12180/Patching Up Bodies, Not Hearts

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Patching Up Bodies, Not Hearts
Date of Scene: 15 September 2020
Location: Apartment 4C, Instrata
Synopsis: (Historical) The Daredevil finds his way to Claire's apartment after a month of avoiding her. It's bad enough an ambulance is called.
Cast of Characters: Daredevil, Claire Temple




Daredevil has posed:
It's been... four weeks (suck it, Barenaked Ladies) since Matt and Claire last spoke and left on sour terms. The following weeks have not been kind to Matt. He would blame it on karma if he believed in that sort of thing, but he knows the real story. He went out every single night between then and now to hunt. He needed to. Most of the time he came back without a scratch, but there were a few times he managed to get to his apartment and had to force himself not to go down two floors to Claire's. She asked him not to return, after all.

Well, Tonight is different. He interrupted a drug deal gone sour and got in a little too far over his head. He was stabbed several times and shot twice. Once in the abdomen and another time in the shoulder. He's in pretty bad shape, even for Daredevil.

Barely managing to climb the fire escape to the fourth floor, Matt makes it to Claire's window. She used to leave it open for him and she may even still. But he knows she was mad at him when he left. Without trying to open it himself, he collapses to a seated position and instead knocks on the paned glass a few times, slumping his wounded shoulder against the brick facade of the building.

Claire Temple has posed:
It's been weeks since he came to her window. Part of her hoped that it was because he's actually been taking more cautions and not going out as much. The rest of her knew it wasn't true -- she'd even gone to his door a few times, late at night, giving the quietest knock while he was out. He's never there. So, it's not the biggest surprise when she hears that knock at herwindow. It might even be one of the other vigilantes who have gotten word of her -- he's not the only one to bleed on her couch these days.

But no. It's him. She can smell the blood the moment she opens the window. "...Fuck." She can't remember the last time she *smelled* that much blood on him. While there is a moment of anger rising in her, she has no time for it. Crisis mode, the way she lives in the ER, takes over. No emotions. Only action. She leans down, dragging him up and over her window sill, too much of his blood already getting on her sleep shorts and tank top. She was dead asleep. Now she's wide awake and putting him on the floor of the kitchen. She needs better light and something she can clean easier than a couch for this. "...Fuck." She breathes out as she begins to look him over, hand reaching for the big pulse on the side of his neck.

Daredevil has posed:
When the window slides open, Matt lifts his head slowly and manages a bloody smile from beneath his mask. He lifts the arm that isn't supporting him against the building. In his hand are what were probably once three flowers. Not wrapped, not in a vase. They look like flowers he picked on his way over to her place. Unfortunately between there and here, they've been bled on and half the petals torn off and one of the stems broken and flailing loosely down by his fingers.

He uses what leverage he has on the fire escape to make it a little easier to drag him over and inside. Hearing the tone of her voice, he knows this was a huge mistake, but the only other option was the hospital and that would make everything in his life, and those of everyone close to him, worse.

Once he's stretched out on the kitchen floor, his head rolls back. His eyes, always unfocused, are searching the air for nothing in particular. "I'm sorry," he chokes, almost interrupted by a few gurgled coughs. "Claire.."

Claire Temple has posed:
The bent and broken flowers get a momentary look, a weak, tear-caught sort of laugh, "Oh, Matt....fuck..." She breathes out, but she doesn't have time for feelings about them. She doesn't even know if she has time to call the hospital for him. She tosses the blooded flowers onto her kitchen table to worry about later. Or maybe cry over. Her eyes look down across his body and content that he's got enough blood pressure left to give her a pulse, thready and weak as it is. "Stay awake." She commands, booking it across her apartment to get the emergency kit from her bathroom. She's back in less than 30 seconds, ripping it open. She reaches down to cut off his clothing with the sheers from her go kit. She's not even bothering with gloves right now, either that scared for him or this thrown off her game.

"Matt...it's bad. You... you gotta stay with me. What happened? I need to get you to the hospital. I... I can't do this. This is bad. Were you SHOT?!" Worried, terrified hands begin to pull open QuikClot bandages, probably half her supply at this point, smacking them across the stab wounds to at least stop bleeding some places. She sounds more scared for him than she's ever been in the months he's come to her apartment.

Daredevil has posed:
When the flowers are taken from his hand, he makes an effort to keep his arm raised, lifting his index finger to point roughly in the direction of the flowers after she's taken them and tossed them on the table like 'I brought you flowers.' His arm collapses onto his chest and slides to the floor as his head rolls over again, breaths short and sparse. He's been fucked up beyond anything Claire has seen at this point. Really to the point that it's ridiculous. Even he knows it somewhere in that stupor he's currently drowning in. If his face wasn't coated red with blood, it would be with embarrassment for having shown up at her place again.

"I think I've been shot," he says in response to the sound of her voice, not her question. "S.. sorry for bleeding on your floor, Claire," he says as he lifts his head to look down across his beaten body and the trails of blood he's left on her kitchen floor. His head falls back onto the ground with a thud. His head turns towards her so he can see that fiery silhouette of hers again. One he hasn't seen in a long time. "You look great."

Claire Temple has posed:
Claire looks like a woman who is on the edge of crying and only managing to stop because she's trying to prevent a complete train wreck from happening under her hands. All the stab wounds at least now have something akin to heavy pressure on them to stop the bleeding -- hopefully the clotting agents in the bandages will be enough that he doesn't bleed out from a vital injury she missed while she's looking at the gunshot. All of her is on fire as he looks up, skin flushed with the drastic push of adrenaline through her body, heart hammering against her sternum, having skyrocketed as emergency mode kicks in straight out of sleep mode.

"I look like a woman who is going to have to tell a whole bunch of cops why there's a lawyer dead on the floor of her kitchen if...if you don't let me take you to the hospital. What do I do if you die on me, Matt? *What*? How the *fuck* do I live with myself if I let you bleed out on my floor?" The tears she's not crying do crack at her voice. She's trying to clean out that gunshot wound now, see if the bullet is still there, see how deep it went, what it hit. How lucky he got, or didn't get. But she's out of her depth here.

Daredevil has posed:
In his haze, he can barely concentrate on what she's saying, but he understands enough to know how freaked out she is and how bad his injuries are. The haze gives way to an overwhelming sense of guilt at what he's doing to the poor woman who is just trying her best to save his life. She didn't ask for this, he forced it upon her. "Fuck..." he mutters as he stirs, lifting a shoulder off the floor as he appears to be attempting to sit up.

"I'll," he's interrupted by a grunt as the pain from the gunshot to his abdomen pierces his body, but he fights through it. "I'll go to the hospital," he says, propping himself up onto his elbow. "Just... let me get to my feet," he grumbles under his breath as a knee bends to provide leverage so he can try to get to his feet. "Shouldn't have done this," he says, meaning he shouldn't have put her in this position. "I won't," he manages to say before his strength gives and his elbow slips on the pool of blood beneath him, sending him back to the floor with a painful groan. "Call them," he utters. The paramedics. He doesn't want to go to the hospital, but he doesn't want to bleed out on her floor either.

Claire Temple has posed:
"Don't you dare..." The moment he's trying to get up, Claire doesn't even let that. Her hands are there, on his chest, pushing him back down to the ground immediately. "Don't you *dare*. You aren't going to make it to the elevator, much less out of this building. Just... Just *stay there* and stay talking to me. Please." That last word, as more blood still pools on her floor, comes out cracked and desperate. No matter how angry she was with him, she couldn't see him die. With the agreement for her to get paramedics, she slaps one of those clotting bandages across his abdomen and stands. It's her turn to nearly skid in his blood. She runs out for her cellphone.

The sound of her on the phone can be heard, trying to control her voice enough to give calm, clear instructions. It's hard. "My name is Claire Temple, I'm in the Instrata Apartments, 4C. My friend got mugged bad... several stab wounds, I think he's been shot. I'm performing first aid but we need a bus here *now*... I'll leave the line open..." She gives a few more pieces of information, vital for the crew to help him immediately, "Yes, I'm a nurse. I'm keeping him stable. We're in the kitchen..." And then she's back at his side, the cellphone line open and left on her bloody kitchen counter, but she's not letting go of him. Her hand reaches down, trying to put pressure on the worst of the wound once more as her other reaches for that pulse in his throat. "M-Matt... Matt? Are you still with me? They're coming, Matt... Do... do you have weapons on you? Anything I need to...remove? So they don't know?"

Daredevil has posed:
Resigning to the fact that he has to go to the hospital for treatment, Matt goes limp against her floor. When she disappears, if only for a moment to go make a life-saving call on his behalf, it feels like an eternity. He reaches up after her as she goes, not able to get to her and instead letting his arm fall back to the floor.

When she returns, his loose gaze falls upon her once more and he watches her. "I'm here," he says, a smile akin to his usual boyish smile forming across his face, although his lower lip is swollen and it's a little crooked. "No weapons." He lifts his hand to rest against his forehead to check for his mask which she's already removed. "It's okay," he says, his arm back by his side, "you did good."

He reaches out with his hand, shakily, searching for hers, "Just don't go, okay? Just don't.." His eyes start to drift back into his skull and his speech trails off. He's losing the fight to stay awake.

Claire Temple has posed:
There's nothing else she can do. The bandages are military developed for situations just like this. In fact, the one on his stomach is probably doing a better job than her shaking, small palm can do to keep pressure on a wound like that. Still, the paramedics will be a handful of minutes and she had nothing to do but wait with him. She's absolutely covered in his blood now, hands sticky with the stuff as her palm moves from his throat to his cheek. "I got it...your mask... I h-hid... it. They won't know. I promise." It's the best assurance she can give. He'll be in hospital, but not as Daredevil. Just an unlucky lawyer who maybe got attacked by members of a gang whose case he lost. At least, that's how she'll pitch it to the quesitons that come.

She lets him take her hand, sticky, warm fingertips wrapping around his palm. She gives a tight squeeze as she kneels there next to him. Now, a few tears cut through the smeared blood on her face. Without the work to stop emotions, they well up stronger than before. "I...I'm not going anywhere, but you can't either. You gotta stay here with me. Talk to me. Tell me...anything... How bad the coffee has been... How Foggy's doing... anything. Just please, don't go..." Her hand squeezes his a bit more frantically.

Daredevil has posed:
The squeeze of her hand around his brings him back, but only just. His eyes return and start their slow scanning of Claire's kitchen ceiling as he coughs a few more times, face wrinkling from the pain of his wounds. "The coffee is wonderful," he says, the smile returning as he's clearly full of shit. He even manages a few quiet and painful laughs, his upper body bouncing against the floor as he does. "One of our clients made cheesecake," he says, the smile slowly fading. "I'll bring you a slice. It's incredible."

He looks over at her, hearing her heart and shaky voice and feeling the trembling in her hand. "Don't worry." A hand rises so he can touch her bloody cheek with the back of a finger, only getting a little more blood on her, "Everything will be okay."

Resting his hand back down against his chest, he peers up into the air and takes a slow, deep breath. "I, uh.." his voice trails off as his eyes waver for a moment, "I'm sorry."

Claire Temple has posed:
If Claire cared about the blood, she's in far too deep now. The fact he's got any strength to touch her cheek helps. She reaches her other hand up, cupping it over his palm on her blood and tear streaked face, trying to support his fingertips there so he doesn't have to use even an inch more strength to touch her. As long as it kept him awake, however, and talking? She's not going to stop him. She blinks against another tear she hates to lose the battle against. She's losing.

"You... you better promise... to bring that slice. Least you can do f-for... for bleeding all over my kitchen." A crackled laugh dares to escape her lips there. She presses his hand to her cheek a little tighter. "...be... Sorry later. I'm gonna be real... Real angry later too, but right now you gotta live to be sorry. Okay? Everything else can come later you...stubborn... wonderful... Idiot."

Daredevil has posed:
Matt knows. Even in his current state. Claire is going to tear into him for this and he's going to deserve every bit of it. But for now, he's just comforted being here, knowing that she's got him covered. He'll be okay. "I promise," he says through his smile. His head rolls back so he's facing the ceiling again. He needs to stay awake, but he really wants to just shut his eyes for a moment. Wake up and be better.

"I'll be sorry later," he says as his eyes drift shut. He's just going to let them close for a moment. It'll help and he'll be more awake if he can just rest his eyes for a minute.

Claire Temple has posed:
If he goes, at least he goes somewhere safe. Somewhere that smells familiar, despite his blood all around. Claire's apartment hasn't changed in a month. There's still the scent of her favourite mole recipe hanging in the air of the kitchen and her body in the front room. The dark columbian coffee she made them more than one morning. Her hair, still slightly damp from the shower she took after work and full of the faint fruit of her shampoo. He's not going to die alone in an alleyway, if this is the time he goes.

"I'm holding you to that promise... You just keep breathing to be sorry later and... that's all that matters. You better not fucking break this promise." Claire whispers, even as she watches his eyes close. The front door is open for the paramedics. She's done all she can, she knows that. Still, her head bends across his, forehead to forehead, her nose against his temple as she prays very quietly in a language he does not speak.

Daredevil has posed:
He's not afraid to die. He just doesn't want to. At least not right now. He has too many things he needs to do still. Too many things he needs to make up for. Failures to overcome. Mistakes to correct. His eyes remain shut for a moment, but his sheer willpower forces them back open and his chest fills with air as he inhales deeply as if being held under water and coming up for breath.

He's looking at her again and his eyes are beginning to drift shut again. He's losing the fight. "Next time I see you, I want some of that mole I keep smelling." He chuckles weakly, a trickle of blood rolling from the corner of his mouth and down his cheek and then he's out. The last thing he hears is Claire's heart. And somewhere in the distance the sound of an ambulance siren approaching.

Claire Temple has posed:
"Matt... *Matt*!" Her insistent, quiet voice backs up that too-quick beat of her heart, trying to keep him with her. But it's too late. Fortunately, the paramedics aren't far. The business of getting him loaded up, reporting injuries, handling everything... Well, Claire does it. And the amount of good will she's earned over her years with Metro General helps a lot. She smooths over questions he might be getting otherwise, explains the situation like a mugging or a revenge attack gone wrong. Gets some too-curious doctors to turn the other way. She manages it. Just like she's cleaned up his injuries before, she cleans up the risk of his reputation being discovered now.

It's nearly a day later and several hours of surgery, but he's not broken his promise. Claire has far too many sick days saved so one of them is taken so she can, ironically, sit in the very hospital where she works. She gets some extra benefits, like being able to stay in when nurses are there or sick hours are up, by way of who she knows. She hasn't really slept since it all happened so, sometime an hour or two ago, her own body won out into sleep at his side.

She's curled up in a somewhat stiff, but at least padded, visitor's chair at the side of his bed. No scrubs tonight, but somewhere she managed to pull on jeans and a clean shirt. The blood is off of her face and arms, but some is still in her hair. She didn't take time for a proper shower yet. Her knees are curled against her chest and one of her colleagues has been nice enough to drape a blanket around her as she dozes two feet away from him.

Daredevil has posed:
Matt gets the 'good fortune' of being completely knocked out throughout the night and following day as everyone else scrambles to save his life. For perhaps the first time in his life, he doesn't dream. He's just out. No dreams of his childhood, his father, the orphanage, nothing. Just darkness. And then pain. More pain. His whole body feels terrible. His head swims, every inch of his torso throbs and pulsates with pain with each beat of his heart.

A groan escapes his lips as his eyes finally open and he turns his head. He instantly knows he's in a hospital and for a moment he's about to panic. The events of the day before at Claire's takes a moment for his brain to find and calm him. She took care of him. Of everything. God damn you, Matt, what did you do?

He turns his head towards the familiar beating of Claire's heart and her scent. Now he knows first hand where the sterile odors come from. He sees Claire balled up in the chair and a force akin to gravity hits him. Fuck you, Murdock. He just wants to climb into that chair with her and wrap himself around her. Even if he physically could, though, how dare he even think about it.

Claire Temple has posed:
While Claire doesn't have any super senses, generally unaware of that quiet, steady beat of his heart, the monitors help. A strange reflection of how he normally 'sees' her. It's the faint change of those monitors, not the slow, drugged and steady beat but something a bit more aware, which draws her out of the uncomfortable sleep curled up in the hospital chair. She turns her head towards him, trying to blink some exhaustion from her dark eyes. One hand comes up to drag across her face. She's not certain what to say. She just stares at him quietly.

"Glad... glad to see you awake." Claire finally rasps out, her voice carefully neutral. Maybe still a bit numb. Trying to hold back the torrent of emotions that range from reaching for him immediately to wanting to scream at him. Instead, she just takes a steadying breath. She forces her legs to unfold, body popping in a few places at that motion alone.

She didn't used to pop and crack that badly. Not before the night they took her.

Daredevil has posed:
He knows what she's feeling. He can hear it. Smell it. But even if he couldn't, he would know. The bruises and swollen parts of his face probably don't show his emotions very well, but underneath it all there's an apologetic look. His unfocused eyes linger over Claire's form as he watches her. "Claire, I can't," he says, interrupted by a flash of pain through his body. He winces and sighs quietly. Takes a deep breath so he can finish. "I can't thank you enough."

For the first time, he looks vulnerable. Beyond the physical damage to his body. Emotionally. A tear manages to slip free from the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry for doing this to you. Again." He wants to reach out to her but he can't move very much. "Are you okay?"

Claire Temple has posed:
It's hard to be mad when he looks like that. When Claire can see ever bruise across his face, the bandages and monitors. When she knows how many wounds riddled his body last night. She takes in another steadying breath before she leans forward, pushing the blanket off of her to the back of the chair. Her body is still drowsy and warm, now not covered in the blanket that smells too-much like sterile hospital. She reaches out, wrapping a small palm around his hand closest to her. She almost feels feverish in compare to his own battered frame.

"Yeah, of course. Why... wouldn't I be? I wasn't stabbed half a dozen times and shot last night. I...I'd say I'm doing just fine, in compare." She can't hold back some of the sardonic tone from her voice, edges of worried anger slipping through the pain of seeing him like this. It's easier to focus on work. Practicalities. She leans a bit closer, whispering to him, "...I told them it was probably gang members from someone you couldn't save from going behind bars. Revenge. They hurt you too much for it to just be a mugging, this felt... Personal. They seemed to buy it. Some of my friends here backed things up. I hope... I hope you won't get too many questions. They know you're Matt Murdock. That's all. Unlucky lawyer."

Daredevil has posed:
When her hand reaches his, he gives her a squeeze in return. Hearing the mixture of concern, hurt, and rage in her voice hits him as hard as any of the thugs did the night before. "You look like hell," he says, laughing at his own absurdity. The rough laughter devolves into coughs as his body isn't ready for even the slightest bit of exertion. His free hand reaches up and presses against his chest, calming the coughing until it subsides.

"I'll take care of any questions. It'll be okay," he says with a surprising amount of confidence. He's honestly not concerned about people asking him about what happened. The story she fed them is enough for him to work with. His hand remaining in hers, his head rests back on his pillow and his eyes shut and he exhales slowly. "How long have I been out?"

Claire Temple has posed:
The sound of that coughing makes her whole body wince, all too well knowing how it pulls at stitches, at the delicate work they did to put his insides back together. "Shh... just...breathe. Relax..." Her other hand runs over his arm gently, trying to calm him and keep him still as best she can. It's really the first time she's ever sat next to him like this -- not as his nurse and caretaker, but as a friend keeping vigil at a bedside. It's harder when she has no work to do but look at his broken body.

"...Not lookin' much better yourself." She mutters sardonically, but at least that comment gets the faintest edge of a smirk to her mouth. That's almost a smile, right? She still doesn't let go of his hand she took. Dark eyes trail drowsily up to the clock on the wall, not entirely certain of the time herself. "...About... twenty hours? I don't really know when we pulled you in. 2 am? 3? It's after visiting hours. I...pulled some strings." Her hand moves from his arm to his hair, gently pushing some of those messy locks back, off his forehead.

Daredevil has posed:
There's plenty of sarcasm in that voice as Claire replies. She's the right combination of pissed and amused. He'll take it while it lasts. Welcoming her touch over his arm and up to his head to brush hair from his face, Matt lets his eyes rest and focuses on the good things.

He doesn't have to ask her if she's been by his side the whole time. He knows that she has. Claire. His saviour.

"If your back gets messed up from that horrible looking chair, I know a good lawyer," he says, eyes still closed. "He'll get you sorted out." He smiles but doesn't let himself laugh this time. He doesn't want to undo all of the work Claire and the doctors did. Instead, he just rolls his head and looks at her again. He doesn't want to take his eyes off of her again.

Claire Temple has posed:
"Foggy is better than wrongful injury cases. I wouldn't do that to him." Claire murmurs, that twist of a smirk still on her lips. She's still staring at him, leaned forward in her chair so she's practically hovering over the edge of his bed without moving into it. The faint attempt at a joke hangs in the air, so much easier than the thousand things left unsaid between them. She squeezes his hand tighter, for just a moment.

"I don't even know if it's worth saying I told you so. If... you'll learn a... damn thing from this. It probably isn't. You almost died, Matt. You fucking coded in the ambulance. If I kept you on my couch, you would have *died*. Do you know how lucky you are? That you don't get this lucky twice?" Claire can't look directly at him as he says those words, that boyish face softening the fearful anger in her a bit too much. Especially looking like that. So she stares at the mess of wires at his bedside, tension thrumming through her frame.

And yet, her hand doesn't leave his.

Daredevil has posed:
Hell. He set her up perfectly for that retort and it still catches him. His torso flinches as he starts to laugh but catches himself and forces it away. The broad smile on his face gives it away though. "Ouch," he says dryly.

When she starts to lay into him, his eyes open and wander in her direction. He deserves it. Actually, he deserves much worse. She's too kind to really talk to him the way she should and they both know it. A month ago he would've argued with her. Hell, a month from now he might argue with her. Right now? He's not arguing. He's taking his lashes and he's grateful they're not too bad.

He can feel the tension in her body. Her hand is enough. He doesn't need to read the rest of her to know how much emotion she's keeping in check. When she finishes this round, he pulls her hand up to his face and touches it to his lips, giving it a kiss. He stops just shy of admitting that she's right.

Claire Temple has posed:
At his silence, Claire doesn't continue. She's said her piece and hours after watching someone she cares for very much nearly die, it's hard to keep up the anger. She exhales ever so quietly, like saying those things lifted something she'd been holding for weeks. They probably did. His kissing her hand gets a look, though her eyes have gone more distant again. Building those walls back up, now that she knows he's going to survive.

She stands slowly then and leans over, pressing a single, long kiss to his forehead. Then she's trying to let go of him. Of hand and shoulder. To fully pull back. Her vigil is done. "I'm... glad you're going to be okay. I wish it'd teach you a damn thing. Maybe... think about what I said before. Think about what nights are worth it. Especially now." She's going to head for the door unless he stops her. She'd like to be out of his room before tears come again.

Daredevil has posed:
Matthew Murdock is a fool. Very few people truly know him, but anyone who does would likely agree. He knows it about himself. When the woman that he couldn't deny that he genuinely loves pulls back and puts her wall back up, he just lies there. Not because he wants to. Because he has to. He knows himself too well and no matter how much he wishes he could slow down, he knows that's not going to happen.

When she turns to go, he wants to tear the sheet off the bed, rip the tubes from his body and take her into his arms. He doesn't. He watches her leave and he lets his heart break. Again. When she leaves his room and the door finally clasps shut, he whispers to himself, "I love you."

Claire Temple has posed:
Just outside his door, as it clicks closed, Claire pauses. She hovers on the edge of indecision, wondering if she's being too harsh. The the thought of the pools of blood in her apartment, the mess she has to clean. The exhaustion just waiting up, wondering if he was even going to live? Everything from a month ago? She stands there, oblivious to the words hanging in the room behind her and, with one more breath, pushes forward to leave the hospital. "...See you tomorrow, Sandra. I'll be back for shift." She mutters to one of the nurses, ignoring the questions at her back, as she disappears through the sliding doors.