The night started out the same as the others.

Calina watched from her hidden spot as Matthew chose his vantage point, high above the city he protected. She watched as he scouted the night air, his head twitching in small movements as he filtered through the sounds travelling to him on unseen waves.

And she watched as he pinpointed his prey, and took off across the rooftops.

She followed at a distance, one that was considerably closer than the first night - the night he'd almost been shot. Since then, she'd been determined to always be within range, in case she ever had to call out a warning.

But it soon became apparent that this night was not the same as the others.

His pace as he ran across the city was slower than usual. His jumps not quite reaching as far. His gait...off. Not as confident as usual. She frowned as he mistimed a landing and staggered a couple steps, his arm coming up to steady himself against the wall to his left. He rested against the bricks for a few seconds before shaking his head as if to clear it.

Then he kept going.

Concerned, she increased her speed, getting closer to him than ever before. As he paused on top of an empty warehouse across from the pier, she was just one building over, crouched behind the massive billboard on the roof.

Then he disappeared from sight. Whatever he - they - had been chasing must be inside that warehouse. She backed up and took a running jump, bridging the narrow gap between the two buildings. She found the access stairs Matthew had used to gain entry to the building, and followed him inside.

She kept her footsteps light as she descended the darkened stairwell, her ears straining for any hint of what she was walking into. But she could hear nothing but the scurry of rats in the walls, and the distant screech of tires on the road outside.

She eased open the door at the foot of the stairs and scanned the corridor. A faint light shone from the far end, accompanied by a mechanical hum and the muffled sound of voices.

Bingo.

She followed the signs of life, securing the straps of her widow's bites and cursing herself for not bringing one of her guns.

This felt reckless.

Dangerous.

She was entering unknown territory, with no clue what was going on, and no back up.

Yelena would kill her if she ever found out.

But Matthew was here somewhere, and he didn't exactly seem at the top of his game tonight. She needed to make sure he was okay.

The light brightened as she reached the end of the corridor, which terminated in a T-junction. A narrow walkway branched left and right, forming a gantry that overlooked a vast open space below. By the looks of things, it used to be an open plan office space. A few desks and office chairs were strewn about, and some computer equipment was stacked in a pile in the corner, covered in cobwebs, proof of long neglect.

The light that she'd followed came from a few desk lamps that were plugged into a portable generator. They surrounded a pile of blankets in the centre of the floor. She squinted, trying to get a better look, but the angle was wrong, her view blocked by a large man dressed in black. She froze as another three men joined him, coming from a room at the other end of the open space.

"Did you make the call?" the man in black said.

"Yes," one of the others replied. He came to rest against the generator and folded his arms. "Its just a matter of time now."

"Good," the large man said, pacing the floor now, his steps throwing up tiny clouds of dust as he moved. "The sooner the better. The package made too much noise on the way in-"

"And who's fault was that?" the third man piped up.

"How was I to know the sedative would wear off so quick?"

"What's done is done," the fourth man said. His voice held authority, and the other three paid attention as he spoke. "But I agree with Jones. This place feels compromised now. I don't like the feel of it."

"You should always trust your instincts." The threatening words came from directly below her. It was Matthew, using a tone of voice she'd never heard from him before - a harsh, menacing whisper.

The four men spun around and she could see them peering into the shadows beneath her hiding spot. Before they could say anything, a pair of sticks came flying out of the darkness, striking two of the men in the chests and sending them staggering back. The Devil appeared in the next moment, running at the other two criminals. He engaged them in a flurry of hits and kicks, dropping one of the men to the ground with a roundhouse strike to the head. The three remaining thugs surrounded him, but just like the night on the docks, he held his own.

No, not quite like that first night.

This time, the punches and kicks from the other men were landing.

She watched as Matthew stumbled back after one particularly brutal blow to his face, the momentary distraction allowing one of the other assailants to follow it up with a hammer-like hit to his kidneys.

He went down to one knee, and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from calling out.

Get up, Matthew!

He did, but too slowly. He took another fist to the face. A kick to the chest. She gripped the metal railing of the gantry, torn between protecting her identity and helping the struggling man below.

The decision was made for her in the next moment.

The fourth man - the one who seemed to be in charge - came at Matthew from behind, a metal tool in his hands. Before she could cry out a warning, he swung his weapon back and whacked Matthew in the side of the head with his full force.

Daredevil collapsed to the ground.

"No!" she shouted.

The men looked up at the sound, her cover blown. It didn't matter.

She was done hiding from this fight.

She launched herself over the railing of the walkway and rolled when she hit the ground. As she came to her feet, she fired one of her taser discs at the man with the wrench, dropping him with 30 000 volts. The other three came at her. She met the first with a spinning jump kick to the face, his momentum providing the force needed to knock him out.

She took the second down with another disc. The third managed to tackle her to the ground just as she fired, but she quickly slipped from his grasp with an elbow to his nose. She flipped him over, wrenched his arm behind him and shoved her bite into his neck with her free hand. He jerked and shuddered beneath her as the electricity coursed through his body.

As he flopped into unconsciousness, she stepped off him and cautiously approached Matthew. He was still sprawled on the ground where he'd fallen, a trickle of blood leaking from his right temple the only hint of movement.

He was still.

So still...

She held her breath as she got closer. Then shuddered in relief when she saw the faint rise and fall of his chest.

He groaned suddenly and started to stir. Not wanting to be caught by him, she took off across the floor and raced up the metal steps to reach the gantry again. She melted back into the shadows and tried to calm her racing heart.

He seemed to sense her anyway. As he staggered to his feet, his head whipped up to her location. He tilted his head, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to sort through the sensations flooding him. "Is there someone there?" he called. He clutched the side of his mask where his wound still leaked. He shook his head, and grimaced at the obvious pain.

"Dada?" a small voice croaked.

The blankets stirred. A small head popped up, long dark hair mussed and cheeks flushed with sleep.

It was a child.

Those bastards had kidnapped a child. A toddler, by the looks of things.

"Dada?" the child repeated, the words slurred this time. Calina remembered the talk of sedatives, and her fists clenched in anger.

They had drugged and kidnapped a tiny child.

That was why Matthew had come here, despite his obvious impediment.

The Devil of Hell's Kitchen took a step towards the little girl. "Hey, there." His voice was soft and calming, the polar opposite of the growled whisper from earlier. He stumbled into one of the felled kidnappers on his way to the pile of blankets. He frowned and glanced around at the other three, before shaking his head again.

He used his hands to guide himself towards the child. When he reached her, he crouched down and gathered her into his arms, blankets and all. The child started to protest, but the lingering sedative in her system made her too weak. Her head flopped onto Daredevil's shoulder and she started crying pitifully into the red fabric.

"Shhh, sweetheart, its okay," Matthew crooned as he carried her across the floor, one arm rubbing her back. "Let's get you out of here."

The two of them disappeared through the door at the other end of the open space. Calina retraced her steps back to down the corridor, up the stairs and out onto the rooftop. She jogged over to the edge and peered down to the street below where a large man dressed as a devil paced with a tiny child in his arms.

If she wasn't still so terrified by what could have happened tonight she would have smiled at the strange sight.

As it was, she was almost shaking with fear.

He could have been killed.

If she hadn't been there...he could have died tonight.

The thought echoed in her mind as she watched Matthew handed over the child to a policeman - a plain-clothes Detective that he seemed to know. And the fear plagued her as she followed him home. And luckily, he did go home; he didn't try to fight any more battles that he was obviously in no fit state to win.

What had happened to him?

The disorientation in the warehouse may have been due to the blow to the head, but before that, his reaction times had been off. His senses not what they should be.

What was wrong?

The question kept her up that night. Along with several others: should she have intervened sooner? Should she have intervened at all? Had she put herself and her sisters at risk by doing so?

Was she selfish to worry about that when Matthew's life had been at stake?

When a child's life had been at stake?

After several hours of contemplation, Calina was still none the wiser. She sighed and rested her head on her bent knees as she stared out of her bedroom window. The muted yellow glow of the sun bounced off the glass of the apartment building opposite; she could hear birds chirping from the trees lining the street below, and the sound of foot traffic and cars as people made their way to the market and the gym and wherever else normal people went on a bright Saturday morning.

All she wanted to do was go next door and make sure Matthew was alright. That he hadn't fallen into a coma from his head injury. That he hadn't snuck out to fight more bad guys and was right now dying in a ditch somewhere.

Why couldn't she have a crush on a normal man? One who didn't court danger every night and make her worry like this?

But would she have felt this way towards a normal man? Matthew was handsome, funny and kind - like thousands of other men in New York City. But how many of those other men were as strong as Matthew? How many fought so well? How many risked their lives to rescue small children?

There was only him.

And her simple crush had blossomed into full blown obsession only after she had discovered his secret and found out that he was a hero.

Because she had discovered he was a hero.

Because he was the complete antithesis of her.

She admired the traits in him that she lacked.

But she was trying to be a better person than the one she'd been raised to be. So she shoved on some clothes, tidied her hair, and grabbed the washed and folded sweater that Matthew had lent her a month ago when she'd stayed in his apartment.

She needed an excuse to knock on his door, after all.

———

Matt lay curled up in bed, exhausted, but still unable to sleep.

The sounds filtering through his floorboards from the building below were too muffled. The voices drifting through his window from the people on the street too indistinct. He couldn't gauge the world through scent - his nose blocked and his tastebuds rendered useless.

And it made him feel vulnerable as hell.

He fucking hated catching a cold.

But he should have seen it coming. The past couple of weeks, he'd been burning the candle at both ends. Between the long hours at work, and his Daredevil activities, he wasn't getting more than a few hours rest a night.

And it couldn't exactly be called rest. He still wasn't sleeping well; the last full stretch of uninterrupted sleep was probably the night Calina had stayed over on his couch.

He was run down, and running on empty.

And now he had a fucking cold.

He'd felt the first symptoms of it last night. He'd had to strain to hear the cries and calls of the city, the sounds quieter than usual. The scents on the air had been muted, and as he'd launched himself across the cityscape, he'd fumbled a landing, his senses failing to properly triangulate his position in space. The sharp scrape of pain at the back of his throat had clinched the diagnosis.

He should have turned back and headed home. It had been reckless to continue, when he knew full well how much a simple virus could incapacitate him.

But he'd heard the shuddering gasps of a child in distress; had picked up on her kidnapper's plans for the ransom.

So he'd gone to save her. There'd been no other choice.

Matt groaned as a sharp knock at his door penetrated the haze in his head. He thought about ignoring it, but if it was Foggy or Karen, they wouldn't let up until he answered. 

So he forced himself out of bed and padded to the door, needing the brush of his hand against the wall to steady his stumbling walk.

He hated the way his senses could be so easily overpowered. He hated the way the fire dimmed on his world, and everything became a blur. He hated not knowing who stood two feet from him when he finally reached the door and yanked it open.

"What?" he said, his foul mood resulting in a harsh greeting.

"H-hi," a shy voice said. "It's Calina from across the hall."

Matt winced. He already felt guilty for the way he'd been ignoring Calina this past month, and now he'd snapped at her for no reason. "I'm sorry," he said, sniffing. "I'm not feeling great this morning."

"Oh! You have a cold." She said it as if it solved some great mystery.

He cocked his head, confused. "Um, yeah."

"And you're hurt," she murmured. He felt the whisper soft brush of her fingers against his temple. He raised his own hand to feel the area, wincing again at the deep bruise and the tacky feel of the dried blood.

Oh yeah. He'd been walloped across the head with a wrench. That explained the pounding in his skull.

But it could have been worse. So much worse. If it hadn't been for his mysterious saviour, he could have died last night.

Who were they?

For the past few nights he'd had the vague sense of being watched. Nothing he could put his finger on, nothing tangible to investigate, just a feeling. An instinct.

Was it the same person?

He still had nothing tangible to identify them - by the time they'd gotten close enough to him in the warehouse, his senses were screwed up by the cold and the blow to the head. All he had to go on was a strange noise: the whine of an electric device, almost like the high-pitched crackling buzz of a taser. He'd heard it several times as he'd lain incapacitated on the concrete floor.

"What happened?" Calina asked, interrupting his memory of the previous night.

"I got up early this morning to grab a drink and tripped." He touched the wound again. Tried to downplay it with a smile. "Guess I didn't notice the blood at the time."

"Let me clean it up for you," she offered.

"There's no need. I can do it. And I wouldn't want you to get sick."

"I never get sick. And besides, you helped patch up my wound before. Let me help you. Its only fair."

He nodded and held the door open for her, feeling too ill to resist the offer. He followed her into the living area and took a seat on the couch, sinking into the soft leather with a sigh. He listened as she rummaged around his kitchen for a bowl and filled it with water.

"Do you have any first aid stuff?" she called out.

"Under the sink."

His eyes drifted closed as she gathered supplies. He breathed in deeply, trying to catch the scent of her as it swirled in the air of his apartment. He allowed himself to enjoy the subtle hints of fragrance after denying himself for so many weeks.

He'd missed her, he realised. He'd missed the way she smelled and her soft voice and the strange connection they shared.

It was dangerous allowing her back into his life, even just for a few moments like this. It made him want things. Things he was better off avoiding.

The cushion under him shifted as she sat beside him. He felt her knee graze his thigh as she hitched her leg up on the couch and turned to face him. He kept his eyes closed as she dabbed gently at his skin with a damp cloth, trying to remove the dried blood. "Is the water too hot?" she whispered.

"No," he murmured.

"Let me know if I hurt you."

He nodded. Then nestled deeper into the couch as she continued cleaning the wound. He had to suppress a shudder as she leaned closer and blew gently across his skin, drying off the area. He had to fight back a moan as she scraped her blunt nails through his hair, making sure she caught all the blood.

Then, as she placed the butterfly sutures carefully across the cut, he had to fight the urge to sleep. Something about her presence was so soothing - it always had been, from the first moment he'd spied her on the rooftop. She quieted something in his soul.

And he felt safe around her.

Which made little sense, given what he knew about her...and all the things he didn't know.

But in his vulnerable state, with his bones weary with fatigue, and his abilities weakened, he somehow felt able to let his guard down...and rest.