"Miss? Miss!"

Calina jerked out of her daze and turned to the customer across the counter. "I'm sorry. What can I get you?"

Calina rang up the drinks order then passed it along to her colleague to be prepared.

It was her fourth day working at The Hideout.

There were only so many hours of the day that could be filled with clothes shopping and library trips, so she'd decided to try her hand at a regular job. She'd seen the vacancy notice at her favourite coffee place, and thought it a sign from the fates.

It had seemed perfect.

But in reality...it kind of sucked.

The acrid bitterness of the coffee grinds seemed to permeate her skin, until she could smell it on all her clothes and bedding at home. The structure of her shifts - the time she had to start, how long she could take a break, when she could leave at the end of the day - felt too reminiscent of the rigid training schedule of the Red Room.

But most of all, the boring monotony was excruciating. It gave her far too much time to think.

And her thoughts weren't great these days.

Because Matthew was ignoring her.

Well, not overtly. He was polite when they ran into each other on the street, or in the hallway between their apartments. He would smile and say hello. Sometimes ask her how she was...but it was all in the indifferent manner of a distant acquaintance.

When she'd thought they were becoming friends.

Had she imagined the warmth of their past conversations? In her desire to form a connection with someone outside of the Red Room, had she concocted something from nothing? Had her attraction to him blinded her to his disinterest?

Or had she done something wrong? Something to make him step back from her?

Depressing questions.

Which led to depressing thoughts.

Which her new job gave her far too much time to dwell on.

She was going to have to quit. Just like she'd quit the Widows.

Was that who she was beneath all her conditioning? Nothing but a quitter?

Another depressing question...

Calina sighed as she wiped down the counter. She glanced at the clock over the fireplace and nearly groaned.

Still four more hours to go.

———

A cool evening breeze greeted Calina as she exited The Hideout after her last ever shift. Her supervisor had been mildly annoyed, but ultimately uncaring, at the news she was quitting. Calina had spent the whole of the afternoon preparing a speech with a bulletpoint list of justifications for why she wasn't the right fit for the job, but Hal - the manager - hadn't let her get past the first few sentences.

"Whatever," he'd said, barely looking up from his laptop screen. "Leave your badge on the counter. We'll deposit your paycheque in the bank by the end of the week."

Calina had expected more of a fight. Maybe a rebuke for giving up so soon after starting. Or anger at leaving them short-staffed. She was used to being punished when she failed at something - it felt wrong to be let off the hook so easily.

She wrapped her jacket more tightly around her as she stepped onto the pavement and joined the throngs of people scurrying home. Her footsteps echoed theirs as she walked the path back to her apartment. To an outsider, she probably looked like one of them, but she felt so removed.

Separate.

Not a part of this world.

She had no family waiting for her at home. No friends to meet for drinks. She couldn't hack it working a simple waitressing job, and the only person she'd made a connection with now wanted nothing to do with her.

What was the point of this new life she was struggling to live?

Maybe she should just give up and go back to the Widows. She was a quitter, after all. Why not quit New York too? At least then she'd be with people who understood her. Who knew her, and everything she'd been through.

At least then she wouldn't be so lonely. When she woke up in fear or couldn't sleep, at least there would be someone there to help her.

That's what she wanted most of all. Someone to be there for her. She wasn't looking for a thrilling life full of adventure and wonder. She didn't have grand ambitions or aspirations. She just wanted to do some good in this world, to make up for all the bad she had done. And she wanted someone to come home to.

On a night like tonight - dark and damp and cold - she didn't want to return to an empty, lifeless apartment. She wanted to return to a home filled with warmth...and love. She wanted someone to share a life with. The good and the bad. The ups and the downs. She wanted to know what it was like to have someone to rely on. To take care of, and who would take care of her. She wanted companionship and laughter and touch and passion.

She wanted love.

But that was an impossible dream. A fairy tale. The kind of fantasy story that she was never told as a child, but which nonetheless lived in the very depths of her tattered soul. Buried deep, deep, deep, and existing as nothing more than a tiny, faint spark of hope when there was no other hope to find.

She'd nurtured that spark on being freed from the Red Room. Had let it guide her away from the safety of the Widows and their sanctuary on the South Carolina coast. Indulged it until she'd deluded herself into thinking it could turn into more than just a wish.

She was a killer, after all.

A liar.

A thief and manipulator.

The things she had done had stained her soul. And ruined any chance of finding true love.

She'd either have to settle for a facsimile of love with someone who would never know the real her. Or she'd let someone into her past, let them see the truth of her...and they would run a mile.

Because who could possibly accept the things she had done?

She couldn't.

She had lived through it, had experienced the conditioning and the mind control, and she still blamed herself sometimes - she should have fought the training harder. She should have questioned the life she was living. Tried to escape long before it became impossible. Long before her mind was imprisoned.

Even on those days when she accepted the rational explanations for her actions - she was a child, she was brainwashed and controlled - the emotional fallout was harder to come to terms with. Her hands were the ones covered in blood, regardless of the circumstances.

She sometimes struggled to deal with that fact.

So it would only be natural that others would too.

———

She seemed sad.

Her usual long-legged, confident stride was replaced by a graceless shuffle. Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her jacket, and her shoulders were hunched. She didn't seem to noticed the bustling crowd around her as she slowly made her way home.

Matt stepped back into the shadows of the rooftop as Calina passed by beneath him. The lamps lining the streets had only just started to hum and the air still held the faint warmth of the setting sun, telling him it was barely dark. He wasn't usually suited up and patrolling at this time, but he'd been kicked out of the office early.

Apparently, he'd been in a foul mood this week, and his co-workers were sick of him. The words 'curmudgeon' and 'sullen asshole' had been bandied around.

By Foggy, of course.

Karen was a touch more sympathetic, offering to talk about what was bothering him over drinks. But he'd turned her down, knowing there was a better way to deal with his irritability - letting the Devil out for a while.

Although he'd been doing that every night this week and it hadn't exactly helped. His failure at finding the source of the drug that Margaret was dosed with was only adding to his bad temper. He'd come across another victim a couple of nights ago - a truck driver had jumped the median strip on 9th avenue and accelerated into oncoming traffic. The sound of the collision as he'd crashed into several vehicles was like a bomb going off to Matt's ears. He'd raced to the scene to try to help and had managed to pull the driver from his mangled truck before the fire in the engine spread to the cab. The scent of the drug had hit him the moment he'd grabbed hold of the man. Unfortunately, the driver had died a few hours later in hospital, before Matt could figure out a way to question him.

His gut was telling him that these isolated incidents were the start of something bigger. A dangerous plot that he was only catching a glimpse of, and he was getting frustrated by the lack of leads.

Between that, and the stress of the upcoming trial, it was no wonder he was in a bad mood.

At least, that's what he'd convinced himself of before he'd spotted Calina tonight.

But watching her from his rooftop vantage point had crystallised the feeling that had been plaguing him all week:

Resentment.

He liked her. And a couple of years ago he would have flirted with her. Asked her out. Indulged the connection and chemistry between them. Maybe even built something real and lasting with her...

But now he was too...fucked up...for something like that. Too damaged by all the lies and the betrayal and all the fucking loss and abandonment that he'd experienced over the past few years.

Over most of his life.

Decades of cumulative trauma that had left him in this state. Bitter. Jaded. And with half his heart and the last of his hope buried under a collapsed building across town.

He hadn't been blessed with an easy life. And he'd only made it harder with the choice he'd made to become Daredevil. Although calling it a choice wasn't right. It was more of a calling. A duty. A fundamental part of his soul. And he'd known it would involve struggle and sacrifices.

But he'd never expected it to be quite this tough.

He'd never imagined it would take so much from him - the life of his priest and that of his mentor. The trust of his best friend. His first and only love.

And the chance of exploring something with an interesting, beautiful woman.

Matt turned away from the edge and started jogging across the rooftop. Away from Calina. Away from the possibilities that she represented.

He built his speed until he was flying over the concrete and across the gaps between buildings. He pumped his arms and stretched his legs, concentrating on the pull of muscles and his deep, steady breaths. He extended his senses, until the city came alive in a maelstrom of noise and smells and vibrations.

The bombardment of sensation helped him block out the thoughts of Calina and dampened some of the bitter, corroding resentment that he felt. He knew when he returned to his apartment in the small hours of the morning, exhausted and worn out, that feeling would flare up. It would block the sleep he so desperately needed and leave him in an even worse mood tomorrow.

But for the next few hours at least he could forget that he was Matt Murdock, with all his wants and fears and frustrated desires.

He could put aside his human nature and just be the Devil for a while.

———

Calina checked her mailbox, finding nothing but a water bill and a flyer for a dog walking service. She tucked them under her arm and headed for the elevators, trying to muster up some enthusiasm for the long night ahead.

Maybe she would take a bath. Or read a book.

More likely, she would lie on her couch and watch trashy TV until her eyes burned with fatigue.

Already feeling exhausted at the prospect, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a loud clatter rang through the lobby of the apartment block. Her right hand grasped at her thigh for her non-existent gun, but she soon realised there was no threat.

Unless a few soup cans could be classed as public enemy number 1.

They rolled along the tiled lobby floor, having escaped from the bottom of Mrs Schneider's broken grocery bag. Seeing a chance to redeem herself after the incident with the dropped purse, Calina quickly set about collecting the errant tins.

"Danke schön, Danke schön," the old woman said as Calina got to her feet with an armful of canned goods. "Sie sind ein Engel."

Calina held back her bitter laugh at the irony.

She was no angel.

Instead she plastered on a smile for her neighbour. "Bitte schön," she responded, before continuing in German: "Would you like me to carry these to your apartment?"

Mrs Schneider's wrinkled face lit up at the sound of her native language, and the pure delight lifted Calina's mood a notch. "You speak German?"

"Ja," Calina said, her smile more genuine now. She followed the other woman to apartment 2C and waited while she fished in her oversized handbag for the key. When the door finally opened, the sweet, nutty scent of almonds escaped the apartment.

"It smells amazing in here," Calina commented as she deposited the cans by the stove.

"I baked butterkuchen today." Mrs Schneider lifted the glass dome from the cake stand on the kitchen counter and Calina breathed in the delicious aroma.

She recognised the name of the cake from one of her missions in northern Germany. "I thought those were only served at weddings or funerals." They were also called Freud und Leidkuchen - Joy and Sympathy Cakes - for that reason.

Mrs Schneider shrugged as she lifted a couple of slices out and placed them on some decorative plates. "I hate those traditions. 'You can't eat this, its not a wedding', 'You shouldn't make that, its not Christmas'. Bah, I'm old. I might not live to see another wedding or Christmas. So I bake what I want, and eat it when I want." She handed Calina a slice of cake and the two of them took a seat at the dining table.

"Besides," the older woman continued a few moments later. "There are small moments of joy and sadness that we go through every day. They deserve cake just as much as the big occasions."

Calina felt the unexpected burn of tears behind her eyes at that offhand comment. She'd experienced one of those small moments of sadness today. Walking home from The Hideout she'd lamented the lack of companionship in her life, and she'd dreaded returning to her cold, dark, barren apartment...but now she was sitting in this cozy home with a charming old woman. She didn't even know how it had happened - one moment she was doing a good deed, the next she was eating cake.

Mrs Schneider seemed to sense her unshed tears. "It looks like you were in need of some sympathy cake today, hmmm?"

Calina nodded. She blinked a few times to clear her eyes and swallowed the last bite of cake. "I quit my job today."

"Did you not like it?"

"No."

"Then quitting is a good thing. Life is too short to do things you don't like."

Calina pushed the crumbs on her plate around with her fork. "I know. It's just..."

"What?"

"I guess I feel...lost...right now. I don't know what I'm doing here. It's not what I thought it would be."

"How long have you been in the city?"

"Six weeks or so."

The sudden laugh startled Calina. She glanced up to see a wide smile on the other woman's face. "Six weeks? Is that all? Did you expect to be happy and settled after only six weeks?"

Calina could feel a blush spreading across her cheeks. She squirmed in her seat at the gentle admonishment. "Maybe. No, not really. I just...I didn't think it would be this hard."

The older woman reached across and patted Calina's hand. "I'm sorry for laughing. I know it can be hard. I moved here to be with my daughter seven years ago. My husband was...not a nice man. My Hanna moved halfway across the world to get away from him, and she used to beg me to join her. But I stayed. Stupidly, I stayed." She sat back in her chair and her eyes went distant, as if she was reliving her past in Germany. "But eventually he died, and I said yes. I packed up my life in Munich and moved here. Hanna and I had four wonderful years together. And then she died too."

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Schneider," Calina whispered.

"Thank you, dear. And you can call me Alma. You're Calina, right?"

Calina laughed at the strangeness of the situation - the two of them had shared their feelings and personal stories without even properly introducing themselves. "Yes, I'm Calina."

"I've seen you around with that handsome boy who lives next door to you. You make a nice couple."

Calina's smile dropped. "It's not like that. We're just neighbours. I've kind of found it hard to make friends with anyone, let alone something more."

"It can be hard. I don't have many friends either."

"So why do you stay in New York? Why don't you go back to the place you know, where life would be easier?"

Alma shrugged. "Where's the fun in easy?"

"But you don't even speak English."

"Do I need to speak English to enjoy my baking? Do I need to speak English to take a walk in the park? The flowers don't care. The birds in the trees don't either. Yes, it would be easier to be back in Munich, but this is my home now. Everything in this house and this city reminds me of my Hanna. If I went back to Germany I would lose that."

"I don't have anything like that keeping me here."

"You'll find things. Your job didn't work out, but you'll find a new one. Or something else that makes you happy. Just take it day by day. Appreciate the little things, find simple pleasures and before you know it, New York will feel like home. Remember, things don't just fall into place without a little time and effort. As my mother used to say, 'If you like to sled, you have to like to drag the sled'."

Calina smiled at the familiar phrase. "I've heard that before. I like proverbs - even though my sisters tease me for using them. They say only..." she tailed off, realising she was about to insult her new friend.

"Only old people use them?"

Calina's blush deepened.

Mrs Schneider laughed. "Don't worry. I'm not offended. Proverbs are distilled wisdom. People who use them are wise, not old."

———

Calina spent the next day taking Alma's advice, and wandered the city looking for small sparks of joy. She treated herself to brunch at a Greek restaurant in the upper east side, fed the ducks in central park, then lost hours admiring the art in the Met.

Just as promised, she fell a little more in love with New York. And the desire to quit the city and return to the Widows lessened.

That hint of confidence in her chosen new life helped her out later that evening when she ran into Matthew in front of the elevators in their apartment building. Instead of feeling awkward and upset in his presence, she was able to greet him with a small smile, which she hoped he could hear in her voice. "Are you just getting back from work?" she asked.

"Sort of," he replied. "Foggy and I grabbed a couple of beers afterwards. In that bar I told you about."

There was no invite this time. No offer to join them the next time they went for drinks.

The pang of rejection stung a little, but it wasn't as sharp as before. She didn't need Matthew. Her happiness didn't depend on him or the amount of attention he paid her. Her happiness also didn't depend on being a waitress in a coffee shop.

She would find her joy elsewhere.

And she would make this city her home.

———

"One-and-two-and-three-and-four. Lets go!"

The thumping bass filled the air, and the floor beneath her feet vibrated as the twenty-strong class started pounding out the choreography.

"That's it!" cried the instructor over the deafening beat of the music. "Now body rock."

Calina followed along, trying to match the sinuous moves of the more experienced dancers around her. She hopped to the side and kicked out her elbow. Leaned back on the next step, then criss-crossed.

She'd picked up the order of the moves quickly.

But not the execution.

"Calina, loosen up! Let those hips move!"

She tried, but it went against a lifetime of ballet training. Her back wanted to be straight. Her feet pointed. Her hips turned out, not free and loose.

Still...she was having fun.

She'd found a little bit of joy.

And concentrating on getting the steps right distracted her brain. There was no time to dwell on anything else during dance class. Signing up for this had been a much better decision than her short-lived job at the coffee house.

As the session came to an end, Calina wiped the sweat from her face with a towel and shoved on a sweatshirt to ward off the chill of the walk home. She grabbed her bag, and flew down the steps of the studio and out onto the street.

The endorphin rush of the workout always left her pumped and fully of energy.

"You're dancing?"

The shocked, almost disgusted, questions stopped her in her tracks. The endorphins fled in an instant.

It was Yelena. She leant against the lamp post outside the building, her arms crossed, her stare disbelieving. "I can't believe you're dancing."

Calina glanced behind her. The large poster in the window advertised the range of classes offered in the studios upstairs. Street, tap, modern...and ballet. Calina shook her head. "No, Yelena. Not ballet. Street dance."

"Oh," Yelena responded, looking down. "Sorry. I shouldn't have judged. If you wanted to do ballet-"

"I don't," Calina replied. Emphatically. "Never again. I just...like dancing."

"You were always good at it. Better than the rest of us. You always ended class less bruised than we did."

"Well, if its any consolation, I suck at street dance."

Yelena chuckled, and the two of them starting walking in step towards Calina's apartment.

"Its good to see you," Calina said after they passed the deli on the corner. "But why are you here? Is there another mission?"

"No, I was following up a lead on Katya's handler but it went nowhere. I'm headed back to base tonight. But I wanted to give you this before I left." She fished around in her backpack and handed over a plain brown envelope.

"What is it?" Calina started to peel back the flap, but Yelena stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Wait until you get home. Its a little...sensitive."

"Okay, now I'm really intrigued. You can't give me a hint or something?"

Yelena smiled. "I'll just say this - you should never have given Anya a mystery to solve. You know how single-minded she can be."

Half an hour later, her hair still wet from the shower, Calina sat cross-legged on her bed and spread out the contents of the envelope in front of her.

There were grainy black and white stills from surveillance cameras. Screenshots of YouTube footage. Facial recognition matches. Blog posts. Print outs from some 3D modelling software. Gait analysis results...

And a two-line summary, scrawled on a bright pink post-it note in Anya's handwriting:

Your lawyer = Daredevil.

Not so boring after all.