"Thank you, Counsellor," the Judge said, after Matt finished speaking. "Prosecution, please call your first witness."

Matt took his seat and blew out a breath. Foggy gave him a quick pat on the back. "Good job, buddy," he whispered.

"Thanks," Matt whispered back. The opening statement was done. His voice had held out, and he'd gotten his message across to the members of the jury. He'd sensed a reaction in some of their heartbeats as he'd described the terror Margaret had felt while in the grips of the drug, so he was hopeful a least a few jurors were open to his argument.

Calina's angle - playing to their fear, instead of their empathy - had been the right call.

He breathed deeply, sorting past the various smells of the courtroom - the earthiness of the wood panelling, the oil from the bailiff's gun, the too-strong aftershave of the prosecuting attorney - until he found the fragrance he was looking for.

Strawberries and sea salt.

Calina was here.

He'd picked up the scent the moment he'd walked into the room - she was somewhere at the back of the public gallery - and he hadn't been able to stop the small smile that had formed at the realisation. Foggy had noticed straight away. "You're looking strangely optimistic," he'd commented.

Matt had shrugged. "Maybe I feel good about this."

Foggy had scrutinised him closer. "You look good, too. The zombie-ness has worn off a bit. Are you getting more sleep?"

"Yeah. Actually I am."

Last night's experiment - Calina reading to him - had worked better than expected. It hadn't just helped him relax and clear his head for a while...it had put him straight to sleep.

A deep, restorative, dreamless sleep.

He'd woken as dawn had approached, still on the couch, feeling rested and refreshed, despite the slight crick in his neck.

And the unfamiliar weight against his shoulder.

It had been Calina, fast asleep, her head leaning against him. Loathe to disturb her so early, Matt had relaxed back into the couch. He could afford to take a few minutes, to enjoy the novelty of this feeling - unlike most mornings, he wasn't waking in pain from a fight or a fall. He wasn't still tired from a restless night of tossing and turning. He wasn't shaking off the lingering grief from a dream about Elektra.

He felt...good. Content, even.

And it was all down to Calina.

For some reason he could sleep around her. Soundly. For hours at a time.

And she could sleep just as soundly around him, judging from her deep breaths and the slow, steady thrum of her heart. That soothing cadence - and the warmth radiating from her - was almost enough to lull him back to unconsciousness. He felt the urge to tip his head to rest it against hers, to breathe in the scent of her and feel the silkiness of her hair against his cheek...

But he needed to get up. He had to drop by the office to gather some more files, and he wanted to make sure he got to the courthouse early. He didn't want to give Foggy any reason to doubt him today.

He started carefully shifting out from under Calina's weight, trying not to wake her, but the movement stirred her anyway. She groaned as she straightened up, and the book she'd been reading from last night clattered to the floor. The sudden noise seemed to startle her fully awake. She glanced around the room in confusion before seeing him next to her. "I fell asleep again, didn't I?" she moaned, covering her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry."

She jumped to her feet and straightened her clothes. "Your apartment must have soporific powers, or something," she joked, her voice shaky.

"I thought that was you," he replied.

"Hmm?" she asked, collecting her book from the floor.

"I've had more sleep in the last few days than the last couple of weeks combined, thanks to you."

She paused as she gathered her bag. "I don't know whether to feel pleased about that or insulted."

"Insulted?"

"If I keep putting you to sleep, I must be really boring company."

Matt laughed, getting to his feet. "Not at all." He stretched his arms above his head, the joints of his back cracking loudly in the quiet room.

"Ouch," she winced. "I'm sorry again. You really needed a night in a proper bed before your big trial-"

He grabbed her hand, wanting to put a stop to her self-recrimination. "I needed rest. And you helped me get it. Please stop apologising. I meant it when I thanked you just now."

"Okay," she said softly. "I should thank you too. I seem to sleep better here than in my own apartment."

They stood there, hands clasped, as the unspoken admission - that they only seemed to get a good night's sleep in each others' presence - hung between them. Neither of them wanted to comment on the strangeness of that fact.

Or what it might symbolise.

"I- I'll let you get ready," she said, breaking the spell of the moment. She pulled away from him and headed for the exit. "Bye, Matthew."

"'Matt'. Call me 'Matt'," he replied, in what was becoming a familiar refrain.

This time she definitely heard him. She paused at the door - just a fraction of a second between one footfall and the next - but said nothing as she opened it and walked away.

———

Calina slipped out of the courtroom as recess was called for lunch. Coming here this morning had been a spur of the moment impulse. She'd heard Matthew's opening statement a dozen times over the last few days as he'd rehearsed and refined it - to the point where she could have given the speech herself. But she'd wanted to see him in action in court, and to offer some silent moral support.

So she'd battled the rush hour horde of commuters and arrived at the courthouse just as the other members of the public were filing into the gallery. It had been worth the effort. Matthew was so different here. He held authority in this room, and confidence radiated from him.

It was fascinating to watch.

He held his audience in the palm of his hand. They chuckled when he made a self-deprecating blind joke as he got to his feet, putting them all at ease. Their eyes were fixed on him as he gave his impassioned defence. And she could see more than one person react as he asked them to imagine themselves in his client's position.

His speech was working. And she felt more than a hint of pride at the small role she'd played in shaping it.

It had been unexpectedly fun, to help Matthew with his work. And surprisingly easy, to imagine the best way to convince a jury of the truth. But it really shouldn't have been a surprise. It was just another form of manipulation, after all. It was something she'd been taught all her life - how to find the right words and the right arguments to make someone do what she needed them to.

At least now she was putting those skills to use for a good cause - for a woman who'd been forced into violence against her wishes and without her control. It was another reason why it had been so easy to help craft Matthew's speech - she didn't need any help empathising with Margaret Posen.

"Calina!"

She turned as a familiar voice called out her name. Matthew strode towards her, a smile on his face. Behind him she could see Foggy and a tall blonde woman. The woman frowned and said something to Foggy, but Calina was too far away to hear it.

"Hi," Matthew said, reaching her.

"Hi," she replied. "How did you know I was here?"

"Oh, Foggy saw you as you were leaving, and he let me know."

Calina wondered if that was the truth. Or if his senses had detected her hiding at the back of the crowded courtroom. Were they that finely tuned?

"I hope you didn't mind," Calina said. "Me being here, I mean."

"Not at all. I'm glad actually. I wanted to thank you again for your what you did over the weekend - looking after me, helping with the case. It meant a lot."

She ducked her head, uncertain how to react in the face of so much gratitude. Especially when her actions hadn't been entirely altruistic. She'd wanted to spend time with him. Talk with him, eat with him, sit with him in comfortable silence...

And she'd loved every second of it. Despite her reservations about being close to him. And despite the awkwardness of waking up in his apartment after falling asleep.

Twice!

She couldn't understand it. She'd been trained to always be alert. To be aware of her surroundings at all times. Falling sound asleep in a relative stranger's home for hours at a time just wasn't like her.

She could blame it on exhaustion - maybe after so many restless nights, she'd hit a threshold of lethargy, and was liable to fall asleep anywhere now. But deep down she suspected there was another explanation.

She trusted Matthew.

She knew him to be a good man, with a good heart.

And she felt safe with him.

Perhaps that was at the root of her insomnia. Beneath the nightmares, and the way her brain played out her sins on a loop...maybe she felt unsafe. It would make sense - she was so far from her sisters and the only life she'd ever known. She was out on her own in the world, with no one watching her back. No one to stand guard while she let herself sink into unconsciousness.

No one...except for him.

Matthew knew how to fight. He was better at it than almost anyone she'd ever known. He was a man that could handle anything and anyone that might come at him. Which on some subconscious level must make her feel safe. Safe enough to close her eyes and rest.

"I just wanted you to know that," he continued. "In case I don't see you much this week. The case is going to keep me occupied all hours of the day and night."

"I understand," she said.

"But I have some free time now. Do you want to get lunch with us?" he asked, gesturing behind him to his two colleagues. Foggy noticed the action and gave her a small wave. She waved back. The blonde woman just stared at her with cooly assessing eyes.

"Thanks for the offer, but no, I can't today. I have a class starting in twenty minutes."

"Dance?"

"Yeah."

"Well, enjoy. And thank you, again. For everything."

"You're welcome, Matthew."

He tilted his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Are you ever going to call me 'Matt'?"

Yes, she wanted to say. If I no longer have to lie to you. If you ever discover who I really am. If you still want to be my friend, after all that...then I'll have earned the right to call you that.

"Maybe one day," she replied instead.

———

Calina studied her outfit in the full length mirror.

The sequinned dress was fun, and it flattered her figure. It was a tank-style silhouette - sleeveless, with a racer back - and it draped loosely over her willowy frame. She didn't suit tight fitting dresses - she'd never had the curves for them to cling to - but she suited mini dresses like this one, the hemline showing off her long, shapely legs. Which appeared even longer, in the four-inch stiletto heels she had on her feet.

But something about the look wasn't working.

She twisted in front of the mirror, trying to work out what was wrong. The woman in the department store had assured her that the outfit was suitable for going to a nightclub, but it just didn't feel right.

She felt too...styled. Too prissy.

Too much like a ballerina.

She stared at the tight bun that she'd scraped her hair into. That was definitely giving off ballerina vibes, but the shop assistant had recommended the style, saying it would emphasise her cheekbones and her long neck.

It did...but she didn't feel like herself.

Calina smiled at the realisation. She was starting to know her own style. Not only what suited her, but what she felt comfortable in. And what impression she wanted to give the rest of the world. She was learning that clothes could be an expression of who you were inside...

And this wasn't who she was.

Not anymore.

She wasn't the cold, aloof ballerina with perfect posture. She was a street dancer now.

Calina grinned as she kicked off her heels and shoved on her white converse high tops instead. Then she shook out her hair and pulled it back in a messy ponytail.

The woman in the mirror grinned back at her.

This felt right. This was her.

She looked young, and carefree and ready to have fun - three things she had never felt before. Her smile widened.

She checked the time on her phone - 7:20. It was almost time to go. Her heart started fluttering with anticipation. She was going out. On a Friday night. Clubbing. With a friend!

The invitation had come after dance class on Tuesday. Michelle had started attending the sessions around the same time as Calina. They had been the two novices amongst the more experienced regulars and had gravitated towards each other in the lineup. They shared rueful smiles when they messed up the choreography, and thumbs up when they mastered a difficult step. Occasionally, Michelle would chat with Calina as they cooled down, and twice now they'd walked part of the way home together.

She was a 25-year old grad student, studying anthropology, and she lived with two roommates. Her boyfriend had recently dumped her, and she was online dating and 'rebounding all over Manhattan', as she'd put it. She was chatty and outgoing, and didn't seem to mind when Calina barely shared anything of her own life.

But despite all that, Calina hadn't really considered they were becoming friends. Until earlier this week when Michelle had cornered her after class. "Are you busy this Friday?"

"No," Calina has said. "Why?"

"It's my birthday, and a bunch of us are hitting the town. Do you wanna come?"

Calina must have looked as taken aback as she felt, because Michelle rushed to reassure her. "No pressure! It'll just be a quick dinner then dancing - it'll be a chance to show off our newly acquired skills." She offered her phone, the screen open on a blank contacts page. "Give me your number and I'll text you the details."

Calina had, and the text had come through half an hour later with a time and place and an opt-out clause: 'If you can make it, great! If not, no worries.'

'I'll try to make it' had been Calina's reply. She'd wanted the option of backing out, in case she lost her nerve. But as the week crept on, she found herself looking forward to the idea of going out on the town. Especially since her late night stalking of Daredevil seemed to be on hold while Matthew was busy with his trial.

True to his word, she hadn't seen him much over the past few days. Except for this morning, when they'd shared the elevator down to the lobby. He was on his way to court, she was heading out for her morning run.

"How are you feeling?" she'd asked.

"Much better, thank you."

He didn't look it. The congestion in his voice was gone, but he seemed tired and run down. She wanted to ask if he was sleeping, but that seemed like such a personal question.

He had none of the same reservations. "And you? Are you sleeping okay?"

She'd shrugged. "Same as usual. How's the trial going?"

"Nice change of subject," he replied with a smile. "It's going well, actually. Foggy's giving the closing arguments today, then we'll probably get a verdict next week."

"Good luck," she wished him as they walked down the steps of the apartment building and onto the street. They should have parted ways there and then, but they both...lingered. Calina made the excuse of stretching out her arms, and Matthew slowly opened up his cane, as if he too was stalling for time. He played with the stick for a few moments, twirling it between his fingers, and her eyes were drawn to his hands. His lovely, strong, graceful hands...

"Are you okay," Matthew asked.

Realising her breath had quickened - and that Matthew had picked up on it - Calina stammered out a reply. "I'm fine. I-I'll see you later." Then she took off running.

Literally.

Thinking back on the encounter, Calina blushed in embarrassment again. Then debated if she should bring Matthew lunch tomorrow, just like she had last weekend. Given how hard he'd been working, his fridge was probably woefully understocked again.

She wondered where this urge to take care of him came from. And was it just restricted to him - the vigilante-lawyer who worked all hours of the day and night to help the people of this city, but too often neglected himself?

Or would she feel this caring instinct towards any neighbour in need?

Was she a mother hen, just as Yelena had joked?

She shook her head. Those were thoughts for another time. Tonight she had somewhere to be.

She smiled as she gathered her purse. Then paused, eyeing up the bright red coat in her closet. The one she'd bought on a whim months ago but had never quite had the nerve to wear. It felt too...daring. Too conspicuous for someone trying to live an inconspicuous life. But judging from the cold breeze wafting through her bedroom, the temperature had dropped again tonight. She'd pushed the window wide open earlier to let out the steam from her shower, and now a chill was spreading through the room.

She should wear a coat.

She should wear that coat.

It was time to live the life she wanted, on her terms. And if that meant being visible in a show-stopping red coat, that's what she would do.

Calina slipped the garment of its hanger and slung it over her arm. Then she grabbed the top of the heavy sash frame of the window and started to shove it down...only to cry out in shock at the sudden sharp pain just below her rib cage.

She jerked back and glanced down. A metal tranquilliser dart was embedded in her abdomen.

She quickly yanked it out, but it was too late.

The world went hazy...then dark...

And she collapsed to the floor.

———

Her mind was sinking.

She could feel consciousness rising - the sounds of the street outside getting louder, the feel of the bed beneath her back more tangible - but at the same time, her mind was slipping away from her.

Falling down, down, down...disappearing, like a stone dropped into a dark well.

She knew this feeling. She recognised it.

They were taking her mind away again.

It would recede from her body until she was nothing more than a bystander in her own body.

Controlled by outside forces.

Compelled to do their bidding.

Calina's heart started racing at the thought, and the adrenaline surge burned off the last of the tranquilliser. She was fully awake now. She could feel the sharp edges of the zip tie that bound her right arm to the metal frame of her bed. She could feel the pinch of the cannula in her left elbow where the serum had invaded her body.

She could hear the steps of the man pacing the floor of her bedroom.

"We're almost done," he said, his english heavily accented. "Another five minutes and the neural uplink will be complete."

She slitted her eyes open. He had his back to her, a tablet in his hands and a bluetooth speaker in his ear. "Yes, that's right," he said to the person on the other end of the phone call. "I'll be able to monitor her responses, but yours is the only tablet with executive function, as we agreed. You'll be the only one in control." He tapped on the screen as he continued the conversation.

She tuned him out. Tried to calm her pounding heart as she worked through her options.

Five minutes.

Just five minutes until she disappeared.

Until she became nothing but a weapon, programmed to hurt.

To kill.

Just five minutes.

She had to make them count.

"Nice doing business with you," the man bit out, ending the call. "Mudak," he spat, cursing the other party in Russian. He tossed the tablet onto the bed by her feet and turned towards her.

She took her chance.

She whipped both legs up and hooked her feet around the back of his neck, jerking him closer until he stumbled against the side of the bed. She readjusted her hold, wrapping her thighs around his neck and clamping them tight.

Then she squeezed with every last drop of strength that she had.

He struggled against her grip, trying to pull away. Her back left the mattress, the only thing keeping her in place the hand that was bound to the frame. She ignored the bite of pain as the plastic tie dug into her wrist. She ignored the ache as he pummelled his fists against her thighs. She ignored the sight of his eyes bulging as he struggled for breath...

And she ignored the nauseating guilt pervading her body as she took his life.

Her world narrowed to the horrible feel of his thick fleshy neck between her legs and the clench of her muscles as she compressed his airway.

After what felt like hours - but was barely two minutes - he went slack, his blood shot eyes now sightless. She released her hold and he collapsed to the floor, his head colliding with the hardwood floor with a sickening thud.

She didn't spare him a second glance.

She brought her right arm down in a sudden, sharp movement, breaking the tie. She tore the cannula out of her arm, grabbed the man's tablet, and the phone stashed in her beside drawer and raced for the front door.

———

Matt was feeling good.

He always got a buzz from trying cases in court. He enjoyed the chess-like strategy of anticipating his opponent's tactics, and the art of trying to charm a jury. He loved delivering arguments to a hushed room, and the skill of distilling weeks of research and evidence into an eloquent line of questioning that would persuade 12 people of the truth.

And, of course, he loved the thrill - and sheer relief - that came with those two words: Not guilty. He just hoped he'd done enough to get Margaret Posen that verdict.

But it was out of his hands now. The prosecution had rested their case, Foggy had given a killer closing statement, and now it was up to the jury to decide.

Which meant he was free to resume his other duties. His cold symptoms had disappeared, and he didn't have to work late strategising with Foggy or get up early tomorrow morning for court.

Matt Murdock's obligations were over...now it was Daredevil's turn.

The lawyer had tried Margaret's case in court...now the vigilante needed to find the source of the drug that had led to her arrest.

He'd just pulled his tie free of his collar and loosened the first few buttons of his shirt, when a frenzied banging sounded at his front door. Frowning, he moved towards the hallway, stretching his senses out.

He felt panic. Desperation.

Abject terror.

And it was coming from Calina.

"Matthew!" she yelled, continuing to pound with her fists. "Please! Matthew!"

He was at the door in an instant, yanking it open.

"Thank God," she sobbed, stumbling into his apartment. She slammed the the door closed and rushed passed him into the living room. "You need to help me," she said, gulping for breath. Her voice was frantic and her heart was hammering in her chest. "You need to stop me."

He grabbed her arms to steady her. He could smell a faint tang of medicine in her blood, and a strange metallic scent clung to her. "What happened? What's wrong?"

She dropped something to the floor and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, as if to anchor herself. "I'm not going to be me. And they'll make me do things." Her words tripped over each other, the meaning lost. "Horrible things. And I don't want to. I can't go through that again." She started to hyperventilate, and the grip on his shirt tightened.

"Calina," he called, rubbing her arms, trying to get her to calm down. "Callie! Just breathe!"

She took a couple of deep breaths. "That's it," he murmured. "Now, can you tell me what's wrong?"

"Th- there's no time." She thrust something at him, and he grabbed it on instinct. It was an old fashioned flip phone, the kind often used as burner devices. "Call Yelena," she explained. "Speed dial 1. Tell her to come with the counteragent."

"Calina, I don't understand-"

"I know. And I'm so sorry - for all of this. But I need you to stop me. Don't let me leave this apartment. Please."

"I won't-"

"Promise me!"

"I promise."

"You need to do whatever it takes, Matthew. Do you understand? Whatever it takes, you need to stop me. I need Daredevil to stop me."