12167/Safe Houses and Dangerous Games

Safe Houses and Dangerous Games
Date of Scene:	12 September 2020
Location:	The Punisher's above Harlem safehouse.
Synopsis:	Claire and the Punisher meet by saving each other's life. Some honest words are exchanged.
Cast of Characters:	Punisher, Claire Temple

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Punisher has posed:
The safehouse wasn't that far away, really... and from the outside, it looked like your typical run down apartment in a Harlem apartment complex. Even the inside looks a bit beat up... until you look out of the places that are obviously out of surveillance sight.

Inside drawers, dressers, closets, cabinets are supplies, equipment, and caches of various sorts, including medical supplies. Microchip had directed Claire where to find what she needed... and they were (perhaps unsurprisingly) well stocked with basics. "If you need a surgery suite, one of our other safehouses has one, but we reserve those for people we trust." The man with the mask noted as he watched Claire go to work on Frank Castle himself.

Claire Temple has posed:
While she was focused on Frank the whole time, when they finally enter the building, she's got a pretty good idea of where they are. Harlem is her back yard, her *home*. She knows every inch of it. She makes no comment about it while she directs the other man to get Frank on the closest thing to a medical table they have. "If he needs surgery, it's probably too late and I'm certainly not the one to do it. I'm good. I'm not that good." Claire admits flatly. She makes no grant assumptions about her talent.

Then, she goes to working on him. It'll be a long while of silence, she entirely focused on her patient and trying to make certain he doesn't bleed out on her table. She keeps that leg tied off as she carefully pulls back the clotting bandages. She'll worn on one wound, then the next. Wound flush, bullet out of it's still in there, tourniquet removed to find any major bleeds. Stitches and glue as needed. Rinse, repeat. She's not as good as surgeon, but she's definitely on the level of a military combat medic.

Punisher has posed:
As she works, Microchip just... stands there, watching the procedure. It's been a few minutes at least, but as Claire works on Frank, she can sense him slowly coming back to awareness.

"Frank, we have a medic handling your leg, don't move." Microchip warns. "I trust her enough to deal with it."

Claire Temple has posed:
Dark eyes flicker up to the man's battered face for just a moment, "...Listen to your friend and let me finish here. You knicked and artery and I'm not a surgeon so... just... Stay still." Claire's worried, still a little terrified, but not letting either of those things stop her from saving his life.

She then looks back down, too-steady hands, somehow escaping the faint, exhausted tremble of her body, are carefully stitching off that blood vessel as neatly as she can. He might be left with some nerve damage, if the wound doens't infect iself. But it's better than bleeding out.

Punisher has posed:
There's a moment as he wakes up that Claire can tell his fight or flight reaction almost kicked in... but this man is no amateur, and she can also tell when he clamps down on that reaction with trained iron will, and there's a hissing sound of exertion from his mouth.

"Fuck." the Punisher states, flatly. It's not painful, per say... but he's trying to maintain focus as Claire works on the issue. "Punks got lucky." Punisher flatly notes.

Claire Temple has posed:
"...I... got lucky." Claire admits softly, her exhausted voice betraying too much that she's still scared. She knows how close she came to death. But there is not time to worry or focus on it. "I'm sorry I don't have... a local pain killer, or anything. Unless you have one here but... I'll be done soon." She reassures him quietly, trying to work faster and neater to finish getting him sewn up before the pain really settles in.

Punisher has posed:
"Don't want it." Frank replies, simply. "Would slow me down if we were tracked. Can't afford it."

Claire's probably seen enough gangbangers playing up being macho to their fellows. Frank... doesn't give off that vibe at all. This is a man who literally wages war as a lifestyle; a war that half the planet would love to see stop. This iron willed alertness is how he's survived all these years.

He may be a mass murderer, but he's not stupid.

"How bad."

Claire Temple has posed:
"Depends if I can stop this bleeding or not. Bad. Bad enough. It's an *artery*, not fucking road rash." Claire has dealt with a lot of gang bangers and then some in her life. She's used to mouthy, tough patients and this situation isn't much different. She also isn't some meek, shy wall flower herself, but a battle axe of an experienced nurse in the body of a rather fit, still young looking latina woman. She gives sass as good as she gets.

She also remains focused on her job. One more stitch, and she pulls back away, staring at the wound. No sputtering. No fresh blood. She grabs for the wound flush and begins cleaning it out again, checking for fresh blood. Quietly, she lets out a breath of relief, changing out gloves so she can put fresh gaze and tape over that wound. "I think that was the worst, this one's a graze." But it needs cleaned and bandaged too.

Punisher has posed:
"Good." Frank grunts, "I can get some quick heal chems elsewhere, but you're not bad with that." He affirms, before he looks to Microchip, "Are the thieves dead?"

"You got them all. I didn't have time to confirm, but they looked dead."

Claire Temple has posed:
"...I have enough of their blood on my face. I think you settled the matter." Claire mutters, not exactly bitter, but there is an edge of something distinctly uncomfortable in her voice. She knows what a biohazard it is to be covered in the blood of the man who was killed next to her and she can do nothing about it because she's helping someone else not die. So she stands there, working, trying not to think about the disaster the night has been.

It's only another minute or so before she's taping gauze over that second would. She looks up to him, fingertips reaching down for his pulse, just making certain his blood pressure hasn't dropped so low she can't even get that. "..That's... about the best I can do tonight. Can you move your toes?"

Punisher has posed:
He moves his toes, grunting a bit with the pain. "It'll work. I've done enough patch jobs on myself to know damage that heals."

Then, Frank looks to Claire. "I'm glad I managed the timing well. I never meant for you to get involved in this, I'm sorry."

Claire Temple has posed:
The dark haired woman steps back quietly from him, surveying her work and making certain she's not missed any other glaring injuries. Old ones, but nothing else fresh she can see. Claire then moves back to the supplies area and strips off her dirtied gloves, into whatever bin there is before she grabs some antiseptic wipes. It stings her face, but she starts scrubbing herself clean with them.

"...It's... alright. I mean, it's not. You are hunting people on the streets like rabid dogs. They are going to get scared and lash out. More innocents are going to be hurt. But... it... Happens. That's living these days, I guess."

Punisher has posed:
"Terror is part of the way I work." Frank admits, "I'm good enough that I can usually just headshot assholes like that, but they went behind a dumpster. I had to improvize." Frank grumbles a bit as he looks to Microchip, his hand held out.

The non-verbal prompt had Microchip grab a crutch and hand it over. Within moments, Frank is moving over to the nearby closet. "The whole point is to keep innocents from getting hurt. I'm a Scout Sniper, I need to be better about it."

Claire Temple has posed:
Claire isn't quite looking at either of them as she focuses on cleaning herself. It's a good task for hands that now threaten to shake, the initial crisis over so all that adrenaline flooding her system has no where to go but into fear that she almost died. It's the closest she's ever been, even if she's taken no injury. She scrubs with the focus of someone who is used to preparing for surgical rooms.

"Or not do it at all. But everything I've read about you says that's...not going to happen." She finally looks over, most of the blood off her face and neck, though she's missed a few spots and there's definitely stuff in her hair.

Punisher has posed:
"Doin' nothin' is the same as layin' down to die. My family was killed by corrupt police allowing criminal to run rampant." Frank looks back to Claire. "If I don't keep up my war, more innocents die. Trash like that doesn't get to ruin anymore people lives while I'm livin'."

Then, he's going through the closet... which at this point Claire can see is a small armory in itself; pistols, sub-machine guns, shotguns, and even a carbine like the one he came in with. He places the custom carbine he had on his back inside, then turns around to look at Claire. "I'm the Punisher. People used to call me Frank Castle, before that man died with his family."

Claire Temple has posed:
The pure about of firepower in that closet stops Claire in her tracks. She stares, swallowing her heart back down her throat. That amount of machinery is an obsession with violence and it makes her blood run cold. She forces herself to turn away from the sight, focusing on the man instead.

"...The Punisher. I've...heard stories about you. They come through the ER. Some you've helped...some gangs and cops that are fucking terrified of you. But I know who you are. People talk." She has nothing else she can do to clean herself up without a shower and maybe trying to sleep, so her hands now fold across her chest, tucking beneath elbows as she stands and stares at him. "I...I'm Claire Temple. This is my neighborhood. These...these are my people."

Punisher has posed:
"Micro knows enough about you I expect, why he let you work on me." The Punisher admits. "Otherwise, he would have insisted on one of our grey market contacts." He shrugs a shoulder, then, he glances to one of the doors. "Bathrooms in there, if you want to clean up. Alarms would have tripped by now if we were tracked here, so I think you're good."

Claire Temple has posed:
"...Feel free to tell him what you know. I feel like half the city does, by now." Claire mutters to Microchip, not really in the mood to completely explain what she does for the peoeple of northern Manhattan. But it's clear she's good at it, because his leg is about as good as any of his gray market contacts could have done. In fact? A little better than a few.

She then turns for the bathrooms, moving inside and to privacy for a moment. Someone else might take this chance to call the cops, but Claire doesn't. Maybe it's even a test. Instead, she just goes to washing off her face and neck. Only with the water on her face does she let a few shaking, uncertain tears cut through as delayed panic works its way through her body.

Punisher has posed:
"She's done good medical on some of the vigilantes in the city. I hadn't approached her yet because I haven't tested her politics. At least until now." Microchip notes as the door closes. Frank just nods as he moves to the couch nearby and plops down. "That went shitty. I almost had the last one before he got Claire. I shoulda been faster."

"I'll go and check the police band, see what's going on there." Microchip replies as he heads into a side room, where the safehouse computer station is.

Claire Temple has posed:
It takes her a few minutes to wash off or, more accurately, get the tears out where no one will see. She grabs at paper towels, drying face, the edges of her hair, her hands and wrists. One more deep breath and a stare in the mirror, hard evaluating if she should pick up and use her cellphone. She doesn't. She just turns about face on the ball of her foot and moves back out into the front room.

Now out there again, she walks back over to his side. She leans over quietly and, if he allows, touches the back of her hand to his forehead and cheek. Hopefully there's not yet signs of a fever. "...You've probably been through this before. Monitor for a fever, stay off it as much as you can. Don't pop the stitches. If the internal one pops you could bleed out before any of us find you. Got it?"

Punisher has posed:
He doesn't even flinch at the potential contact. Instead, Frank just nods slightly, "I maintain a very healthy lifestyle. I can't fight my war if I'm dead." Then, he looks to her eyes, and she can see just a bit if weariness under the iron control.

"I've gone through hundreds of kinds of hell in this war, I'm sure I'll go through a hundred more before I'm done." Frank shrugs slightly, "For what it's worth, I'm glad to have met you, Claire." He gives a small nod of achknowldgement, "Not many people would be as selfless as you've been, and even less would save my life." Frank looks to Microchip, "Give her a burner. If she needs something, give it to her."

Claire Temple has posed:
A single brow arches as Frank says to give her a burner. She gives a tired little laugh, something ironic about it all to her, but she doesn't disagree on that. She shrugs to him as she stands up, "...I know you don't kill innocents and... I can't really damn people for protecting this city in their own ways. Just...take care of the stitches. Don't make my work for nothing, okay?" She asks him flatly.

Punisher has posed:
"My aim is to kill as many of the sort of people who took my family from me as possible... so that sort of bullshit never happens to any innocent family ever again. Cleaning up trash like that is how I help the world now." Punisher confirms. Then, he talks into the commlink on his ear, "How's it look?" A moment of silence... "He says you're good to go. Nothing on the bands about findin' us. Just a cruiser that's checking out the bodies now."

Claire Temple has posed:
The phone is accepted with just a bit of a nod. Claire slips it into her side pocket and takes a breath, steeling herself to go back into the world. "I... am... I'm glad you are alive. Can't say I hope we'll meet again. If you need me, well..." She pats the phone and looks to Microchip as much as Frank, "You know how to find me. If you're dying... just call. I'll do what I can." With that, she slips back out into the night.