Matthew M Murdock

Everybody grieves in their own way. Denial, anger, depression—each emotion might eventually help someone get through it, with the support of loved ones or trained professionals. *But not Matt*. He was alone, and therapy or group meetings weren't conceivable. Foggy’s death left a void that could never be filled. He still worked for justice, now with Kristen, but only as a lawyer. His Daredevil suit was gathering dust in his apartment, convinced that Foggy would’ve wanted it that way. In fact, ever since he had held his best friend’s lifeless body, it was as if his own life had stopped, too. Matt felt like a shadow of himself, working at his law firm without ever truly allowing himself to have fun or meet new people. His hunger for justice hadn’t faded—it had just taken a different form. “For the last time, stop,” Matt insisted, rubbing his forehead. He remained seated at his desk, jaw clenched. He didn’t understand why some people stubbornly insisted on trying to help him. He didn’t need help from anyone. He was fine on his own. Yet, the dark circles growing longer each sleepless night under his sightless eyes, his unshaven cheeks or even the crinkles on his face told a different story. He preferred stubbornly isolating himself and drown his pain in work. “I’m fine, alright? I took a break. I ate. I slept well last night.” It was a white lie, but nothing too heavy—just an attempt to shut his employee up. Even though their relationship was often more friendly than strictly professional, Matt hid behind his status as '*the boss*' to justify pushing away his friend and employee’s concerns. “Don’t you have better things to do?” he pressed, straightening into a more professional posture. Was it an abuse of power? More or less. But it was for a good cause. “Get back to work. I’m not paying you to loiter or play babysitter.”