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As it approaches the end of normal business hours at Danny Rand's company, a secretary, presumably one of many, knocks worriedly at Danny's door. She smoothes out her skirt and stands there, hoping she's not interrupting, but feeling that she should get this message to her bosses' bosses' boss.
Danny doesn't spend a lot of time at the office, but she does check in every now and then. She has to make sure everything's staying above-board, after all. At the moment, that means she's leaning back in her chair looking over a quarterly income report, wearing a pair of wide-legged trousers and a plain white short-sleeve blouse. She looks up at the knock, a wry smile curving. "Come on in," she invites, waving a hand. "I don't bite."
"Yes, ma'am. Ma'am, there is a guy on the phone for you. He says his name is Matt Murdock and that it is very, very important that he reaches you. I told him how busy you are and how you don't always want to be bothered, but he persisted." The young secretary winces as if the thought of irritating Miss Rand would kill her. Clearly she's new.
"It's all right," Danny waves a hand at the secretary, reaching for the phone. "Murdock was my lawyer for the trial," she explains, smile flashing. "It's probably no big deal, but I owe him enough to answer the phone." She winks, tossing the papers aside and leaning forward to get the phone. "Thanks for letting me know," she says as she waves the other woman out.
"Oh, right. He wasn't really forthcoming with anything. But, like I said, very persistent," the secretary responds and quickly exits the room. Once the phone switches over, Matt doesn't even wait for her to answer, seeming to sense she has the phone to her ear, "You're a hard woman to get a hold of."
"Less hard to get ahold of if you call the phone at the apartment," Danny smirks as she leans back in her chair, tucking the phone against her ear and spinning from side to side. "Although I'll admit, I've been enjoying my hard-won freedom lately. Had a great lawyer. Got me off clean."
"There are a thousand jokes I could make right now, but I won't," Matt replies with his voice low. "What are you doing for dinner tonight?" he asks. "Assuming you're doing anything, I mean."
Danny chuckles, twining to phone cord around her fingers as she looks up to the ceiling. "Hey, I just opened the door, it's up to you if you want to walk through it. I don't have any plans for dinner yet, though. I was just going to finish looking at some reports here. Probably pick something up on the way home. Unless you've got a better offer?"
"I'm going to be having some cheap food, hopefully of some ethnic variety, a beer or two and the presence of a CEO if I'm lucky. That's my best offer. Take it or leave it," Matt says, chuckling into the phone.
"Sold," Danny grins, glancing toward the clock on the wall. "Where and when, counselor?" she asks, closing the folder of reports and tossing it into the desk drawer. She turns a key on the drawer, locking it, as she pushes up out of her chair.
"How about Ignacio's on 41st?" Matt says as he twirls in his chair. "It's about halfway. I can be there in about….45 minutes, maybe?" He's shuffling papers, clearly, trying to get things taken care of as well.
"I'll see you there. You'll have to just trust it's me." Danny doesn't even wait for a response to that, though her grin is audible in her voice as she hangs up the phone. It doesn't take her long to get there. She has her own ride, after all, and no one at the office to hold her up.
Matt isn't immediately there as Danny exits the car and heads towards the restaurant. It's a dive. That's the kind of place that Matt likes. The sidewalk is crowded here as the sun is beginning to lower towards the west. Seems like a lot of New Yorkers are out tonight. But, oddly, out in front of Danny, she'll see something that just doesn't look right. A man in a painted face…like a mime, maybe? He's wearing a trench coat and a matching fedora, walking in her direction. Weird.
It's New York. Weird is…Well, weird is normal. Sure, Danny notices the man in the fedora. And the coat. It's actually more the coat that stands out in the June heat than the face paint, when it comes down to it. But she doesn't stare, heading for the door to the restaurant.
The man in the fedora pulls out a hand gun and aims it right at Danny's chest. He says nothing; he just has a haunting wide eyed look on his face. Before Danny can even think there's a loud bang, the smell of smoke, and people screaming. The would be assassin, however, is on the ground struggling with a man dressed in red. Suddenly, there's another loud bang!
Face paint. New York. Always- There's a gun.
Danny's fist clenches in front of her at the sound of the gun firing, but it wouldn't have been fast enough. Not for this. Even with assistance, it's not actually fast enough. Pain blossoms in her side, a red stain spreading across her shirt, but she schools the pain aside as she dives in toward the scrum.
Daredevil is pistol whipped and knocked off of the assailant. The man in red is shoved /into/ Danny hard enough to knock both of them backwards and onto the pavement. The Clown is quickly up on his feet and dives into a car whose tires begin to squeal as his driver looks to pull him away.
"Danny," Daredevil says as he gets to his knees and runs his hand over her. "You're hit."
Getting knocked over and then landed on knocks the breath out of Danny, eyes screwed shut in a wince. "Yep. Yep, that happened," she pants, holding a hand over her side. Still, she manages a lopsided smile as she looks up at him. "You get dressed up like that for all your dates?"
"Only the really fun ones," Daredevil says amid all of the people screaming and yelling. "I can't tell how bad it is." How blind or not blind this guy is seems to be up for debate. "You have any doctors you trust?" he says as he applies pressure to where he believes the wound is focused from her heat signatures.
Danny hisses at the pressure, jaw clenching as she shakes her head. "Not really. S'okay though. Just need to get home, I can…" She forces a smile, though it's a thin thing. "I can work on it myself, with a little time. Would prefer if no one else realized it, though. Think you can get us out of here before someone realizes who I am?"
"Sure. Put your arms around me," Daredevil says as he reaches for his billy club. As she does, the pair fling up into the air and towards the rooftops. That'll be far quicker and less conspicuous. "Good thing you're so light on your feet." Matt's words are lighthearted, but he's worried. He can feel the heat of blood through his suit.
Danny nods, wrapping one arm around his shoulders and keeping the other hand in place on her side, trusting that between his strength and hers, she can stay in place. More important now to keep from bleeding out. "So," she says, through carefully measured breaths. "Fun story. I've totally purchased real estate in the city in a way that makes it super easy for me to move through the city either through buildings, or rooftops."
"How far is the closest one of your holdings that has any sort of medical supplies? Makeshift or otherwise," Daredevil says toward her as he runs quickly, holding her as he does so before shooting off his billy club once again.
"Safe house," Danny answers. "Two blocks south, one block west. Roof access key is under the-" She cuts herself off with a wince as they swing, focusing on her breathing. "Potted fern, on the north side of the water tower."
Daredevil nods and changes course. In an attempt to keep her talking and conscious, he keeps talking, "How many times do you use these safehouses? Do you always end up there on your dates?"
Danny laughs, even if it makes her wince. "Hey, sometimes all you need is an out of the way place, right?" Maybe it's shock, or maybe it's something else, but as they move, she almost seems to be stabilizing, or at least controlling her reactions to the pain better.
It doesn't take too long for Daredevil to get to the rooftop with the water tower. Only a bit longer to have them stumble down to the door in question. "Little early to be carrying you over the threshold, I think. Seem like a girl who likes her freedom," he says as he fumbles with the key.
"You're cute," Danny smirks, leaning heavily against the wall as she waits for him to get the door open, keeping a hand over her side. "First aid kit's going to be in the bathroom, under the sink. You want to help, you can fish this bullet out. Once that's done, I should actually be able to take care of the worst of it. Not the kind of day in bed I was hoping for, though."
Daredevil finally gets the door open and lifts her into the place before closing the door. He lies her down flat on the floor, "Of course I'm cute." He pulls off his mask and goes for the bathroom, reaching under the sink. He's back rather quickly.
By the time he's back, Danny's managed to prop herself up in a folding chair by a tattered old kitchen table. The decor isn't anything to write home about - it looks more or less like might be expected for this sort of apartment. If someone were to break in, their only complaint might be that there wasn't much of value. Danny's opened up her blouse, pushing it aside to uncover the bullet wound at her left ribs. While there's blood, there's less than might be expected, given the injury. Whatever she's been doing, it's been helping.
"Not the way you wanted to spend a day in bed, not the way I was hoping to get your shirt off." He searches through the box, tapping it several times in an odd manner. He pulls out a tweezers and winces a bit. "You do realize I'm blind, right? Fishing this out might not be my best skill."
"You just swung between buildings. Just aim a little smaller. Not like I'm going to be able to see it either." Danny takes a deep breath, forcing it out slowly, then another, and a third. Once she's finished, though, she seems to be…calm. Detached. Focused. "Okay," she says quietly, nodding once.
"With your words of wisdom I find my courage and intensity and focus are all increased," Matt deadpans with a grin as he puts a hand up by her side and brings the tweezers closer. "Do you want something to bite, or something?" That's what happens in the westerns he used to watch as a kid.
Danny shakes her head, a flicker of a smile ghosting across her features. "No, I've got this. Hands. Burning heart of the dragon. Kung fu magic shit. I can handle you fishing around in there for a minute."
"I'll remember you said that," Matt says as his eyes look up to her, despite his inability to see. "Here goes." He inserts the tweezers and tries to find the bullet quickly to cause her the least amount of pain possible.
Danny's hand clenches on the edge of the table, but otherwise…she doesn't move except to breathe. To his augmented hearing, her heartbeat doesn't even speed…and it's on the low side in the first place. She really wasn't kidding about being able to control herself.
"Toughness is hot," Matthew says absently. After a few moments, he slides the tweezers out, revealing a nasty little bullet. He's frowning at it, "Any idea who that guy was? And why he'd want to shoot you?"
Danny lets out a slow breath with the bullet, some of the tension leaving her muscles for just a moment. Once again, there's much less blood than it seems like there should be - whatever she's doing, she's keeping it in check. "I'm pretty sure I haven't pissed off any mimes lately," she shakes her head, sitting up a little straighter and pressing her hand over her side. "Whew. Okay."
It's like she's bracing herself, though for what is…less than clear. Except that, after a moment of focus, she goes still as a stone, sinking into a deep focus that lets her manipulate the chi inside of her, the ebb and flow of life energy. Her hand glows, and so does the skin beneath it, growing warmer.
"Well, it's hard not to piss mimes off, so congratulations on that front," Matt says. Though he cannot see what she does, he can feel the difference between the energy where she places her hands. He stays quiet. He's witnessed a ton of crazy things during his training with Stick. This, however, is a new one.
It takes a few minutes. Five, maybe ten. Intense concentration. But when she's finally finished, Danny lets out a long breath and lets her hand fall from her side…and it certainly doesn't look like a bullet wound any more. A shallow, wide stab wound, maybe. The skin is still open. Blood leaks. And if she were to take a hit, it would probably rip right open again. But it's enough to make sure she's not going to die.
A tired smile curves as she reaches for his hand, forgetting about the blood on her own. "Thanks," she says quietly. "Not in the habit of being rescued, honestly."
"I thought he was going to hit me, actually. Then it would have had to have been me in that chair." Matt tilts his head at her, "Do you want me to lift you into the bed so you can rest?" He looks around, "And do you keep any food in these safe-abodes? I'm not going to call it a house. That seems generous."
"Probably nothing you really want to eat," Danny laughs weakly. "Army rations, basically. Stuff that stays good if you don't get a chance to stop in any time soon. I can make it to the bed myself, though. There's a bodega on the corner." She pauses, smile tugging at one corner of her lips. "You might want to change clothes, though. I keep a few changes in the bedroom, different sizes."
"Different sizes? I'm going to pretend you are making me feel more special than that," Matt says with a laugh as he begins to peel out of his clothing. "How many sizes?" he asks, looking back to her.
"Enough for injured bystanders," Danny smirks, rolling her eyes as she carefully pushes herself out of her chair. "Which isn't say I don't have eclectic tastes in men, either, but that's neither here nor there."
Matt stands, apparently unembarrassed, in the room and begins to search through the clothing options. "So, staying in tonight, then? Maybe we can find somewhere to deliver something."
"Staying in sounds good, yeah," Danny nods. "That is, if you don't have something important to wait by the phone for, or an urgent case at your office." She moves stiffly as she walks toward the bed, pausing to lean against the dresser and shed her pants. To hell with clothes, apparently.
"I'm thinking that making sure that mime doesn't find you is a pretty urgent thing for my focus," Matt replies as he meets her towards the corner of the bed and will help her in if she needs it. "We're going to find that guy. And he's not going to like it."
"Hey, at least it's not a ninja." Danny laughs low, though she leans on his hand a little more heavily than she'd admit as she climbs into the bed. "I'm telling you, the ninjas are the worst. And so cliche. At least a mime's got some class, right?"
"Well, I have to admit I've never heard of a killer mime before. So you get points for originality. However, as I mentioned, it's a mime." Matt slides in next to her, apparently leaving the clothes where they are for now. "I think it's a wash."
"But just think. We can trap him in an invisible box. Easiest collar ever." Danny pushes the pillows up behind herself, propping herself carefully into place. "You know, there's a lot to be said for a date with someone who doesn't find it a deal-breaker that I got shot at by a mysterious mime."
Matt laughs at her joke, "Well, I hope it's that easy when the time comes." He tilts his head, "This is only the third worst date I've been on. So, hopefully I get another one to make it up to you at some point."
"Only the third? Damn. I feel like I need to hear about the other worse dates. Were there elephants? Or ninjas? It had to be one or the other to be worse than the death mime." Danny leans up against him, letting her eyes drift closed for a moment. Again, there's that stillness about her, as if she's suddenly brought her entire existence into a perfect state of balance and pulled the world with her.
"All in due time," Matt says as he leans in to kiss her upon the cheek. "You probably need to rest after whatever that energy was."
"Something like that," Danny agrees with a nod, taking another long breath. "Meditation. But. By tomorrow night, I should be…stable. In a week, you won't be able to tell it ever happened. Kung fu magic." That smile quirks again, and she gives his hand a squeeze. "I owe you a real dinner."
"You don't owe me anything," Matt says with a grin as he squeezes her hand back. "But, if you're going to go to dinner with me I'm not going to refuse. Unless there are more killer mimes."