Chapter Text
“Help.” Your weak voice muttered. “Daredevil. Help me. Help.”
Your hand clutched your left side. Even though the freezing wind pierced your body through the coat, your hand was warm from the dripping blood. A dark trail followed your slow walk.
“Daredevil!” You said louder, now stumbling into some alley. You were afraid to shout, because the Russian mob could find you again. You hoped that the extraordinary hearing of Matt would pick up on your weak cries for help.
He is your only hope.
“Daredevil. Help me. Please.” You groaned out of agony and stopped for a moment, leaning on a rough brick wall. “Matthew. Matt!”
You slid down the wall, feeling lightheaded. Everything felt like a bad dream you will soon wake up from. Your breathing became slower and more shallow. Your eyelids fluttered a few times and you mustered up a “Matty…”. You blinked several times and your bloody hand dropped down to the ground. You found it harder and harder to stay awake, but after a minute or so, you saw a dark figure walking towards you.
“Matt… Help me…”
Your consciousness slowly slipped away and your head tilted to the side.
●・○・●・○・●
Your consciousness slowly returned. You had a headache. No, not only a headache. More so, a body ache. Your eyes did not want to open at all. You felt some kind of wet cloth brushing against your side and your mouth let out a little sigh. Other senses slowly came back to you. It smelled like sap. You were laying on a sofa, at least you judged so from the rough fabric beneath your neck.
Footsteps walked away, so you called out.
“Matty…”
The footsteps stopped for a moment but walked away anyway. You tried moving your hand, which felt weak and very uncooperative. You sluggishly dragged it across your body and up on your head.
Your eyes opened and you furrowed your eyebrows. A dirty lamp shone above you, but the room was quite dark. You groaned and looked around.
There were some kind of bars, or perhaps windows without the glass separating the rooms. There were many computers, cameras and other electrical circuitry in the other area. It was eerily quiet.
This is definitely not Matt’s place. Shit shit shit.
You stood up, clutching your side and immediately regretted it. You felt like you would pass out. You gasped and walked around as fast as you could. You managed to get to some van that was standing nearby when a hand grabbed your shoulder.
“Hold your horses.”
You turned around and tried to hit the man, but he grabbed your hand midway, unfazed. His buzzed head, dark eyes, bumpy nose and pressed lips sent an image through your mind and a shiver throughout your spine.
The Punisher.
“Please, I have not done anything wrong.” You stepped back and hit your back on the car. “Please, I don’t know what you want from me, I don’t want-”
“Move your ass back to the couch.” He answered and put your hand on his shoulder.
You got back to the couch and dropped back down.
“I leave for a moment and you go running off.” He said, looking through a tin can meant for cookies. His hand pulled out some gauze and medical tape and he spoke. “I saw you on the brink of death laying in some alley, couldn’t let myself walk away.”
Frank probably would have died out of guilt if he let another innocent woman die.
You stayed silent, afraid to say anything else to the Punisher. You did your best to stay quiet as a long curved needle expertly dove between the two parts of your flesh divided by the stab. It hurt like hell, but you did not want to take chances with angering the man who tortured and shot up 4 gangs that trafficked drugs. Frank noticed that your yelps of pain remained trapped in your lungs, but didn’t say anything.
When finished, his fingers gently glued the piece of gauze to your skin, covering the knife stab. You quietly asked. “Are you going to kill me?”
He lifted his eyes and the corners of his lips twitched.
“Well if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t ‘ave carried you such a long ass way and for sure I wouldn’t be stitching your sorry ass up. Just sounds like a waste of energy and resources in that case, y’know?”
That did calm the tremble in your knees just a little bit, but it was still unnerving to watch a man who blew up a corrupted DA’s house to bits calmly make a sandwich in the kitchen.
“Are you hungry?” He asked.
“No, erm, no thanks.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. You lost a lot of blood.”
You sat there, still unsure what to do. You felt anxious just sitting there, but you couldn’t run away. Even if you didn’t have a massive wound on your left side, your chances of escaping a man like him were slim. A thought zapped your mind.
Was Matt searching for you? Did he hear your cries for help?
“Here. Hopefully you like ham.” He placed a plate with a sandwich on the table you were next to. He sat down as you carefully took the sandwich into your hands. The man watched you for a little while, but soon grabbed a book and began reading “Frankenstein”.
You finished the sandwich and lightly shuddered. Frank did not move his eyes from his page, perhaps not even noticing. Your eyes, now a bit calmer, examined the room. It was a dark intimidating basement, something you would have probably imagined if asked to describe a place where the Punisher lived. Various guns were mounted on the wall. Your eyes lingered on a pink rifle, but you decided not to question it. The computers were flashing various lines of code. You briefly looked at the man, relaxed on the couch, his dark eyes still glued on the page. You returned your gaze back to your lap and fiddled with your fingers.
“Y’ called for red.” - Frank closed the book and looked at you. “You another one of his ideology victims?”
“I just…” You looked for words, unable to decipher if Frank knew that you called for Matt, not the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. You were afraid to not say anything too revealing, just in case.
“ ‘s fine, keep your secrets. Rest. Your face is white as paper.” The man stood up and grabbed a blanket from one of the beds near him. You laid down and he handed you the blanket.
The blanket was thin, but very soft and in your opinion, comforting. The man walked to some other room and you whispered quietly “Matty, I’m here” before closing your eyes.
The blanket smelled like spearmint and something else, something powerful, like a powerful explosion, a boom of a smell, but your body soon got used to it and gave in. Your anxious mind lingered for a second, trying to decode the Punisher. The way he gently sewed up your side, made you food and took care of you was vastly different from the violent and often sadistic recordings on the news.
You thought about it. You thought.
●・○・●・○・●
Two voices woke you up. Some voice was filling up your entire eardrums, explaining something about a revealed identity. It was difficult to catch the individual words. Frank’s hoarse voice was clear as crystal though.
“She is hurt. And I will take care of her. End of discussion.”
There was a groan and an angry squeak of a computer chair. You opened your eyes and sat up, your heart beating unsteady.
Can’t be good.
Frank was looking through the drawer on the other side of the room you were in. You were sweating a little bit, so you moved the blanket to the side. The pain on your side was dull now, more like an annoying toothache, unlike the sharp pain previously. Sometimes during your sleep you started gasping for air so loudly, that Frank came over to you several times to make sure these weren’t your dying breaths.
“Hi.” Your voice was weak, but a little bit stronger than previously. Frank turned his head towards you with a stern expression, but his face softened when he saw the spark of fear in your eyes. He nodded.
“You’re holdin’ up nice for a gal who was just stabbed in the side. The pain okay?”
“It’s fine.”
He grabbed the medical supply box and motioned for you to lay down. You laid down and patiently waited, as he cleaned the wound again and glued a new gauze on it.
“No infection. Lookin’ good.”
“Does that mean I can go home now?” You asked, hoping to hear a yes, so you-
“No!” A voice from the computers answered. The man turned with his chair. The man had messy curly hair and wore a shirt with holes. His sweatpants were spotted with stains. “See, Frank, this is what I was talking about, you make up all this shit about being safe and you start bringing hurt people from the street. We aren’t a fucking red cross for you to-”
“Can you shut the fuck up for five seconds Lieberman? Noone cares if anyone sees your goddamn face, I could find 10 homeless men just like you in half an hour!” Frank stood up and roughly placed the medical box back down.
“Is your savior complex acting up again Frank? Just because your family-”
“SHUT UP!”
This was the Punisher. He yelled and punched the wall, leaving a hole. Frank turned to Lieberman. The man stood tall, his fists by his sides, face red, veins visible and eyes dark. These were the eyes that looked at the security camera after murdering the entire gang of the Mexicans. He stepped forward towards Lieberman and you sat up, scanning nearby exits just in case Frank went berserk. You made a mental note to never mention the topic of family next to this man, if you ever met him again.
Lieberman however, didn’t mind. He turned back to the computer, still fuming. Those bony fingers of his jumped across the keyboard, typing fast. Frank sighed and looked at you. He nodded.
“Sure. You can leave.”
You stood up, relieved. You could not wait to get the bloody clothes off of your body. For a moment you wondered where your jacket went, but right now, you didn’t care about a damn jacket.
“Get in the car. Slowly. Don’t tear any stitches.”
You did your best not to tear any stitches. It felt weird to walk and you used the wall, but you got to the van, standing nearby. Frank opened the door and got in the car himself. As he pulled out of the garage, he nodded, looking at the road.
“Red will take care of you, ’m sure. Don’t move much for a week or so.”
You nodded and looked at him.
“Thank you. Almost died out there.”
“Don’t mention it.” He took a turn and shrugged.
The ride felt so strange. It wasn’t long and it wasn’t as anxious as you thought it would be. It felt like a roadtrip with an old friend. The morning sun jumped from wave to wave under the bridge you were riding on.
Frank let you out of the car about half a block away from your house. You were a little concerned about how he knew where you lived, but you threw that thought away. Come on, he is the fucking Punisher, of course he knows where you live. You nodded and stepped out. The van drove off and you noticed it didn’t have a license plate.
You walked to your door and squatted down to grab the keys under the mat. You always kept an extra pair. They weren’t there.
Shit, are the Russians here?
You carefully opened the door and looked around. Matt stood in the middle of your apartment. He froze for a second, trying to figure out if his senses weren’t lying to him. You let out a sigh of relief and smiled.
“Hi.”
“Jesus Christ.” He muttered and walked up to you, hugging you tightly. His thumb caressed your back slightly. “Are you hurt? How are you?”
“I’m…Fine. A little wounded, but I’m fine.”
“Where were you?” He stepped back, his hand lingering on your shoulder.
“I…Would you mind if I made a cup of cocoa first?”
●・○・●・○・●
You slowly poured some milk into your cup of cocoa. Matt sat on a chair by the window. He turned his head towards the window, listening.
Frank put the scope down. You were safe. You were with Red. Frank climbed down the ladder on the side of the building, his face stern. He told himself that his job was done and he should go back to Lieberman to go look for agent Orange, but deep inside, he just didn’t want to remain here. The sight of you hugging Matt and chatting with joy while you made your cocoa was so vastly different from the scared, anxious and silent self you were when you saw him. Perhaps he was just selfish. He was a horrifying monster after all. To Frank, now he was everything he once hated.
A man like him did not deserve love anymore.
He walked to the van, kicking a trash bin on the way.
What did he even expect?
●・○・●・○・●
As the cup of hot cocoa depleted, you relaxed more and more. Matt’s hand remained on your back and you sat with your head on his shoulder. You told him about how the Russians jumped you while walking back from the grocery store and how the Punisher saved you. You could feel the guilt pouring out of Matt’s clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. He listened and talked about being out of town on that specific day and later breaking into your apartment, trying to get any kind of clues of where you were. You found it kind of heartwarming, actually.
When you were done with your drink, he took a careful look at your wound and advised you to rest. You almost argued with him to death that you did not want to sleep for an entire day again or get your expensive bed bloody if the stitches burst. In the end he won and after the most stressful shower in your life, carefully moving not to rip the stitches, you laid in the bed with your pajamas on. Matt laid next to you for half an hour to provide comfort, but soon had to leave to go work on a case. The apartment remained silent again.
You closed your eyes and cuddled up to the pillow more. It felt like pure heaven laying in your bed, protected by the walls of your apartment. The pillow was soaked in that signature Matt Murdock scent, even if he laid there briefly. It felt as if he was still there, and that made you feel safer. You considered Matt as a friend, but you understood why you would see so many women hanging around him when you would go to Josie’s with him, Foggy and Karen.
You fell asleep quickly, perhaps because of the hot cocoa, perhaps because of Matt’s hugs and comforting words, or maybe because you finally felt safe and far away from danger, far away from the Punisher. The meeting with Frank faded to a distant thought, something that would surely never happen again.
Or so you thought.