bakerstreet | ❝My Rescuer❞

❝My Rescuer❞

❝My Rescuer❞ Shipping Meme

There is no possible way the two of you could have gotten off on better footing. One of you saved the other. You were complete strangers - or just as good as - yet someone put aside that fact and swooped in when they saw trouble like a guardian angel, whether because of their own moral reasoning or just being at the right place at the right time. The one who was saved? Well, they can't help but be grateful to their rescuer...and, perhaps, all that high octane emotion will lead to more. After all, you've never felt so much towards one person.

Will you be able to finally have peace alongside this person, or is all really as it seems?

How to Play

Comment with your character, preferences, and etc. Is your character more likely to rescue, be rescued, or either?
Reply to others.
RNG for your prompt and thread!

Prompts

No Hope: They were in a situation that looked incredibly bleak, such as being kidnapped or held prisoner. It was likely they would never see freedom or happiness again. That was something you couldn't stand for.
Life Threatening: It was a simple accident, but it could have ended their life. You stepped in and pushed them out of the way or caught them as they fell.
Harassment: Hey, leave them alone, pal! They clearly don't want your attention or your perverse remarks.
Stand Up: You're being tormented and verbally abused by your peers. Finally, though, someone steps in and defends you.
See Myself in You: They're different - like you are. You don't think they deserve to be treated this way...and neither would you.
Ridiculous: Uh oh. A giant octopus is attacking you! Can anyone, will anyone save you from certain doom?
Saved...From Boredom: Your life seemed like it was in black and white before this person introduced you to color.
Superhero: Saving people is your job. Why is this case any different?
Justice: What's happening before you is disgusting. You have to get justice for this victim; of course, that "justice" may also be needed for yourself and your sense of fragile reality.
Spur of the Moment: Rescuing someone was never in your plan, but you couldn't pass up the chance.
Love at First Sight: They saved you, and you fell. Or the other way around.
Bring Back Happiness: All that was good has faded until you got a new lease on life.
Guilt Complex: In the past, you failed. You'll never let anyone get hurt again.
Not Only a Job: Technically, you were hired to take this person from their captor to another captor, yet in the end, you changed your mind.
Warming Up: You can't help but soften towards someone you owe your life to.
Honor Among Thieves: Your record may not be squeaky clean, but there are acts even you cannot condone.
Gone Too Far: Your rage at seeing a living being treated this way has welled up, and the one who was victimized has to pull you back. Can they?
Hurt Because of Me: In your defense, your savior has been injured. You feel a certain sense of sinking culpability.
Patched Up: After the fight, both of you care for each others' mental and physical wounds.
Who Rescued Who?: They may have physically saved you, but you emotionally saved them.
The Truth Comes Out: You learned that your "rescue" was a fabrication to gain your trust. Has your relationship changed them? Even if it has, can you ever believe them again?
All's Well: Once out of the limelight and out of harms way, you two can explore the prospect of getting to know each other better.
Violent Delights Have Violent Ends: Your relationship ends as it began: with violence and despair.
Doesn't Last: All of your attractions are a flash in the pan. When it comes down to it, you can't make it work between you when there's no danger to draw you close.
WILDCARD

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It's a good thing he's blind, because the look she's giving him now would pair nicely with a few choice words that might burn those oversensitive ears of his. She's close enough that she can see the way he's struggling to get his breath back, watches how he sort of jerks himself as if he's about to tip over. Idiot. "You're right. You won't be." Because guess who'd just earned himself a babysitter?

She even smiled after that. "After you." A gesture in the direction of his home, indicating that yes, she'd be following along behind him.

She's really going to follow him all the way back home?

Nat's always been hard to read from her heartbeat, especially since she began picking up how far his senses could go. Right now he's going with his gut feeling and what he knows about her and he can believe she'll dog him just to make sure the point she's making really gets hammered in. Matt stands there in surprise, for a second forgetting he's hurt and tired and nowhere close to finished with these guys.

"This isn't necessary," Matt knows it's a losing battle before he's even started. He steps forward before he jerks his thumb at the men lying sprawled at broken angles around them. "What about them?"

Oh, she's going to do more than follow him. "If you can't stop me from doing it, it is." And they both knew the answer to that, so someone was just going to have to deal with company that evening.

She looked down at the unconscious bodies, half a shrug showing how little she cared about them. "Leave them here or call the cops if they're that big a deal. They can clean up after you tonight instead of cleaning you up." There's a note of finality in her voice, something that he should, even in his state, be able to pick up and tell that she means business.

Even on a day where he wasn't hurting and hoping his hearing doesn't drop off again, he knows he can't stop her. Not if she wants something and she's set on it. Nat has a way of encouraging someone to see her way of thinking, whether they want to or not. Being on the receiving end of it again after all these months is like a shock of cold water.

Last thing he wants is Nat to drag him back to his apartment, caveman style. He suspects she could do it too.

"I don't need a chaperone," Matt mutters, resigned, and he knows there's nothing he can do about it. Getting stubborn and continuing with the next batch of lowlifes won't work if Nat's tailing him and making the whole point of sneaking around for an ambush pointless. His hand flexes at his side, armored glove creaking, as he tries and fails to think of a way around this. No way's he ditching Nat: not when he's like this. "I'll call it in. Is this how all your rescues go?"

Tomorrow night he'll just have to drop in for another visit to refresh some memories. Matt retrieves his billy clubs and slides them into his thigh holster, not bothering to hide the very special frown reserved only for Nat.

She might do it, just to spite him.

She stops in front of him, lifting a hand to dab at a little blood leaking down from his nose. "Don't say that with finality when the evidence proves otherwise." She shakes her head, knows he can sense it, then backs up to let him see to what he needs to see to before she decides to follow after him. She doesn't answer that since it sounds more like a petulant rhetorical question more than anything, silently moving in step behind him.

One of these days he’ll push her hard enough that she’ll probably just cold-clock him one day. Even he might not see it coming: he does, however, figure the first thing he’ll hear when is some variation of "I told you so, Matt". He gives her a second or two to touch his face before he turns away, lifting his chin away from her hand. Not in the mood, Black Widow.

She falls into place and it feels more like a babysitter or a guard than anything else. He waits until they're well out of range from the men before he puts in an anonymous call to 911 and then it's back to his place in a straight line through the alleys and up fire escapes that he used to roam with her when she was training him.

They're at his apartment's roof access when he turns toward Nat. "Well? Safe and sound at home. Or should I set out blankets and a pillow if you're staying the night?"

Wouldn't be the first time she invited herself over.

Her answer is to breeze past him, inviting herself in and heading down the stairs to go over to where his first aid kit had been the last time she'd seen it. "Strip, Murdock. You've got a few booboos that need tending. After I know nothing's broken, then you can bark at me."

She knew he was mad, could almost feel that tension rising off him. Matt had changed since she'd last seen him, but Natasha didn't back down from angry... what? Friends? Possibly, in her own way.

Now Matt knows she's staying. When she starts talking down to him with "booboos", he knows he screwed up. She used to get mouthy like that when he under-performed (underestimated her - and, by default, their enemies) in their training sessions. Brings back a lot of memories.

Matt pulls the roof access door to his apartment shut before he pulls off his mask and the balaclava underneath, his hair matted to his forehead in clumps, slick with sweat.

"And then what? You keep evading?" Matt normally enjoys their back and forth more than he wants to admit despite Nat constantly invading his life and his privacy. Today he's exhausted by it even as he reaches up to start with the clasp around his neck.

"Maybe. You think you've earned the answer to anything? You almost get yourself killed tonight and that makes you, what, exactly..." She couldn't know that in that moment, she might remind him of his old trainer, only with sweeter tones -- when she wanted.

She sets the kit on the countertop, opening it to start rifling through to pick out what she needs. And maybe, just maybe, that snipe in her tone was due to her being pissed that he'd gotten himself into a situation she'd had to step in on. He was supposed to be getting better, not getting more reckless. It was on the tip of her tongue to call him an idiot, but she just set her jaw, pulling out antiseptic, peroxide, bandages, and... her hand hovered over the stitch kit. "New suit. Got any tears?" Translation: do I need to sew you up?

She thinks he almost got killed tonight? Matt thought he'd done okay all things considered. At least he hadn't gotten shot in the head - even with the helmet there, he would've still been lying stunned, easy pickings, unable to fight back compared to getting a knife in his leg. Matt keeps his mouth shut on that one, not willing to give Nat more ammo than she already has.

Matt peels off layer after layer as he approaches the sound of Nat going through the first aid kit. Each piece he sheds reveal new and older bruises and scars, some he had when he met Nat, others that are recent. It's impossible to mask the limp as he stops near the counter, taking a little bit longer to step out of his pants. Matt's left in his underwear and the tacky feeling of drying blood against his calf.

"Calf," Matt's voice is clipped, the kind where he's trying to appear professional and buy himself some time, some space to compose himself. "Might've sprained my shoulder, but I'm not dying, you know."

"And if I hadn't come along?" Her voice is clipped to match his, a little frostier as she sees the marks left on him, new wounds that she hadn't been there to see. A new hardness to him that made her bristle. She firmed her lips in a line, grabbed a gauze pad and the peroxide and crouched down to look at his leg. At least it hadn't hit an artery, or bone. But it had bitten deep enough that she was going to have to probe around, see if there was muscle damage that needed seeing to along with the exterior stitches he was going to need.

She hadn't been sure what to expect, but this stranger with Matt's face hadn't been it. Sure, she hadn't held out for an enthusiastic hug or anything, but he was acting like she'd done something beyond left him to his own devices -- like he'd wanted from the start. Exhaling slowly to put the anger aside to deal with later, she started to clean around the wound, then the wound itself, beginning her search for deeper damage as gently as she could despite the urge to smack him upside the back of his head.

"We'll never know since none of us can time travel," Matt shrugs, not having the energy to get into a what-if scenario contest with Nat tonight. He could argue he would've been okay - hurting up a storm by tomorrow, but okay - and she could argue that someone could've pulled a gun or they could've just dogpiled him and that could be hours of back and forth. Nothing he can say will change her mind.

Matt holds still as she kneels, the familiar scent of peroxide wafting down with Nat. He angles his leg toward her out of habit. They're both angry and at this point, he knows there's probably a good reason she's here and he's taking out his frustration out on her. That's the logical side talking. The other side's pissed she's here taking charge, withholding info, and if this is about the Punisher, he can't help but wonder if she came with a sniper rifle of her own around.

He wouldn't put it past her: she seemed to find his no-killing goal to be almost...quaint.

Not so much quaint as just impractical. It was one thing to want to not kill someone, but it was another to leave something dangerous wounded with an eye on revenge. She didn't exactly enjoy killing, but she'd made peace with the fact that it was a necessary evil. When it was her life or theirs and she was the one standing between someone else innocent getting hurt or not, the equation seemed simple enough. Bad guy go bye-bye.

But he's in a mood, and she didn't come here to bitch back and forth. She's careful but thorough as she makes sure there's nothing in the wound, no debris or bits of dirt before she looks up at him. "Stitches would be best, but depending on how quickly you want it to heal, I can just tape it up." There. Make it all business.

"Tape's fine."

For awhile there's just silence tense than familiar; Matt listens to Natasha's movements, the rustle of her clothes as she treats the injury with the quick, sure movements of someone who's done this over and over before. Could be on herself, knowing what little he knows of Black Widow. What he does get from this is she's quick, professional, and he's left thinking it's possible that she did as good a job as Claire could if she was here to compare notes. Matt doesn't try to test the tape against his calf as Nat puts on the finishing touches, her fingers smoothing it flush against his skin.

"Thanks for patching me up," Matt remembers his manners as he gingerly lowers himself onto the couch, minding his leg. He means it. They have their disagreements but she did him a favor she didn't have to.

She went through the motions, making sure it was as good as she could manage, no matter her state of mind. She wouldn't do something that would turn out to be detrimental to him just because she was in a mood. She was more professional than that -- most of the time. He sat and she sat back on her knees looking up at him.

"What happened? Not tonight," she warded that answer off with a wave of her hand. "I mean in general. You've... something's changed. You didn't call or... well, you didn't do anything that looked like you needed help, so I thought you had it. But you're acting like you're mad at me and if that's the case, I'd like to know what I did."

Matt thinks about it. He wouldn't say it's just one thing, one ah ha moment that made him tired of the cat-and-mouse between them. Couldn't even say nearly getting taken out on that rooftop was it, either. Matt's fingers drum on his knee as he picks out what he wants to say.

"I did have it under control and maybe that's the thing," Matt can't deny he's upset and he hasn't done much to keep it under wraps. "You're comfortable going in and out of Hell's Kitchen but I'm here day in, day out. This isn't just a mission out of many: these are neighbors and friends and clients." It's not quite laying it out there. It's easier to face the jury than sit here in the comfort of his own apartment and explain himself to Nat."I can't pull myself back the way you seem like you want me to."

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❝My Rescuer❞

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