theluckygirl | For oorah

She supposed eventually it would happen, especially given all the violence that surrounded the guy and the fact that she was one of the few who took the patient regardless of who he was. That's how it went with Matt, Jessica, Luke, Danny and Colleen. So why not one more?

Honestly, she didn't expect the call, in fact, she never expected to see Frank Castle again after tending to him at Metro when they brought him in seriously injured, but alive and expected to heal enough to stand trial for all the deaths that came by his hand. Claire was told not to talk to him and she didn't. Not really and not directly to him, anyway. she spoke in her quiet, gentle voice about knowing someone like him and how she was scared that one day she would be tending to him like she was tending to him right then. He was unconscious, so that's why she did it.

Then he was gone and Claire left the hospital she committed close to a decade of her life to.

The call for help came from someone Claire didn't know, but who obviously knew her through the people she had dealt with and helped patch up. She could have refused -- or should've refused -- once she got there and realized who it was and how badly he was hurt. Frank was the portrait of death right then and the nurse had no idea if she could pull off saving him.

But she did. Barely.

Now she was sitting with an unconscious man again, thinking about losing Matt while waiting through the first 24 hours to make sure Frank didn't slip on her. She was tired, but not as tired as the two others who had brought him to the apartment suite and who were currently getting coffee's for them all.

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It's familiar, the way his consciousness swims around in his own head. Dying and coming back -- being pulled back from the brink shouldn't be routine and yet here they are. There's something peaceful about it too, riding the ledge of waking and dying all at once. It was revenge that snapped him out of it before; the terrible need to put the responsible parties in the ground. Now they're all dead - well, except one. Billy got away, but that isn't what has him waking with a jerking start. There's something else familiar, a voice, a feminine scent. He would write it off as a dream any other time, but it isn't Maria. He doesn't see her anymore when he closes his eyes - not since they said their final goodbyes.

Bruised eyes stick with a wet sound, but he manages to pry them open, craning his neck against the pillow to try and get a look at who it is by his bedside. It can't be Madani, though she'd saved him. She couldn't bear to look at him for too long, and he can't say he blames her. It isn't David, obviously, he doesn't wear perfume. Though those too-blue eyes still haunt him, feeling the man's fear as his own. He saved Frank too, gave him his blood. He looks at the tube and grabs for it with his other hand as he works through the haze, but he doesn't try to tug it free. Instead, he gently feels the life-giving fluid of his brother flowing through it and blows out a thready breath.

Something about the woman is striking, her features; but it's deeper than that. He knows her, knows her voice. Confusing and hurt mingle on his black and purple face, but he's not capable of reaching out or he might - just to prove to himself that she's real. That this is.

"Are you my nurse?" he asks hoarsely, voice cracking. Another memory filters through, Madani's father needed a second pair of hands and David was on the phone before anyone could call it a lost cause. He wouldn't give up, even if Frank had days ago. He feels ashamed of that now, not valuing his life when it clearly meant something to his friend. His hand falls from the tubing in a meek flop to the bedspread, laying sideways so he can stare at her. He should be getting up, but that would come. Even he needs to rest after near-death experiences, and he's on his last life if Mario is anyone to go by.

When Frank comes to, she notices a good five minutes before he actually opens his eyes and talks; a skill that most doctors and veteran nurse pick up along the way. Claire picked hers up earlier than most, but then she was a damn good nurse and one of the best at Metro according to her superiors. Only no one would ever hear her toot her own horn. What anyone did in the medical profession was never for any kind of glory; it was to save lives, regardless of who you were.

It's the reason she didn't hesitate in coming. That and there was more to Frank Castle and that much she was able to tell the moment she walked in the door.

"You can say that." Claire replies, giving a small smile before sitting forward an reaching out to press two fingers to the inside of his wrist to check his pulse. "I'm Claire and please don't do anything like try and get up. Tension pneumothorax shouldn't be challenged."

She won't ask how he's feeling, his face sort of speaks that answer.

He could say that, huh? He's not sure he could, really, clearing his throat and wincing when it spirals into a cough. It feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest, but he's still too tired to roll over and alleviate the pressure. And then he couldn't go on staring at her, so really, it wasn't a trade he was willing to make from the start.

"Okay, Claire," he says with a harsh crackle, the hand with his IV pressing against his chest as he forces his eyes to focus on her face. "That word is about three syllables too long for me to understand." He narrows his eyes, as ever playing the part of the dumb jarhead. He doesn't think she'll buy it so it doesn't much matter anyway, and in this case he doesn't actually know the word - can only vaguely guess at what it means.

Well, she was a nurse and she had assisted in making sure he didn't die but they weren't in a hospital and he was a wanted man. So, yes, she was, in a less traditional way, his nurse.

And for a nurse in New York, she has a pretty decent bedside manner. Or, at least until her patient goes against her medical suggestion. So far, Frank hasn't done that, but through everything she's heard he doesn't exactly strike her as the type to listen to many people.

Geez, how many of those people did she know now?

It doesn't matter much. Claire has decided to simply do what is asked of her, quickly and quietly and that's it. She also decided it was best not to invest in anyone else because losing them was far more frustrating than it was painful and perhaps with Matt being presumed dead that made it easier to distance herself.

After getting his pulse, she purposely locks eyes with him and holds them, considering something for a moment. Sure, she was pretty sure he knew what it was, given he was military. But she also knew the extent of his head injuries, too.

"Collapsed lung. You lost a lot of blood, too. Good thing your friend was a universal donor or we might not be talking." Claire says, lifting a finger. "Follow it with just your eyes."

Moving it right and left, then up and down, the nurse was decently pleased with his healing progress so far. He wasn't out of the woods yet, but he was getting there.

When she says it, he connects the dots, grunting in understanding as he tries to sit up more. It's mostly ineffectual and he knows it doesn't matter if he looks weak in front of a nurse of all people, but it's still habit to push - to try and do more even when he shouldn't.

"Not blood brothers, my ass," he mutters to himself, noting how dry and soar his throat is, but too tired to do anything about it. Frank starts to close his eyes again when she puts a finger in his face and he winces, pressing down on the bed again to get a few more inches of height before collapsing against the pillows twice as pathetically as before. He tries to focus and do as she says, his eyes following the digit back and forth until he gets dizzy and closes them tight to recover. "What does that mean? I'll live?"

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