cuts ✧ matt.murdock

hydrogen peroxide > stains

I awoke to silence. I looked side to side, but no one was there. I had survived Murdock's 'procedure,' but the after effects were not fun.

I tried to sit up, but I felt a wave of nausea hit me. A side effect of concussion. I looked into the kitchen and saw Claire facing the opposite direction. It looked like Murdock had left, and the sun was setting, so he was probably out hitting people in the face.

I grimaced as I slid out of the bed. My feet hit the cold floor, as I sat myself up on the edge of the mattress as quietly as I could. I looked down at my chest and saw bandages wrapped rightly around. Blood was already seeping through, but I didn't pay much attention to it. I would be fine pretty soon.

"Sorry," I called over to Claire, who quickly turned around.

"You're up." She muttered as she walked over to me. "Lay back down." She demanded in a stern voice as I slightly stretched.

"I've done too much of that." I groaned as she leaned on the wall across from me.

"You two are so stubborn." She crossed her head as I started to wince at my all too sudden movements.

"I'm sure we are..."

"Sorry about what?" She asked, referring to my previous comment.

"That he dragged you into this."

"I can handle myself..." She explained, but I raised my eyebrow, motioning to her cuts and bruises. "Mostly. But you two got beat up by the Russians too."

"Comes with the job." I shrugged.

"No, it doesn't. You're a cop, right?" I nodded as she continued. "Torturing, and going after Russians with whatever powers you have, isn't part of your job. This is something you want to do, whether you want to admit it or not."

I didn't reply, rather shot back a question of my own. "Where did he go?"

"Said some dirty detective shot a Russian. Something to do with a man called Fisk...?"

"Did this detective have a name?"

"No, but he said he worked with you."

It was either Blake or Hoffman. Neither was good. "You said they shot someone?"

"Yeah, Mike was at the precinct when it happened. He said he was going to deal with him."

"I'm sure he will..." I muttered as I got up, Claire rushing to my side as I did. I shrugged off her help as I made my way out of the bedroom. "I need to get out of these bloody clothes. He have a shower around here?"

"This way."

--

I had unwrapped the bandages and let my clothes slip off. The water had been running, so there was steam filling the room. The mirror had fogged up, but I had tried to avoid my reflection before it did so. I didn't need to see whatever would look at me back.

I stepped into the shower and immediately started scrubbing. I was in pain, but I hated when I was covered in blood. I did not want a tinge of red anywhere. I watched as the crimson stained water spun down the drain.

My ribs were still broken, and a bruise was beginning to form. I had bruises in many more places, but they were minuscule and irrelevant compared to what had happened to my lung. I was gonna punch Murdock when he got back, but I was glad that he was able to do whatever he did to stop me from dying.

As I contemplated whether or not to do anything with my hair, I realized just what I had gotten myself into. I had basically teamed up with a bloody vigilante. If anyone at the precinct ever found out, I would lose my job. If old enemies of mine found out, they would come for me. I was trying to stay under the radar, but my previous decisions had led to me disregarding my number one principle.