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

[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."

[man_without_fear]

He gives her shoulder a light squeeze as he passes; the one not bleeding beneath her shirt.

In the kitchen he turns on the tap, letting it run to warm while he pulls out a bowl to fill. Leaving the bowl beside the running sink he heads in the other direction, walking past her again, for towels from the linen closet and the first-aid kit in the bathroom.

[nocturnalmedicine]

The last of her adrenaline drains away, leaving her spent and shaky.

As she shifts to sit more comfortably, her dozing pain receptors scream into awareness. Gritting her teeth against the white-hot hurt, she sucks in a sharp breath her ribs don't appreciate.

Her hands curl into fists while she breathes through the sensory onslaught; in an effort to distract herself, she shifts her attention to Mike's movements, focusing on the sound of running water and his quiet footfalls.

[man_without_fear]

He freezes when he hears that pained reaction; head canting over his shoulder, listening until she settles again.

He works a little faster to retrieve supplies, gathering everything and returning to the kitchen table.

"Here, take these." He holds out his hands to her, pain killers in one open palm and a glass of water in the other.

[nocturnalmedicine]

She downs the pills, taking several slow, grateful sips of cool water.

Setting down the glass with extra care, she eyeballs Mike's triage kit, and reaches for a towel to dip into the bowl.

Soft and wry: "Hell of a role reversal, huh?"

[man_without_fear]

He pulls a chair around so that he can sit down in front of her.

"I can-- " he offers, a hand held out for the cloth after she's dipped it into the water.

"If it makes you feel any better, I did pay attention."

[nocturnalmedicine]

Her mouth tightens, briefly, in bemusement.

"Never had a doubt."

With Mike's help, she scrubs her face clean, revealing a split lip, abrasions on her right cheekbone, raw scrapes on her forehead and chin, and an ugly gash near her right temple.

Unable to entirely stifle a wince, she sets aside the soiled towel, her knee bumping his as she does so.

[man_without_fear]

The air is filled with the tang of blood, he can smell and taste it even as they try and wash it away. He listens for the catches in her breath, the tension of tender areas beneath her skin, but it's hard to get a full reading on everything just yet.

Right now, through her, he feels like everything hurts.

Moving the bowl of tainted water aside, he reaches down to give her knee a steadying pat.

"Think we're ready for bandages."

[nocturnalmedicine]

She isn't sure when she closed her eyes, but they reopen with the warm press of his palm on her knee.

"Mm," she says, watching as he tears open an alcohol wipe, "my favorite part."

She licks her lips, and runs her tongue along her teeth, scraping copper from her taste buds.

[man_without_fear]

The wrapping to the wipe rips open, releasing the stringent odor of alcohol into the air.

"This isn't gonna feel great," he warns her, voice soft and apologetic.

Holding his breath he leans in and uses steady hands to gently clean the gash on her temple.