Tabula Rasa

Chapter 47

Matt was drunk.

It wasn't a state of being that he enjoyed. And it definitely wasn't one he found himself in often - he relied on his senses and reflexes too much to dull them with alcohol. But some situations in life called for the oblivion of being shit-faced. Like bonding with your new best friend in college. Celebrating passing the Bar.

And finding out the woman you love is a lying murderer.

Matt downed the liquor in his glass - no longer feeling the burn as it slid down his throat - and motioned the bartender for another.

"You sure that's a good idea?" The voice came from behind him, the dry, mocking monotone instantly recognisable.

Jessica Jones.

"Whatta you doing here?" he asked, as she took the stool next to him.

"I should be asking you that. This is my regular joint, not yours." To prove her point, she nodded to the bartender, who immediately plucked a bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf and placed it in front of her. "Thanks, Diego."

Matt snatched the bottle and poured a fifth into his own glass.

Jessica quickly grabbed it back. "You're lucky I'm in a generous mood, Murdock, otherwise I would have smashed this over your head."

"No, you wouldn't," Matt muttered.

Jessica laughed. "No. I have a thing against picking on pathetic, sad-sack lawyers when they're drowning their sorrows."

"Everyone's gotta have principles." Matt meant it as a joke, but the words just served to remind him of why everything had gone so wrong tonight.

"You wanna talk about it?" Jessica asked, her voice uncharacteristically kind.

Matt scrubbed a hand over his face. The move dislodged his glasses, so he yanked them off and dropped them on the bar in front of him. He'd gone straight home after the confrontation with Calina, knowing that he wasn't in the right headspace to be out as Daredevil. He'd shoved on his sweats then started pacing his apartment, too wound up to relax.

That's when he'd realised he needed a drink. He needed to blunt all the anger and the pain and the misery he was feeling before it drove him to do something reckless. Something violent.

Like storm that warehouse in Jersey and beat every living soul in it to pieces.

So he'd found himself here instead, in this half-deserted, dreary, run-down bar. Which was apparently Jessica Jones' favourite hang-out.

That fit.

"Matt?" she prompted. "Is there something I should know about? Are you here getting smashed because the world is going to end thanks to a shady multinational cabal of evil immortals? Again."

"No. The world's not ending. Just my relationship." Matt shook his head. "Maybe."

He wasn't sure where he stood with Calina now. Was there hope for them? Could they salvage what they used to have with this difference of opinion hanging over them?

Matt laughed to himself. The phrase 'difference of opinion' was doing a lot of heavy lifting - they didn't disagree on furniture layout, or whether pineapple belonged on pizza. They disagreed on the very sanctity of life. On the fundamental issue right and wrong.

Could they ever get passed that?

"You and Calina?" Jessica guessed.

"Yeah."

"Well. Fuck."

Matt laughed again. "Yeah. Fuck."

"What happened?"