fear of god [Matt Murdock x F!Reader]

Eve.

Knocking on the door, you let out a small sigh. The garden is nice, you can smell the jasmine plant letting its scent out as the sun begins to fall past the horizon. From behind the white curtain, you see a small shadow. You knock once more. It's quiet.

"Someone's in there," you whisper to Matthew, "they're not answering."

"Claire?" Matt calls out, taking a small step towards the door, "Claire, are you home? We just want to talk."

"Are you police officers?"

"No," you answer her, frowning slightly, "we're, uh-"

"From Clinton Church," Matthew lies, listening in. Claire's heartbeat picks up slightly but he hears her place a hand on the front door, "You're new to our congregation, Father Lantom sent us to welcome you."

The door opens slowly. Claire leaves a portion of it shut, her blue eyes peering through the gap. Her eyebrows are furrowed heavily. Her stare is wary and adverse.

"You think I'm that dumb?" She asks, putting both you and Matthew on your toes, "Who are you really?"

Matthew, hearing no other being in the house except her young child, answers honestly. "My name's Matthew Murdock. This is Y/N Y/L/N."

"Murdock, the lawyer?" Claire's eyes widen slightly as she stares at Matt. She then looks over to you, "And you're a reporter, aren't you? Yeah, you wrote that piece on - who was it? Elena Carmen?"

"Elena Cardenas, yeah, uh, I did," you give her a kind nod.

A look crosses Matthew's face and he tilts his head down slightly to hide it. He wasn't aware of that. How could he have missed it? He thinks back to everything that was going on at the time Mrs Cardenas had approached Nelson and Murdock for help - and it makes sense that he'd have missed it.

"Poor woman," Claire shakes her head, the door widening slightly, "what you wrote about her was very lovely."

"Thank you, Claire," you force a smile, thinking back to Elena, "that's really kind." All Mrs Cardenas had wanted was justice - for herself and for her neighbours - and she had been senselessly killed for it. Her memory remains to be one of unity, power, and respect.

Claire looks between you and Matthew, her gaze steadying on you, "What's this visit regarding?"

"Your brother," you tell her honestly, "and your father, too."

Claire pokes her head beyond the door, looking out into the street. The sun's beginning to set, tingeing the city with an orange, pink glow. It shines off her crystal eyes when she looks back at you, after seeing the empty road. "He isn't my brother," she mutters, her tone tinged with disgust.

"Richard Deacon?" You tilt your head at her.

"Yeah," she repeats, voice far sterner, "he isn't my brother."

"In any case," Matt speaks up this time, "we'd like to ask a few questions about your family. If that's alright with you, of course. It won't take very long."

"Yeah," she sighs, "it can't take long, my husband will be home soon." Claire spares Matt a look, gesturing for the two of you to step inside.

"Of course. Thank you."

Her house is small. It's quaint and messy, clothes strewn on the couch and plates cluttering the kitchen. The air is dense. It feels like a window hasn't been opened in weeks. Claire leads you to the living room, her thin arms stretching around a large pile of baby clothes left on the coffee table.

"I'm sorry about the mess," she mumbles, a sigh leaving her dry lips, "Michael's been sick the past few days. I was just able to get him to sleep, we'll see how long it lasts."