looking over your shoulder

"SO, HOW are you adjusting?"

Artemis grunted, wiping his hands with the dishtowel on the counter. He glanced at the phone sitting by the sink, sighing. "It's pretty boring," he replied truthfully.

He could hear Damien's snort. "What, a normal, clean life isn't good enough for you?"

"That is not what I mean, and you know it," he shot back, scooping up the phone while pouring himself a mug of coffee with his free hand. "I just... feel so restless."

Damien sighed. "I know," he admitted eventually. "But you've barely been here for a month. You'll get used to it. Once you learn to stop looking over your shoulder, you can enjoy the peace."

Artemis raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How long did it take you to stop looking over your shoulder, then?" He moved to settle on the small loveseat in the corner of his apartment, attempting to soothe his aching back. He still couldn't find the box that held his heating pads, and his body was letting him know exactly what it thought about that.

"... I'll let you know once I do." There was a pause before Damien cleared his throat. "Why're you still using that accent? It's just us."

"Can never be too careful," he hummed, taking a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the burn that traveled down his throat. "And apparently, it needs work. One of Estelle's work neighbors noticed my accent just after he met me."

"The lawyers? Which one?" Damien hummed. "Was it the blind one? I forget their names."

"... how did you know that?"

"It was my job to know everything," the older man reminded him. "It's a hard habit to shake. Besides, Estelle introduced me when I came to collect my favor."

"Right," Artemis mumbled. "By the way, how much do I owe you now?"

Damien huffed, and Artemis knew he was probably rolling his eyes. "You don't, Arty—"

"Don't use that name," Artemis snapped, his whole body tensing. Blinking, he swallowed, forcing himself to relax, and he fumbled with the locket around his neck. "Sorry. It's just—he's dead. That is not me anymore."

There was a pause. Then, "You know I can't lie. And you might be good at it, but I can still tell."

He closed his eyes, jaw set. "I know. But I have to."

A knock at the apartment door rang out, and Artemis jolted, shocked from his thoughts. "I have to go," he mumbled, eyes trained warily on the door. "Someone is at the door." He winced at the pain in his back as it traveled down his arms and legs.

Damien's tinny voice came through the receiver, bidding him goodbye and reminding him that he would be coming by later that night, but Artemis barely heard him. As he hung up the phone, he crept closer to the door, unease still rising in his chest.

He peered through the peephole, and while his apprehension was (mostly) abated, it did nothing to sate his confusion. Carefully, Artemis undid the chain and lock, pulling the door open. "Mister Nelson, Mister Murdock, Miss Page," he greeted the three who stood outside his door politely, the only sign of confusion the furrow in his brow. "Can I help you?"

Foggy frowned. "Come on, man," he chuckled. "You don't have to be all formal like that! Anyway, we got your address from Estelle."

Well, that answers one question. Still leaves, like, fifty.

He nodded slowly. "Oh...kay," he said, pursing his lips. "Would you... like to come in?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Foggy chirped, immediately herding his two friends into the apartment.

Artemis blinked, watching as the three crowded into his home. "Ah, wait—" He winced when Matthew's foot collided with the box holding the majority of his books. "Sorry," he called, moving to set the scattered boxes out of the way. "I'm still unpacking." He stifled the grunt as another bolt of pain shot up his back.

Matthew sent him a look that was probably supposed to be a smile, but it looked pained. Artemis wondered if the older knew he was doing it. "It's no problem. We shouldn't have shown up uninvited." The last part was obviously a dig at Foggy, who scoffed.

"This is what you're supposed to do when you meet new people!" He chided, crossing his arms. "You get to know them?"

Karen, who had been silent until then, raised an eyebrow. "I've gotta agree with Matt," she said, humor in her voice. "There's a better way to get to know people than this."

"It's fine," Artemis said eventually. "I had friends back home who didn't know the concept of space either." He offered them a wry smile. "Not as if I had many plans, either."

Foggy cheered, pointing at his friends. "See! I told you this was a great idea!"

"Sure, Foggy," Matthew said, adjusting his grip on his cane.

Artemis hummed as he moved some more boxes in the kitchen. "I apologize; I don't have much food or drink right now."

"That's fine, Artemis," Karen waved him off. "We showed up unannounced; we weren't expecting you to have anything prepared."

Pursing his lips, he glanced around. "I have some coffee and some sweet pirozhki I picked up from a bakery this morning."

The three shared a look (even Matthew, somehow), and they voiced their agreements. Artemis began to gather plates, giving them each a couple of the pastries from the paper box on his counter.

"Where did you get these from?" Matthew asked, holding the pastry up and smelling it.

Artemis grabbed his mug of still-warm coffee, pouring another cup for Karen after she asked. "I found a small Russian bakery in Brooklyn."

"I didn't know you had a car," Foggy said curiously, taking a large bite of his own pastry.

The taller man blinked owlishly. "I don't," he replied. "I walked."

The three faced him, their faces varying levels of deadpan.

"You walked," Karen said, looking from the small, unassuming box of pastries to Artemis, "to Brooklyn. For pirozhki."

Artemis narrowed his eyes. He'd just said that, right? "Yes," he said slowly. "I thought I might as well; the weather's nice today."

"It's barely forty degrees," Foggy protested, looking like he wasn't sure if he should laugh or be concerned. "And Brooklyn's almost ten miles away!"

"I prefer the cold," he said, shrugging. "And I used to do a lot of cardio when I was younger. Thought I'd get back into it."

Matthew tilted his head, reminding Artemis a bit of a cat. "They do taste good," he admitted after a moment. "I guess they'd be worth the walk."

Artemis grinned. "See? He gets it."

Karen hummed noncommittally. "Did you make this mug, Artemis?" She had finished her coffee and was examining the worn mug. It was clearly handmade with a few fingerprints and smudges, and the paint was a deep purple, with a darker purple bullseye decorating the center of the mug.

Artemis nodded, a crooked smile growing as he stared at the mug in her hands. "It was the first piece I ever made," he admitted. "An old friend helped me."

"Is that how you got into pottery?" Foggy asked, looking at him with genuine curiosity.

♘

"Okay, that's it."

Artemis glanced up at the older man, eyes wide. "W-what?"

The other rolled his eyes but didn't look away from the road, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel as he made a sudden turn. "Art, you've got to get a hobby."

He scowled, affronted. "I have hobbies," he argued. "And do not call me that!"

"I'm in charge, so I'll call you Art all I want. And shooting people doesn't count."

"I was not going to say that!"

He rolled his eyes again. "Knowing what bones to break strategically doesn't count, either."

Huffing, he crossed his arms. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"

The older man paused, eyeing him with narrowed eyes. "Y'know, you two might not be blood-related, but the resemblance is still uncanny. 'S kinda creepy."

"Get on with it already," Artemis snapped, restless.

The older held up his hands placatingly. "Chill out, dude! It's pottery. You ever try it before?"

"What do you think?" he deadpanned.

He shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to ask," he replied, pulling into a parking spot on the side of the busy New York City street. "Alright, let's go."

Artemis still eyed him warily, but he complied nonetheless, getting out of the car and following him into the small yet busy shop, the bright sign reading Color Me Mine flickering as they entered.

♘

"Something like that," Artemis said, drumming his fingers on his own mug.

♘

Soon after the conversation died down, and the three left the apartment, but not before Foggy scheduled dinner the next day with the four at a bar called Josie's.

Shaking his head, Artemis busied himself with unpacking more boxes. He had a decent read on Karen and Foggy; the two were genuine in their actions and wore their hearts on their sleeves. But he couldn't seem to figure out the third member of the Three Musketeers.

Matthew Murdock was certainly an enigma. An attractive enigma (Artemis was never one to deny the obvious), but an enigma nonetheless. And if there was one thing Artemis hated, it was an enigma.

He had noticed that regular civilians didn't hide their emotions, or at least, they didn't do it well. Foggy and Karen were proof; as much as they might have tried, there were still small tells revealing their intentions, their feelings. On the other hand, Matthew was a code he couldn't seem to crack.

At the very least, he knew that the lawyer didn't like him. Why he wasn't sure about either. Maybe it would make sense if he knew him before, but Artemis Bell hadn't done anything to him.

Shame, he hummed as he set down the last box. He really was cute, too.

He checked the analog watch on his wrist, pursing his lips. It was only nine, and if he knew Damien, he still had a few hours before the older man came.

Might as well go get groceries. Can't keep having guests with nothing to feed them.

♘

Matt had to give Foggy credit where it was due; deliberately hanging out with Artemis so he could figure him out was a good idea. When they went to his apartment that evening, he managed to catch the tail end of a conversation between Bell and another man. That had gotten him even closer to the truth—the younger had all but admitted to lying. All that was left to do was get him to actually admit it.

It would be easier if he could let the Devil pay a visit, and he so badly wanted to. Unfortunately, Artemis had yet to give the Devil a reason to visit, and despite the rumors surrounding him, he didn't go after anyone who didn't deserve it. And Artemis didn't deserve it. Not yet, anyway.

It was nearly a week before Matt finally met him as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. He heard him first, walking down the sidewalk. He must have been coming back from the grocery store if the smell of produce and crinkling of plastic were any indication, and he was humming a song that sounded vaguely familiar.

Someone loitering in an alley one building over from where Matt was perched grabbed Artemis as he walked by, yanking him into the alley. He found it worth noting that beyond the initial shock, Artemis remained disturbingly calm, gently setting his groceries on the ground.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" He asked, not a trace of worry or fear in his voice.

"You can give us your money, for starters," said the leader of the trio as the other two held Artemis against the wall.

Quietly, Matt leaped to the next building, hovering just above the interaction. He didn't want to intervene, not yet.

Artemis hummed. "And if I have none?"

The two holding him shifted, the ring leader reaching for something on his chest. "We'll just take this, then. It looks—"

The man was cut off as Artemis snatched his wrist, almost effortlessly shrugging off the grip of the lackey. "Ah, I suggest you don't touch that," he murmured, voice low.

Though Matt could hear the leap in the other men's hearts, they kept their arrogant facades. "Oh, yeah?" The ringleader smirked, only faltering slightly when he tried to wrench his arm back, and Artemis's grip held firm. He grunted. "Or what?"

Artemis hummed, only tightening his grip. "There are many bones in the hand," he said casually, ignoring the question. "Twenty-seven. Eight in your wrist. Did you know that?"

The man grunted, his two lackeys stepping forward, but Artemis only squeezed tighter before jerking the man toward him, wrapping him in a headlock. He kept his other hand wrapped around the man's wrist.

"But I prefer the neck," Artemis said, stage-whispering into the man's ear. "So, so delicate, so full of life."

The man swallowed, his Adam's apple moving against Artemis's hand as he squeezed. Matt leaned closer to the edge of the building, ready to intervene. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Artemis released the man, tossing him to the side.

The man gasped, hands going to his neck to rub the throbbing area. "Wh—"

"I'm giving you one chance to get the hell away from me," Artemis murmured, examining his nails. "I can't promise anything beyond that; you should be careful not to try my patience."

"Who are you?" The man asked as his two lackeys crowded him, torn between going after Artemis and helping him.

"No one of importance," was his reply. "You'd rather not know." He waved a careless hand, adjusting his denim jacket. "Go on," he said. "I heard there's a Devil in this neighborhood."

Matt stiffened as he heard the tendons in Artemis's neck shifting as he looked up, face turned in his direction.

"Wouldn't want to get caught by him."

Fear making their hearts pound, the three men scrambled out of the alley. Once they were out of eyeshot, Artemis leaned against the brick wall, breathing deeply as though he were in pain. Matt cocked his head to the side. He could hear the throbbing muscles associated with pain, but he couldn't discern the cause.

The young man finally looked up, leaning down to grab his groceries. "You going to come out?" He called out, raising an eyebrow. "Or are you going to stand on that building all night?"

After a brief moment of consideration, Matt leaped off the building, landing on the fire escape before jumping down to the ground. He stood before the younger, who was still leaning his weight against the bricks, chest heaving deeply as his whole body seemed to throb.

Artemis blinked, his head bobbing as he looked Matt up and down.

"Who are you?" Matt demanded, his voice a deep growl.

The other rolled his eyes. "Like I told them—no one important." He straightened, all his bags now off the ground. "You, though, you are the important one." He motioned with his hand, plastic bags crinkling with the movements.

Matt tensed. "What's that supposed to mean?" He leaned in, crowding Artemis's personal space. The taller man remained infuriatingly unalarmed.

"Your reputation precedes you, Mister Devil. You were almost all I heard about when I moved here." Artemis tilted his head to the side, his curiosity almost palpable. "But this is curious," he admitted eventually.

The Devil breathed in deeply, reminding himself that the younger had done no wrong. "Why's that?"

"I always heard you were more of a knock heads first, ask questions later kind of guy," Artemis explained, adjusting his grip on his bags, wincing imperceptibly. "Yet here we are, having a lovely conversation, my head un-knocked."

Impatient, Matt rolled his eyes and stepped closer. "Do I need to knock your head?" He asked lowly.

Artemis held up his hands placatingly, as much as his bags and his throbbing arms would allow. "I mean this town no harm," was his answer.

Bum, bum, bum.

Truth.

"And I pose no threat."

Bum, bum, ba-bum, bum,

Lie.

♘

wc: 2.7k
status: edited

fun fact: artemis is like a grandma in that he is incapable of having guests over and not feeding them

i really hope y'all like this chapter! we're finally getting into a little bit of action lol. as far as any romance goes, this is going to be their dynamic for a while so uh sorry if you were expecting that to move with any sort of urgency :')

i felt like matt is a little ooc this chapter, but he just is REALLY wary of artemis, so i figured he'd force niceties and be less warm.

anyway, let me know your thoughts! see you next time!