Chapter Text
Melvin Potter knew he was lucky for a lot of reasons. He’d gotten lucky to get Betsy as a caseworker. He’d gotten lucky to get parole. He’d gotten lucky to meet Daredevil, and even luckier to gain the man’s patronage and protection. Maybe even friendship, if he dared to call it that.
He wasn’t always the best at repaying that luck, he’d found. No matter how hard he tried, things always seemed to go wrong around him. Daredevil had died for months. Betsy had been in danger because of his involvement with Fisk. Daredevil’s friend, whoever she’d been, hadn’t come back with her impromptu suit. That one was one of the worst ones, in Melvin’s opinion.
When Daredevil had brought the cloth back bloodied and torn, Melvin’s first thought had been, Did it not protect her?
It showed how good of a man Daredevil was that he lied to Melvin and said that no, it hadn’t been the suit’s fault. But Melvin knew it was a lie. He saw it in the way Daredevil’s mouth clenched, all upset-looking. It had to be a lie. The woman had left wearing it and then it had been brought back without her, ridleed in holes and slashes. Didn’t that make it Melvin’s fault, then, that she’d died?
Melvin had never liked looking people in the eyes, and the fact that Daredevil didn't seem to like it much either made their conversations a lot easier. But that time, when Daredevil hadn’t even been wearing his own suit, instead a hoodie drawn over his head and back hunched to hide from the light, Melvin had felt as if his client’s eyes had been boring into him. He knew logically they likely hadn’t been—Daredevil had never liked looking at people. It made Melvin wonder if Daredevil was like him, in a way. If the small movements of the man’s hands and the avoidance of eye contact weren’t the only things they had in common. But he knew it was impolite to ask people that, so he kept quiet about it.
Instead he’d continued to make the suits. Each one became more protective, sturdier and more agile. They were the best hours, in Melvin’s opinion, those nights where he could spend hours in his workshop staring through his lenses at the intricate details of his craft. Stitching it by hand, testing it with his knives, smoothing the red armor until it shone and shaping the sharp points on the helmet into horns.
Sometimes he had nightmares about that third mask. The one he’d been given back cracked right down the middle, bloody and broken. The one that, had anyone else brought it to him, would have made him assume that his vigilante friend had died. And yet, miraculously, Daredevil was still breathing.
Daredevil always seemed to be defying the word impossible, Melvin thought.
Becoming a vigilante in the Kitchen, a place so crime-riddled not even the Avengers touched it.
Taking down Fisk. Not even killing him, but putting him in jail. Melvin had thought for sure that man would have had to be killed to finally be defeated, but again Daredevil managed it.
Protecting Betty, when Melvin had fought so hard and yet failed.
. . . forgiving Melvin for his betrayal.
Sometimes the craftsman wondered if this man might actually be the Devil. The Potters had never been religious, but it all just seemed too fantastical. Too fantastical to be something one man could or would do.
But then he’d remember the man’s angry words, his armor riddled with bullet holes, the limps in his walk and cracks in his gravelly voice.
Melvin, perhaps more than anyone else in the city, knew that Daredevil was just a man.
And Melvin was also the only one in the city with the responsibility of keeping that man alive.
Perhaps that was what gave him the courage to say it. Melvin had never been a very brave man. Sometimes it felt like he’d spent his entire life hiding from being brave, actually. But something about Daredevil made it possible.
It was a stutter, but he got it out. “Wh-why’d you trust me a-again?”
Daredevil, standing in his usual spot in the shadows of the workshop, straightened. Melvin knew that meant he was surprised. It was a rare thing to see from the man.
There was no reason to specify what he meant, so he didn’t. They both knew what he was talking about.
“Wh-why do you trust me not t-to turn you in?” For some reason, Melvin found himself becoming agitated. He didn’t know at who, yet, but the fabric under his fingers was being clenched more than he meant to. “I-I betrayed you.”
It was a question that had gone unasked for far too long, really. Why had Daredevil come back? After that night, the doors closing in on his friend, the crates and the F.B.I. agents—what had made Daredevil come back? What had Melvin done to be deserving of this trust?
He wasn’t deserving of it. He’d betrayed his friend. He felt horrible about it, but he couldn’t take it back. It was done now. Didn’t he deserve punishment for that? Why had Daredevil not mentioned it even once?
Daredevil shifted. He seemed uncertain. Another thing they had in common, Melvin supposed. “I came back because . . . you’re a good man, Melvin.”
Malvin shook his head so frantically his vision swayed slightly. “No, no— no. I-I’m not. I tried to tu-turn you in. You’ve always been g-good to me, and I ru-ruined it.”
His stutter always became more pronounced when he was upset. Betsy said it was okay, that she didn’t care and it was fine, but did Daredevil think the same way? Would he be upset about the hard-to-make-out speech, like the men Melvin had met in jail?
It was one of those nights Daredevil had come to get a portion of the suit fixed—a knife slash on the upper thigh and a crack in the breast plating—so he was instead wearing the dark hoodie. Melvin couldn't see any of his face, not even the chin visible with the suit on, and the man’s hands were hidden in the pockets on the stomach. When Melvin denied his declaration, he brought them out of the pockets, fidgeting with his fingers. Melvin wasn’t very good at reading body language, but he knew that meant the man was worried or something similar. Maybe he didn’t know what to say.
Because what was there to say? Melvin was right, of course. Nothing Daredevil could say would change that.
Melvin was snapped out of his thoughts when Daredevil walked towards him. The craftsman looked away, conscious that the vigilante was now in the light and easier to see. It was rude, right, to look at someone keeping their identity hidden when in the light? Why was Daredevil coming so close? Melvin could reach out and touch him. Wasn’t that dangerous? Melvin had hurt him before, after all.
“I want you to listen to me, Melvin,” Daredevil said. His voice, normally rough and gravelly, was now just quiet. Melvin wondered if he allowed himself to do this often. Why did he sound so kind? It made Melvin feel even worse.
Melvin looked down at the red cloth in his hands instead, avoiding responding. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the man’s words, but he owed it to him to at least listen.
Daredevil continued, apparently knowing aMelvin was paying attention, “I don’t—Melvin, I trust you. You betrayed me, I know. But that doesn’t make me . . . angry at you. Just frustrated. And that was almost a year ago. I’ve had time to get over it.”
Melvin bit his lip, taking a sewing needle to the cloth. “You sh-shouldn’t forgive me. What if I do it a-again?”
Daredevil sighed. “Then I know you would be doing it for a good reason. Melvin, every time you’ve done something that hindered me in any way it has been for someone else’s protection.”
“Betsy’s,” Melvin muttered.
Daredevil nodded slightly. It was a jerky movement, as if unpracticed, and Melvin only just caught it out of the corner of his eye. “Exactly. Betsy. I trust that if you do something against me, Melvin, you’re doing it for a good reason, however misguided. Okay?”
“B-but—”
“You’ve saved my life with this suit more times than I can count,” Daredevil interrupted Melvin’s protest. “And I can’t thank you enough for that.”
Melvin grimaced. His teeth bit into his tongue slightly. “But-but sometimes I don’t protect you r-right. Like-like when you brought your friend.”
He knew the second he said it that it had been the wrong thing to say. Daredevil stiffened slightly, and Melvin berated himself. Sometimes he said stuff that upset people without realizing it. He hated it when that happened.
“That wasn’t your fault,” Daredevil disagreed. Hsi voice, surprisingly, hadn’t gone gravelly again. “Nothing about your suit could have saved her, Melvin.”
“S-still—”
Daredevil held up a hand. “No. No still. I swear to you, Melvin. I was—I was there when she died. There was nothing either of us could have done.”
Melvin frowned again. That must have been hard for the other man. He tried to imagine what he would feel like if it were Betsy—no. He stopped. Even the idea of it hurt too much.
Was that why Daredevil did this? Why he went out in this suit? To stop people from feeling like that?
“O-okay,” Melvin accepted. Then he held up the suit, finished with the stitching. “Here.”
Daredevil took it and, in his usual manner, ran his hands over the thread itself. Melvin always wondered at that action. It made him curious if Daredevil was a craftsman himself and was checking the work. But then, why would he need Melvin?
Daredevil nodded, seeming pleased with the result.
“As I said, it’s only a temporary fix,” Melvin added. “Gotta bring it b-back f’r longer if y-you want it really fixed.”
“I’ll bring it back later this week,” Daredevil informed him. “Will that work?”
Melvin nodded. “Yeah.”
The vigilante turned, ready to exit as would usually happen at this moment in the interaction, but Melvin remembered something else.
“W-wait, one more thing,” he said, drawing Daredevil’s attention. “T-the eye, it’s cracked, right? I can’t fix that without supplies that w-won’t come for a couple weeks. So th-that won’t be fixed.”
Daredevil stood stock-still. “The eye is cracked?”
Melvin frowned. It had been quite a large crack, right in the lens. It was obvious, especially to one wearing the helmet. Had Daredevil not been wearing the helmet recently? That was dangerous. “Yes.”
Daredevil sucked in an audible breath. “I, uh . . . is it something you can just . . . glue over?”
Melvin frowned, considering. “Not i-if you want to see well,” he rejected. “Sorry.”
There was a long moment of silence. Daredevil didn’t seem to know what to say, which was odd. Melvin had never found him lacking for words. Maybe he had something to say but was just afraid of saying it?
“W-what?” he prompted, trying to show that whatever it was it was okay. If the man was upset about the wait, he had a right to be. Melvin should have ordered those supplies weeks ago, after all. And if he was hesitant to ask Melvin to fix it,that would make no sense. Melvin was perfectly able to fix it.
“The . . . glue will be fine.”
“What?”
“You can just use the glue.”
“But then you won’t—”
Daredevil turned slightly, hiding the open part of his hood from view. It wasn’t needed. Melvin would never have looked anyway. “I know, Melvin. I won’t be able to see.”
Melvin frowned. That didn’t make any sense at all. “B-but how can you fight, then?”
His companion seemed to search for words again. “I . . . have never needed sight to do what I do, Melvin.”
That made a lot of sense. The way Daredevil always ran his hands over the suit, how he never looked Melvin in the eye, how he could move so surely in the shadows. Melvin found that he wasn’t very surprised. It was a mystical idea, that a man could fight with his eyes dark, but he found he believed it. Easily.
“Okay t-then,” Melvin agreed. “I’ll do the glue.”
Daredevil turned in surprise. “What?”
Melvin assumed he hadn’t heard him. “I’ll do the glue,” he repeated easily.
“You . . . don’t have any questions?”
Melvin had a lot of questions. But he wasn’t going to ask them. Daredevil was a secretive man, and this was a big secret he’d just been trusted with. He refused to betray that trust again.
“I d-do. But they’re not important.”
Jerkily, Daredevil nodded. “O-okay then.”
Was he uncertain? Was that why he was stuttering, just like Melvin?
Melvin reached his hand out for the suit. “Here. I’ll get the glue.”
The rest of the night, there was this sense that Daredevil was smiling under his hood.