Open

[blindninja]

» WHO? Matt Murdock & OPEN
» WHEN? Now
» WHERE? Deck 6 => 6.27 => Deck 5
» WHAT? Arrival
» WARNINGS? TBC

Arrival Hall (CLOSED to Frank Castle)
It's cold.

He's not where he was before. He knows that much. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets his senses go, scanning his surroundings like an uncalibrated radar. Metal. Lots of metal, clanging, banging. But everything is wrong. Lighter, like things are floating even when they're not. People are talking. Laughing, maybe. But distant, like the next apartment building over, or somewhere down the next block. The fine hairs on his arms and on the back of his neck stand with the low buzz-hum of the vessel, creaking, engine churning like an old ship, suspended in space.

It's like a hangover, except. He feels heavy even though he's light. Shackles on his feet. His head hurts. Everything hurts. And God, what is that noise?

Less of a waking up, more of regaining consciousness as Matt rolls over with a pained cry and a grimace.

His hand crawls over to the smartwatch, trying to mute the beeping and humming and screeching grating against his ears. What day is it? What time? What happened? He clutches the device with one hand and runs the other hand down his body. Daredevil's gone. Only Matthew. A jumpsuit covering the bandages. Stitches. Blood. No pearly gates, no apostles. No questions to answer about how he's lived his life, whether he's lived it well, whether he's repentant. Paid enough of a price. Just a jumpsuit... and a pair of boots?

"...lectra." Talking feels like rousing up a sandstorm in his throat. He groans and struggles to his feet, using energy he doesn't have to drive him forward. Out. Just the one thing on his mind.

I have to save her.

He gets blood on his palm as he presses his hand over a wet bandage, stitches having been ripped as he sluggishly stumbles deliriously down the corridor. His boots clunk along at an uneven, unsteady pace. Everything is too loud. Too cold. Too heavy. There's blood on the wall where he braced himself against it. And then there's a door. Everything flickers behind his closed eyelids. Black, red, black, red, black, black, black...

Room 6.27. Where everything's a little quieter. And he can just focus. Keep the red lights on in the dark.

6.27. Matthew. Chapter Six. Verse Twenty-Seven. 'Can any one of you, by worrying, add a single hour to your life?'

Hn. That's funny. The chuckle bubbles to the surface. For all the pain He's inflicted, God still has a decent sense of humour.


Departure Lounge (OTA)
He doesn't take kindly to being dumped in the med bay, but there's not much of a fight he can put up against Frank Castle in his current state. He's not sure how long he's been resting there, but when he's well enough to orientate himself again, he's not staying in the med bay. The machines are noisy. He has questions. He's scared.

Matt makes it two steps out of the med bay before space sickness kicks in. The sheer wrongness of the gravitational pull throws him off, throws everything around him off. He sinks down to his knees and clutches his head, curling up against the wall. He looks pale, like he's about to throw up.

Comments

[blindninja]

Matt feels a little bad for letting that... synthetic stuff go to waste, given that this seems like the kind of place that'd be strapped for resources unless they stop off at places in regular intervals to get restocked. But clearly not bad enough to sit back down and force himself through that meal.

He'd always pictured Frank as painfully alone, which is partly why he didn't think he'd be teaming up with people, making friends. Maybe trying to fly solo isn't going to work in a place like this. He doesn't yet know enough about the troubles they're facing here to figure that much out yet. They're kind of the same, really, as much as Matthew would hate to admit it. They're lonely people. Matt has friends but he also thinks of them as people he has to protect, dreams he has to preserve. Even Frank Castle is fairly high on the list of people he wants to save, whether Frank himself wants to be saved or not.

This is a good thing, regardless. Lonely people making friends. If the circumstances were any better he'd be happy for Frank.

In the end, for better or worse Matt doesn't have to say anything awkward when Frank gets back to him.

"If you take me back there I will throw you into the elevator shaft."

[oorah]

Frank is lonely, even surrounded by friends, including Karen Page who he'd tried again and again to distance himself from here to no avail. They all need one another, and they're going to need Matt too. It's okay that he's reliant on Frank right now even if it isn't okay with him. He'll get the fuck over it because it's about survival. That's what Frank is best at: seeing all the angles and knowing the best approach instantly. The best tactic for the situation, and the best people to carry them out. Before he was the Punisher he'd been a team leader and a father. Maybe onboard Reverie Terminal, he's a little of both.

He's glad they're back to sniping, a bemused sniff countering the other man's threat. Frank pats him on the shoulder and nods before nudging him towards the exit. "Deck 6 it is." Once they're in the elevator, Frank allows Matt the chance to engage his own boots himself, not unlike training his dog in so many ways. He watches carefully for the expected response and when it doesn't come there will be gentle corrections, but never force. He slaps the '6' and the close door button and turns on his own boots, waiting patiently with his hands clasped in front of him.

Once they reach the deck they're both now apparently residents of, he glances at the blood that's no longer there. He'd done his best to clean up, though he's sure Matt will be able to smell it still. He can almost convince himself he can, after all, and the other man has much keener senses than he does.

"It's unlocked now, but you can lock and unlock the door with your communicator. I think I can rig the keypad to take a voice entry so pick a four digit code you can remember in case you lose your watch." He's expecting Matt to ditch it often, honestly. "There's a terminal inside your room and you can find them throughout the station if you need to get a hold of anyone without it, too." But that's not an excuse to ditch it on purpose!!!

The room has also been cleaned in the time Matt's been in medbay: clean sheets and a meticulously made bed awaiting him.

"Here," he offers softly, handing the other man the glasses he'd found and also cleaned up from where they'd been sitting on the bedside table. Then he dumps the protein bars on its surface from his pockets instead. "Water from the tap is safe. Clean clothes in the dresser." Yep, Dad alert (yikes.)

[blindninja]

He's getting used to this walk to the elevator, the artificial spin that keeps them grounded. The weight of his boots as he starts filtering the noise they make out. If it wasn't for the space sickness and the other no-longer-debilitating injuries, this could actually be a positive, almost fun experience, this partial weightlessness. But when does Matt ever enjoy himself doing anything? He tends to suck the fun out of the situation.

He stumbles on his way into the elevator but he rights himself, turning his head partially over his shoulder as he tries to rock on his feet and engage his boots. "Just like trauma recovery," he mutters softly. He's not talking to Frank in particular, it was just an observation. Baby steps. Disorientation. Unfamiliarity. Fear. He's not used to it, but he's been here before. The parallels are there between this and recovering from his injuries in the accident, learning how to use a cane, how to read braille. Hurting himself in the dark walking into things, dropping things, telling dollar bills and clothes apart. Frustrating, and slow, but eventually liberating.

Matt makes his way to his room. He's not sure how it ended up as his room but since he's bled all over it he'd feel bad moving into anywhere else and making someone else stay here. He can get there just by the smell of cleaning liquid smothering the scent of his own blood, but he places his hand on the doorframe just in case.

Frank knows him well. He won't be keeping his watch on until he realises he needs it and he's knee deep in trouble. Even with audio functions, this thing that keeps talking at him would sooner or later grate on his nerves. Matt tends to isolate himself especially when he thinks he can't even get around without assistance anyway. He's not going to be talking aloud at what seems like blank screens to him while everyone in the background can hear him.

"Do you always nag this much?" Matt quips when he slides his shades on, concealing the vulnerability and uncertainty in his eyes.

[oorah]

Trauma recovery. It's still on his mind moments later though he'd said nothing to the words. Matt isn't wrong, after all. And it's a good lead-in to what Frank has to tell him next, something that feels him with apprehension. Not because he wants Matt's sympathy or understanding, afraid he won't get even basic validation - but what if he doesn't even believe him? He knows he can't let it stop him from warning Matt, especially Matt, who's already vulnerable in so many ways here.

"You'd know that already if you ever listened." No, seriously, how are you only now noticing the Dad vibes?? Something clicks when Matt puts on the shades, a mask of sorts even if they aren't devil horns by a longshot. Still, the familiarity helps him breach the subject he's been putting off. "Two weeks ago... something happened to me, Red." This clearly isn't a personal anecdote for entertainment value, it's a PSA. This happened to me and it could happen to you, too.

[blindninja]

There's a joke on the tip of his tongue. One of those 'yeah, it's called a midlife crisis' kind of benign jokes. Except Frank seems to be in a fairly serious mood. Matt crosses his arms and leans back slowly to perch against the corner of the bedframe.

"Do you want to sit and talk about it?" They might not get along but if this is a confession, Matthew's door is always open.

[oorah]

Frank nods even if Matt can't see it, denting the edge of the man's bed with his bulk. He needs a minute to push this out, knowing he'll easily sense the tension in him.

"Things happen to people here. So far... so far they're always temporary." But that could change at any time, clearly. Frank starts by talking about others because it's never easy to talk about himself, and especially not to Matt. "My friend Alex, he... he had all the water squeezed out of him like. I think he died, I'm not sure, but then he came right back and-- a girl drowned. She came back too, but blind. A Marine I know, taller and bigger than me, she. She wasted away to nothing, then filled back out again like it never happened, and. I."

It's hard, it is, but he has to just say it. Matt's right, this is all serious. He wishes it weren't, that this was all an elaborate prank. But he'd seen it all with his own eyes. Matt would just have to trust his, he supposes, something that doesn't come easy for him either.

"I lost my hearing. Then my sense of touch... It only came back a few days ago." In the most excruciating way possible, he doesn't say. Maybe he's said enough, really. "Sorry to dump this on you, but if you're next--" He needed to know anyway, Frank is just grasping at straws to blame himself.

[blindninja]

'Things' isn't very specific, but Matt rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck as he listens. He's already been told that people just sort of... die and come back, feeling ill. He's still processing that. Nevermind that both he and Elektra somehow made it out of Midland Circle alive, he probably won't believe it until he senses someone die right in front of him and come back a little differently. But to hear Frank talk about people dying like this is definitely something else.

He listens to that heartbeat pounding away in Frank's ribcage. It's upsetting, unsettling for him to talk about this. No trigger finger or shaking leg really necessary to convey that.

Matt sighs and scratches his forehead, clearing his throat before he speaks. He's got words of reassurance. Words of comfort. Questions - a whole lot of questions that just seem to multiply for every minute he spends here. But first and foremost it's words of concern.

"Yeah. Are you okay now?"

[oorah]

Frank doesn't want or need any of that. Not from anyone, but least of all from Matt. He just needs him to listen, something he finally seems to be doing. It was easier when they were fighting, he realizes then, looking up at the other man without guarding his expression. Not that Frank ever does, fear and panic plain for him to not see. But he knows he can sense it all, that he doesn't have to explain. Is he okay? The concern touches him in a place he'd thought long broken, pushing out a thready breath as he considers how to answer that. He's always been truthful with Matt, often to his own detriment, but it isn't that hanging him up now.

"Physically," he manages with a nod, turning and looking back down at his lap, his mag-boots. He can feel his hands sweat as he wipes them on his jumpsuit pants and shakes his head. "Sure. We're all... fine. I'm really glad you missed the music."

That would have been Hell for someone as sensitive as Matt and the thought makes his heart squeeze uncomfortably. As awful as he feels right now, though? He's just so grateful that he can feel it at all.

"You've seen me at my lowest, Red. You know what that looks like. Here - here I've been lower."

[blindninja]

The music? What Matt's envisioning is probably not what Frank is referring to judging from his body language. 'Fine' doesn't sound like fine, either. But then Matt deploys 'fine' in the same way, so he's not going to pick that in front while Frank seems to be in a mood.

Matt shuffles in a little closer and sits next to Frank on the bed, moving slowly. He hunches over with his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands together and resting his chin on his thumbs. He thinks he's starting to get an idea of what happens around these parts. It's troubling. But there's also little they can do about it, and he's no stranger to being in a situation where very little is in his control.

"Shitty things happen, Frank. To everybody. You can't stop everything or save everyone." For every decision Daredevil makes to intervene in one corner of Hell's Kitchen, someone gets hurt on the other side of the neighbourhood. And he can hear it, and he knows it, and there's nothing he can do about it. He's learning to make his peace with that, to let that guilt roll off his shoulders because dwelling on all the people he couldn't save doesn't lead down any good paths. Frank maybe ought to do the same.

"These are things you can't control. You just have to help whoever you can and keep going. It's not about being a marine or being a hero. It's just. What we do."

[oorah]

His whole being wants to rail against what Matt is saying, and not just because Matt's the one saying it. He takes a bizarre level of comfort from the man sitting close to him. If it were anyone else on board he'd put an easy hand on their back, maybe, or touch at Matt's arm. But because he's him, Frank keeps his hands to himself, doing his level best not to spiral out.

"You know I really hate it when you're right," he grumbles roughly without any of the heat he might usually carry into their interactions. Matt is right though. Not being able to save everyone, or even himself on occasion, isn't a reason to give up. He'd become complacent of late, he has to find a way to put his skills to use. That is, outside of dadding everyone. That's not going anywhere.

Slowly, he forces himself up, knowing he should let the man get settled on his own. On his way up, he pats the other man's knee like your dad does after you have a real chat. Sorry, he's actually 70 on the inside.

"You remember how to find me?" Not like he thinks it'll be hard for him, but just to check. Again #justdadthings.

[blindninja]

"Just so happens I'm always right," Matt jokes back. If Frank wants Matt to feel sorry for him about what's happened to him, he's barking up the wrong tree. Also it would have helped if he hadn't shot Matt in the head and temporarily knocked his hearing out too. But losing the senses you've come to rely on all your life, you just have to deal with it and bounce back as best you can. Pity won't help. What Matt can do is talk about feeling at fault, blame, guilt, shame. Those are feelings he's intimately familiar with, but more importantly those are things you can actually do something about.

"Yeah." He probably won't come bother Frank. But they're on a small lifeboat in some unknown corner of the universe where terrible things keep happening apparently, so he won't be a stranger for long. "Take care of yourself, Frank."

[oorah]

He tips his head to the side like he's considering it, but then he just grunts in acknowledgment. That means he won't be hearing from Matt for a while, he's guessing. "You too, Red." And then he's (reluctantly) gone.