"Do you want to stick with leather or try something different?"

Matt looked up from the pile of documents he was reading through. He and Calina had spent the morning cleaning up the mess they'd made of his apartment. Then they'd eaten lunch, ordering subs from the sandwich place on the corner. Now he was getting some work done at the dining table. He'd felt awkward about leaving her to her own devices when she was a guest in his home, but she'd insisted he go about his normal routine.

"If I wasn't here, would you be working?" she'd asked.

He'd relented with a sigh. "Today? Yeah I would be. I need to prepare for a big meeting next week."

"Then work. I can amuse myself."

She'd made herself at home in one of the armchairs, her injured leg outstretched and propped up on the coffee table with an icepack on her knee. She'd opened up her laptop and the only sound in the apartment for the next couple of hours was the gentle tapping of her fingers on the keyboard and the soft scratch of the touchpad. He'd thought it would feel too intrusive, having someone in his home. He was used to this being his quiet, safe refuge. A place where he could shut out some of the stimulation of the world, and just be himself.

But Calina's presence wasn't intrusive. 'Serene' was the description he once used when he spotted her on the rooftop from afar. And it still fit. There was something so tranquil about her. Most people fidgeted at rest. They played with their jewellery or picked at their nails, or twirled their hair. Tiny, subtle movements that, to Matt, added up to a dull cacophony of distracting sound and movement.

Calina did none of that - likely because of the brutal training she went through. Which made him feel guilty for appreciating the quiet, soothing aura she projected.

He'd just turned the page of his latest document when she asked her strange question. "Do you want to stick with leather or try something different?"

"What?" he replied, baffled.

"For your new couch. Do you prefer leather? Or do you want to opt for something different. Suede might feel nice."

Suede did feel nice. And he was touched that she was once again thinking in terms of his preferences - like the feel of the fabric over its colour or pattern - but was she...buying him a couch? "Calina you don't have to do that. I can sort something out later."

"No, let me do this," she protested. "Please. I feel awful about wrecking your couch. Let me pay for a new one."

"Calina-"

"Matt," she replied, in the same tone. He was really starting to like the sound of his name on her lips. "I won't take no for an answer. Now where are we on the suede? I know you have a fondness for silk, but that might be a bit much on furniture."

He smiled, and gave in. "Suede sounds good."

She returned his smile. "Good. Any other preferences, or are you happy to let me choose? I promise to stay clear of the hot pinks and florals."

"You can choose."

Her smile widened. "That is the correct answer - I am a genius at online shopping."

He leaned back in his chair, grateful for the chance to take a break from the boring depositions he was reading through. And grateful that he was now free to indulge his curiosity when it came to Calina - even about mundane topics like shopping.

"You don't like going shopping in person?"

"Sometimes. But the assistants are always too pushy. I like to take my time. And I like-" She stopped talking and bit her lip, as if embarrassed.

"What? What do you like?"

"It sounds silly. But I like...getting deliveries. I like getting mail."

I never got any before.

He heard the unspoken words as clearly as if she'd said them. And it was yet another comment that proved just how new to this world she was. How naive and inexperienced she was, despite her obvious intelligence and her skills as a fighter.

"It doesn't sound silly," he replied softly.

She smiled again, and went back to her shopping.

———

The rest of the afternoon passed in comfortable silence.

He continued trawling through the depositions for his meeting next week, and Calina switched from online shopping to reading a book. The soundtrack in the apartment transitioned from the soft tapping of the keyboard to the gentle rustle of paper as she turned the pages.

It was equally as soothing.

When he'd finally had enough of work, he slumped down and stretched out his legs. He rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.

The bridge of his nose throbbed. In fact, most of his body ached. But he was reluctant to show it, because Calina kept apologising every time he let on that he was in pain.

He knew the guilt she was feeling - he felt the same way about the marks and wounds marring her body. Her thighs and her back were mottled with bruises from his fists and from when he'd thrown her to the ground. Her wrists were abraded from the restraints, and he could hear the edges of the damaged tissue rub against the sleeve of her cardigan. He could feel the heat rising from her injured joints, and he knew her head pained her from the lingering concussion.

He got up and shuffled into the kitchen, retrieving the bottle of painkillers from under the sink. He shook out a couple of pills and offered them to Calina. She looked up from her book, surprised. "What are these for?"

"Your head hurts."

She accepted the medication with a wry smile. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged. "I just do."

She swallowed the tablets and he did the same. Then he collapsed into the armchair next to hers, sighing in relief at the more comfortable seat.

She tossed her book onto the coffee table and twisted in her chair to face him. "Really, Matt. How do you know?"

He gestured to his sightless eyes. "You mean how does this works?"

"Yeah. I've been curious for ages."

He sat up straighter. "Ages? Just how long have you've known I was Daredevil?"

"Um, I found out a couple of weeks before you got sick."

All the time they spent together when she was taking care of him...she knew. All the time they spent practicing his opening statement for Margaret's trial...she knew.

All that time.

And he never suspected a thing.

She really was an exceptional liar.

"How did you find out?" he asked.

"Are we trading questions again?" she said, referring back to their first proper conversation - the one on the rooftop, all those months ago.

Matt nodded. He didn't mind explaining his abilities if it meant he got to find out more about her. His curiosity was far from sated when it came to Calina. "You first," he said. "How did you find out?"

"Well, technically, I didn't find out. I suspected there was something different about you from the beginning. But Anya - one of the Widows from last night - was the one who put all the pieces together."

Matt frowned. To his knowledge, no one had ever suspected him before. Was he getting sloppy after all these years? "What do you mean you suspected?" he asked.

"Objection, Mr Attorney, isn't it my turn?" Calina teased.

"Overruled. Your answer was incomplete, so I'm asking a follow-up question for clarification purposes."

She laughed. "I guess that serves me right for arguing semantics with a lawyer." She went on to explain the clues she'd picked up on during their earlier encounters, the mannerisms and quirks that gave him away.

She seemed to sense his unease, so she tried to reassure him. "It was all really subtle stuff - I've just been trained to be hyper-observant. Your secret is still safe from the wider world. And my sisters would never give you away."

"How can you be sure of that?" he asked. He knew how much danger it posed to the people he cared about if his secret was exposed. It was a constant fear that he lived with.

"We've existed in the shadows all our lives. At first, it was to protect Dreykov and his organisation. But now we live in secrecy to protect ourselves and each other. We would never betray someone living that same kind of life."

He nodded. And tried to believe her. But it felt so precarious, having his identity known by so many people. People he had never met. After everything he'd been through, trusting strangers and taking things on faith was a difficult task.

"So is it my turn now?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything! How you can do what you do, and how you know the things you know. Just...everything."

He smiled and explained about his heightened senses. How the scents and sounds and vibrations around him - even the tiniest changes in air density and temperature - coalesced to form an impressionistic painting of his surroundings. "It helps me to 'see' the world. But its not sight as you experience it. It's different. And so much more."

"So what do you 'see' when you look at me?" she asked softly.

"Well firstly, I don't need to look," he replied with a wry grin. He closed his eyes to demonstrate, while he stretched his senses to the woman next to him. "You're facing me, with your cheek resting against the back of the chair, and you have your arms wrapped around your bent knees - I can tell by the negative space around you. I know you're more injured than you're letting on. I can smell the blood from all your bruises - the copper is a sharp tang on the air. And I knew you had a headache from the way you were wrinkling your forehead as you read your book - I could hear the muscles contracting. And you were turning the pages slower and slower because your eyes were straining."

She was quiet for a few moments, and he started to grow worried. It was always a risk sharing just how far-reaching and intrusive his abilities were. He remembered how disturbed Foggy was the first time, and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable.

But it was as if there was an unspoken pact between him and Calina, that these traded questions were answered as truthfully as possible.

So he'd been honest. And in return, she proved that he really should stop underestimating her.

"Wow," she whispered. "That's incredible."

He opened his eyes and tipped his head towards her. "You're not freaked out?"

"Why? Because you can basically see me on a molecular level?"

"It's not quite that precise, but yeah. I can't tell what colour your eyes are, but I know that your sugar levels have dropped since lunch and that your heart is beating 64 times per minute."

"You don't know what colour my eyes are?"

"No."

"So you don't actually know what I look like?"

He couldn't decipher the tone of her voice. She wasn't annoyed. Curious, yes. But there was also...excitement?

Why would that knowledge excite her?

"Not on a surface level, no."

"Do you want to know?"

He felt like he was walking into a trap. Her tone had shifted again, the question sounding more like a challenge than a harmless offer. "Only if you want me to," he replied slowly.

She was quiet for a few seconds. "The way I look..." she started. Then paused again.

"What? You can tell me, Calina. You can tell me anything."

She swallowed audibly. "People have called me beautiful all my life. And I know that most women would love that, but its been nothing but a curse for me. Its the reason I was chosen for the types of missions I used to do."

"What do you mean?"

"My specialty as a Widow was undercover work. I'm a good mimic, and I'm really good at languages. And I can disappear inside a persona and become someone else. So I was used a lot for deep infiltration work. But I was also used a lot for my looks. They would send me out to get close to people. To flirt with them and seduce them and steal all their secrets. Most of the other Widows were able to work from afar - assassinations are usually safer from a distance. But I would have to get close to the people I was targeting."

Matt's fist clenched in anger at the people who'd used Calina in that way. With every revelation of her life as a Widow, he hated Dreykov and his organisation more and more.

"I guess it's your turn to freak out," she whispered, misinterpreting his lack of response.

"I'm not freaked out," he said quickly. "I'm angry. I'm angry at people who forced you to do that. But not at you. You had no control, Calina."

"I know that on an intellectual level," she said. "But its hard not to feel responsible when I'm plagued by the memories of those missions. I can see the faces of all the people I used and betrayed."

He didn't know what to say to that. 'I'm sorry' seemed so inadequate. He wished there was some tangible way he could help her - beat up a villain maybe, or defend a case in court. He knew how to deal with problems as Daredevil - and as a lawyer - but as just plain Matt Murdock, he felt like he was floundering.

He had the biggest guilt complex in the world. How was he supposed to help someone get over theirs?

"Anyway," she continued. "That was a long way of saying that I like that you see the real me. Beneath the surface."

"I'm glad."

"So do you have any other powers you want to show off?" she asked, trying to inject some lightness in her voice. "Telepathy, maybe? Levitation?"

He laughed. "No, and no. Sorry."

"What about super-healing?" She rubbed her sore elbow through the sling. "That would come in handy right about now."

He hesitated. His meditation technique couldn't exactly be called a superpower - it didn't mend broken bones or cure cancer - but he found that it did speed up his recovery time. He'd been planning to try it after dinner.

"There is something we could do..."

———

The apartment was bathed in a neon yellow glow. Darkness had fallen while they were eating dinner but Calina hadn't bothered turning on the lights. She liked the way the shifting colours of the billboard outside lit up the living room. Together with the gentle patter of rain on the windows, it created a tranquil atmosphere.

Perfect for meditation.

Too bad she couldn't shut off her brain long enough to enjoy it.

"You're thinking too much." Obviously, Matt could tell that she wasn't in the right headspace. It was just hard to concentrate on not concentrating when she was hyperaware of every inch of him that was touching her.

They were sitting on the floor, his legs crossed in a classic yoga pose, with wrists resting on his knees; she was in a similar pose, but with her injured leg outstretched.

And they were back-to-back.

"This will make it easier to regulate your breathing," he'd explained as they took up the position. "You'll be able to feel me breathe, and you can match your breathing to mine."

It sounded reasonable in theory. But in practice, all she could feel was the heat radiating from his skin, and the hard mass of his muscles and the breadth of his shoulders as they rested against her own.

It was too much sensation.

As she'd discovered while watching him as Daredevil, his physicality and strength was a major turn-on. Feeling the evidence of all that strength pressed against her was short-circuiting her brain.

"Calina, relax," he said, oblivious.

"I'm, uh, just trying to work out the scientific basis underpinning this technique," she lied, making up an excuse for her weird behaviour.

"Well, stop," he said with a soft laugh. "This isn't about the brain, or about science. This is about the body. Connecting with it. Feeling every part of it, from your toes to the tips of your fingers. Listen to what its telling you."

"Okay, okay." She wriggled in place and tipped her head from side to side, feeling the joints of her spine pop. Then she closed her eyes and made a conscious effort to sink into stillness.

She felt Matt breathe, and matched the movement.

Then again.

And again, until they were completely in sync, their bodies moving as one.

She tuned out all the distracting sensations. Felt the tension in her muscles dissipate. The pulse of her heart echoed in her ears, and she could sense it settle into a slow steady pace. Her breaths - their breaths - slowed too, until she felt suspended in a kind of tranquil lethargy.

She drifted in that state for what seemed like hours.

So calm.

So at peace.

She'd never felt like this before.

Ever.

A tear slipped from her eye and left a hot trail on her cheek as it fell to the floor.

She felt one of Matt's hands reach back and touch her thigh. "Hey," he said softly. "Are you okay?"

She slowly rose up to consciousness. She wiped at the tear and stared at the moisture on her fingertips. "Yeah," she whispered. Her voice sounded detached from her, as if it was coming from another person. "In fact, I feel...wonderful."

"Endorphin rush," Matt explained, unfurling from his pose and standing up. "It can happen with deep meditation. It stimulates the release of serotonin, dopamine - all the good stuff."

"I thought we weren't supposed to get all scientific about this?" She was starting to come back to reality. Her voice sounded more like her own. She could hear the rain again. And she noticed that the shadows in the apartment were even darker than before, the neon light brighter in contrast.

Matt laughed and offered her his hand. He pulled her to her feet, and steadied her by the shoulders as she swayed slightly. "You good?"

"Yeah. Just a head rush. How long were we sat there?"

Matt cocked his head and listened to the darkness for a few seconds. "It's after 9 now."

"How can you tell?"

"Mr. Campbell on the third floor always watches M.A.S.H. re-runs at this time of night."

"Wow. Who needs a watch when they have you around?"

He shrugged. "I have my uses."

She chuckled and stretched the kinks out of her shoulders. It was probably her imagination, but her elbow felt less stiff. And her knee ached a bit less.

She clicked on the light in the kitchen, intending to grab a glass of water. The light revealed Matt still standing in the middle of the room. He was staring at the cupboard by the staircase, with a strange expression on his face. He looked almost...conflicted.

And it wasn't the first time he'd glanced in that direction tonight. She'd caught him looking while she'd unpacked their takeaway earlier. And again during the meal.

What was in there?

She got her chance to find out ten minutes later when Matt's phone rang. The mechanical voice on his cell droned out the name 'Foggy, Foggy, Foggy' and Matt excused himself to answer the call in his bedroom.

Calina scurried over to the cupboard and opened the doors. It was almost empty apart from a battered old chest on the floor. She crouched down and lifted the lid, finding a pile of dark red fabric...

And a mask with devil horns.

"Oh," she whispered.

It was his suit.

She cradled the mask in her hands, smoothing her fingers over the nicks and scrapes that scarred the surface. Each one was a near-miss. An encounter that Matt only survived thanks to a few millimetres of reinforced carbon fibre.

Her heart thudded in fear at what the mask represented:

Danger.

Every time he put this on, he was putting himself in danger. And her worry over his safety hadn't diminished, despite getting up close and personal with his impressive fighting skills.

But this suit defined him as much as his white stick and red tinted glasses. He was Daredevil. She'd known that the moment she first saw him leap across the rooftops looking for someone to save. Being in his life meant accepting the part of him that took risks and ran towards danger.

And she desperately wanted to be part of his life.

Which meant she'd just have to bury all her fears and worries, and trust in his abilities.

She lifted out the billy club buried beneath the rest of the suit and hefted the weapon in her hand. Its light weight was surprising - considering how brutal it was in action - and she liked the functionality of it. The batons she used as a Widow had a handy electric current running through them, but the cable linking the two ends of Matt's club was a better feature. She pulled it apart to examine it further-

Then almost dropped the whole thing when Matt spoke from close behind her. "It was a gift from a friend."

He didn't sound angry, but she still felt embarrassed at being caught snooping. She stood up and faced him with a small, sheepish smile, the club still in her hands. "He must have been a good friend - its a nice weapon." She twirled it around and flicked it into the air, intending to catch it - but Matt's hand shot out and snatched it, the movement so fast it was a blur.

He ran his hand over the glossy red surface. "Yeah, he was." His voice sounded sad. And tinged with guilt.

There was a story there.

But it didn't feel like the right moment to pry. So she changed the subject, and instead voiced the reason behind Matt's conflicted emotions. "You need to go out tonight, don't you?"

———

Need. Not want.

How did she know him so well?

Because it was a need. Almost a compulsion. An itch under his skin, that had been nagging at him for the past couple of hours. One that he'd tried to suppress. After all, he'd made a promise to protect Calina and it felt disloyal to leave her on only the second night. But his attention had kept drifting to that chest in the closet. And like an alcoholic with a glass of bourbon in front of him, he'd felt a mixture of desire and shame.

"It's okay, Matt," Calina said, reacting to his silence - and whatever she read on his face. "I understand."

He could tell that she really did. She understood him so well, that he had to keep reminding himself they'd only met a few months ago.

She just...got him.

"But I don't want to leave you here by yourself," he said, the objection sounding feeble.

"I'll be fine. Nobody knows I'm here. Go do what you have to do." She took a step closer and touched the bandage over his knife wound. The one close to his heart. "Just...be careful, okay?"

He nodded, then grabbed his suit and went to get changed.

Less than twenty minutes later he was running across the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen, the cool night air a refreshing balm after more than 24 hours cooped up inside. Even the pungent smells from the dumpster in the alley below didn't detract from his sense of freedom.

Not that being with Calina today had been a chore or a punishment. It was just...this is where he belonged. High above the city, watching over it. This was his purpose...and sometimes his cross to bear.

For better or worse, he was Daredevil. To his bones.

He ran faster, stretching out his aching muscles, ignoring the twinges of pain from his various wounds. And trying to ignore his guilt and worry at leaving Calina. But those emotions stayed with him as he stopped a would-be arsonist on 9th avenue; as he saved a young woman from a mugging, and as he beat up the gang of thugs terrorising a couple of kids in Hell's Kitchen Park.

And they only went away when he returned to his apartment after midnight and could finally hear the steady, relaxed beat of Calina's heart. He removed his mask and stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the comforting sound for a few moments. It allowed the knot of fear in his gut to finally unravel.

She was safe.

He crept down the stairs and across the living room floor, not wanting to disturb her in case she was asleep. But she must have been awake the whole time - the moment he eased open the bedroom door, he heard the tell-tale snick of a gun being cocked.

"It's me," he said quickly, raising his hands.

She exhaled noisily and relaxed back against the headboard. "I thought so, but better safe than sorry."

"If I'd known you were armed, I would have felt better about leaving you here."

He heard the clatter as she placed the weapon on the bedside table. "I didn't know either. While you were out, I went through the bags the other Widows packed for me and found the gun in there, along with several magazines and a couple of tactical knives. I guess that's how they show they care - with deadly weapons and ammunition."

He laughed softly. "At least they didn't leave behind a pipe bomb or an Uzi."

"I guess they don't care about me that much."

He laughed again. And it struck him how surreal this was. He was standing in his Daredevil suit, having just spent the last few hours beating up criminals, and he was...laughing. It was such a contrast to the way he usually ended his nights - alone, in pain, and struggling to fall asleep.

Speaking of which...

"I just came in to get some blankets then I'll leave you in peace."

He moved towards the closet, but paused at her next sentence, "You don't have to."

"What?"

"Just sleep here again. The new couch won't be delivered for a few weeks - you can't sleep in an armchair all that time. We managed last night, so it'll be fine." And just like last night, she rolled over and faced away from him, leaving the choice up to him.

The choice between the sensible option - the one where he grabbed the blankets, went out into the living room and put some space between the two of them - and the dangerous option. Where he crawled in beside her, into the bed permeated with her scent, and went to sleep inches from temptation.

He hesitated, torn between his head and his heart.

Between logic and weakness.

Then he made his choice.