Edited: 08/12/21

Blair was on her way back to Matt's. A few hours at work was practically torture. New found scars and bruises were not a good look when she worked near an easily worried Cassie.

When she had finally been excused from work, she had met with Cassie to get dinner.

Cassie Hastings was a sweet girl who really wanted to move away from Hell's Kitchen — San Fransisco was the place she wanted to live at, a place she was sure she'd eventually live at.

Cassie and Blair had known each other since childhood, they raised together after all.

After dinner with her best friend, Blair had walked down the maze of Hell's Kitchen with music basting through her headphones — she was very surprised she wasn't deaf.

Her converse (that were borderline beaten to near death) led her down the cold streets. One of the few streets Claire had vocalised. But Blair wasn't one for consequences, she was good enough to forget them and in doing so she was drowning in loud lyrics and cold air.

Loud music that made her deaf to the noise around her. Noises of panic and particularly loud bang, a loud bang that flooded he with heat and threw her and a few a little distance from where they stood.

She could imagine her body was to pay for that. The breaks, bruises and marks were hurting before hand, she assumed in a small while they'd feel worse again.

She tugged out her headphones and searched for her phone in her work bag. Blood seeped through some of her clothes, a reopened wound she opted to ignore.

Blair pushed herself to stand up, leaning on a near wall for support as she searched through her contacts for Cassie Hastings.

Cassie was always good at answering her phone — and in five minutes Blair was able to confidently say her best friend was safe.

Upon ending the call, Blair was able to call for her dad, the pain dancing around her marked body. "Dad?" She questioned, steadying her breathing to stop her from crying or breaking down.

"Where are you?"

"Two streets away from the dinner." Blair whispered, sliding down the wall.

Breath in.

Breath out.

Repeat.

"I'm coming to get you."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Harry Scott did exactly as he said, he drove to the dinner and then up and down the streets until he found the broken ballerina.

Harry approached the young adult, taking her hands and guiding her to stand up as he verbally willed to her to stay awake, taking her to his car and gently guiding her into the car.

Harry spoke to her, getting minimal response. Her main words being begs that they don't go to the hospital. She couldn't afford suck a trip and push comes to shove she could get help from Claire.

"No hospitals." She whispered, pulling up her shirt to look at the open wound. She undid her seatbelt, doing it up behind her to avoid the noise — just like her father always did. She adjusted her seat until she was lying down as best as she could. She held the wound, putting pressure on it to make the bleeding stop or at least slow down.

Harry shook his head, but nonetheless followed the road the road that led to his home rather then the hospital. As he drove he took out his phone, finding his daughters roommate.

"Claire, talk some sense into my girl."

"Blair, how are you? What have you done now?"

A gentle yet painful laugh left Blair's lips, followed by a hiss of pain as she lifted her hands to her ribs. It was safe to say and assume she was pretty much destined to live a life in pain.

"Officer Scott, what's going on?"

"She's bleeding out, Claire." Harry started, staring at his daughter as he drove — despite Blair shouting at him to look at the road and throwing a bit of a 'hissy fit'.

Blair had trauma. Car like trauma, after witnessing the death of her mother in one it's hard to expect otherwise. Harry was lucky the girl even allowed herself to be in the car.

"I wanna get out." Blair said, coming to the dreaded realisation she was in a car. Her mind was coming back along with the thoughts, the adrenaline was rushing out of her system and everything was too real. "Please, out! I wanna get out."

Blair undid her seatbelt, her heart racing as she sat up (hissing in pain again). Harry grabbed the girl's arm to stop her from leaving — a painful grip that was bound to leave bruise.

Blair shook her head clawing at his grip as Harry spoke down the phone ignoring her distress.

Harry picked up the spread of his driving until they pulled up — where Blair practically threw herself out of the car, shaking as she pinched her arms in a way to deal with it all.

The father unlocked the door, guiding his daughter into the living room where she sat on the sofa and snatched the phone from him, ignoring his look.

"Claire, I'm fine."

Her voice gave it away, gave away the fact she was trying to keep herself from freaking out.

"No you're not, and that's ok. You can cry if you want, I'm so proud of you for staying in the car and not jumping out whilst it was moving."

A sob left Blair's lips as she curled in on herself.

"I am so proud, like unbelievably proud, and you know what? Your mum would be so much more proud, I bet Cassie is too."

Blair nodded, silent as she held her breath to make sure Claire didn't have to deal with her sobbing.

"And you need to breath."

"N-no I don't."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Her father had left to help the police with some sort of issue with vigilantes in the night — Blair didn't care, she was tired.

Whilst in the kitchen making herself a drink of hot chocolate where she heard her phone go off. She grabbed it, placing the phone to her ear as she answered.

"Please tell me all this isn't you dealing with the Russians."

"Wasn't me, but I don't think you have to worry about them anymore."

Blair blinked. "Ok . . . what the fuck? And if that's all you've come to say, I'm in a bad mood and might just slap you." She told him, taking a seat on the floor with her hot chocolate in one hand. She put her phone on speaker as she crossed her legs.

"No, I need your help, Claire isn't answering."

"Don't you love being a second choice?" She mumbled to herself, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. Blair burned her mouth — unsurprisingly. "Sorry, been in a car today, so I'm not in a good place. Claire is busy, there was bombs, honey, so the chances of getting through are pretty low."

"Wait, are you ok?" Matt's panicked voice came threw, the concern radiated through.

Blair smiled at the panic. Panic meant he cared.

"Fine, I am alive, I'm fine."

"I found someone who has intel on what I've been looking for, but he's been shot."

"Call nine-one-one." Blair said, getting up again to go get a drink out of the fridge to try and relieve her tongue from the pain.

"Can't. Police are the ones that shot him. Thinking they'd like a crack at finishing the job."

"Oh, they're on the way to find you, by the way, dad got called out." Blair told him. "I wasn't really paying attention, was having a break down at the time but I'm pretty sure he'd love to put a bullet through your head . . . he'd have your head on a silver platter if he knew you had touched me. Completely ridiculous and hypocritical considering he raped my mum, probably other people to actually. The police are often hypocritic—"

"Blair, sweetheart, you're going on a tangent. And why aren't you at mine?"

"No, today was so bad. I had work but there was a good part, I saw Cassie . . . I love her so much, known her since I was born our mums were best friends and they worked together, so we got dinner and I nearly died so dad forced me into a car but it's ok cause I'm at his drinking hot chocolate and a lemonade." Blair explained, walking back to the sofa with a can of lemonade, a hot chocolate and her phone. She sat on the cold leather, pulling a fluffy blanket on. "So what? You want me come out and help you? Any way you need, honey."

"No, I want you to walk me through stabilizing him."

"And I want to get my hands or knees dirty. Anyway, is is not as easy as the movies paint it, you know."

"I don't really go to the movies. I like records, though."

"I get that would be a total waist of money . . . also that felt like a hint but I'll let you off my growing collection of Fleetwood Mac records would make me a bad person, don't want you to choke me out . . . well—"

"Blair, we can talk about your kinks later."

"There's a long list. Anyway, talk to me, why am I walking you through this?"

"Blair, sweet Blair, do me a little favour and not hate me . . . the man I'm trying to save is Vladimir."

Blair stared at the phone debating ending the phone call. A dry laugh left her lips — Matt knew he may be asking too much of her. "I have been screwed over so much, you fucking owe me . . . something . . . if I help you with this."

"I will do anything. But just know it's important and you're gonna be saving more lives then you know."

"Do you know who saved lives, not him, he did the opposite, but to hell with it. You know, fuck it."

"I can punch him in the face after, yeah?"

"That's not the thing you owe me, but do that too."

"Anything for you."

Blair huffed loudly. "Right, fuck you by the way." She whispered, thinking over her practical lessons. "Is there an exit hole?"

"Thank you. Uh, no. The bullet's still inside him. It's still half a degree hotter than the surrounding tissue."

"So you're a thermometer, forgot that part." Blair said, thinking about the equipment he'd need. "Right, any first aid kits around?"

"I'm in a warehouse. Abandoned."

"I've been in loads of abandoned warehouses, some have left over kits." Blair told him. "What's around you, that you can use?"

"All right, hang on. Uh, half a box of nails broken glass uh, wood, duct tape, old roadside emergency kit, lot of plastic sheeting."

"Emergency kit." Blair nodded. "We can work with this. Check for flares or any sort of fire thingy."

"Yeah, there's two flares."

"You only need one." Blair muttered, burning her tongue on the hot chocolate again — she didn't learn from her mistakes. "Right, hold it to him, like on or whatever, so you can cauterise the wound."

"Shouldn't I dig the bullet out first?"

"Did you hear the part where I said this isn't the movies and not easy? You're not trained in the medical field, Matt, trust me when I say there's a higher chance of him dying if you take it out. We don't know if it's tangled in there, or the further damage, it may be lodged into something which is stopping him from bleeding half to death, or he can get an infection like sepsis due to the fact that wherever you are isn't sanitary and I doubt the equipment it like you is right now. Look on the bright side, double the pain."

"All right, how do I do this?"

Blair grabbed her tv remote, flicking through the channels. "Just hold it close to the wound until it seals over."

"Okay, I'm gonna put you on speaker. — All right, I got it."

Blair put the man on speaker so she didn't have to hold the phone. "Don't stop until it's closed up, screaming or not." Blair though for a second. "If he's not screaming he's either dead or something else has happened making him numb or this is worse then you believe."

"Professional advice or personal?"

Blair clicked her tongue. "Ouch, but like yeah both I guess. Tried to stop my mum bleeding out but she was dead, the paramedic had to comfort me, dad called me ridiculous." She shrugged, finding the news channel at last.

"Blair, you do have a therapist right?"

"Never been, never will."

"I'm seriously worried about you." Blair could hear the concern, a gentle smile rested on her features. "Cauterising the wound."

Blair went to turn the volume down as Vladimir yelled in pain. However she didn't when the noise became muffled. "Did it stop the bleeding?"

"Thanks, Blair. I gotta go."

"Matt?" Blair said, but the call needed before she could get half the word out. "Never mind."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Some more time had passed and Blair's dad wasn't home, Claire was still busy and Blair was still in pain. She was on her second can of lemonade, trying to keep her sugar levels up.

She heard the news accuse the masked vigilante of being the one to kill someone.

"What the fuck?" She questioned, stepping up to grab her sweatshirt from the coffee table across the room. Blair grabbed her phone of charge and called Matt.

"It's really not a good time."

"Sorry, could you point me in the direction of caring?" She asked, throwing herself back down on the sofa, turning the news down and putting subtitles on. "The news thinks you killed the cops, I know that's not your style as such but it only takes one bad day for someone to become a murderer. Is today your day?"

"No. It was Fisk. It's all Fisk."

"Ok, sorry didn't mean to sound like I was doubting you, but like you know, can never Beto cautious." Blair rambled a little, rolling her eyes at the accusations on her screen. "What's going on out there?"

"Hang on."

"Yeah, sure."

"Blair . . . What you and Claire said, before I left—"

Blair pushed her hair back from her face. "Don't listen to me what I said, I was being a class-A bitch. I'm sorry, yeah? I'll buy you a drink to prove it."

"No, don't be. It turns out you were . . . you were right about me."

"No, what do you mean?"

"I just don't want you getting caught up if it goes that way. If we don't get a chance to talk again, you take care of yourself."

She heard the bleep telling her he ended the call. "What?"

It was safe to say her paranoia was slowly getting the best of her, as she was not worried Matt was likely to die tonight and there was very little she could do.