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]

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.

[nocturnalmedicine]

She holds still for him, her eyes slipping shut once more.

"You've got pretty good hands for a blind guy."

[man_without_fear]

He draws back, giving a bare nod and flashing her a brief smile.

"I used to patch up my dad."

[nocturnalmedicine]

Her eyebrows lift.

"He run around in a mask, too?"

[man_without_fear]

Matt breathes a laugh, giving a slight shake of his head while he readies a butterfly bandage; the wrapper crinkling in his hands.

"He was a boxer. Took a lot of beatings."

Discarding the adhesive backing on the bandage he leans in again to carefully apply it to her temple.

[nocturnalmedicine]

"Huh," she says, absorbing this unexpected piece of personal history. "So you take after him, then."

They're both chuckling as Mike presses the bandage in place.

Claire grimaces, no longer laughing.

"Ow, shit."

[man_without_fear]

She deserves the honesty, and more.

When she flinches he pulls his hands back, resting them in his lap.

Regarding her, he wets his lips and speaks a soft, "I'm sorry."

[nocturnalmedicine]

She lifts her hand, fingers gingerly feeling out the bandage.

Finding Mike's patch job more than satisfactory, she waves off the unnecessary apology.

"Don't be," she says, unable to stifle a wince as she speaks. "It's okay. You've had a lot worse."

[man_without_fear]

"I mean, I'm-- I'm sorry for getting you into this."

He takes a breath, the shake of his head almost imperceptible.

"I never thought that I'd be putting anyone else at risk." Foolishly, he knows now.

[nocturnalmedicine]

She shakes her head in response.

"It was my choice. You didn't ask me to pull you from that Dumpster."

[man_without_fear]

"No, you did it because you're a good person," he replies, his throat getting harder to work as his vocal cords knot.

"And you almost got killed. Because of me." The guilt over that thought cuts deeper than any wound she's ever patched for him.

[nocturnalmedicine]

He's half-lit in the soft yellow glow from the window; Claire's exhausted eyes skim the shadows slashing his face, seeing sorrow and remorse take shape and weight within his unfocused gaze.

"Tell me it was worth it," she says, not unkindly, as she shifts again and straightens her spine against the back of the chair. "Tell me that you've got a plan."

[man_without_fear]

"Claire-- " Apology is written in every line of his features.

He can't give her anything. Not promises, or assurances, not even a course from here.

[nocturnalmedicine]

When he hesitates, licking his lips, Claire's heart drops straight to the scarred hardwood under her scuffed sneakers.

"An end game?" Urgent, now. She has to believe this is bigger than her, bigger than nearly being beaten to death. "Anything?"

[man_without_fear]

There was never any plan. No tangible goal for him to reach when he began all of this.

He was just tired of standing by listening to his city fall apart.

The Devil finds work for idle hands...

And now, how does he explain that to someone who nearly gave her life for what he started?

"I'm-- I'm just trying to make my city a better place. That's all."

[nocturnalmedicine]

She pushes out a short breath through her teeth — a slight hiss, mostly a sigh.

A better place. What does that even look like from here?

She shifts again in her seat, radiating discomfort from every pore.

"Ow," she murmurs, mouth tightening when she carefully rolls her left shoulder. "I think maybe it's a little more complicated than that, now."