Michaela meets her fourth Inhuman (that she knows for sure) on a random Thursday in November, during the aftermath of a chance encounter with another enhanced individual.

She's splayed out, half in the street and half on the sidewalk, one lens of her goggles cracked, a leg half-drawn towards her chest, the other ragdoll-like and effectively useless. Matt's – somewhere else. Fighting the good fight still, probably. The enhanced individual made copies of themselves and frankly Michaela couldn't keep track of who the original was after about five minutes of fighting. Matt could, because he's Matt and there was something unique about the heartbeat or the breathing pattern of the guy, or something else stupidly specific that Michaela would never have picked up on had she been by herself.

She really hit the jackpot with Matt, Christ.

Michaela manages to keep the groaning to a minimum as she rolls herself onto her stomach. She's not too heavily injured, from what she can tell; scrapes and bruises, mostly, and a headache from when one of the doubles clocked her from behind before she could throw out any electricity. The busted lens is from hitting the ground and cracking the plastic on the edge of the sidewalk. Better that than her face, although replacing them is going to be a pain. And Matt still can't convince his guy to take on another super-suit-seeking client.

There's SHIELD, probably, but uh, nope. Not happening. Even if Michaela kind of wants to see how Lincoln's been doing...

Not the point right now, she reminds herself, getting her legs under her so she can push herself upright.

And then she blinks, confused, because that looks an awful lot like a hand hovering in front of her face, except Matt's definitely not back yet. And this hand is on the smaller side, and also – not white. Or gloved, for that matter. Huh. Michaela tips her head back, ignoring the throbbing at the back of her skull, squinting against the glare of the overhead streetlights.

"The hell?" Michaela blurts out. "I know you!"

The kid – and they're a kid, alright, somewhere around Peter's age, which isn't hard to tell even with their features thrown into shadow and made indistinct – practically beams at the admission, their smile just about the brightest thing Michaela's ever seen. They crouch down so that they're closer to eye-level with Michaela, tucking both hands into the pockets of their offensively-yellow bomber jacket.

"You remember! That's super neat, I wasn't expecting that. We were both totally out of it at the hospital—"

"They had us on the good drugs," Michaela agrees, sort of wishing she had access to them right about now. The headache's nothing serious – Blackout's had more than one concussion, she's like an expert on it now – but it's distracting and making her feel mildly nauseated with the way her neck is craned back to look at this kid. Who she does remember from the hospital, right after they'd been swept off the street and tagged-and-bagged following the Terrigen Mist attack.

She squints harder.

They were roommates for about a day or two. Didn't talk much if at all, though Michaela recalls that they were both ragging on the doctors, annoyed they weren't allowed to leave until they'd been poked and prodded and stuck with ten thousand needles. Michaela doesn't have a name, but that smile is pretty recognizable.

"I'm Bailey!" the kid says, sticking their hand out again. For shaking, Michaela guesses, which is. Unnecessary, honestly, but polite. So that deserves some brownie points. "Bailey Flores. You don't gotta give me your real name, 'cause you're a hero and all, gotta protect that secret identity."

Shit, that's right. Michaela's in hero mode, she shouldn't—

Wait. She's in hero mode. And her costume isn't pathetically shredded this time, how did this kid – Bailey – even put it together that she's the same grouchy college student from the hospital?

Some of her thoughts must show on her face, because Bailey laughs and rocks back on their heels, brown eyes crinkling with mirth.

"I've known it was you since they got a good shot of Blackout without the goggles in the Bulletin. You have like, the prettiest eyes, hazel's pretty much always been my favorite eye color, and with your hair and all it wasn't hard to put two and two together."

"Huh. You're, uh. Pretty sharp."

"Nah," Bailey says, grinning still, "just a big fan."

Michaela nods, letting that go. A fan, sure. One who just happened to get caught up in the Terrigen Mist and room with her at the hospital. A fan who went through the exact same tests and baffled just as many specialists. There's nothing inherently malicious about any of this, and Michaela's not exactly picking up any murder-y vibes from Bailey, but. Well. The paranoia's surging again and it's hell beating it down with logic alone. Still, Michaela grasps Bailey's hand and shakes, because it's a social nicety she can't excuse herself out of at the moment and because it gives her just enough leverage to drag herself upright.

"Not that I'm not, ya know, ecstatic to see you're doing well, but I gotta ask. The hell are you doing out here so late, kid?"

Bailey shrugs, jumping to their feet as Michaela shakily gets to hers. "I live around here. Heard you and Daredevil gettin' into it with some baddies and thought I'd come out and say hi. Hi," they add, laughing.

Michaela feels herself soften, a smile tugging at her mouth under the mask. Bailey's young, shorter than Michaela by a couple of inches. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, messy hair a few shades darker than Michaela's, cropped close to their ears. They're not much like Peter beyond the endearing youngness of them, honestly, and Michaela still doesn't think she does all that well with kids, but fuck if Bailey isn't adorable. And probably impulsive as hell, given that they went out in the middle of the night to gamely reveal they know Blackout's secret identity just after said superhero and her pal faced off with some so-called baddies. Which is. Not great, all things considered.

Maybe they're more like Peter than previously thought. Maybe Michaela somehow attracts reckless, golden-hearted children with her personal brand of dumbassery.

She internally winces; god, that's the last thing she needs. She really, really isn't qualified to be any sort of caretaker or guidance... person. Like a role model or. Anything where she has to be a good influence on developing minds. She's lucky she hasn't completely screwed up Peter, what with her actively encouraging the kid to risk his hide while duking it out with wannabe super villains.

On that note, Michaela has decided that she never really wants to be introduced to Aunt May. She might like, spontaneously combust on the spot if she had to straight-up lie to that woman's face regarding Peter's extracurricular activities.

"Hi yourself," Michaela eventually replies. "Always happy to meet a fan."

At least, that's been the case the two other times this has happened. Though no one's come out and just said they're a fan, really; Bailey's a first on that account. Matt's gotten people throwing themselves at him – and she means that literally. A women, probably drunk, maybe also stoned, saw Matt-as-Daredevil one night while he was lurking (he lurks, and anything he has to say to the contrary is just plain lies) and just. Launched herself at him. If the guy's reflexes were any less amazing, she would've gone sailing right into the window of the storefront he was loitering outside of, but he's Matt so he caught her and then like. Proceeded to give her a lecture on the dangers of binge-drinking. Or something. Michaela was laughing too loud to hear every word when he was recounting the story to her, and whenever she asks about it now, he just smiles and shrugs, like we all have our secrets, Michaela.

He's an ass and she loves him for it. Just loves him. God, she's gotten sappy in her old age.

Anyway.

Fuck, Michaela might've misjudged the head injury, she's got the attention span of a gopher right now. At least Bailey's not judging her; they're just smiling, amused, as Michaela no doubt stares off into the distance and fantasizes about being able to fall asleep with Matt on the couch and then inevitably wake up with a crick in her neck and a gentle reprimand from Matt the hypocrite.

"Er, you're gonna have to excuse me," Michaela says, playing it off with a laugh that grates on a handful of nerves that aren't dedicated to the usual aches and pains she's got going on. "I'm not at the, uh, the top of my game after that fight. Should probably see if Daredevil wouldn't mind patching me up, actually..."

"Wait, wait!" Bailey darts out a hand, grabbing Michaela's wrist before she can so much as take a step back. Michaela blinks rapidly, bringing Bailey back into focus. She frowns, but Bailey's grin is persistent. "Okay, I lied, I didn't just come out here to say hi."

"Somehow, that makes me worry less about you," Michaela says, probably a bit nonsensically, though Bailey rolls right along without paying her any mind.

"You're my favorite hero," they say, emphatic and heartfelt and god Michaela might cry, what the fuck. Heat prickles at her cheeks, the flush high enough that some of it probably peeks out above the mask, though, really, she's got bigger problems than her tragic inability to accept compliments like a normal person. "And you're awesome and so powerful" – okay, they're stretching the truth a little, Michaela's fragile ego will allow it – "and I really, really, really wanna be your sidekick!"
"Sidekick?" Michaela repeats, her mouth shaping the word carefully, like it's foreign to her. A sidekick? She, she can't have a sidekick, what the hell, that's like, for heroes who are actually, you know, capable. And have a success rate higher than sixty percent. "You wanna be my sidekick. What – why?" A thought niggles at the back of her mind and she backtracks. "Do you even – you have powers?"

"Yup!"

"Uh-huh. I realize it's a personal question and all, but those would be... what, exactly?"

"I can—" Bailey's eyes widen to the point where Michaela's genuinely worried about them popping out of their skull, and it'd be comedic, almost, if not for Bailey abruptly yanking Michaela forward at an angle, spinning her slightly in the process. Which, uh. Gives her the chance to watch as Bailey throws out a hand in front of them, the light of the overhead streetlight – coalescing around their fingers, their palm, almost like it liquefies, dripping like golden candle wax from absolutely nowhere, before suddenly solidifying into a disc about the size of a frisbee.

Just in time for a knife to connect with it, the impact a dull thud that seems to echo in the near silence of the night.

"Fuck," Michaela hisses with all the feelings, before her instincts kick in and she twists out from behind Bailey, kicking the knife from the stunned copy-maker's loosened grip. It goes sailing out into the shadows and Michaela wastes no time in taking advantage of his surprise and clamping a hand around his forearm, delivering a jolt of electricity with just enough wattage that he seizes up, convulses for a moment, then sinks to the ground with all the grace of a sack of rocks.

He doesn't get up, though his body twitches with the aftershocks, and Michaela plants a boot against his side to roll him onto his back, just to make sure he's out. She breathes a sigh of relief seeing that he is, in fact, unconscious. And also, he's not disappearing, so he is the original, which is great news for her. She might have to recalculate her success rate if she keeps this up.

Shoulders sagging from where they'd jumped up near her ears, Michaela spins back to Bailey, arching a brow. A tired, exasperated smile pulls at her mouth.

"So, about those powers..."

Bailey's beaming again. The disc, or shield, maybe, seems to melt in their hold, though it's immediately taking shape into something else, like it's filling a mold. And then suddenly Bailey has a shiny gold knife in their hand, which they flip and grab again, slashing at the air in a mock attack.

"All I need is light and I'm great at offense and defense! I'd be like, the perfect sidekick, I even have a hero name picked out! And I can make a costume that compliments yours and—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up a second." Michaela can't stop staring at the knife. It's. Made entirely out of light. Hardened light. Which is apparently strong enough to take a pretty substantial hit; it didn't even so much as chip when the blade made contact with it. She's seen some out there powers since she came onto the hero scene, but this one might take the proverbial cake. It shouldn't be physically possible. At all. And yet here Bailey is, wielding it expertly, and wanting to be her fucking sidekick. She's getting dizzy, and hell, she can't blame it on the brain damage this time. "Bailey, kid, fuck. You're amazing, that is so goddamn amazing I don't really have words for it. But you're, what, fourteen?"

"Fifteen," Bailey corrects, undaunted by Michaela's kind of blatant criticism. "My birthday was September 26th."

Like that makes everything better. Who knows, maybe it does in Bailey's head. Ugh, they really are like Peter. What's with the youth these days, wanting to risk their lives battling the forces of evil, instead of risking their lives the normal way, by like, drinking to the point of alcohol poisoning and engaging in unsafe sex.

"You're fifteen," Michaela sighs. She wishes she could run her fingers through her hair but as it's currently braided so that it doesn't whip around her face during a fight, that's a no-go. "That's..." God, she's a terrible liar. She wants to say that's too young but she can't because of Peter. Fuck it's still too young but she can't really say that's the reason she wants Bailey to drop the sidekick thing. She tries a different track. "I'm not really in the market for a sidekick?"

Oh, good, she could've said that with much less conviction. That'll convince Bailey for sure.

Unsurprisingly, Bailey doesn't look too impressed with her reasoning. That's fair, neither is Michaela.

"Is anyone really in the market for a sidekick? I think they're something that just kinda happens. You know?" Bailey spreads their hands, the knife dissolving into nothing as Michaela watches, rapt. Could be a helluva murder weapon in the wrong hands. Ugh, bad thoughts, not the time. "I'm not saying you should be Batman and adopt like ten orphans to be your crime-fighting children, but one wouldn't hurt, right?"

Michaela can see this isn't getting resolved any time soon. Bailey looks very determined to get on Blackout's nonexistent payroll and Michaela really does not have the brain power to outthink them right now. Delaying things might be the best option she has, even if the thought of picking up this conversation thread at a later date makes her want to foist the whole thing off on Matt.

"Okay, okay, you make solid points." Michaela rolls her eyes behind the goggles as she plucks her phone out of her pants pocket and pulls up a new contact. "I'm not taking you on right now, kid, but give me your number and we'll... get back to this. Eventually. When I'm not sorta-probably suffering from a possible concussion. Yeah?"

Apparently this is more than enough to satisfy Bailey for the time being, because they're quick to snatch the phone from Michaela's hand and type in their number. They hold the phone long enough that Michaela guesses they're sending themselves a text and that's. Fantastic. There goes any possibility of never having Bailey text her and demand they meet up. Although, if she's being honest, she feels better knowing another super teen has her number. Has someone to contact if things get rough and they have no one else to turn to. Michaela can be good for that, if nothing else – she's already attached to Bailey and she's more than willing to swing by if the kid gets into trouble. Or trouble finds them, the way it usually happens with Peter.

Michaela's finally gotten Bailey to head home (with the mischievous promise that they'll be seeing each other again real soon, yay) when Matt makes a reappearance, looking only minorly scuffed up from his brawl with the doubles he was chasing. He cocks his head at the unconscious baddie still sprawled out on the road, says nothing for a solid thirty seconds, then simply turns his head towards Michaela and she just. Word vomits at him.

"You're popular these days," Matt says once she's finished.

She scowls, crossing her arms under her chest. "As if. Bailey just has really low standards when it comes to their preferred heroes."

"I thought we talked about you selling yourself short."

"I am not sidekick material, Matt. Or, fuck, I'm not what you'd call worthy of a sidekick. I'm a small-time vigilante, I'm not even recognized as a legit hero in the eyes of the law. What am I gonna do for that kid besides increase their chances of getting sent to juvie by about a thousand percent?"

"Teach them how to not get caught?"

"Ha ha, that's hilarious. I've been almost arrested twice, Matt. Twice! And SHIELD had to bail me out both times!"
He has to concede that point, though it looks like he'd rather not. Hell, Michaela would rather it not be true, but those are the facts, and it really just cements the fact that she is in no way capable of handling a sidekick. Peter doesn't exactly count, he's his own hero and aside from that unfortunate incident with the ID, he's better at evading outing himself or getting caught than Michaela is by a mile. He's got those, what does he call them, spidey senses? He can take care of himself, and while Michaela feels responsible for him most of the time, she isn't. Not really. That wouldn't be the case with Bailey.

"Besides," Michaela says, pulling out her phone again so she can send an anonymous tip to the police about the copier passed out at her feet. She might send a text to Daisy, too, just to be thorough. "Let's be real, I'm basically your sidekick, Murdock, and I don't feel like getting into the logistics of a sidekick having a sidekick."

"Michaela, you are not my—"

"Oh, what's that? Can't hear you, Matty, got this nasty ringing in my ears from when this asshole clocked me."

"You—" Matt pauses. For so long that Michaela looks up from her phone, worried Matt's picking up on some other in-progress crime. Only, he looks wholly focused on the current situation, turned towards her, his mouth pressed into a thin, tense. "How bad are you hurt?"
Oh.

"Oh," she says, blinking. "I'm. It's not, uh. Matt, I'm fine, honestly, you don't gotta worry about it. I'll lay on an ice pack later, it's nothing."
"Michaela."

Yikes, she made a fucking tactical error with that one. Michaela ducks her head, drops her gaze back to the phone, though she's lost the plot on whatever she was about to send to Daisy. She hasn't really been paying attention to the throbbing in her skull for a while now, Bailey was a helluva distraction, but now that she's thinking about, it fucking hurts. An ice pack might not cut it at this rate. And for once she thought she came out on the other side of a fight without suffering anything serious. Fuck her bad luck.

"We'll figure out the sidekick problem later," Matt decides, and Michaela's inclined to agree with him. Bailey can wait a few days. "For now, let's go back to my apartment. I have an actual med-kit there."

"You're going to hold that over me forever, aren't you?"
"I'll plead the fifth on that one."

"God, you and your lawyer speak..."

Matt doesn't reply, just holds out his hand. And, well. Michaela's a simple woman with simple wants. Cashing in on her earlier domestic fantasy is one of those wants at the moment and Matt's offering it to her, basically – right after they deal with the possible concussion. She takes his hand, laughing a little to herself.

"We're the least romantic couple ever," she says, grinning like a fucking fool and a little disappointed that Matt can't see it.

"I beg to differ," he says, tugging her closer. "Tenderly caring for one another's wounds is a pretty popular trope in fiction."

"Sure, Matty. Tenderly caring for one another's wounds doesn't generally involve panic attacks in movies and shit."

"We're more realistic," is all he says, and well, he's not wrong, she supposes.

At least there won't be a panic attack tonight, considering it's not Matt who's hurt. That's something.

"Let's go home."

"And just leave this guy here?"

Matt considers the copier for a moment. His head cocks again. Then he says, "Cops'll be here in a minute or two. He'll keep for that long." He tugs a little harder on her hand, and she laughs again, happily stepping closer to him. "Like I said, let's go home."

"I think I can get on board with that idea now."