aworldonfire | rp | all the hurt that brought me here

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rp | all the hurt that brought me here

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.

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"I submit to our AI overlord," Matt answers, his tone intentionally flat. A pause and then in a more normal tone of voice, he asks, "Not that I'm opposed, but what did you have in mind?"

He gets that JARVIS will be involved somehow, but while Tony may have an idea, he's a little in the dark, here. Computers, understandably, have never really been his strong suit.

"I've been telling people that's why you have to make nice with JARVIS, so you'll be favored when the robots take over." He sounds kind of scarily matter-of-fact in saying that, but he chuckles, once, after he finishes.

He sobers a little a moment later. "I'll come up with details, but. It wouldn't be a bad idea to get Nelson and your secretary in JARVIS's loop. He listens to most of the phone calls that go in and out of here, which is creepy, I have been told, but he knows what's going on, too, if anything needs somebody to get extra nosy."

Matt isn't sure how much Foggy will like the idea, but it's at least something more than they had before. More than that, he figures if something goes sideways in the reverse, if Foggy needs help, having JARVIS keep an eye on him will make sure someone gets there before the worst can happen. Karen, too, though he's slightly less concerned about her, if only because she doesn't know about him. There's a much lower chance of someone jumping her, trying to get at him.

Either way, he nods. "I'll probably catch hell, if I don't run it by him first, but ... come up with the details. I'll talk to Foggy in the meantime." He's pretty sure he can sell Foggy on it in fairly short order. If he can talk him out of bagels at Landman and Zack, this should be no problem.

"We're not trying to be the NSA," he adds, because that would be creepy, and as much as he jokes about Big Brother and robot uprisings, he has no interest in being a sci-fi villain. "But he can pinpoint locations and so on through cell signals and radio signals and other people's cameras and..." he trails off, waving a hand. "If he knows to be watching out for someone or something specific, it's not hard for him to adjust."

JARVIS is already paying more attention to Matt, actually, considering what happened with Nobu. Tony's pretty sure he actually feels bad about it, but he's not sure telling Matt that wouldn't just make him feel guilty.

"No, I get it," Matt promises, waving him off. He may not have spent as much time with Tony as he has, say, Clint and Natasha, but he's still willing to put as much of his trust in him as he would them. So far, Tony's done nothing but watch his back. Hell, he and JARVIS, not Steve and Bruce, not directly, probably saved his life, the night he came home bleeding.

"I just want to make sure he does. He knows you're one of the good guys, yeah, but ... " Well. Foggy's still sort of struggling with media perceptions, right now, thanks to him.

"He still thinks I'm more of an asshole than I actually am?" he fills in with a grin. He's really not at all bothered by that, considering he puts up that front for as much the same reason that Matt wears the mask when he goes out at night.

"You do have kind of a reputation," he answers, the shrug that follows almost helpless. "And to be fair, I thought you were, too, until I actually met you."

Tony shrugs, too, still unbothered. "I had a suit a long time before I had the suits."

He makes a face. "You didn't come here for sharing time. We'll see what we can do about Foggy."

He might be better about discussing feelings, but that doesn't mean he's completely comfortable with it.

While Matt wouldn't mind hearing him out, he understands. The only people he's ever been completely open with, after all, are his priest and now Foggy.

That in mind, he nods, letting it go, and murmurs a thanks in return. That said, he pauses for a moment, trying once again to swallow his pride, as Tony's left him with an opening, now. When he manages, he raises his head from where he'd bowed it, and starts, "Speaking of. I need a suit."

A beat. "And I'm not talking Armani."

For a moment, Tony blinks at him - and then he chuckles, turning around to head over to one of the tables - specifically, the one with the holographic projector built into it. "Pepper told me this was creepy and presumptive of me, but a guy gets bored, especially when he finds out one of his not-quite-teammates is running around at night in things he ordered off the internet, and extra especially when he nearly bleeds to death because of it."

The table finishes powering up, and a moment later, a small figure loads. Tony gestures, and it grows in size. It also has depth enough that Matt should be able to perceive it.

"I stuck with the motif you've had going. It's not exactly subtle, I know, but I don't think you really need subtle with what you're getting into. And it should fit, because the creepy part is where I had JARVIS scan you. But you're welcome to try it on while you're here in case I need to take anything in."

Or, rather, if JARVIS needs to adjust anything and re-fabricate it.

That all said, Tony turns away, leaving Matt to study and comment on the hologram, if he wants, to head for a cabinet on the other side of the room, where he picks up some folded red and black cloth. He didn't remake the cowl, since, as far as he knows, Matt's current one is still holdng up, and the boots Matt's been using seem to be holding up, so it's just the suit itself.

Tony brings it back to the normal table by the holographic one, shaking it out to lay it flat. Clearly, as usual, Tony's been ahead of things again.

"I'll reserve judgement."

It probably should be creepy, but he has to admit, it's nice, not having to wait for Tony to come up with something and put it together. Add in the fact that he's not particularly surprised, given what he knows JARVIS is capable of, and it turns out it's not so creepy, after all. The commentary, that in mind, is mostly a joke. Not that he clarifies that, instead, following Tony over to the table, where, yes, he remains even when Tony wanders off again.

When he returns, about the time Matt had had his fill inspecting the hologram, he glances back at him, watching as he lays the suit out on the table. He nods to it, as he turns, heading for it and Tony. "I'm guessing that's it?"

"That's it," Tony agrees, taking a step back to let Matt look it over. Metaphorically. "Same material as Cap and the spies. It'll deflect slashing blows from blades with no problem and is largely bullet resistant, though I'd keep up what you were doing with avoiding the 'getting shot' part of things. Also insulated, in case you decide you need to do any electrical work."

"A blind guy doing electrical," Matt echoes on the heel of a breath of a laugh. It's a funny mental image; more seriously, it's also probably good to have because, while he might not be playing electrician any time soon, who knows when some asshole will try to electrocute him?

Shaking his head faintly, he tucks his cane under one arm and reaches for one hand with the other, reflexively. He aborts the gesture midway, when he realizes what he's doing, reaching to take off the gloves he wears as Daredevil but isn't wearing now, so he can feel the suit. Well. At least everyone knows where his head is, right now. A vaguely embarrassed smile follows as he finds the edge of the table, the suit itself, with his fingers, finally.

"It's good," he decides when he finally takes his hand back. "Feels light."

A beat. "One question, though." And another. "What color is it?"

He doesn't think Tony would set him up with something that's, say, neon green -- that's not why he asks. It's more that he picked the reds and blacks of the makeshift suit he was wearing for nostalgic reasons and he's hoping Tony kept the color scheme. He'll only be vaguely disappointed if he didn't. Not nearly bleeding to death is more important than keeping to the colors his father wore in the ring, he figures.

Tony grins. "Hey, you've already got a questionable night job for a blind guy, I don't know what else you might get up to." And yes, he meant that more in case he came into contact with anything electrical, but the other mental image is funnier.

He doesn't comment on Matt's goof, either, just watching, waiting for Matt's reaction. He might have confidence in what he does, but getting other people's approval is nice, too.

"Bright yellow," he returns evenly - but doesn't let the joke go for more than a couple seconds before he actually answers. "Black and red, same as your hood. Romanoff says you owe her a quarter for the color scheme, by the way."

The question's out there if Tony knows what colors Jack Murdock wore and if he took that into consideration - but he'll probably never answer it. It was easy enough to go black and red for Matt's gear, considering he works at night and considering his press given name and his more recent, shorter codename.

Matt shrugs almost innocently at the first part of Tony's commentary -- and at the second, gives him a disbelieving look. It doesn't quite translate, perhaps, because of the sunglasses, but the silence that follows, waiting, expectant, makes it clear that he's not buying it. He can tell when you're lying, Tony. He can tell when most everyone's lying.

When he finally gives an honest answer, Matt looks away, nodding. He can't help but smile, amused, as he continues. "Pretty sure someone else had it before her, so unless she's planning on paying them royalties, too ... " Natasha won't be seeing a dime from him. Or maybe she will. It depends on how much of a smart ass he feels like being, next time he sees her.

Either way, he pauses again, briefly, before, more seriously starting, "Should I try it on?"

It's going to look ridiculous, with his Oxfords, without the cowl, but they should probably check to make sure it does, in fact, fit. The question has nothing to do with him actually wanting to put it on. No. Not at all.

Tony shrugs. "I don't argue with her, I just pass on the message." He pauses a beat. "She's a little scary." He's tempted to make some crack about her stabbing him in the neck that one time, as he usually does in these situations, but it's a thousand per cent less fun when Natasha herself isn't in the room for it.

"And you should definitely try it on. I want to see if it looks as awesome on you as it did on the virtual you."

He'll just say it for you, Matt, it's okay.

"I hadn't noticed," Matt answers.

It's debatable as to whether or not that's sarcasm or the opposite of and he doesn't clarify, either way. Instead, he shifts to set his cane down, freeing up both hands to start gathering the suit into his arms. "Got somewhere I can change in here?"

Tony nods over his shoulder. "There's a closet in the corner at about your seven o'clock." It's more water closet than storage closet, considering it has a toilet and sink in it, but it's also definitely more for him to use to get grease off at the end of the day than an actual bathroom.

Matt turns in that direction, calling a thanks over his shoulder as he goes.

He returns several minutes later, taking decidedly longer than the last time he had to change here, though not because there's anything wrong with the suit. No, it's as good a fit as Tony had hoped, and while he looks a little awkward in it, it's part getting used to the feel of the weight of it on his shoulders (it's light, by armored standards, and he can still move, but it's still heavier than nylon) and part feeling half-naked, still, without the cowl, without his sunglasses. What took him so long, instead, was having to feel out the closures to the new outfit. This is a lot different than just throwing on a different shirt and pants and calling yourself good.

"So, what do you think?" he prompts as he stalks back to the center of the room. The change in his gait, like most everything else, has nothing to do with fault in the suit. It's habit.

Tony hums an acknowledgement of the thanks and turns back to his soldering iron while Matt heads off to change. It doesn't surprise him that it takes Matt some time to figure it out - and he probably should have offered a hand with that part of it. Still, he looks up when Matt emerges, scooting his chair back a few feet so he can get a better look. "How's it feel? Because that definitely doesn't look like anything you ordered off the internet."

And yes, that's pride in his tone.

"Feels good," Matt tells him, a grin creeping on to his face. It's slow to start, but when it ends, it's wide and real. He holds onto it for a moment before it softens into something not-quite-embarrassed but not far removed from, either. "Kind of makes me wish I had my mask."

And his batons. And his boots. And that it was night. And that he wasn't still technically supposed to be resting.

The point his making is that he really wants to go for a run across some rooftops and find some skulls to crack, right now. He's been getting progressively more stir crazy and putting something like this on really isn't helping his desire to get back on the streets.

Tony grins back. "I didn't put you together a new one of those, yet."

And while he's not actually psychic, he pauses a beat, tilting his head to consider Matt. He glances briefly toward the ceiling, and then, "This will probably have Romanoff, Barton, and Banner up my ass, so you have to promise me you'll stay at the beginner level, but I could fire up the holodeck."

At the least, Matt could take it through some basic paces.

"Give it a couple of weeks." It's a joke, a reference to the number of canes he's had to ditch over the last few months, when something came up and running around with it stopped being viable. Not that he plans on having to lose the mask any time soon, intentionally or otherwise, but he can't quite help but take a shot at himself.

Nor can he stop from answering immediately, when Tony suggests the holodeck. "I promise." It's not quite as good as the real thing, he thinks, if only for the lack of lasting progress, but -- God, yes, please.

Tony gets it, yes, and he chuckles. "At least your main weapons don't involve you literally putting as much distance between yourself and your ammo as possible." See: him and Clint, and frequently Steve and Natasha.

"Then I'll set something up." He glances down at Matt's shoes. "And, uh. Maybe borrow some of Barton's boots?"

Matt shrugs, as if Tony has a point he can't argue, and really, he does, and then follows his gaze down to his shoes -- or seems to, at any rate. Either way, after a moment, he looks back to Tony, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "With or without letting him know why I need them in the first place?"

And explaining why he's dressed for a night out. He doubts Clint just has a pair of boots laying around, is what he's getting at.

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