#murdock

On the cell phone Colt isn’t supposed to have, there’s only one number. The signal can’t cross universes and with no job and no friends there’s really no need for anyone to reach him. All the call log consists of is multiple outgoing calls to ‘Murdock’ going back for the last few years.

It’s a few hours before Murdock turns up, standing in the doorway of the lounge. Unlike when Grace interrupted them, Murdock is dressed; a striking image of maroon turtleneck and black trenchcoat with a gold pendant hanging low around his neck. Even his sunglasses are black with a red tint to them, blocking his eyes, though you don’t need to see them to feel the judgement as he stares at Colt laid on the couch, face badly bruised and swollen.

“You must have really pissed him off this time.”

They move to the medbay, Colt sitting on the gurney which he remembered to make sure was locked in place this time, while Murdock very delicately runs his fingers over the large bruise that runs across Colt’s face.

“How long?”

“About a week.”

“Was there much blood?”

“No more than usual.”

“Any painkillers?”

“Nothing but oxygen.”

Murdock pauses for a moment, “Still?”

Colt shrugs having no answer. It’s this dumb new rule Six brought into play. Something about painkillers being better used to help those who have a longer recovery time.

There’s been a few of those recently; stupid rules that really only affect Colt, like no guests in the common areas. While the painkillers are enforced by frequent inventories, many of the others are pointless to enforce with no cameras.

“I don’t know what you expect from me. I’m no doctor.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

The majority of the swelling has gone down thanks to occasional ice packs but the pressure and pain hasn’t eased much at all. His eyes keep watering randomly and sleep is rarely happening.

Maybe it’s some kind of placebo effect but as Murdock continues to gently brush his thumbs along the outer edge of Colt’s eye socket, Colt swears he can feel some sort of change. No miracle cure, just a little less pressure bearing down on his face. Murdock’s always had something of a magical touch.

“I want to kiss you.” Colt states plainly. He’s sat and Murdock is stood so there’s no way he can just lean forward and sneak a kiss like all the movies say you have to do in moments like this. Besides, sudden movement in Murdock’s direction is ill-advised and Colt’s not looking to restart the clock on his healing.

“No you don’t.”

“Murdock, I-”

“We’ve been over this.”

“Actually we haven’t.” Colt corrects him. “I try but you shut me down every time.”

“We have fun, right?”

“Yes, but-”

“So what’s happened?” Murdock draws away turning his back as he moves to one of the cupboards. Every movement Murdock makes is on purpose, and this one is loud and clear. Colt can almost feel the wall being built between them. “You only get like this when something sets off your abandonment issues.”

There was a time, maybe a year ago when Colt would keep pushing. When he’d try to force the conversation because for fuck’s sake he actually gives a shit about Murdock but it never goes anywhere.

Colt loosely crosses his arms.

He would try and Murdock would ice him out. So Colt would shout, and Murdock would bite back. So Colt would scream and Murdock would shout. Then one of them would storm off and they wouldn’t talk for days until inevitably they’d just meet up again and engage in rough make-up sex without having said a single word to each other. Nothing changes; Murdock never budges, and Colt just doesn’t have it in him any more to pretend the horse he’s beating isn’t dead.

“Grace didn’t know about Ryland.”

Murdock pauses, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder but still keeping his back to Colt. That particular subject has been brushed against before and it’s never gone well.

“He bailed?”

“In less than a second.”

Murdock pulls a snap-pack from a cupboard, snapping it. As he walks over, it starts to freeze and he very carefully lays it across Colt’s nose. It’s sudden, the cold is sharp and Colt hisses as he takes it and holds it in place.

“Don’t be such a crybaby.” Murdock steps back crossing his arms. “These weirdos you live with come and go all the time. So what’s different?”

Colt leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the floor.

“I don’t know.” Since day one there’s been something about Grace. Despite barely knowing him, it’s like they’ve been friends their whole lives. Despite never having met before it’s just felt comfortable and normal. Like he doesn’t have to explain or justify himself. Like he can just be Colt and Grace will get it. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

“I have some advice, but you won’t like it.”

“I never like your advice.”

“You need to tell him everything.”

Colt glares at Murdock over the ice pack. “I’m not doing that.”

“I know, I know. You don’t like thinking about Ryland, never mind talking about him, but someone has to tell the new guy right? So you get to choose whose story he hears. Six the sycophant’s or yours.”

Murdock’s right. Fuck.

“I’ve done what I can.” Murdock flashes an empty smile at Colt as he adjusts himself. “With all the kindness in the world, don’t call until you’re healed. It’s Rule number one after all.”

And with that he leaves.

Murdock’s rules are different than Six’s. For one thing, they actually make sense, the two of them having agreed on them when they first started hooking up. Basic mutual rules to ensure their safety when they’re having fun.

Rule number one: no initiating when Colt is injured. The one Murdock references the most, reminding Colt of it when he tries to push for something more. It doesn’t help Murdock only turns up to hook up, or help out.

Whatever, Colt doesn’t need him.

Technically Colt can sleep in any position if he’s tired enough, but when there aren’t any injuries preventing it, he’s very much a side sleeper. Something that’s really not doable when you’re face feels like it’s exploding, so he’s been sleeping on his back.

Almost another week passes when Colt wakes up on his side. His arms are wrapped around a pillow beside him, while his legs are tucked beneath him. His face still hurts, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it’s been.

Looking in the mirror, you can barely tell his nose was broken. Aside from some soreness around his eyes and across the bridge of his nose, Colt could easily pretend it never happened. Sure he’s still healing but he’s clearly gotten a boost overnight which can mean only one thing.

Someone else is in the Clubhouse.

Throwing on a shirt and some jeans, he leaves his room starting to patrol the common areas. Despite the frequent flyers having their own rooms, no one ever really makes use of them unless they’re sleeping.

The lounge is empty, the TV still cold. No one’s been in there for a while.

“Six?” he calls out, “Holland?”

Holland will typically turn up after a particularly brutal bender, or if he’s managed to get on the wrong side of some pretty scummy people. Usually only for a day or two; he has a kid after all. Sleeps it off, raids the kitchen then disappears back home.

Six turns up a lot but never stays longer than absolutely necessary. Twenty minutes here or there, not enough to prompt this much healing.

Maybe it’s Driver. It’s been a while since he last appeared, he’s long overdue a visit.

As he reaches the kitchen, Colt freezes. Sat at the kitchen island, midway through eating a bowl of cereal is Grace.

“You came back.”

Grace turns, spoon in his mouth, quickly swallowing and giving a sheepish smile.

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t know if you were awake.”

Everyone always leaves, but they always come back. Colt knows Grace was going to turn up eventually, so why is he so surprised to see him sat there? Thinking about it, Grace probably wasn’t even in the top 5 people he was expecting to find.

“Sorry I ran off. I just needed some space,” Grace continues, “You know, a day or two to think things through.”

Colt instinctively reaches to wrap a hand around his watch. Two days. That’s less than Colt by a fair bit. Which means their clocks won’t be in sync any more. It’s stupid. They’re not meant to be in sync; it was a stupid fluke of random coincidence that doesn’t mean anything.

“Colt? You okay?”

He blinks, coming back to himself. Grace has this worried look on his face.

“Yeah,” he lies easily, flashing a weak grin and dropping his wrist, “Just thought you might have needed some more time.”

It’s obvious by Grace’s face that he doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t say anything, putting down his spoon and shifting in his seat.

“I have questions.”