Edited: 30.07.24

Blair was always an idiot. Especially when she was in love, she chased people away, loved to much to quickly. Like now, with Matt who didn't want to be her everything, was stupidly her everything going wrong. Blair used to believe her life wouldn't relvolve around finding love, but maybe it did. She liked to blame it on being young — young and stupid!

A part of Blair's perfect fantasy was to be a ballerina, to be a children's nurse, to be a mother and to be loved. Maybe being in love wasn't to bad, but maybe making herself ill for a man was.

Blair knew she had some issues, and maybe that sacred Matt away, or maybe he was trying to save her falling sanity. Yet, he sat opposite her in a rundown cafe that he had chosen, a glass of water and a bagel in front of him and a croissant and late in front of the woman.

The two hadn't spoken much, they'd shared small talk and promised to speak once they'd eaten - not that they were going to stick to that.

Matt had a burning pain in his head, questions that scolded his mind and every one of them surrounded her. So as she picked up her pastry, he listened to her heart, her breathing, he tortured himself with the faintness of her heart, the awareness of the bones that peaked through her skin, the mild taste of cigarettes that was only starting to fade from her skin. Matt had made her ill, he had taken her down a bad course of anxiety and self hatred and now she harmed her well being in fear of never being enough.

Matt knew she was emotionally delicate, disturbed, even fragile, and yet he played with her and shattered her heart. He hadn't meant to play, he had only meant to observe her, be her friend yet everything got so complicated... it always gets complicated.

"So, you know Stick?" It wasn't so much of a question, and hearing her swallow her food knowing the only time she'd have likely ate was with foggy and Claire almost stabbed the guilty deeper in his chest. Sometimes Matt wondered if he truly had a heart, how could he when he let someone fall for him when he himself was bad for her.

She shrugged, her body aching, stomach needing more of the pastry. For once all she wanted to do was eat, to let her body heal, but did she deserve to get better? Eating was a torturous habit she hated, she hated taht she needed to eat or even that wanted to. "You know him." She added between small nibbles, the anxiety wavering once again.

"You coul- you should have told me."

Blair blinked at him. "I never hid it. He's my grandad, I never hid that from you Matt. My mum was his daughter, she'd dead. I didn't tell you, but I didn't hide it. I don't recall you ever saying you knew him."

Matt's attentions went from her, for a few seconds. His head tilted down, his unseeing gaze missing her entire body by just a fraction. She was right — it wasn't like he had admitted to much of his childhood and upbringing. In his time with the woman, he had too not lied but not explicitly mentioned anything about his childhood.

Matt heard her shuffle in her seat, her usually steady heart beat echo around each surface, the loud and rather dramatic breath of air that left her mouth. Matt could hear the anger, he could hear the agony her body was in, taste the way a thin layer of salt covered her hands as Blair fidgeted.

He hadn't known her to be nervous, she was a loud mouth - and idiot - but now he could sense her need to bolt. To get away from him and the world.

"Did you, Matt?" He swallowed, his head tilted down. She scoffed to herself, leaning her head back. "I should just g-"

"Stay." His voice, it was so soft. A sadness buried in it, and so Blair stayed still. He wanted to kick himself, Matt knew she loved him, and he knew to a degree he loved her, and slowly he was falling in love, but he hated the hold he had on her heart. "You're right, I didn't tell you. He mentored me, him and Mary Rose."

Heart skipped. "Stick adopted her, she's my mother. Scarily young, she was like sixteen when she had me." Blair watched Matt smile softly. He rarely heard her speak of her mother. "She adored him, even though he was killing her. My mum died for him, and he was supposed to keep me safe.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Mary, Stick and a young Matt were sat on a park bench eating ice cream. The twenty one year old readjusted her pony tail, before going back to her dairy free ice cream, dairy allergies were definitely not fun.

"So what kind of training is this?" The young boy asked, his senses overwhelmed by the noises that he couldn't understand.

"You'll see." The woman muttered, her eyes covered is sunglasses to try and make it easier to not be blinded by the sun. She crossed her legs, bobbing them up and down every now and then from her seat on the floor, her back against the bench.

"You like ice cream?" Stitch asked.

"Yeah."

"Then shut up and eat it. I'll ask the questions." Stitch told him, his voice the usual harsh yet empty tone. "First thing you gotta understand is nobody feels sorry for you and nobody ever will.'Cause when it comes to being born lucky you won the friggin' lottery."

"Recon I could actually win the lottery." Mary said, nodding to herself.

"I doubt it."

"Thanks." Mary mumbled, pouting slightly as she turned and glared at Stick.

"Glaring won't get you anyway, kid." Stick told his daughter. "Anyway, people would say you got lucky." He said, turning his attention o the actual child.

"I did?"

"What did I say about questions?"

"Shut up." Matt responded, quoting the old man. Mary let out a small laugh, gently patting and rubbing his knee.

"Good." Stick praised, flicking his daughter in the head to tell her to shut up with mutters about him being a child. "How old were you when you got blinded?"

"Nine."

"Nine? So you had nine whole years of looking at movies, blue skies, up girlies' skirts that I never had. I was born blind.
You don't hear me whining about it, do you?"

"Cause that's not perverted." Mary muttered to herself, sarcasm drowning her voice. Mary looked down at her ice cream, remembering the now twelve year old she saw as a sister. Elektra Natchios was 'given away' earlier that year and Mary couldn't help but feel guilty for them moving on, to training another child.

"So, you're nine years old, walking along, minding your own business and whammo! Get hit by a truck, killed dead on the spot."

"I wasn't killed." Matt said, a childish panic in his voice.

"You lived? Praise God, it's a miracle." Stick said. Mary laughed slightly, letting her father take his hand away from her. "So you survive the truck and get this chemical shit in your eyes. What next?"

"I hear things."

"And for most that would be schizophrenia or some sort of mental illnesses, so what kind of things?"

Matt was offended at the idea of being accused of mental health. He was fine, as he liked to believe. "Everything. Coughs and fights and cats meowing. Sometimes blocks away. I can sense things. I know where things are and when they move. But I can't see"

"And you're not crazy, yet?" Mary joked, a smug grin on her face.

"You know what they call stuff like that? Gifts." Stick cleared up, rolling his unused eyes at Mary's teasing. "The special kind. The kind that very few people have. Or deserve."

"I never thought of it that way."

"Well, that's because you're stupid."

"I'm not stupid, I'm smart."

"Because you taught yourself how to run your little fingers over the bumps and read Braille? Smart don't come out of books, kid. Smart is making the right decision at the right time." Stick told him, a harsh reality. "Like now. What's it gonna be, Matty? You gonna spend your life crying and rocking yourself to sleep at night? Or are you gonna dig deep and find out what it takes to reshuffle those cards life dealt you? Your call."

Mary must of zoned out as she heard Stick chuckle and say, "Good choice, kid."

As if losing your sight wasn't dark enough, Matt brought up some more darkness. "No one's bought me ice cream since my dad died."

"Orphanages don't worry themselves on comfort food, Matty, they have important things to buy, like their own will to live, children are difficult."

"Poor Elizabeth."

"She's an acceptation."

"It doesn't count when your child fears her father."

"I suppose." Mary muttered sadly. She glared down at the ring in her hand. She was to marry Harry Scott soon. The man who had hurt her so many times because she wanted to ensure her child's safety. Her eyes moved away from the ring and down to the cuts that painted her hands. Red scars and silver lines.

"What's it taste like?" Stick asked Matthew, about to turn the child's senses into something useful.

"Vanilla."

"Everybody can taste vanilla." Stick scoffed.

"You asked him what it tasted like, not to describe each thing in it." Mary defended.

The man ignored the female. "Pay a little more attention, use those gifts. You know what you got? Sugar grains, vanilla bean, milk from three different dairies from two states... ugh... batch of chemicals straight off the periodic tables and—" he sniffed it. "—dirt off the guy's hand that served it to you. He spent his morning gardening. Whole world around you, Matty, and it is friggin' huge. And all you need are the guts to let it in. Try. That dog, what's his story?"

Mary slipped off the sun glasses and cringed at the brightness. She glanced over at the dog and scanned it. Hungry, over worked and slightly underfed.

"He's hungry, his stomach's growling and he's dying to eat the hot dogs that guy's carrying just upwind of him."

"Not bad.What about the girl?"

Mary looked over. Love, burning with a lack of sun cream, skin peeling and freckles for days.

"Her skin's... Her skin's too hot. Her heart's beating fast." Concern littered his voice. "Is she sick?"

"She's in love, Matty, he however isn't and is cheating on her." Mary assured the boy, reaching over and patting the worried child on the leg.

"How do you know?" The young boy asked.

"He looks away, he's watching other women, he's looked over here about six times in the last thirty seconds, but he's noticed the ring on my finger, his ring is shiny, not from cleaning but from being removed, any time he checks his phone he holds it angled away from her, he's doesn't like her but is staying with her because of their cat, cat hairs cover both of their clothing, also he's got lipstick on his neck, it's been washed of recently but it's stained, it's recent too, it's a colour that doesn't suit her nor is she wearing it, she wears pinks and purples and maybe deep reds, the lipstick on his neck is a dark blue."

"Good work, kid." Stick praised. Mary grinned and put her glasses back on.

"And the old man?"

"He's... He's dying." Matt replied, solemnly.

"And there's nothing you can do about it. Big world, not all of it flowers and sunshine. And the only way guys like you and me can survive is to grab it by the throat and never let go."

"If I ask you a question, will you hit me?"

"Depends on the question."

"He won't hit you." Mary promised, an amused smile on her face.

"How did you find me? How did you know?"

"Old bitty at the orphanage thinks it's her idea."

"But it wasn't, was it?"

"Maybe it's one of my gifts. Or you just got lucky."

"Dun dun dun." Mary added for affect.

"That's not an answer." Matt scoffed.

"Maybe he is smart." Mary chuckled.

"You're both going to help me?"

"No, we're gonna train you. How to control your gift, make it work for you use it, and how to fight." Stick corrected.

"Short answer, yes."

"My dad never wanted me to fight."

"Your dad ain't here. You'll need skills for the war."

"What war?"

"Let's wait until you're ready, buddy, we have to work out if you're worthy and strong enough." Mary told him.

"I don't even know your names." Matt pointed out. "What do I call you?"

"Mary and Stick."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Are you happy?" The question had left her lips before Blair had considered what she wanted to say. Their discussion of Stick had long passed and Blair was on her third coffee, her hands shaking slightly.

Matt didn't quite know the answer. Was he happy? No, but he wasn't unhappy. "I'm not unhappy."

"But you're not happy. Why did you get with her?" Blair asked. She leaned forward slightly, her head tilted as she watched him in wonder. She saw the way he turned away, things that would make some think he could still see, but of course he couldn't.

"She's a nice girl — and I'm not saying you're not — but you deserve so much better, you were hurting yourself because you wanted me, it's not healthy. We agreed we didn't want to be serious and I saw I was hurting you—"

"You knew I wanted more, you knew that was lie."

Matt leaned back, head tipped, a sigh followed. "It wasn't easy, I loved you, Blair. But, you're killing yourself because you can't have me, that's not healthy for either of us."

She knew he was right — he was right a lot. In the time she knew him, Blair had become obsessive, she had got hurt. She had nearly got herself in some nasty states because he was gone. All because of a boy. "I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't have left how I did, I should have spoke to you, told you my concern. I should have worked this out with you, you scared me Blair, I heard you in the rain, when I was with Karen. I hadn't thought — things could have been so different."

Blair looked away from Matt, she watched the world around her. "I was ready for us, I wanted you to be mine officially."

"Maybe one day, but, your health needs to come first Blair. It's not fair on you, and not on me."