rp | all the hurt that brought me here

[aworldonfire]

It's a miracle, he thinks, that he got away from Nobu, from Fisk. It's a miracle that he made it back to his apartment, as beaten as he is. It's a miracle, but singing the praises of God doesn't follow him much past the door, not because he doesn't want to but because, while he's still alive, still fighting, he's rapidly devolving into hysterical thought thanks to the blood loss, and what he's stricken by, standing in the doorway of the rooftop access, is that he remembers what red looks like, would swear he could see it.

It's in the taste of his own blood in his mouth, after all, the wash of pain in his stomach and chest that rushes over him whenever he draws breath, the smell of metal (not his own, not copper, so much blood, oh, God), clinging to his wounds, where he was stabbed again and again and again. It all permeates as much as Clint's cover's body spray did, the red, making it hard to think, hard to see beyond his absent sight, and he takes a drunken step forward, presses his fingers to the wall that runs alongside the steps that come down into his apartment, hoping it will help, praying for a touchstone. He makes it down a handful of stairs, something like wild optimism rising in his chest, alongside the pain (he can make it, if he can just make it to the phone, make it to Claire), before it all goes to hell.

His foot catches on something, something likely broken by him, by Stick, less than a handful of days ago, and he trips. He hits the remaining steps face-first, so fast it takes him a moment to register what just happened, to grunt, no more winded that he already was (is his lung punctured? he can't tell. it hurts. father forgive him -- both of them), and try to sit up. All he manages is to slide the rest of the way down the steps to the ground and for black to join the red, a memory of tunnel vision closing in on the edges of his mind's eye, as what little he can get from his other senses slips, stutters, unconsciousness creeping up on him. He doesn't try to get up again, after that, just lays there, panting. He doesn't even hear the door opening again above him, practically miles away.

He doesn't know how many minutes pass, him laying there, but eventually and what seems to him suddenly, something occurs to him. He shifts again, not trying to get up this time but to press his shaking fingers to the comm at his ear, always worn, just in case, but rarely used outside of his team ups with Clint and Natasha. It takes him three tries to actually get there, actually find his ear, and when he manages, it takes a moment more of false starts to fight past the black and find the breath for his words. It never occurs to him to think that the Avengers, if they're listening, already know what's going on, if only to a certain degree, that the comms are always transmitting, always receiving, that help may already be on the way.

"Little -- little help here?" he chokes out. "I need help. Please."

The red and black catch up to him, after that, as relentless as he's ever been in the same colors, and he slips into something like twilight.

Comments

[avocado_atlaw]

While Matt doesn't hear the noise at the door above him, Foggy does hear the noise from inside the apartment. He stops at the door, hand on the knob, frowning at it for a moment. "Matt?" he calls, tentatively.

There's no response, no further noise from inside the apartment, and Foggy goes for his pocket, for his keys, to open the door and let himself in, as he's done so many times over the years. He stops just inside the door to listen again, repeating, "Matt?"

Foggy wanders farther in, keeping an eye out for whatever he heard - and it's only a few more moments before he sees the figure collapsed at the bottom of the stairs - and then only a moment after that before he recognizes the figure from the news. He goes still, breath catching as he watches him for a moment - only exhaling and moving closer when he doesn't seem to be moving.

"Matt?" His voice is quieter this time, and he sets his satchel down, peering into the kitchen. "Please don't be dead because of the crazy vigilante."

He goes still again at a sound from the lump at the bottom of the stairs, and he pauses - and then huffs out a sigh, frowning. Even with how the media has painted the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, he can't bring himself to just leave him laying there without at least checking if he's breathing, and he moves carefully closer.

[aworldonfire]

Matt, unsurprisingly, doesn't answer. Mostly because, you know, he is the crazy vigilante laying, barely conscious, at the bottom of the stairs, and -- does it count, if he dies, now? He's the crazy vigilante; he's also probably dying, even if, yes, he is still breathing.

He doesn't know, doesn't even hear Foggy, really, until he's right on top of him, and when he does register him, his first thought isn't that he's saved (or screwed, depending). No, what runs through his mind, ever-so-weakly, is the idea that someone has come to finish what Nobu and Fisk started, and he shifts, or tries to, trying to escape. He doesn't get very far before he's too exhausted to move and stills again, and with the last of his energy, he tries for a menacing noise, in lieu of anything else. It comes out a decidedly pitiful sound.

[avocado_atlaw]

"Okay, you're not dead," Foggy tells him. "Just. Stay right there and please don't suddenly attack me when I turn around."

That said, he doesn't actually turn around, walking backward a few steps as he skirts around the man on the floor to peer into Matt's bedroom, to see if he's there, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone to hit the speed dial to call Matt.

It's only a moment later that the sound of his own name in a computerized voice reaches Foggy's ears. He turns to find Matt's phone on the coffee table, ending the call once it goes to voicemail. "Where are you, Murdock," he mutters, his eyes fixing again on the other person in the room.

"I should call the cops," he tells both of them, but he also can't stop himself taking a step forward - and then another. It's a terrible idea - but he can't quite stop himself wanting to know just who it is that's been terrorizing the Kitchen.

[aworldonfire]

While he didn't hear Foggy approach, he does catch that -- or maybe it's the sound of Foggy's returning footsteps he hears. Either way, he makes another sound, this one firmer, albeit not by much, and to the negative. He immediately regrets it, what with his chest and stomach still on fire, even if the sensation is growing slowly distant, and another, smaller noise follows, this one pained.

If Foggy does, in fact, go for the mask, he's not sure he'll have the strength to stop him.

[avocado_atlaw]

Foggy continues forward until he's by Matt's side - and then he carefully crouches, a shaking hand reaching out for the mask - and, before he can stop himself, he takes hold of the bottom edge, to pull it up.

For a moment, he can only stare. There's an instant where he can't reconcile what he's seeing, can't put together the image of Matt in front of him where the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was a moment later - and then, before he has time to do more than breathe out "Matt?", the door above him opens. There's the quiet sound of a footstep, of someone obviously moving quietly, and Foggy straightens hurriedly, backpedaling a few steps as he grabs for the first thing that comes to hand - in this case, one of Matt's canes - as he backs into the kitchen, out of sight of whoever's coming in.

He might still be reeling, still trying to accept his discovery, but even if his best friend is also a terrible, feared vigilante, he's not about to let anyone in to finish what they started without a fight.

[thehawkinhisnest]

It's some time later that Clint and Natasha get back - and, after a brief stop at the Tower to get some sleep of their own, to the apartment.

Not that Clint wasn't more in favor of going straight to Matt's, but he didn't want to actually fall asleep in the middle of keeping watch, either. They had their own explanations to make to Foggy when he woke up during the changing of the guard - and then some convincing to get him to leave the apartment for any time, even if just long enough to get coffee.

It's during that time that Clint gets hungry, having foregone eating at the Tower in favor of getting to Matt's sooner. And, since he had instructions to see if he could get Matt up long enough for a round of medication, he's not being particularly stealthy about stealing Matt's food.

It's better than actually poking Matt and getting punched for his trouble, after all.

[aworldonfire]

Probably. Considering the night Matt just had, his first instinct, if poked, would probably be to throw a punch.

As it is, the medication keeping him under having worn off, he snaps awake with a sharp intake of breath at the sound of someone poking around in his kitchen. He starts to sit up, reflexively, to look over the back of the couch, for as little good as it will actually do him, and -- stops all at once as pain lances through his chest. He sinks back down into the couch with a shaky breath out and lays there for a moment following, trying to catch it, before he finally manages, "Barton."

[thehawkinhisnest]

"Hey, he's alive," Clint returns around a mouthful of cereal. "Yeah, moving's probably not the best idea right now, all things considered."

He wanders out of the kitchen and back into the living room, rounding the couch to perch on the arm of one of the easy chairs, facing Matt, and take another bite of cereal. Even if Matt can't see him in the traditional way, he doesn't want to put more strain on him by making him yell across the room, either.

[aworldonfire]

"Probably not," Matt agrees, touching his fingers to the bandages Bruce left in his wake. He forces himself not to pick at them, sooner rather than later, and moves his hands away, to rest along his waist.

"Anyone get the license plate number of that bus?" he mutters, mostly for his own benefit and as he settles. He doesn't expect an answer. What he does want to know, when he realizes he can't hear his partner's heartbeat, is, "Where's Foggy?"

Please tell him you didn't feed his cinnamon roll to the ninjas.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint chews noisily for a moment, stopping himself from making the comment he almost does when Matt stops himself from going for the bandages. "I'm pretty sure you got hit by the whole fleet," he replies, anyway, and swallows before he actually answers the question. "He went out with Nat to bring back coffee. We thought he could use a few minutes out of the apartment while things were calm."

None of them were really expecting ninjas to descend in the middle of the day, but even Clint wasn't entirely comfortable with Foggy going out by his own.

Not that Foggy would have gone out on his own without some nudging, anyway, but.

[aworldonfire]

True to his word and some few days later, Matt finds himself outside Stark Tower. He feels -- mostly back together, at this point, and as much as Bruce has told him to keep taking it easy for a few more days, but either way and for everyone's peace of mind, he's not here to climb the elevator shaft again. No, this time, he has an appointment.

Supposedly, it's with Pepper, a follow-up on the case that he used as pretenses to get in here in the first place, but he knows better. Tony asked to see him. This is just another cover, to keep him out of the suit and get him into the Tower, still, without drawing any suspicion. It's a good idea, but he's still a little nervous. The mobs of varying countries and their bankroll, he can handle, but feeling like he's being called into the principal's office? A little less so.

Shaking his head, he lets out a breath, frustrated with himself, and trying to hold onto that (it helps, being able to be angry) and turns to head into the lobby. He checks in with the front desk, polite enough with the staff even if he's still trying to steel himself, and once she's finished with her call upstairs, heads for the elevator as requested, fingers running over the braille on the buttons to find Pepper's floor. Not that he thinks he really needs to -- he's pretty sure the elevator isn't taking him to Pepper's office. It's just the principle of the thing.

That done, he leans back against the one of the walls, cane held between him and in both hands and waits for the doors to close, to reopen, counting floors as they pass for lack of anything better to do.

[withmoreme]

The elevator does bypass Pepper's floor, continuing a few more above where Matt likely remembers the holodeck to be, to slow to a stop on the floor containing Tony's workshop. Before the doors open, Matt can likely hear the Who at a decent volume - that drops when the elevator doors open.

"JARVIS!" Tony's voice comes right on the heels of the volume change. "We've had this conversa-oh."

"Right this way, Mister Murdock," JARVIS says, bemused, over Tony grumbling something in the background about not needing his AI to be considerate for him.

[aworldonfire]

Pushing away from the wall, Matt steps out into the workshop, pausing only briefly once he's back on solid ground, to tune out the Who, thankfully made easier by the drop in volume, and get a feel for where everything is. When he's satisfied, at least on a cursory level, where he won't have to worry about tripping over the nearest table, he moves closer to Tony in earnest.

"Nice choice," he quips, gesturing vaguely to the ceiling. In music, he means.

[withmoreme]

The lab is actually well organized, so there aren't likely to be too many things for Matt to trip over. It makes it easier for the bots to get around, after all, and Matt might hear Dum-E moving on the other side of the lab. He'll probably be over to examine the visitor in a minute, but for now, he's busy with something else.

"Thanks," Tony returns with a grin. "If I'd noticed the time it would have been the Stones." "Sympathy for the Devil", because Tony is hilarious, at least in his own mind.

"And thanks for coming all the way over here," he adds as he sets down his soldering iron, pushing himself up off his stool to round the table, to actually give Matt his attention, and the music volume fades farther.

[aworldonfire]

It takes Matt a beat to pin down what, exactly, Tony means by that, but when he does, he lets out a breath of a laugh. As much as he may or may not be trying to hold onto some of his frustration over the last few days, he really can't help it. "Next time."

A beat, in which he sobers, and then, "And yeah, no problem. It's -- well, I think if I had to stare at the ceiling for much longer, I would've gone nuts." Figuratively speaking, in the former case, of course, what with, you know, not actually being able to see.

[avocado_atlaw]

Considering everything that's been going on, Foggy hasn't been in his apartment all that much lately. He's just getting back there tonight, though, and he dumps his briefcase in its usual spot by one of the leather easy chairs in his living room, reaching up to tug his tie off as he heads for the bedroom, intent on shrugging out of his jacket and then heading back to the kitchen for something to drink.

He's probably going to wish he had turned the lights on here in a second.

[aworldonfire]

Considering there's someone sulking around in his kitchen? Probably.

The good news is that it's only Matt. The bad news is that he cuts an imposing figure in the dark, in full costume, now, having stopped back at his own apartment after his meeting with Stark to retrieve his boots and cowl. He probably should have called ahead, let Foggy know what was going on beforehand, all things considered, but -- well, between running around the city, even a fake version of it, on Stark's holodeck and how thrilled he is with the new costume, it didn't really occur to him in his excitement.

(It also didn't occur to him to think that Clint, Natasha and the others might be upset to find he's running around, even if he not really planning more than showing off the new suit, but that's another story.)

Either way, he slides down off the counter he's been perched on when he hears Foggy coming and heads for the kitchen door, to meet him.

[avocado_atlaw]

Foggy catches the movement in the kitchen as he steps back into the living room, and he startles, grabbing the first thing that comes to hand - in this case, a law book he had been using for reference one night - to pitch it blindly at the dark shape ahead of him as he spins to go back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Shit. Shit shit shit.

[aworldonfire]

Matt hears Foggy's pulse spike a second before the book comes flying at him, but it's tell enough. He dodges to one side, the book hitting the counter behind him, clattering to the ground with a thump, and then turns to look at it -- or at least in its direction, trying to decide what the hell that was, exactly. Regardless of how well he manages, however, he gives up on it at the sound of the door slamming, his attentions snapping in that direction sharply.

Well, this is not how he expected this to go.

Taking a half-step forward, he opens his mouth to call out to him, to let him know it's just him, only to stop abruptly. It's not that he wants to terrorize his best friend, it's just that the walls here aren't the thickest, and he really doesn't want to say anything that might make anyone outside realize he's here. It would be different, if he came in the front door like a sane person and without the costume, but if anyone saw him drop into Foggy's apartment from the roof, and then hears one of them yelling his name, they might put two and two together, and -- no.

Yeah, this was a terrible idea.

Shaking his head faintly, he exhales a heavy breath through his nose and makes for Foggy's bedroom. If he gets closer, he figures he can at least let Foggy know it's him without shouting it across the room.

[avocado_atlaw]

There's another thud as Matt opens the door, as Foggy throws something else. There's also the sound of him hitting buttons on, presumably, his cell phone. Now might be a good time to say something, Matt.

[aworldonfire]

True to his word, when Matt gets home from Foggy's, he doesn't break doctor's orders and hit the streets. He wants to, God he wants to, but with everyone and their brother coming in and out of his apartment, the last few days -- well, he doesn't want to have to explain why he's breaking doctor's orders. Add in the fact that he needs to ask around about the Chinese before he does anything, anyway, if only to narrow the search, and he can wait. Just a few more days, just another night.

That in mind, instead, he checks his phone just to make sure Karen hasn't called, and then goes to stash his new suit in the lock box he keeps in his closet. He's in the middle of debating putting the remains of his old suit to the torch, just so no one finds it, puts the pieces together, and so he doesn't have to keep it, when he hears footsteps on the roof.

Hastily, he shoves the old suit back into the box, if only for the time being, closes it all up and turns, straightens, listens. He all but crumples in relief when it becomes clear to him that it's just Clint (though, boy, he dodged a bullet there, coming home when he did), and has to take a moment, head spinning with it, before he moves for his couch to sit down. He might be a little more paranoid, lately, but who can blame him?

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint lets himself in the roof top door, closing it behind him, looking for Matt. "Hey," he calls when he spots him, heading down the stairs.

He's in all black, not that far from Matt's outfit if a little sturdier, considering it's all S.H.I.E.L.D. issue. Matt will have seen him in it before, anyway, for the nights they've gone out that he didn't want to advertise.

"How's it going?" He mostly means that casually, even if he's probably asked it a lot lately in reference to Matt's healing.

[aworldonfire]

"Restless," Matt answers. Running around on the holodeck helped curb that; talking to Foggy about the Chinese ramped him right back up. "I was over at Foggy's, a little while ago, and he gave me a lot to think about, business-wise."

He might pick Clint's brain on that front, too, but for now, he just tilts his head in his direction, curious. He noticed the get-up, yeah, and, "You and Romanoff have a romantic evening planned for tonight?"

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint shoots him a sympathetic look as he moves to sit down on the other couch. "Getting benched sucks."

He grins at that. "Yeah, y'know. Long walks in the moonlight, possibly some tandem face punching, that kinda thing."

[aworldonfire]

Matt shrugs to that first part; the second earns Clint a grin and a breath of a laugh. "Have to say, I'm jealous."

That's not a lie, either, and in any number of ways. He wishes he could get back into the face punching, in tandem or otherwise. He wishes Foggy wasn't so afraid, hesitant, pick one, when he starts getting geared up about work (not that that's entirely the same, even if he and Foggy aren't -- it's not like that), not that he expects or wants him to come out with him, just still. Add in the fact that he imagines Natasha isn't hard on the eyes, from what he's 'seen' of her, and yeah. Definitely more than a little honesty there.