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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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.

That earns Foggy another brief, amused smile. When it slips away again, he glances in the direction of Foggy's closet, if only because he figures that's where it ended up. "You mind pulling it out for me?"

That's what she said, Murdock.

But anyway, Foggy nods and does head for the closet. "Are you looking for anything?" Well, he obviously is, since he asked about it, but he's looking for the specifics.

Yeah, he figured that's where you were going to go with that.

Anyway, Matt takes another measured step forward, clearing the doorway rather than standing in it again. He continues to keep some measure of distance from Foggy, however, lingering rather than looming and again so he doesn't startle him, and reaches to pull off his gloves. "Kind of?" A beat. "Unless you want me jumping out your window when I leave ... "

Seeing if there isn't anything in that box worth changing into might be a good idea. Also, it might put Foggy more at ease, to see him out of the suit and in something approaching normal.

Foggy ducks into the closet for a moment, coming back out a moment later with a box - and then pausing when Matt clarifies. "Oh." He sets the box down and turns to his dresser, to the bottom drawer, coming up with a stack of neatly folded clothing, which he turns around to hold out to Matt. Yes, Matt, you have a drawer, and yes, Foggy washed things before he put them in the drawer.

"I'm not sure you should have been climbing in my window." He won't fuss much beyond that, but he does need to fuss a little. And again, it's really not that he minds Matt being here, ever - that's why Matt has a key to Foggy's apartment the same way Foggy has one to Matt's - but, well. "Unless Doctor Banner lifted the 'take it easy' order."

Matt passes him his gloves for lack of anything better to do with them, needing to free up his hands to take the stack from him. He goes through it slowly, fingers tracing over each shirt, each pair of pants, in turn, summoning up old associations with each. The blue shirt he remembers leaving here, once, is thin, soft, a t-shirt, for example. A pair of slacks from more recent days feels different than the jeans he wore in college for another.

When he settles on something more casual, he holds the remainder of the stack back out to Foggy, and finally offers him a wry smile. "I'm not out looking for a fight?" He thinks that qualifies as taking it easy?

Foggy takes the gloves, fiddling with them a little while he watches Matt decide on the clothing, and then hands them back when Matt gives him back the clothing. "You didn't do that much better at school than I did, Murdock." Don't split hairs with him, guy. Though he's definitely teasing with that. That Matt wasn't out punching guys does make him feel better.

"And I have no idea what's in that box," he continues once he's put the clothing away, and he turns to where he set it on the bed, opening it up.

"I'll spare you the rest of that argument, then," Matt shoots back.

That said, he falls silent as Foggy returns his clothing to the drawer, and works on stripping himself of the rest of his accessories -- belt, batons and the holster for them. He sets them on the bed, next to the box, with a quick, apologetic look in Foggy's direction for getting in his personal space, but well. Between that and the clothes, it was getting a little hard to juggle, and he's kind of curious to find out what actually ended up here. He knows he knew at one time, but it's been awhile.

"Here's hoping for a cane and a pair of glasses, at least." And maybe something he can put the suit in, too, so he doesn't have to find more creative ways of hiding it.

Foggy can find him a backpack or something, since the box seems to lack any of those. He has better luck with the rest, though. "Ah ha," he announces after a moment, picking up a pair of glasses while he keeps looking, not bothered by Matt being in his space. They lived on top of each other for three years. "And, oh, hey. I probably should have given you this back before now. There's a cane in a holster thing." He pauses a beat. "Also a fluffy pony?"

Why did they even have that lever?

"It's not a big deal." He's probably going to 'accidentally lose' this can at some point, anyway. Whether or not he plans pointing that out, however, he stops at the mention of a fluffy pony, brow furrowing. "Wait, seriously?"

He's pretty sure Foggy wouldn't have phrased that as a question if he wasn't as surprised as he is, but -- why do they have that lever?

"Purple fluffy pony with blue hair," Foggy confirms, holding it out toward Matt, glancing his direction briefly so he can actually rest it against Matt's arm briefly, to let him know it's there.

And yes, he knows Matt knows it's there, but it's old habit - and he really isn't going to try and get out of them, to keep Matt's secret around people who don't know.

Matt reaches for it, perhaps before he should, would have before Foggy knew the truth, but it's force of habit on his part, right now, thanks to the costume. When he changes back into street clothes, he'll switch back to the act, that force of habit, too, to preserve his identity, but right now -- well, it's hard to pretend, when he's still half in uniform. It's weird how that works.

Either way, he hesitates a moment, when Foggy touches it to his arm, realizing belatedly the slip, and then moves to take it in earnest and much more slowly. It probably helps something, somehow, that he has to take the time to run his thumb over the plush doll to get a feel for it, though it still doesn't explain why they have it in the first place. He passes it back after a moment, still looking more than a little bewildered.

"We have a fluffy pony."

Foggy notices and pauses for a moment, regaining his own equilibrium as Matt takes it from him. "Considering I don't remember us getting a fluffy pony, I'm going to assume there was alcohol involved."

That was the best explanation for a lot of the weird things they had managed to get themselves into, Foggy had found.

"I can't, either, so ... let's go with that."

Drunk and possibly at a street fair -- that's the only thing that really makes sense. New York sells a lot of weird touristy things, sure, but he's pretty sure fluffy ponies aren't on that list. Fluffy Apples, maybe, but.

"Anyway, uh," he continues after a moment and with a shake of his head. He lifts the pile of clothes he's gathered, still in one hand, to indicate it. "I'm gonna get changed."

Foggy bought a plushie apple once, but he actually remembers that. He has no idea where this one came from. "Maybe Karen'll want it.

"Okay," Foggy agrees, closing the lid on the box again so he can put it back in the closet. "Bathroom hasn't moved."

"You could always offer it to her, find out," Matt suggests with a shrug.

He doesn't dwell too long on it after that, however -- instead, he adds his cowl to the list of things he's taken off already and abandoned on the bed and turns, heading for the bathroom. Several minutes later, longer than it usually takes him to get dressed, long as it took him, putting it on and taking it off at the Tower, he returns, looking more human and less superheroic, save for the suit draped over an arm. He offers Foggy a small, hopeful smile when he reenters the room. See? All back to normal. Mostly.

"Okay," he repeats, belatedly, once he's set the rest of the suit down on the pile he started and for lack of anything better to say.

Foggy nods and sets it aside, glancing at the pile of stuff as Matt adds to it and then heads for the bathroom. Foggy hesitates for a moment - and then reaches out to pick up the cowl. He's seen it before, of course, when he found Matt after the fight with Nobu that nearly killed him, but he'd had other things on his mind at the time.

Now, he turns it over in his hands, running a thumb over the cloth, the "horns", and the blanked out eyes. It's impressive work, he has to admit, and considering head wounds were the one thing Matt didn't suffer from that fight, he knows how protective it is despite its relative light weight - and he appreciates that. That doesn't mean part of him doesn't hate it, though, and he lets out a breath before he sets it aside again as Matt starts back out of the bathroom.

Foggy nods a little, idly. "Oh, uh. Karen said she was bringing something over for you, speaking of. I don't know if she did, yet?"

"She hasn't been around," he answers, shaking his head as he moves to set the rest of the suit down on the pile he's started. He knows that Foggy took a look at what he left laying there, when he retreated to the bathroom, even without having heard it. That was part of the reason why he left it there. He wants Foggy to see it for what it is -- just a piece of clothing. Nothing to be afraid of. No reason to be afraid of him.

Not that he's going to say any of that. Instead, he reaches for the sunglasses Foggy left out, next, palming them but not putting them on just yet. "I'd call her, let her know I was here, in case she showed up, so she doesn't worry, but uh ... " Well, again where he doesn't have his phone (or his comm) on him.

Foggy shrugs. "If she worries, she'll call me." That's always how it's gone before, anyway. If Karen couldn't get one of them, she'd call the other.

"I don't know what she was bringing," he goes on. "She's been worried. About you, I mean." Considering the story he had spun.

Matt nods -- Foggy has a point. It probably has something to do with the fact that, assuming he's not out in the mask, he's usually with Foggy. For not the first time, he's still grateful that that's still a thing, that he still has a right to be here, to spend time with his best friend. That it all didn't fall apart in ways he'd never imagined when his mind turned to worst case scenarios.

He looks away at that thought, the distance there meant to be brief. It lingers, when Foggy brings up what he'd had to tell her, even if he doesn't mention it directly, and Matt doesn't look up again.

"Yeah." A pause. "I'm sorry for that, by the way, for -- for making you lie to her." But the less Karen knows about this, the better.

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