Daredevil Prompt Post #11

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[Fill] Fisk Pities Matt (25/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Everything was like trying to hold water. There were sounds and smells – a machine being turned on, the forever lingering smell of antiseptic trying to cover up hints of something worse, the feeling of cotton on his skin – but he couldn’t put them all together. His mind was slow and hazy and his senses swung wildly out of control from one direction to the next, picking up smells from the food vendor on the street who really needed to change his grease trap, to Matt’s own heartbeat just being way too loud, to the itchiness of medical tape on his forearm.

A couple things came up. The smell of Foggy’s awful aftershave, not fresh but old, like it had been a while, and some of it was washed off in the sink. Matt’s own fingers fiddling with the cotton gown, which was awful, but at least he was lying on silk sheets. His feet were cold, but he didn’t know how to address that.

His side was sore. It ached a little, like something prickly gently brushing up against him, threatening deeper wounds about but never committing. It was bandaged. The bandage itched but Foggy stopped him from touching it again and Matt realized this was again and that he might not be remembering things.

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy said. “I told her no more Demerol. She said you might change your mind when it wears off. Which should be – “ The clink of a new watch, a more expensive one, not fake gold – “ – soon.”

Matt nodded. He had no idea why he was nodding. He retreated from touch and felt his chest from the inside, following his breath, and he felt the familiar sensation of stitches holding his flesh where it didn’t want to be. They made him feel like someone had tied up rubber bands around his skin, but from the inside out.

“Gross, Matt.”

Oh. He must have said some of that. He should really be keeping better track of what he was doing. He shut his mouth and stretched his senses out, and got further this time. Hospital. Yes. But the room was very large and remarkably empty, and the floor was quieter than a normal hospital had any business being. In all the time it took him to do this, the nurse came over and checked the machines, and took his blood pressure, and said a few things to him that he didn’t quite get but still managed to respond to.

“Even your nurses are hot,” Foggy said, and Matt realized she must have left. “I just get cranky old ones. But I bet you already knew that.”

“I can’t focus,” he admitted.

Foggy’s voice was far softer and more sympathetic when he answered, “Yeah, but you can say that, which is better than we were half an hour ago.”

He didn’t remember that. He didn’t remember talking to Foggy, or when Foggy had come. “Why are you here?”

“Because you were shot,” Foggy said. “And I’m still your medical proxy. And here I thought you were changing it to Fisk.”

“Shuddup,” Matt said, embarrassed that his speech was so slurred. “Why – I was shot?”

“Yes. At the gallery. And then you broke the guy’s arm. Like, it almost came right off. Or that’s what the EMT said. He sounded impressed,” Foggy explained. “You know what’s not cool? Getting a call from Wilson Fisk on my cell phone. I never realized how weird his voice is.”

“Sorry.”

“I want to say that you go out looking for danger, but it sounds like you didn’t this time.”

Matt shook his head as an affirmation. “So Fisk just called you?”

“Yeah. Because you were super shot and lost a ton of blood,” Foggy said. “I didn’t see him in person, but there were a bunch of guys around you when I got here. His guys. That’s why you’re on the VIP floor. And you must have told him something, because he sent you sheets.”

“Didn’t,” he said. He knew Fisk was just observant. “Vanessa?”

“She’s fine. Got a call from her this morning – also weird. She sounded really concerned, said it would be better if I was here. It would be easier on you.”

“The shooter.”

“Hoffman’s brother. He blames everything on Fisk but he’s too difficult to get to. The police have him. Hopefully he’s not in the same hospital, but after you nearly took a limb off, he definitely is in the hospital.”

That made sense. “How long have I been out?”

“About fourteen hours.” And Foggy smelled it. “You lost like, half your blood, Matt.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“I will choose to believe that. That’s how nice a guy I am.” Foggy checked his phone. “Karen wants to see you. Not right away, obviously. But she does. What should I tell her?”

So Foggy still knew things were touchy with Karen. Matt didn’t have to wonder how he guessed that. “It’s fine.”

“She was really worried about you. We both were.” Foggy certainly wasn’t lying about that. He sounded tired. Matt suspected he’d been by his side the whole fourteen hours. “I know you don’t like hospitals, but do us a favor and follow the doctor’s orders, all right? You’re not signing out without a second party’s permission.”

“Okay.” He wanted Foggy to rest. His concern was painful to hear. “You can go. I’m okay.”

“Ha ha. Good one, Murdock,” Foggy said, and stayed through the doctor’s visit and dinner. The bullet had torn a lot of muscle and they’d had to pull it out of bone via surgery, but he would heal. If he followed a proper physical therapy regime, he would be good as new. Foggy paced and really held back making any snarky comments until the doctor was gone and Matt had eaten his applesauce. By then, the pain was the only thing keeping Matt awake, but despite the nurse’s correct guess about that, he refused any further narcotics and barely agreed to Advil. Foggy left him with the promise to stop by again in the morning on his way to work and drop off an iPad.

Sleep eventually overwhelmed him. Exhaustion had a lot to do with that. The nurse came every four hours to check his vitals and take his blood pressure, so he happened to be up when Foggy came by. Matt was a little cranky from dealing with the pain on his side, and perhaps could have been a bit more polite, but Foggy took him as he was, and said he would be back after work.

Other than trying, with the nurse’s help, to walk to the door and back, Matt more or less did nothing in the morning, and Vanessa came by at lunch. She ran her hands though his hair and he thought she still smelled of blood, but that was probably just his IV. He knew that she’d recently scrubbed her hands with disinfectant, that her heart (and posture) had sunk upon seeing him, and that her nails needed redoing. But otherwise she seemed to be in good health.

“How are you?” were the first words spoken between them, and by Matt.

“You’re too good for this world, Matthew,” Vanessa said, with a more subdued version of her usual charm. “Wilson sends his regards. He still thinks he’ll startle you.”

“He didn’t destroy the whole apartment, did he? When he heard? I hope you still have some art left.”

Vanessa laughed. “Two of my gallery pieces are sufficiently bloodied to be collector’s items. I won’t advertise them that way, but certainly, some ghoulish person will ask. Like that steakhouse that people go to because there was a mob hit there decades ago.”

“It’s Spark’s.” Landman and Zack would sometimes take people there. But not their interns, of course. Steaks were $75. “You know your local history.”

“I know where men take women to impress them,” she said. “Though you have really outdone yourself this time.”

He was too tired for flirting. “That guy – don’t let Fisk kill him.”
Vanessa had no pretensions about why he was asking. “I suspect he understands your stance on the issue. And he is not exactly a master assassin.”

Matt grumbled but said nothing. Vanessa added, “He was aiming for me, Matthew.”

“Trust me, I know.” That came off a little harshly than he intended and he flinched. “You knew what you were getting into with Fisk. He’s dangerous.”

“And you’re not?” She caught him as he tried to sit up properly, a painful operation all around. He hated talking to people while lying down. “Granted I didn’t expect it to be this often, but we had you.”

“I’m not going to tell you to leave him to protect yourself,” he said, still grappling with the handrail, but he couldn’t quite get his legs over the side of the bed like he wanted to. “But only because I know you’re not going to listen to me.”

“If I told you to stop taking risks with yourself, would you do it?” Her hand trailed down his side, narrowly avoiding the actual wound.

She deserved the truth, so he gave it to her. “No.”

“We all have to live with our choices.” She kissed him on the forehead. “Get some rest. If Wilson sees me worrying any more about you, you’ll have yourself to look for.”

Matt didn’t doubt it.

***************************

Fisk came by the next day. Matt heard him in the elevator. That large form, flanked by two bulky guys, could only be one person. He always smelled clean and expensive. He brought flowers; his bodyguard set them down to Matt’s side. Fisk seemed unsure of his own skin in the hospital setting, or maybe it was just the overall oddness of the situation.

“I have a ... different sort of proposal for you,” Fisk said. “One that you might – like better.”

“It’s not a bodyguarding job, is it?”

“No. Though you do seem to excel in that area,” Fisk admitted. “What you did for us – we can never repay you for that. So I thought that your actions at the gallery might ... settle our accounts.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“I can’t promise anything going forward, if we were unfortunate to run into each other under ... awkward circumstances,” Fisk said. “But that wouldn’t extend into the past. Or to your associates.”

“Even Karen.”

“She’s a reporter. I don’t decide what she writes. Neither do you.” But Fisk relented quickly. “But I can take it into consideration.”

The good thing to do was think on it, but there was nothing really to think on. “Offer accepted.”

He stuck his hand out and they shook on it. It was probably better that they didn’t continue to live together, because they might kill each other. No, they would definitely kill each other.

“For what it’s worth, I know I owe you a lot,” Matt said.

Fisk shifted awkwardly. “Not everything is seen in terms of payment. But do let us take you out to dinner sometime.”