description.”
Matt doesn’t reply, but his heart rate spikes to over 100, his respiration follows, but still, except for a slight tightening of his fingers’ grip on the fork clutched in his hand, he gives no visible sign of his understanding.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Matt,” Mike tells him. “You know I’ve always been able to read you, it’s part of the reason I’m so good at being you.”
Matt puts his fork down onto his half finished plate of waffles and holds out his hand to Mike. “Wallet,” he says. “Phone. Now.” His hand almost trembles with rage.
That isn’t the reaction that Mike had been expecting. Frowning, he reaches into his pockets and places both items on the table. Matt sweeps a hand across the table to locate them and snatches them both up in seconds.
“Hey,” Mike tells him, “calm down, okay? People are staring.” They aren’t, actually, and there is a good chance Matt will know that from their reactions. Or he would, if he weren’t so focussed on his own anger.
“I don’t care. I’ve been telling you since we were ten years old, I don’t need anyone else to fight my battles for me. I’m not some scared little blind kid who needs his brother to protect him. I never was, and you never, never understood that, did you? You think you’ve got to waste your life to protect me? Go right ahead, but don’t expect me to thank you for it, okay?”
“Matt, come on. That’s not…”
Matt takes a note from his wallet, slaps it down onto the table and extends his cane before walking out as quickly as he can realistically get away with without drawing the wrong kind of attention.
For a moment, Mike is too stunned to react. He turns to watch Matt go, his cane almost jabbing to the left and then to the right, the usual sweeping arc he uses ordinarily almost completely absent. Without even thinking about what he is doing, Mike analyzes the move and files it away for future use.
That done, he fishes into his pocket and brings out a fistful of change mixed in with a check from the night before, piles it on the table to make up the difference in the cost with a little extra for the tip, then chases out of the door after his brother.
Re: Where Matt has a real identical twin named Mike who is sighted and is Daredevil
Matt gives no outward indication that he understands. His heart beat remains steady at around 60 beats a minute, not even a minuscule variation. He doesn’t get it.
“Matt, what I’m saying is that if he feels like he can’t use me any more, he’ll recruit someone he’s worked with before. I don't know about you, but I can’t think of too many people who fit that description.”
Matt doesn’t reply, but his heart rate spikes to over 100, his respiration follows, but still, except for a slight tightening of his fingers’ grip on the fork clutched in his hand, he gives no visible sign of his understanding.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Matt,” Mike tells him. “You know I’ve always been able to read you, it’s part of the reason I’m so good at being you.”
Matt puts his fork down onto his half finished plate of waffles and holds out his hand to Mike. “Wallet,” he says. “Phone. Now.” His hand almost trembles with rage.
That isn’t the reaction that Mike had been expecting. Frowning, he reaches into his pockets and places both items on the table. Matt sweeps a hand across the table to locate them and snatches them both up in seconds.
“Hey,” Mike tells him, “calm down, okay? People are staring.” They aren’t, actually, and there is a good chance Matt will know that from their reactions. Or he would, if he weren’t so focussed on his own anger.
“I don’t care. I’ve been telling you since we were ten years old, I don’t need anyone else to fight my battles for me. I’m not some scared little blind kid who needs his brother to protect him. I never was, and you never, never understood that, did you? You think you’ve got to waste your life to protect me? Go right ahead, but don’t expect me to thank you for it, okay?”
“Matt, come on. That’s not…”
Matt takes a note from his wallet, slaps it down onto the table and extends his cane before walking out as quickly as he can realistically get away with without drawing the wrong kind of attention.
For a moment, Mike is too stunned to react. He turns to watch Matt go, his cane almost jabbing to the left and then to the right, the usual sweeping arc he uses ordinarily almost completely absent. Without even thinking about what he is doing, Mike analyzes the move and files it away for future use.
That done, he fishes into his pocket and brings out a fistful of change mixed in with a check from the night before, piles it on the table to make up the difference in the cost with a little extra for the tip, then chases out of the door after his brother.