12152/The Early Days

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The Early Days
Date of Scene: 10 September 2020
Location: Matt Murdock's Apartment, Hell's Kitchen, NYC
Synopsis: The first meeting of Night Nurse and Devil doesn't go quite as bloodily as you expect. There's still some blood.
Cast of Characters: Daredevil, Claire Temple




Daredevil has posed:
It's evening in the city and so far nothing would suggest that there's anything out of the ordinary going on. Then again, what even is ordinary in Hell's Kitchen these days? Good people getting taken advantage of, whether by street thugs or co-op boards, is becoming the status quo. But that's a story for another time.

Tonight is different in that there's a relative newcomer on the scene. Someone who is trying to make a positive difference. Someone who just so happened to get the absolute shit beat out of him a few blocks down the road.

If anyone happened to be looking down into the alley, they would see a man dressed in all black with a mask covering his head from just above his mouth and up. He's barely able to walk, leaning heavily against the damp brick of the building and his posture sagging to the point that he may collapse. But he manages to keep going. Kicking full bags of trash piled up along the building because he can't bring himself to walk around them without the safety of the wall to keep him from falling to the ground. Bottles rattle and a cat screams before taking off further into the alley to get away from this man.

Claire Temple has posed:
In a city like this, most people ignore a sight like that. He's either a homeless drunk who will find his bed among the trashbags soon, or some sort of gang member who got taught a lesson. Either way, it's not someting any native New Yorker is going to touch. Unless that native New Yorker knows this area well -- very well -- knows the gangs don't dress like that, and knows the gait of someone with internal injuries, not just someone on a bender.

It's late. Late enough Claire almost missed the strange sight outside her building's alleyway. But the sound of trashbags being kicked is enough to distract her from the determination of home-shower-bed. She's expecting a raccoon to chase off and, instead, she gets a masked man. "...Hey... buddy... You okay?" She calls down the alley, pacing a few steps closer. Even over the stench of the place, she smells faintly like hospital -- sharp sterility and a bit of sweat.

Daredevil has posed:
Truth be told, there's so much blood collected and dried in Matt's nostrils that he can't rely on his sense of smell for the moment. There's also so much pain throbbing and pulsing throughout his body, he can hardly rely on anything at the moment aside from his sheer natural instincts and determination to not simply give up and die.

He does manage to hear the sound of a young woman's voice behind him expressing what seems to be actual, genuine concern for his well-being. That being said, though, he doesn't turn around to engage. He is approaching his building and needs to get to the safety of his apartment. Nothing else matters. He steps up beneath the raised fire escape ladder and somehow manages to leap from the ground and plant a foot against the brick wall to give himself leverage to push himself up even further so he can grab the bottom rung of the ladder. What happens is not quite that. He plants his foot and does manage to lurch upwards, but when his hand grasps the rung, his body is no longer able to handle the stress of hanging. His grip fails and he falls back down to the pavement below, landing on his back and only barely moving beyond his head rolling slowly from one side to the other as he fights off the urge to pass out.

Claire Temple has posed:
The train wreck in front of her happens before Claire can intervene, but she certainly sees it coming. The man can barely lean against a wall, much less scale the shitty fire escape that was now threatening to give him tetanus. "...Wait, don-!" She swears. It's too late. She's then double timing over to his side, picking her way through garbage bags without really looking. She's got the new surge of adrenaline that pushes her through the end of shift. It's just way past shift now. "You're a mess, come on..."

She's muttering to herself as she knees at his side, doing the quickest evaluation to be certain she can move him from the the muck where he's fallen. A fast check of his pulse, reaching for his mask so she can look at his pupils as well. That was... *worrisome*. "We... need to get you inside. And probably to a hospital." She mutters, shifting down to try and scoop her arm beneath his shoulders. His back and neck don't seem broken, she can get him out of this mess at least.

Daredevil has posed:
He's in bad shape. Even for him. Tomorrow he won't remember any of what's happening now and it's a wonder that he's even able to react to Claire, but he somehow manages to find the strength to do so. "No... hospital," he utters before his voice is lost in a wave of coughs and winces as his body goes into a complete revolt.

When she checks under his mask for his pupils, he doesn't protest. He isn't aware enough to realize it's happening. His eyes, while open, roll aimlessly and his eyelids struggle to stay open as they regularly drop and close for moments at a time. When she tries to get him up and off of the ground, he is able to move his arms and legs enough so that he's not just dead weight and manages to get back to his feet. His weight shifts against Claire heavily and he's not able to do much to avoid being a physical burden on her as he utters his apartment number. "Sleep."

Claire Temple has posed:
He's either in the middle of a massive brain bleed, or he's blind. The fact it's both his pupils, he doesn't seem worried at all about *not* seeing her, and the mask was already in place? Claire's going to lean towards the second. She's just hopes she's right. The protest of the hospital gets a deep sigh from her as she shifts as much of his weight as possible against her shoulders and heads back for the front entrance of their apartment building. "Fine, no hospital, but... let's make sure you're not bleeding out first, before sleep." It doesn't seem he's got an option, as she's pretty much glued to his side now.

This close, she smells like sterile sanitizer, sharp hospital soap, feminine sweat, and her own hair conditioner. Something old fashioned and lavendar. Her body is slender but toned, well built enough to wrestle a drunk patient. It means she's mostly capable of getting him into the little brass-gated elevator and up to her floor. Not his. She has more medical supplies in her apartment. And the keys.

Inside it is, onto the couch and the old blanket that she doesn't quite care if he bleeds on. Then she's off to the bathroom, emergency supplies retrieved and hands scrubbed. It's time to go to work again. Her apartment smells like a *home*. There's the lingering fingers of a mole sauce in the kitchen from dinner hours earlier, comfortable old blankets, running shoes and neglected coffee cups.

Daredevil has posed:
As she helps drag his broken and beaten body into their shared apartment building, Matt is not actively aware enough to make note of what his senses gather about her. But when he is awake and in a more aware state and capable of processing what's happening, his mind will recall certain things that stood out from this moment. The scent of the lavender, the sweetness of her sweat, how capable she is with handling his oppressive weight and momentum. He'll appreciate it. But not right now.

As the lift goes beyond his floor, he's only vaguely aware enough to grunt out in protest what just sounds like someone exerting a painful utterance. The time from the lift doors opening to him collapsing on Claire's couch is filled with gaps and moments of complete darkness. The whole world spins out of control as he lies on the comfortable couch and for an instant he tries to roll off so he can stand up and not bleed all over her blanket. The effort doesn't last as he doesn't actually move. He lies motionless with his eyes still dancing in their sockets and his will struggling against his eyelids' need to shut and just be done.

Claire Temple has posed:
This night will go down in some strange mental history in Claire's life. The first night she ever created a biohazard pile at the side of her couch. The time where she had to shift her hospital clean procedures into being done in her apartment, taking a whole lot of muscle memory and shoving it into a different box. The time she was very scared he was going to up and die on her couch and she could do nothing to stop it. She has no clue how important this night would be. But, in this moment? All she knows is she has a man's life to save.

Clothes cut off -- he's lucky he doesn't have fancy armor yet -- and the worst of the wounds are quickly flushed. What is actively bleeding gets attention first, then she can focus on abrasions and if anything's broken. "...Really need a hospital..." She mutters, as she finds the most threatening injury. A stab wound. Probably not lethal, he'd be dead already, but she has no clue if her cleaning and stitches will be enough. She still has to try. It's an hour of that, trying to fire fight injuries all over his body with trained hands that aren't made for actually doctoring trauma. But she's a nurse, and she doesn't give up on him.

Daredevil has posed:
As she works on him, he doesn't react in a way that suggests he feels what she's doing. Either he can't feel it due to his body already being so overwhelmed from the trauma, he's used to being fixed up, or perhaps even both.

Her reminder that he should actually be in a hospital is met with a roll of his head until he's vaguely facing her. His eyes nearly shut but then open again and almost seem to focus on her. Of course only he knows the bright silhouette of flickering orange lights that make up his vision of her, but if she thought he was blind she might have a moment of doubt as he finds the vision of her to be something he can focus on. Until he can't anymore and his eyes slip shut and he is out.

Claire Temple has posed:
The vision of her is probably lovely in it's fire, adrenaline fuled heat. It shows cut of a slender, tough looking girl from the Bronx with a good chin line and toned shoulders, tending to him like some avenging, burning angel. Her brow furrows as she swears maybe, just maybe, he's looking at her. But she doesn't have time to question. When he goes unconscious, it's almost a relief. Especially when her fingertips find his pulse again, hovering there in a gentle, firm press to his throat, relieved he's still alive. It means she can finish without wondering at the pain she inflicts. It's another 45 minutes before he's totally cleaned up, bandaged, and covered in a warmer blanket to help keep him from shock.

It's probably a few hours later, when consciousness comes again. Claire's cleaned up since then. She dared to leave him for just 5 minutes, to shower the hospital off of her. But otherwise, she's remained at his side. There's a big, old, too-comfortable chair next to the head of the couch. She's curled her oversized t-shirt and sweat pants clad form into it. At first, she was watching him. Listening to him breathe. But night shift exhaustion and adrenaline crashing means the sound of his breath is soporific and, worried or not, she sunk into a light sleep next to him, just listening. She's a warm little ball now, smelling more of her soap than hospital, her own breath and heart slow, low patters of the calm in the storm.

Daredevil has posed:
The rest of the night as Claire worked to keep Matt alive, then clean up, then finally get around to washing the day from her body, Matt was floating in a sea of darkness and entirely unaware of anything going on either to or around his body. Then his senses slowly began to push their way through the darkness. It began with the swelling scent of a freshly-cleaned body. Then the sound of steady breathing and a calm heart beating not far from him. He could almost even feel the warmth emanating from her as she sat tucked into a ball in the chair beside him. There's something calming, comforting about the reality of which he's slowly becoming aware.

Matt's eyes open and he is not in his apartment. He's not in the hospital. His mask isn't on. As all of these things hit him at once, his entire body tenses and he moves to sit up when the pain from everything that happened last night brings him back down. His face twists in pain and he groans as his body tries to relax once again, "Jeeesus."

Claire Temple has posed:
Every reason she decided to sleep next to him is suddenly on display as her patient tries to sit up straight and falls back in pain. Claire is awake, aware, and on her knees next to him, gently trying to push him back into the couch, within a few seconds. She's someone used to crisis mode. "Hey, hey... Buddy, just calm down. Lay back down and take a breath... it's gonna hurt like hell. Just... relax. I'm here. I'm going to help, but you gotta take it easy."

She's already pulling down the blanket she covered him in, looking over that stab wound to see if her not-exactly-expert stitches pulled when he tried to sit up. She's a nurse, not a surgeon. While he's uncovered, she grabs her stethoscope, pieces in her ears and diaphragm on his chest, double checking that there's no more air in his chest than the night before, and his heart at least sounds steady enough he's not dangerously low on blood from some internal injury. The scent and touch of her matches everything in the apartment -- he's clearly in her home.

Daredevil has posed:
As Claire quickly wakes and is by his side, Matt exhales slowly and deeply, steadying himself and in a way almost meditating his way through the pain. He's had his ass kicked more than once in his life, so he knows how to manage pain. Maybe not this much pain, but he's doing his best.

His head and eyes turn towards the woman who has taken him in and, as far as he can tell, probably saved his life. His pupils are widened and they drift slightly as he looks generally at her. "I'm sorry for bleeding all over your couch." He makes an attempt at a smile and almost succeeds before it's bent into a wince and his eyes drift shut again. He's trying very hard to not panic at the fact that this woman has seen his face and could now positively identify the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. But there's not much he can do about it now and she's just worked throughout the night to keep him alive, so he can't help but believe she's a genuine person.

Claire Temple has posed:
Claire relaxes by inches as the stethoscope in her ears, and his ability to hold bits of a conversation, confirm he's stable. More so than last night, even. Her own heartrate comes down by a few levels, not quite so worried anymore that he might end up dead because she missed something. She pulls the tool off, setting it aside on her go-bag as she sinks back to resting on her heels and just stares at him. *What in hell was she doing?*

"It's... it's okay. I didn't need that blanket anyway. I'm just glad you *stopped*. That, uh... that could have been a lot worse than it was. I'm not a trauma OR." She states flatly, her exhausted voice lined with New York deadpan which is much easier than getting too emotional. "I got Tylenol or Ibuprofen for the pain, that's about it...Not a pharmacy either, but I can't imagine this feels fun. And please... please tell me the reason you aren't freaking the *fuck* out you can't see me is because you're blind, and I haven't missed some massive brain bleed in all of this." Her fingertips come up, combing a bit of that sweat-stiffened hair back from his unseeing eyes in a motion that is far more gentle than her Harlem-hardened voice is.

Daredevil has posed:
Despite the pain that is thankfully subsiding a bit after his attempt to burst forth from the couch, Matt can hear the changes in Claire's breathing, hearth rate, and voice as a number of emotions rise and fall and intermingle together in the course of only a few seconds. He's used to what he does but she clearly isn't. Nor should she be. Which is really why he needs to get the hell out of here. Which he will do after he just collects himself for a minute or two.

"No, you've done more than enough for me. More than you should have," he says as he looks towards her again. He tests his body by planting his elbows into the cushions of the couch and puts his weight on them as he lifts up very slightly. The pain slowly rises but he's able to manage it by gradually moving. He pulls himself back just enough to rest his upper back against the arm of the couch in more of a sitting position. But it's taken some effort and he sits and collects himself for a moment. When she mentions hoping that he's blind instead of having severe brain trauma, he looks towards her again and gives her that attempt at a smile again, "You didn't miss anything. I am blind."

His bruised and beaten body is coated in small beads of sweat as he's physically struggled to deal with all of the wounds. He's in remarkably great shape and looks like he does a lot of work to take care of himself. Well, aside from the obvious. "Thank you."

Claire Temple has posed:
As he gives her that attempt of a smile, the one that is a little shy and a little too charming because it's not the false, cheesy, slithering mess of half the guys she sees on the street, Claire can't help but smile back. Just a touch. Then her dark eyes drop to his body, nominally looking for how his wounds hold up to moving, but it's the first time she truly lets herself *see* him. The whole of him. Fit. More scars than what she's treated. But his body is about as good looking as his smile and as she catches herself staring, she abruptly brings her eyes back up to his face. Claire's suddenly a bit blushed, the heat flaring at her cheeks.

She clears her throat and stands, bringing back the tylenol. Two out in her hand, with the glass of water she left him before she slept. "...Take this first. I...I'd really rather you in hospital, or laid up a few days, at least, where I can make certain you don't develop a fever. You pull open those stitches it'll be even worst. Hell...I don't even know your name. Though..." She looks aside at that mask she pulled off him, abandoned on her coffee table now. "...I suspect I've heard stories."

Daredevil has posed:
Under other circumstances, Matt might notice that Claire is looking him over. He might even blush. He might even have taken a few moments to appreciate the sound of her voice, the delicate care with which she's taken care of him. The soft touch of her hand as she brushes the hair from his brow. Her strong character and fearless personality in the face of fear that he can hear in her voice and her heart beat. The courage.

He accepts the tylenol and washes it down with the water she's given to him. He swallows and breathes in slowly, then exhales. "Matt," he says as he begins to pull himself up from the couch and takes a moment to climb to his feet, steadying himself. "I need to go. I didn't mean to get you wrapped up in any of this, miss.." he says and then shakes his head, "The less I know about you the safer you are."

Claire Temple has posed:
"Clai..." She starts, perhaps a bit too trusting already. But he did nearly bleed out on her couch. When he cuts her off, however, she doesn't finish. There's a wariness to her now. How much of what she just did was illegal? How much is what he's doing every night? Even if he's the one she's heard about in the ER...

Claire turns back and grabs his mask off her table, gently pressing it into his hand. "Yeah. Probably. But... you... might need this. Don't put it on for a week, okay? Really. Take it easy and keep your head down. You got lucky last night and... it won't always be lucky." She murmurs softly. Then she's helping lead him to the door, still really not aware of just how much he can 'see'. She's got a dozen questions. It's much safer not to have answers.

"Be...careful, Matt. You know where to find me if something pops. No offense, but... I hope we never have to see each other again." The tone behind her voice is mostly joking. Mostly. And probably she's out of luck, considering this is *definitely* his building, he'll realize once he gets in the hall. She lives just a few floors away. She opens the door for him, helping him out of the apartment. She lingers in the hallway to watch him moving down and out to the elevator, arms wrapped across her torso, fighting with herself about what mess just happened.

Daredevil has posed:
Clai... Clara? Claire? It's something to work with. Although he's glad to know at least a syllable of her name, he wishes he could un-hear it for her own safety. When she offers his mask, he takes it and nods, offering her another one of his smiles. "In that case I won't take the fire escape." He takes a quick look around her place and gives her one last 'glance' and a nod of his head and then he turns and heads to her door. He pauses as he tugs it open, lowering his head a bit, "Again. Thank you. I hope I haven't caused you any trouble." With that, he lifts his head as if to glance somewhat over his shoulder towards her and then he's out the door and has shut it behind him.