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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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.

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.

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.

Expecting something else to be thrown at very least, Matt manages to get out of the way of whatever Foggy has picked as his latest projectile. This time, he doesn't try to follow its arc through the air, if only because he has bigger problems, like, yes, the cell phone he can hear being dialed.

Moving to stand in the doorway, he holds up his hands. "Foggy. Foggy, it's me."

The second book misses Matt, thudding against the wall behind him - and Foggy stops dialing at the sound of his voice, hitting clear to stop it sending the call through. "Jesus, Murdock," he complains and reaches down to turn on the table lamp, the hand still holding his phone pressed to his chest. "You scared the shit out of me." He's pretty sure you wouldn't have to be Matt to hear his heart racing across the street, at this point.

Another beat, as he actually gets a look at Matt. "What are you wearing and why is it awesome?" No offense, Matt, but your other superhero stuff sucked. Also, he has his priorities, even if Matt did scare him half to death.

"Sorry. I wasn't trying to give you a heart attack." Again, he just didn't really stop to think think this plan through in his excitement. He gives Foggy a look to that effect, honestly apologetic, that manages to translate even with the mask as he lowers his hands.

"But, uh. New suit," he continues, as if that isn't obvious. "I stopped by Stark's, earlier, and he had it waiting for me. After what happened -- " He stops there, starts again on a slightly different track. " -- it should hold up better than what I had before."

Foggy huffs out a breath at the apology, trying to slow his pulse.

"And I promptly test it out by throwing shit at you." He pauses a beat before going on, "It looks like you're less likely to die in that."

He approves, even if he's having trouble getting the sarcasm under control while he's still freaking out a little.

"Better than going for a walk down by the waterfront." As his way of testing the suit out. There are always assholes down there, up to no good. "Never mind the fact that you didn't actually hit me." He can't help but be sarcastic right back. It's force of habit normally -- it's doubly so, when he has the mask on.

"But yeah. It's good."

That said, he shrugs, and then, as if it will somehow help Foggy from having a conniption after the fact, reaches up for the catches that hold the mask in place so that he can take it off.

"I'd say 'yeah, unless you want to get your ass kicked' but you just look like you'd kick the entire city's ass in that." He grumbles, apparently offended, though not really. "It was more a distraction than actually supposed to hit you." That's totally his story. Yup.

He's already seen the cowl, but it'll feel less weird to actually be looking at Matt instead of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen or Daredevil or whatever.

"Yeah, I'm not so sure I'm actually up for that, just yet."

If chasing down one guy on easy mode was almost a problem, he's not sure he's ready to take on a group. He probably would get his ass kicked. Thankfully, he's not actually planning on heading down there, tonight. Tomorrow or the day after might be another story, depending on how he feels then and how much of the restlessness he fought off on the holodeck returns, but for now, he's not that stupid. Current plan that ended in him scaring the shit out of his best friend aside.

"Good to know that I actually look the part now, though," he finishes once he has the cowl off. Passing it off to one hand, he reaches up with the other to rake his fingers through his hair, knowing that he probably has the vigilante equivalent of helmet hair.

"I'm not arguing with you, you'll notice." He's not going to fuss at Matt for being here - though he will if he finds out what Matt's been doing with the suit besides trying it on and deciding to show up here. Can he just wrap you in bubble wrap, Matt? Is that okay?

"It's a good look." He pauses a beat. "Not so much your hair right now, but the rest of it."

"I did notice that, actually," Matt shoots back. No, Foggy, you can't actually wrap him in bubble wrap. That would put something of a damper on his ability to be sneaky, he thinks -- or, well, he would, if he were a mind reader.

Since he's not, however, the best he can do is make a face at him for commenting on the state of his hair and try a little harder to fix it. Even without taking the cowl into account, though, it's like he told Karen when the first met. A lot of his hairstyling revolves around hoping for the best, being able to use a mirror one of the few things honestly beyond him thanks to his lacking sight, so who knows if he'll actually manage to tame it?

"Hazard of the job," he continues, either way.

"We established that being a superhero's not always as glamorous as it really doesn't look." The Avengers are awesome, don't get him wrong, but they get their asses kicked a lot, he's noticed.

But anyway. "So that's better than your old stuff." That's not a question, he's just asking for more assurance that this is going to cut down on the odds of Matt getting hurt as badly the next time. Because he's not fooling himself that there will be a next time.

Matt hums in response, the sound vaguely self-depreciating, and then, at the question, nods. Not that he answers right away -- he's still not entirely sure he should bring the words knife and bullet into the conversation, even if they're suffixed by proof. It's why he changed tracks, however vaguely, earlier. He was edging into territory where he'd have to mention that.

On the other hand, he did promise to keep Foggy in the loop.

Letting out a breath, frustrated with feeling caught all at once between a rock and hard place, he steels his jaw, wets his lips with his tongue. Another moment of hesitation follows, and then slowly, he admits, "It's better than my old stuff. It should stop a bullet, assuming I don't get hit point blank, and it will stop a knife. And it's still light enough that I can move around in a hurry."

As Foggy may or may not have noticed when he was throwing things at him.

Foggy appreciates that - and the effort it's taking Matt to not brush him off on this, considering he knows it would still be easier. Even Matt just coming here in the suit helps, even if he did scare the crap out of Foggy, considering he would never have expected him to show up here in the suit.

"I think I should send Tony Stark a fruit basket," he returns, matter-of-factly, and then tosses his phone onto the bed, finally, and moves away from the corner. "I'm also feeling extra like the sidekick, now, but I am not wearing a cape."

"You might change your mind about that, here in a minute." He might come back to the idea of Foggy wearing or not wearing a cape, later, but right now, this seems as good a place as any to segue into what else he and Tony talked about while he was at the Tower.

"Stark wants to use his AI to keep an eye on the both of us," he continues, that in mind. "Karen, too. Nothing too invasive, mostly just keeping tabs on our cell phone GPS, things like that, but -- it means someone will be able to get in touch with you, if something happens, before you find me passed out in my living room, and vice versa."

"Tony Stark wants to e-stalk me for my own safety." He maybe sounds a little disbelieving, but he doesn't sound particularly freaked out or angry about this information. He's still getting used to the ideas that he has connections to the Avengers, even if they are only through Matt. "Can you tell Tony Stark 'no' if he wants to do something? Wouldn't he just buy out the cell phone company?"

He is teasing, now, except that really does sound like something Tony would do, from what he knows of him.

If Matt had ever seen Inception, he would probably insist that Tony wasn't Ken Watanabe's character -- or at least make a reference to that. Since he's not entirely up to date on movies, however, he just shakes his head instead.

"I don't think so." Whether or not Foggy's teasing doesn't matter; he honestly doesn't think Tony would go that far. "He -- they've all been pretty good, keeping to how I want to play this."

This, obviously, being how he wants to handle his nightlife, and never mind the fact that he's still pretty sure he's lost that privilege, despite the fact that Tony didn't read him the riot act. He still hasn't had a minute to sit down with Steve yet and for all that he can't remember about the night he fought Nobu, he does recall Steve mention them needing to have A Talk.

"I think it might be a good idea, though," he finishes, regardless.

"I'm not saying it's a bad idea," Foggy returns by way of agreeing, "especially with Karen." Not that Foggy thinks he can take on ninjas if any decide to come after him, but they've already dealt with people going after Karen. He really doesn't want a repeat of any of that. "And I'm fine with it. Especially since you think it's a good plan," he adds seriously a moment later.

"Yeah," Matt says on the heel of a breath of a sigh, relieved that Foggy's on board. This may not stop anything from happening, if and when it all goes to hell again, but it'll at least minimize the damage. Foggy won't have to walk in on him all but bleeding to death again; he'll be able to find him and Karen more easily before the worst can happen. It's more than either of them had before and he'll take it.

"I'll let him know you're in when I get home." He doesn't have his cell phone on him, obviously, but he also went without the earbud, tonight, too. He's not supposed to be out, after all, and he doesn't want JARVIS picking up conversation and wondering why he is.

Edited 2016-01-16 05:36 (UTC)

Yeah, the fact that Matt's obviously been out running, jumping, climbing trees when he's supposed to be resting will dawn on Foggy here shortly, now that he's over the shock of him being in his apartment.

Actually, speaking of, "Why were you in, by the way? Showing off the new duds?" Not that he minds Matt being here ever, but, well.

Edited 2016-01-16 05:53 (UTC)

"I promised I'd let you know what was going on with all this," Matt says by way of agreement. "I thought this qualified."

That said, he takes a step back out of the doorway, slow and measured, putting conscious effort to keep himself from moving like he feels like he should, in costume, and more like Matt Murdock. Foggy may have calmed down, but he doesn't want to unnerve him again -- nor does he want him to start feeling like he's cornering him in the room, hence his moving, finally, in the first place.

"Besides," he continues, if only to give himself something to focus on other than the fact that, while the shock may have faded, he suspects Foggy may still be afraid of him, like this, "I look kind of cool."

Foggy nods - to both parts of that. It does count, and, well. "You look kind of awesome," he counters. Even if the suit and Matt's whole thing does make him a little nervous (and he'll get over that, he will), this new uniform really is bad ass.

"I'll let Stark know it has the Nelson seal of approval," Matt tells him, grinning in spite of himself.

Unfortunately, the look doesn't last long, fading slowly as he tries to decide what to say next. He'd suggest that he and Foggy go sit down in his living room, again a means of making him more comfortable, but that might not be any less awkward. Having a vigilante perched on your couch is no better than having a vigilante not quite looming over you, mask in hand, and -- and realization dawns on his face all at once, thankfully derailing that train of thought, and so abruptly that he cocks his head to one side.

"Hey, Foggy," he starts after another beat or two of silence, "do you still have that box of my stuff that ended up here, when we moved out of the dorms?"

Foggy raises his eyebrows at him. "That box of your stuff has a lot more of your stuff in it than it did when it ended up here." Which is to say that yes, he still has the box, but that Matt's left other stuff here since they moved out of the dorms.

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