Your side of the street's a little darker than mine.

[man_without_fear]

The night doesn't go exactly as planned.

Rumors have been swirling lately about a new dealer in the Kitchen. Based on what he hears, Matt is thinking drugs, heroin likely, and the trail leads him to a shady apartment above a dry cleaner on 46th street.

What he finds instead is a gun dealer's dingy flop and 'store front', and a group of would be gangstas in the middle of a deal. Not exactly what Matt was looking for, but that doesn't stop him from kicking down the door and mixing it up inside.

The problem starts with there being too many guns in the hands of thugs with no real experience handling them beyond their street bullshit. Matt spends half the time trying to make sure they're not killing each other or spraying the walls of the occupied building while gunning for him.

Things get worse when the window shatters and a tear gas grenade comes crashing through, exploding in the middle of the fight. Heavy boots are pounding up the stairs and Matt realizes he's in the middle of a raid.

The gas canister is a mixed blessing, obviously someone jumped the gun and started early, otherwise the officers rushing up would already be in position, but because they're not Matt has the chance to wrap up and get out.

The police will find a room of unconscious thugs and their weapons, Matt is just trying to find his way to the rooftop. He's hacking from the gas, the sting of it almost unbearable to his nose and lungs, and his ears are ringing from the detonation making tackling the stairs an especially fun feat.

Banging through the roof access he breathes in deep even as he moves fast to put distance between himself and the situation below. He's a couple blocks away before he realizes he's bleeding. He determines why and where when he tries to leap from a rooftop to a fire escape across the way and the grip of his arm on the scaffolding gives way, causing him to fall two floors before he hits a railing and crashes onto the landing.

Five minutes laid out on his back gives him time to decide he should go see Claire.

At half past two a.m. there is a knock on the window outside of the apartment Claire has been holed up in. Matt would just let himself in, but that seems like it'd be rude. Besides that he's spent out and busy using one hand to hold the bullet wound on his other arm which also happens to have a dislocated shoulder.

There's every chance upright is only happening at the moment because he's leaning on the window frame.

Comments

[nocturnalmedicine]

"Hazards of the night shift," she says, one corner of her mouth lifting for the briefest of seconds. "The schedule's a beast to shake."

As she leans in, her knee brushes his thigh.

"But I guess I don't have to tell you that, hmm?"

[man_without_fear]

When the rinse hits the wound his features tighten for a moment in response and his hand slips off the arm rest; fingertips grazing her leg.

"I actually don't sleep," he replies, smirking even with his voice tight. "With a day job and moonlighting who has the time?"

[nocturnalmedicine]

"Try to find some," she says mildly. "That candle you're burning at both ends is a health hazard."

Her hands never stop moving as she speaks. A rustle, a crinkle; more rummaging. Betadine. Forceps. Needle holder. Sutures.

"You need to get some rest. Let yourself heal."

[man_without_fear]

As a kid doing this for his dad, Matt often wondered how much it hurt.

Now he understands why the man kept scotch handy.

"It's not so bad," he says, dismissing the concern. "It just means the next guy I hit will be southpaw."

[nocturnalmedicine]

The lines on Claire's forehead deepen.

"Glib's not a great look for you."

The circles under his eyes are no joke, and his body has taken a hell of a lot of punishment tonight.

[man_without_fear]

"It must look really bad," he comments, wry. "I don't think you've been this concerned before."

Well, not since that first night.

[nocturnalmedicine]

"It's just occurred to me," she says, head canted down as she pulls another neat, careful stitch through, "you're a lot less infuriating when you're unconscious."

[man_without_fear]

He barks a laugh that ends in a hiss and wince as she tugs the skin closed.

"I bet you say that to all your patients." Especially given the types she must deal with on the night shift.

[nocturnalmedicine]

A smile tugs at her own mouth.

"Only the ones I dig out of the garbage."

She bites down, rubbing the evidence from her lips.

"Look, I know you're doing good things out there — important things — but at least consider easing up for a few days."

[man_without_fear]

Matt just continues on with that smirk of his, the edges of it tightening briefly a time or two as she works.

Feeling her getting towards the end he finally offers, "I may be pulling some long hours at the office the next day or two."

Which isn't the same as fully resting up, and not exactly a promise to stick to light-duty, but it's an offer to try.

[nocturnalmedicine]

It's enough.

"You know," she says, tying off her handiwork, "I like the sound of that more than mariachi music."

[man_without_fear]

He chuffs a laugh, taking his arm and flexing it a bit, testing out the stitching.

"That's good, because I really can't sing."

[nocturnalmedicine]

Her watchful eyes assess his movement, and she arches a brow.

"Really?" Her three-in-the-morning rasp is anything but removed — low and close, warm like smoked honey. "And here I had you pegged as a choir boy."

[man_without_fear]

There's a pull, and there will be stiffness before long, but it isn't anything he can't live with.

"No, not me." He smiles, and he almost starts to tell her about St. Agnes and the nuns. When he catches himself his smile flickers for a moment before it's back on again.

"Sadly, musically talented I am not."

[nocturnalmedicine]

She sees that shadow of something, softening the slant of his mouth for just a heartbeat.

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

"Kind of a shame," she says lightly. "Think of all the busking you'll never inflict on innocent commuters."

[man_without_fear]

He lets out another soft chuckle, setting his arm back on the chair so they can move onto the next thing.

"Just another way I'm protecting my city."

[nocturnalmedicine]

Another rustle, more crinkling.

" -- literally an unsung hero."

She's swallowing back laughter as she tapes a light dressing over the suture.

[man_without_fear]

His hand comes up to hold the dressing in place while she works the tape and his smile quirks in amusement as he shakes his head.

"I think you might've missed your calling in stand-up, Claire."

[nocturnalmedicine]

"Mm, say I did," she says, growing thoughtful while she needlessly smooths her fingers over the edges of the tape.

"Who'd be patching you up tonight?"

[man_without_fear]

"Hm, I would," he replies, close to matter of fact. "Which is about as much fun as it sounds, so it's a good thing for me you're here instead of the Laugh-In."

[nocturnalmedicine]

"Good thing," she echoes, wry, but not unkind, as the inside of her wrist skims his knuckles.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, huh?"

[man_without_fear]

"Not regretting pulling the crazy masked man out of the dumpster yet?" he asks.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Picking up her stethoscope, she breathes a soft chuckle.

"I'll never regret helping someone who needs it, Mike."

[man_without_fear]

"That's what makes you a good person," he replies, smile softening for a moment.

[nocturnalmedicine]

Her heartbeat stutters — a quick, unguarded double-tap in her chest.

Her hands, however, remain rock-steady as she pops in the eartips.

"Dunno," she murmurs, before she presses the chest-piece to his torso. "A better one would've warmed this up first."