I'm here.

[man_without_fear]

[previously: unbound]

Matt barrels through the door and finds himself in the hallway of the apartment building he'd left behind before being trapped in Milliways.

He takes a moment to get his bearings. Musty carpets, muffled TV's, traffic out on the street-- Russians.

Springing forward, Matt rushes for the stairwell; tackling the staircase several steps at a time and leaping the banister to drop the last flight. His lungs are burning and his heart is drumming loud when he finally makes the street.

The city slams into him: pedestrians and traffic, the caterwauling of sirens, dirty storm drains, and broken bottles reeking in the alleyway. But, no Russians, no car, and no Claire.

Hands on his hips and head tilted back at the sky, Matt struggles to catch his breath through the twin fists of defeat and guilt clamped around his windpipe.



He's lost her.



[dialogue taken from Netflix's Daredevil: 1.4 - In the Blood]

Comments

[nocturnalmedicine]

Okay, the shitheads aren't bleeding nearly as much as she is.

The crushing hand on her throat tightens another cruel notch; her vision curls and glitters, tunneling, purpling at the edges. She slams into the concrete floor of the garage, dazed and sucking air that tastes like motor oil and dirty tires.

The claw closes around her neck again.

She can't struggle, can't even manage to lift her aching sandbag arms. The lights spin and sparkle, and she's upright — isn't she? — somehow. Wheezing, slumped into a metal folding chair, the yellow Veles cab at her spasming back.

She blinks, hard, once. Twice.

Four men.

No — five. Five of them.

And the one in the leather jacket, with the aluminum baseball bat — he's getting bigger, stepping in close.

[man_without_fear]

Matt leaves Claire's building, hitting his own along the way.

As he pulls on the gloves and then the mask the clock in the back of his head continues to tick away.

Breaking off into the night again, headed for the cab company, he says a silent prayer and sends forth an urgent promise.

'I'm coming, Claire'

[nocturnalmedicine]

"You answer," Russian Babe Ruth says, and tips his head toward the bald thug next to him, "he stops hitting you."

"I told you," Claire croaks, eyes widening as he hefts the bat, "I don't know who he is — "

Her screech shreds what's left of her vocal cords as the taxi window explodes just behind her ear. She ducks, flinching, showered with shards of glass.

"Tell me his name."

Her shoulders shake with silent sobs.

"I don't know," she mouths, lips numb and nerveless.

("The less you know about me, the better.")

Babe Ruth moves closer.

She swallows thickly, tries again.

"He never told me his name!"

The bat crashes onto the hood of the taxi, and Claire jerks, nearly falling from her chair.

Baldy intervenes, putting a hand on her interrogator's shoulder.

"Sergei — "

The Russian consonants and vowels speed past Claire's buzzing ears in an unfamiliar slipstream, but she catches a name: Vladimir.

Sergei pulls away, zeroing in on Claire with eyes like blades of black ice.

Her mind melts to blank terror. Now would be the time to pray, but she can't dredge up a single line from all those long-ago Sunday school lessons.

[man_without_fear]

“This gives me no pleasure, it really doesn’t.” The words greet Matt as he slips into the garage of Veles Taxi.

There are five men surrounding Claire, two more standing by, all of them with their focus on the bloody interrogation taking place.

Guns, knives, and the man speaking to Claire has a metal baseball bat tucked beneath her chin.

He asks her to answer whatever questions he's been fielding her, and the frantic drum of her heartbeat hits Matt's ears louder than anything. For months anger has been roiling and mounting inside of Matt while he was Bound in Milliways, and listening to the one-sided conversation it increases ten-fold.

The Russian speaks low, promising Claire darkly while nudging her with the bat, “I will begin breaking you a piece at a time.”

On those words, Matt kills the lights.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Claire shrinks from the cold metal at her throat, pressing her spine flat against the chair and the door of the taxi.

Sergei is going to dismantle her, without question, starting right the hell now.

She hyperventilates.

Clinically, she knows she's panicking. She can't breathe, can't think, her mouth is useless, tongue thick and tingling, her chest too tight —

The overhead lights wink out.

Claire gasps, her eyes wide and wild.

Sergei's attention snaps to his compatriots.

"Mikhail," he says, and barks orders in Russian that Claire can't follow.

Mikhail's footsteps fade deeper into the gloom. While the rest of Sergei's crew flip on the headlights of the taxis parked in the garage, Claire's heart beats triple-time with renewed hope.

[man_without_fear]

Mikhail comes right to him, and doesn't even know Matt is there until it's too late.

Matt snatches him from the shadows and puts him down, letting the man struggle just enough so that the others hear, so that they'll know he's here.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Claire hears scuffling, a strangled shout.

"Mikhail?" Sergei calls.

Another yell is cut short; a dull thwack follows.

"Mikhail!"

Claire tosses back her throbbing head, and laughs.

"You want to know his name?" Her feral smile is a rictus grin. "Ask him yourself."

[man_without_fear]

They've picked a great place for him to take them down in. The garage is crowded, between the cars, equipment and dark nooks and crannies there are plenty of places he could be, and plenty of distractions he can throw at them.

Metal clangs, a winch clacks, and their heads all turn in unison to each new sound he sets off in the shadows.

Claire sinks down to the ground. Good girl.

It leaves him free to act.

Looking the wrong way, the second Russian makes himself a target and Matt whips a cable around his neck, yanking him back. The man's short burst of gunfire sets off the others and Matt is fine to let them all burn bullets while he takes the others out, one by one.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Get low. Get small.

Done and done.

Bright bursts of gunfire light up the garage. Bullets ping off the taxi above Claire's head. She throws herself sideways on the floor, her right shoulder screaming in protest as she scrambles to scoot herself through the cradle of her arms, desperate to put her bound hands in front of her, instead of behind.

She funnels her focus as she wriggles, shutting out the cacophony of nearby shouts, a flurry of blows, and the metallic clang of what could be a flying hubcap.

In a moment of unexpected silence, her shallow breaths reverberate in her ears. Another well-placed wiggle puts her hands in front of her. Limbs shaking with adrenaline, she twists to work on the duct tape around her ankles.

As her fingers fumble with the tape, she hears the click of an empty clip. Another metallic clank echoes through the garage, and Claire's sure that Mike is close, now, trying to draw Sergei and Baldy's attention.

Something — a wrench, maybe, or a tire iron — hurtles into the side of Baldy's head. Claire hears him go down just before she rips the last scrap of duct tape from her legs.

She scrabbles to her knees, damning the tape still binding her wrists.

She's barely clear of the taxi when Sergei's arm snakes under hers, yanking her up and backward.

"No — "

His fingers find her throat, choking off her shriek.

[man_without_fear]

Six down, one to go.

Matt circles the man holding onto Claire; fists tightening as he listens to her frightened struggle.

"Let her go," Matt warns.

The Russian swivels this way and that, pointing his gun at shadows.

"I'm walking out of here," Sergei says, defiant.

"No, you aren't." Matt delivers the words with a cold promise, maneuvering into position.

"I'm not playing with you, man. I'm walking out of here. I'll blow her brains out!" A tremor runs through the man's voice, fear underlining the threat.

Matt can hear Sergei's heartbeat and it's racing right along with Claire's.

"Put the gun down, or I promise you, you'll never hold anything in that hand again." It's his final warning, and Matt is fine with the man not taking it.

Sergei spits a Russian curse and Matt steps in to cut him off, punching the man in the face, one, two, then twisting his arm around with a crack. The gun goes off harmlessly before falling out of Sergei's hand and Matt forces the man to his knees by rotating the arm in his grasp past the point of painful.

Leaning in close, applying more pressure, Matt grates into Sergei's ear, "It hurts, doesn't it? Being in pain, being afraid."

[nocturnalmedicine]

Ears ringing and lungs on fire, Claire staggers sideways. Her hip bumps the side of the cab she used for cover, and she steadies herself against one bullet-ridden door; she gulps a breath, splutters a cough.

Mike has Sergei on his knees, groaning — which is more than good, it's goddamn great.

Could be even better, though.

Claire snatches up Sergei's aluminum bat, and with two long strides, she swings for the proverbial fences.

The bat sings in her fists when it connects with Sergei's temple, and the sick crack is more stomach-turning than satisfying.

(She helps people — she doesn't hurt them.)

As Sergei slumps, unconscious, the bat falls from her grasp, meeting the concrete with two tinny, tremulous pings.

Glancing from Sergei up to Mike, she locks her watery knees, and brings her bound hands to her mouth, so horrified she can't make a sound.

[man_without_fear]

Focused on Sergei, on making the man hurt for what he's done to Claire, Matt looses track of Claire.

The strike comes out of nowhere and he can hear bones crunch and the man goes limp, falling out of Matt's hold onto the pavement.

Matt regards Claire a moment, the pair of them the only ones left standing in the silence of the garage, and then he closes the distance, wrapping her in his arms, encouraging her to breath.

"It's okay." She trembles in his embrace and he lifts his hands to hold her face, reassuring her quietly. "I'm here. I have you."

[nocturnalmedicine]

She can't stop shaking, tangled in tattered strings of adrenaline and fear and marrow-deep relief.

Mike is close and solid, so steady, and as she leans into him, a raw, near-silent sob bubbles from her throat.

She presses her bloodied face into his shoulder, swallowing back another soft, wounded sound.

He cups her jaws, his gloved hands gentle on her scraped and swollen skin.

She can feel his heartbeat against her chest, galloping alongside her own.

When his forehead meets hers, she closes her eyes, just listening to him breathe in the surrounding stillness.

[man_without_fear]

He holds her close, soothing her, trying to grant her strength and safety.

Listening to the hitch and gasp of her sobs as she cries against him he takes in her injuries, judging how much they've hurt her, determining where to take her next.

He lowers his hands, but keeps the closeness between them, gently taking her wrists.

"Let's get this off, and get you out of here."

[nocturnalmedicine]

Off sounds good. And out of this godforsaken garage sounds wonderful.

Her answering nod is jerky.

But, she belatedly realizes, Mike can't see it.

She licks her cracked and bleeding lips, and releases a short breath that judders in her chest.

"Yeah."

Offering him her hands, she goes as still as fight-or-flight allows, biting down on a hiss when the tape rips from her skin.

[man_without_fear]

He unwinds the tape, careful and as gentle as possible, smoothing his thumb over one of her raw wrists lightly once the tape is gone.

Sliding his hand to her forearm he puts a protective arm around her.

"Let's go."

Leaving behind the battered Russians he takes her back to his apartment, without a thought toward her knowing where he lives. She's more than earned his trust, and it's the safest place he can think of to bring her.

[nocturnalmedicine]

With Claire cycling through still-framed shock, losing handfuls of linear minutes along the way, reaching Mike's apartment seems to take no time at all.

The roof access shields both of them from curious neighbors, and as they navigate the stairs to descend into Mike's darkened living room, Claire's teeth begin to chatter.

Her steps grow heavy with effort, and her arm tightens around his waist; she leans into his side, dizzy and sweating.

[man_without_fear]

He guides her towards the kitchen, counting on the glaring neon sign outside the window to provide enough illumination for her as he steers them along.

Feeling her shiver and her grip tighten, he hastens to pull a chair out for her, ready to help her sit down.

"It's okay, we're here. Just, breath," he tells her, standing over her with his hands on her shoulders, his voice calm and steady.

[nocturnalmedicine]

She eases into the chair, shivering.

"Breathing," she says through puffy lips that don't feel like her own. She's somewhere outside her trembling body, circling on dull-eyed autopilot. "Just ... "

Her voice sounds warped, weirdly hollow in the hissing hallway between her ears.

"I may need a second."

The massive electronic billboard projected on the building next door scrolls to a brilliant white background; as she squints, a fresh trickle of blood seeps from the cut near her right temple.

"Just a — " Each syllable is labored, and she's so cold. "A second."

[man_without_fear]

He takes a moment to remove the mask and tug off one of his gloves; dropping them on the kitchen table.

"Breath... " Matt says again, drawing the word out slow to encourage her to follow.

He cups her chin, the touch almost a caress even as he uses it to tilt her head up, trying to help her clear her airways.

"You're in shock, Claire," he says, voice calm and steady. "I need you to tell me what to do."

He knows what to do, but asking her is a way to have her focus. He's witnessed before her ability to push past fear and chaos to do her job. This isn't a masked man dying on her couch, but he believes in her strength to handle this, as well.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Mike's voice is an anchor, his touch a tether.

With his encouragement, she lifts her blood-slick chin to look at him, and huffs a pained, wry chortle.

"I use," she says, and pauses to breathe, "that trick myself."

The last word catches on her tongue; her vision swims and sways.

"Ugh," she mutters, closing her eyes until the sensation passes.

She fills her lungs as much as her aching ribs allow, and focuses on each deliberate inhale and exhalation while the worst of her shudders subside.

[man_without_fear]

"It works, doesn't it?" he asks, a wry smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

His thumb takes up a slow back and forth on her skin, the touch feather-light, trying to coax calm.

When she's steadier he'll get supplies to take care of her with, but for now he remains close, bringing her down from the heights of terror she was put through tonight.

[nocturnalmedicine]

She nods, short and small, instinctively turning her cheek into the rhythmic brush of his thumb.

Minute by minute, her breaths become easier; she counts her heartbeats, centering herself.

Once she trusts her limbs again, she reaches up, grazing the back of Mike's hand with her clammy fingertips.

"Still here," she assures him, her shredded voice sandpaper-rough. "I won't bottom out on you."

[man_without_fear]

"Never had a doubt," he tells her.

It isn't entirely true, for months he's been locked in a vice-grip of uncertainty, fearing that even with the time freeze of Milliways in place he wouldn't reach her in time.

They're hear now, though, and the cadence of her slowly calming heartbeat is reassurance that he at least didn't fail her completely.

He draws his hand back, trailing the motion out so that the back of his hand is grazed by her fingertips along the way.

"I'll be right back," he promises her.

[nocturnalmedicine]

She draws another careful breath — in through her nose, out through her mouth — and hums in assent.

"It's okay." Her voice still carries a wooden note she doesn't like. "I'm all right."