( there'd been a time when she'd wondered the same thing. and what'd started as a normal job at some high-end company after a college deferment turned into her becoming just another statistic in that concentration. there were two types of people, here in this city, the ones that kept their eyes open and the ones that didn't — but she'd never changed. hues glaring back at the dark, blinking back at every harrowing visitor. she tries to think of her life before that city had touched her; before matt, before frank. before fisk and bullseye. there was nothing left for her, there. just an endless grief that waited at the border of state lines, a guilt that'd created a well within her. )
Like attracts like.
( it's a simple statement for a network that's far from it. but he knew that, didn't he? after all, they were here talking about it in murmurs like it was common tongue, so in a way, they'd recognized each other.
still, there's a delay in her response, and once she's managed that second bullet out of him she's setting it atop the dirtied cloth alongside the other. by now, her own digits are stained with the blood she's attempted to keep in, keeping a single-handed pressure against the wound she'd most recently fussed within as she's reaching for that nylon thread, the small package of a sterile needle. the plastic is torn open with her teeth, and after a beat, she realizes she's going to need both of her hands to tend to him properly. )
Hold this. Right here.
( an unwavering tone, calm and hushed, as if she's placing a bandage at the knee of a child who'd just skinned it, thumbing away their sniffling tears. it's only when he obliges that his words come back to her, threading that needle and giving a precursory glance up. )
Not at first. ( even now, she's not so sure it's a fitting phrase. you recognized me. it assumes some layer of knowing, a familiarity, like they've been here before. she doesn't pretend to know him merely because she'd heard of a james barnes, a winter soldier — nor can she assume the man that'd been defined within those tabloids was the one that stood before her now. she doesn't know that the stitches might be a futile effort, doesn't know that they'll heal over by morning, that that hearty swig from the bottle was only a sample of what he'd need to dull it all. )
Even now... I know what the news has said. The stories they've told, everyone spinning their own versions of it. ( it only takes a few cross-stitches, and each time she waits for any shift of his ribs around a terse breath, lacing him back together again. ) Usually, there's some truth there. ( emphasis on the 'some.' )
Turns out you never know just how much unless you go looking for it yourself. ( a knot's tied in the nylon, leaning in to give the excess a snap with her teeth. )
no subject
Like attracts like.
( it's a simple statement for a network that's far from it. but he knew that, didn't he? after all, they were here talking about it in murmurs like it was common tongue, so in a way, they'd recognized each other.
still, there's a delay in her response, and once she's managed that second bullet out of him she's setting it atop the dirtied cloth alongside the other. by now, her own digits are stained with the blood she's attempted to keep in, keeping a single-handed pressure against the wound she'd most recently fussed within as she's reaching for that nylon thread, the small package of a sterile needle. the plastic is torn open with her teeth, and after a beat, she realizes she's going to need both of her hands to tend to him properly. )
Hold this. Right here.
( an unwavering tone, calm and hushed, as if she's placing a bandage at the knee of a child who'd just skinned it, thumbing away their sniffling tears. it's only when he obliges that his words come back to her, threading that needle and giving a precursory glance up. )
Not at first. ( even now, she's not so sure it's a fitting phrase. you recognized me. it assumes some layer of knowing, a familiarity, like they've been here before. she doesn't pretend to know him merely because she'd heard of a james barnes, a winter soldier — nor can she assume the man that'd been defined within those tabloids was the one that stood before her now. she doesn't know that the stitches might be a futile effort, doesn't know that they'll heal over by morning, that that hearty swig from the bottle was only a sample of what he'd need to dull it all. )
Even now... I know what the news has said. The stories they've told, everyone spinning their own versions of it. ( it only takes a few cross-stitches, and each time she waits for any shift of his ribs around a terse breath, lacing him back together again. ) Usually, there's some truth there. ( emphasis on the 'some.' )
Turns out you never know just how much unless you go looking for it yourself. ( a knot's tied in the nylon, leaning in to give the excess a snap with her teeth. )