Edited: 17/10/21

Being back at her roommates friends apartment, shouldn't have over ridden Blair with stress amongst everything else. Maybe most of her negative feelings came from being home alone, with the people she spoke to being at work.

The twenty three year old believed good was going to come of the past week and a bit. Then again maybe she was being dramatic and pessimistic, after all she had never seen on the news that anything bad had come from stitching up a vigilante. Then again, it wasn't a common hobby and not one she had volunteered for, rather she had accidentally stumbled upon such a hobby — she had Claire go blame for that.

To distract herself from the incoming doom of emotions, Blair was in her pointe shoes, working on practicing a dance that she had to have memorised by Wednesday. Her long hair pulled at her head in its pony tail, causing mild pain that she opted to ignore. She simply had to learn that routine and if that meant skipping meals then so be it.

Blair had battled anorexia and bulimia most of her life. It was a battle she often found herself relapsing to all and it all began because of dance.

There was a lot of pressure on her to have the perfect body and due to that she risked her health for it. She knew everything she was doing. Blair knew the risks and the people she could hurt because of it but she was far to deep to car.

Her father hadn't bothered to give her support, instead he had shouted at her for 'waisting' food. Her mother sat night after night with her, offering her everything she could as she tricked the girl into eating and gave her comfort. 

Mary Rose Leeds showed no anger to her daughter. But she went ballistic at the dance teacher, leading to the woman getting fired for causing ten years olds to have eating disorders.

'Mike' seemed to have a thing for scaring Blair.

When she finished her final hour of practice she looked up to see the vigilante tapping against the window.

"Is this another 'the less you know' situations?" Blair asked, grabbing the first aid box out of the kitchen as well as two glasses of water. "Claire's on a later shift, so you're stuck with me."

Blair placed the box on the sofa and placed down the two glasses, before offering her hand to the man. He'd know, some how. 'Mike' took her hand and allowed her to lead him to the sofa.

"Better you then me." 'Mike' mumbled, painfully as he took a seat on the leather sofa, pulling the black top off.

Blair stood in front of him, blue rubber gloves covering her hands and the first aid kit being opened. "So, what happened?" She asked, fishing out the things she needed to sort out the man.

Blair watched 'Mike' as she cleaned his wounds.

"Kidnapping."

"Wow, please sound more bored." She commented lowly. She muttered out an apology after realising he could hear her comments. "So, do you just like jumping into knife fights?" Blair asked, trying to redeem herself as she came to sit on the sofa in order to work on the blood dripping down his shoulder.

"I like saving people from people that are causing harm."

"Eh, I think you're sadistic and trying to reason with yourself." Blair told him, putting the needle through his shoulder after getting rid of the blood and disinfecting the cut. "I get it, people don't want to be bad so it's only human to weigh the bad against the good."

'Mike' took in her words. He already knew they were to echo around when he tried to sleep — her voice often found it's way into his dreams — and he wasn't too sure what the out come was going to be. He grunted, as evidence of hearing her.

"Couldn't you just take the mask off, it's kind of hard to clean cuts right under it."

'Mike' nodded and pulled of the mask. "Sorry." He mumbled.

Blair paused, turning his head to the best direction for her to work at. She moved to sit on her knees to give her extra height. "Don't be."

'Mike' took notice of the woman's shaking hands. "You don't have to stitch me up, if you're uncomfortable." 'Mike' said softly, grabbing both her wrists.

"No it's fine, I'm fine." She took a breath, a shaking breath at that. "I've been doing stitches and cleaning cuts since I was like eight, at least." Blair told him, equally as soft.

It was sweet that he worried about her. She kind of liked that he cared for how comfortable she was — it was the little things that confused her.

"What's happened?" 'Mike' asked. He let go of her wrists allowing her to carry on cleaning him up before she'd actually stitch up his cheek bone.

"Nothing."

It wasn't nothing, there was a whole list. She was tired, hungry, stressed, felt sick, physically fatigued and overwhelmed.

"Ow."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you." Blair pulled her hand back instantly — despite her sadistic tendencies and fascination with pain, she did feel a little bad when she forced pain upon her patient. "So, how's being a blind vigilante?" She questioned, pulling out the thread to stitch together the cuts on 'Mike's' face.

"You should see the other guys."

She laughed at the retort, shaking her head slightly. Blair wasn't sure if she should imagine the state of his victims. "I'm sure Claire is enjoying that." She grinned, putting the thread through a sterilised needled. "The one you threw of the roof? He's in a coma now, according to Claire. Did you know that?"

"Yeah, I heard."

"I'd get more of a conversation from a brick wall." Blair mumbled, giving him a pointed look — she seemed to often forget that he was blind, he noticed a lot of things and it wasn't something she had fully adjusted to. But 'Mike' knew the look she was giving, so he gave her a look back. "And you're what? Alright with that?"

"I'll live."

Blair rolled her eyes, looking up to find the cat on Claire's friend' kitchen counter. "Dear lords, I'm either gonna kill myself or the cat."

"Wow, you don't like cats."  'Mike' said, amused at the woman's reaction.

"Claire is allergic, it walking where all the food is is only gonna cause problems." She complained, picking up a pencil that she threw near the cat. It looked at her for a short fraction of time before climbing down.

Blair shrugged, going back to a new cut. "We're supposed to be coming in, feeding this guy twice a day whilst her friends was out of town, but Claire comes as little as possible, trying to stay at work and I'm forced here on my own everyday, which is annoying because I can't stand the thing and it's an even longer walk from dance or school. It's got some agenda against me — it deleted my work the other day, nearly killed it." Blair rambled, before looking up. "Sorry, rambling."

"School?"

"Med school." Blair cleared up.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty three." Blair mumbled tying a knot with the thread. "Anyway, how long will Claire be dying here?" Blair asked, cutting the thread.

"Just a while longer. Just till I know the Russians aren't looking for you." 'Mike' reassured her, a hand resting on her thigh.

Blair looked down at it, swallowing the extra saliva in her mouth. She tried to concentrate on anything but the feel of his hand against her skin

"I'm not the one that looks like they've been thrown out of a window." Blair said, placing a bandage over the cut on his arm. She was really reaching for distractions. "You know I did consider pushing you out of a window when we first met".

'Mike raised an eyebrow, laughing slightly at her words. "I'd like to see you try."

"You gonna have a hard time there, hon." She joked, smiling in amusement. Her eyes fell to his bare chest. It was covered in silver lines and new scars, she wanted to trace them, feel the roughness under her gentle skin. She wanted him to squirm as she touched him, breath in sharply and enjoy every touch she gave him — it was a shame they were strangers.

"You really need to get some kind of body armor or something." Blair said, realising she had been staring a little longer then she'd ever admit — and it didn't help that he was smirking.

"It would slow me down too much."

"And a bullet could kill you." Blair added, packing away the medical stuff, being gentle with the box before ripping off the rubber gloves.

"You worried about me?" 'Mike' teased, a smug smirk like grin on his face.

"And what would you say if I was?"

"I would tell you I'm a big boy, and not to be."

"That's why I've seen you a total of three times in the past five days." Blair said, closing the first aid box. "And that's not including the sight I was greeted with when you first dropped by."

"Well, maybe I just like the sound of your voice." He told her, and yet again she was aware of his bare chest and hand on her exposed thigh.

She was glad he was blind — but assumed he knew anyway — because she didn't want him to see how red she was in that moment. Blair couldn't imagine the amount of teasing she'd receive. "Oh, wow. I wasn't prepared for Mr Smooth Guy."

"Weren't you?" 'Mike' asked, there was a mockery of innocence in his voice.

"So what happens the night you come by and I'm talking to someone else?" Blair asked, resting her hand onto of his. There was a size difference for sure — she liked that, it was something that could drive her imagination wild and bring her thoughts that weren't needed just yet.

"Yeah, it crossed my mind."

"Resulting in?" Blair pushed, tilting her head, exposing her neck. It wasn't a likely occurrence, she hadn't even considered dating or even a fling since her and her ex, Millie, had broken up.

"Here." 'Mike' said, pulling out an old flip phone.

"A phone from the nineties? Wow, you really splash you cash." Blair said, taking the old phone off him confused. She held it in her right hand, completely unsure what to do.

"I do try." 'Mike' told her. "The burner's for me. Memorize the number, put yours in. Next time I need to come by, I'll call."

"By 'come by,' you mean practically fall in, bleeding half to death? And probably a little less smooth talk?" Blair asked, opening the phone and getting up to grab her own from the table. Unlike some, she didn't memorise her number, she knew her dads off by heart, but her own? She never saw a reason to learn it. Who needs to phone their own phone?

"Yeah, something like that." He said.

"You're going to end up in a ditch somewhere, two point oh." Blair said, typing her number in. "You need to take a bit of time off." Blair said, pulling off her red pointe shoes, letting out a small curse as she brushed her fingers over a blister.

"No, I can't. Not yet." He told her, shaking his head. He went to take his hand from her thigh but she stopped him, interlocking their fingers together and kept his hand closer to her inner thigh.

Blair nodded, understanding nothing she said would stop him. After all the two had known each other for a total of five days, they were strangers not lovers.

"It's a little more complicated than that. You ever heard the name Wilson Fisk?"

"No, should I know him?"

"Just a name somebody gave me." 'Mike' told her, putting the half empty glass of water down. "Can I have my shirt, please? And my hand?"

"If you must." She told him, a little embarrassed that she had gripped onto his hand. Sometimes she was desperate for human contact, to remind her she existed and that she was in fact real.

She gave him back his hand before passing him the black shirt. Blair watched him pull it on.

"But there's no public record. Nothing on the Internet. Not one mention of Fisk." 'Mike' said.

"Maybe the names a fake name, acting is still a thing." Blair said, passing 'Mike' his phone.

"I would have known if he was."

"Right, yes, off course you would." Blair said, before asking how. "Or what if it's a fake name given to him, like a code name, or an alias. You know to keep himself on the low."

'Mike' hummed, nodding as he thought. It made complete sense. Why would you use your real name to become a crime lord?

"Wait." Blair said, carefully watching him. "How can you tell when people are lying?"

"Heartbeat."

"Right, of course, heartbeat." Blair nodded, pretending to totally know what he meant. She pulled her hair down, feeling her headache come back. "So, what, you're just gonna go out there punching whoever you can, hoping to find somebody who knows this Fisk guy."

"Well, apply enough pressure, someone will break. Sooner or later."

"Coming from a daughter of a cop, maybe that's not the smartest idea." Blair pointed out.

"Cop?" He asked, interest and caution spiking. Could he definitely trust her?

"Officer Harry Scott is my father." Blair told him, before realising the man could be doubting if he trusted her or not. "I haven't sold you out to him, he's curious as to who you are, but he doesn't know that Claire and I have met you." Blair explained.

Harry was a well known (and well disliked yet loved depending who) cop.

"I know." 'Mike' said.

"Heartbeat?"

"Heartbeat."

"It's a bit invasive, isn't it?"

"I try not to pry." He promised her, pushing himself up from the sofa. 'Mike' offered her his hand. She looked at it, before gently taking it into hers allowing him to help pull her up.

"Be safe." Blair told him, picking up the medical kit.

"I'm a big boy." 'Mike' laughed off.

"A big boy that doesn't know how to not get into knife fights."