He woke up to skin beneath his fingertips.

He wasn't wrapped around Calina - like he'd feared when he'd made the choice to sleep with her again - but he was still very much invading her space. She was on her back, near the edge of the bed, her face angled away from him.

He was on his side...in the middle of the bed. And his left hand was gently grasping her upper arm, his knuckles brushing the side of her silk-covered breast.

Shit.

He slowly extracted his wandering hand, and tucked it beneath his pillow where it couldn't do any further damage. He needed to get a handle on this. Calina was right - it wasn't practical to sleep in an armchair every night. They were adults; they could share a bed as friends. It didn't have to mean anything more.

Just as long as he kept to his side of the bed, and his hands to himself.

He inched backwards on the mattress and winced when the bed frame creaked. The sound woke the woman next to him, and triggered a cascade of events that did absolutely nothing to help him control his treacherous body.

First she stretched, her lithe body lengthening as she pointed her toes and reached her arms over her head. The silk of her pyjamas rustled lightly as the material glided over the equally soft sheets of his bed. The movement released the concentration of her scent that had been trapped beneath the covers...

...and then she let out a soft groan.

It was just the noise of someone rising to awareness. An involuntary sound that expressed the relief of loosened joints and stretched muscle and rested bones.

Completely innocuous.

But the sound ricocheted through Matt's body like a bullet, firing off every nerve ending and sending his lust into overdrive.

"Morning," Calina said, oblivious to his reaction. Her voice was husky and low with sleep, and it just made everything a million times worse.

"Uh, morning."

"Are you okay?" she asked. "You look flushed. You're not coming down with a cold again, are you?" She reached her hand out to gauge his temperature, but he grabbed it before she could make contact with his forehead.

He squeezed her hand quickly, then let it go. "I'm not sick. It's just warm in here."

She snuggled back under the covers. "Hmmm, maybe. But I like it. I don't wanna get up today."

Matt couldn't help but smile. Every time she woke up, she revealed a different side to herself. He remembered how she was last weekend, when she'd accidentally fallen asleep in his living room. Back then she'd been confused and disorientated on waking. When he'd had to check her for a concussion she was adorably grumpy. And yesterday, she'd been unguarded and honest as she shared pieces of her past.

This morning she was almost...playful.

And it made him want to play with her. To pull the sheet over them both and block out the world. Laugh with her and cover her smile with his kiss while he covered her body with his own-

No!

Jesus, what was he thinking?

First his body, and now his mind was betraying him. He moved back, further away from her, and tried to get his thoughts under control. It had just been too long, that was all. Too long since he'd been with a woman. Too long since he'd been this close to someone he was attracted to.

Too long...since he'd let himself have any fun.

"Are you sure you're okay, Matt?" Calina asked.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You looked sad all of a sudden."

He plastered on a smile. "I'm fine."

It wasn't true. He wasn't fine. And he realised he hadn't been fine for a while. Foggy was right - he hadn't got the balance right at all. He'd been so focussed on trying to juggle being Daredevil and working at the new firm, that he'd dropped a pretty important ball: actually enjoying his life.

He did nothing for pleasure these days. Yes, he found a kind of joy in being Daredevil - in the freedom to move how he wanted and the rush that came from leaping across buildings - but it wasn't fun. It was a duty. An obligation - and one that often left him battered and bruised and ridden with guilt.

He went out for drinks with Karen and Foggy, but more often than not they just discussed their latest case.

And yesterday he'd spent most of the day reading work documents instead of engaging with the intelligent, charming woman sharing his apartment.

He was so screwed up.

He needed to do better.

And he would start today. He would put aside all thoughts of the working week to come, and allow himself to relax. He would enjoy Calina's company and indulge in this friendship they were building between them.

But it would have to stay a friendship, and nothing more. He had to keep his attraction to her in check.

Even if she shared that attraction...she deserved so much better than him.

He was damaged. Broken, in so many ways by the trauma he'd endured over the years.

And he felt so old compared to her. Not just in terms of age, but in terms of outlook. He felt like he'd lived a thousand lives...whereas, in many ways, she was just starting her first one. She approached everything with a youthful enthusiasm and optimism that he could never hope to achieve again.

It would never work between them. He would just drag her down, and hold her back.

———

Matt's resolution to enjoy the day paid off.

He shared another session of meditation with Calina, and afterwards spent some time doing pushups and sit-ups on the open floor of the living room. He would have preferred heading over to Fogwell's to workout, but it wasn't fair to leave Calina - they'd both agreed that she should stay hidden indoors for a while, just in case anyone was scoping out the building. So as he powered through his reps, she stretched beside him, gently working her joints back to their full range of motion.

Although he could have sworn she spent most of the time watching him.

He put it down to a lack of any other visual stimulation in his apartment. He didn't have a television, or art on the walls, or a bookcase full of novels. He didn't even have a decent sound system for listening to music.

It all proved how spartan his existence was.

He did have a chess set though, and he spent a couple of hours locked in combat with Calina. They were evenly matched in terms of skill and competitiveness. And they could both visualise the board in their mind, so their last game continued while they ate dinner, with each of them calling out moves between bites of pizza.

It was a completely ordinary, quiet Sunday. But it was so out of the ordinary for the two people involved: a former spy/assassin raised in a brutal compound, and a workaholic vigilante with skewed priorities.

Then the sun fell, and the sounds of the night started to filter through the walls, signalling to Matt that it was time for him to suit up and patrol the city.

Time for him to leave.

And for the first time in a long time, Matt didn't want to. For just a moment - a few brief seconds of hesitation - he wished that he could stay. He wished that he could prolong this day, of the two of them just talking and laughing and being together.

It was just for a moment.

But that moment scared him. That he'd be so willing to forgo his responsibilities, after only a few days living with Calina...it was unnerving.

They'd only known each other a few months, after all. And she'd only really come into his life again just over a week ago - the morning she'd turned up on his doorstep when he was sick. Since then they'd spent several days together, and, yes, they'd gone through a kind of crucible together on Friday night...but it still felt like this was all happening too quickly.

They'd formed this bond - this connection - to each other, so fast. From the moment he'd first spotted her on their rooftop, he'd felt a pull towards her. And every interaction and conversation and every thought he'd had of her since then had only magnified that sensation.

It was alarming how important she now felt to him.

How vital.

It was alarming...and something he needed to rectify. He needed to maintain some distance from her. Which would be difficult when they were sharing an apartment...but he could try to avoid sharing a bed with her, at least.

To that end, he stayed out on patrol much later than usual that night - because he didn't want Calina to be awake when he returned. He didn't want to hear her soft, inviting voice beckon him into that bed again. He didn't want to imagine what version of her he'd wake up next to in the morning.

And when he crept back into his apartment, he stayed clear of the bedroom altogether. He pushed the two armchairs together and used the blankets he'd stashed earlier to create a make-shift bed.

Then he tried to get some sleep.

And failed miserably.

He lay awake for the next hour, uncomfortable as hell and unable to quiet his mind enough to rest. He hadn't had this problem last night. The moment his head had hit the pillow he'd been out cold. The same with the night before.

And it had nothing to do with the softness of his mattress or the silkiness of his sheets - he'd spent months worth of sleepless nights in that bed.

The common variable was Calina.

Lying awake at 3am, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling overhead, he was forced to accept the truth.

For some strange, unknowable reason...he only slept well when he was near her.

He scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed-

Then jerked upright at the harsh cry that reverberated through the silent apartment.

Calina!

He scrambled to his feet and yanked open the bedroom door just as another distressed noise rang out. She was twisted in the sheets, heat from her sweat-soaked skin radiating from her. Small choked cries of despair left her lips and the sounds wrenched at something in his heart.

He dropped to his knees beside the bed and took her hand. "Calina," he called softly, not wanting to startle her awake. Her whimpers continued, so he smoothed the damp strands of her hair off her face and continued talking to her in a low, gentle tone. "Shhh, sweetheart. You're okay. You're safe."

She grasped his hand and clenched it to her chest, as if it was a lifeline and she was drowning. She curled up her legs until she was in a fetal position, and her vulnerability wrecked him.

Given everything she went through on Friday, it was hardly surprising that she'd be hit by a nightmare. It was just surprising that it hadn't happened earlier. She'd been fine the past couple of nights, sleeping soundly through the night.

And the common variable had been...him.

Maybe she needed to be near him, as much as he needed to be near her.

It was yet more evidence of this strange, overwhelming and terrifying connection between them.

But now wasn't the time to fight against it - not when Calina was so distressed. Instead, he climbed over her and onto the bed. His arm was still locked against her chest, so he ended up holding her from behind, his knees bent and tucked up against hers.

He continued to talk to her, nonsense words of reassurance that he whispered into her ear...until he suddenly realised that she was quiet.

Her breathing was even. Her heart rate slow and steady, and her muscles relaxed.

She was asleep.

Peacefully asleep.

Matt sighed in relief and tried to extricate his arm but Calina held tight, even in her slumber. Not wanting to disturb her rest, he stayed where he was. In the exact position he'd always feared - completely wrapped around her.

Resigned to the fate he'd been trying to avoid, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

———

Calina smoothed the wrinkles out of the fitted sheet. Turned down the edge of the quilt. Fluffed up the pillows. Then stood back and checked the room. The window was open, letting a cool, cleansing breeze into the room, and the bedding had been changed.

There was no remaining hint of what had happened here last night. No scent of adrenaline-fuelled sweat on the air; no creases in the sheets where she'd clawed and twisted them in her nightmare-induced panic.

Nothing left...but her memories.

Memories of the dream, where she was once again under someone's control - a mindless, vicious assassin on a mission. But this time she wasn't hunting some faceless politician.

She was hunting Matt.

Stalking him across the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen. Firing at him with her guns and her tasers. Beating him with her baton. Punching and kicking and breaking him, all the while being trapped in her own mind and screaming in terror as her body attacked him.

It had been horrifying.

But in the midst of that horror, his voice had come to her, bringing wordless whispers laced with care and concern. She'd felt a hand take hers, then the feeling of being cocooned. Of being safe.

The terror had melted away, and she'd slept a deep, dreamless sleep.

She'd only woken when she'd felt the bed shift in the morning. She'd blinked open her eyes, feeling confused at the cold, empty air behind her.

Had she imagined him holding her all night?

"You should go back to sleep," Matt whispered, as he eased open the closet door. He ran his fingers over the braille tags on the hangers before pulling out a navy blue suit.

"You're going to work?" Calina asked. They hadn't discussed the plan for today.

"Yes. We're expecting the jury to come back with the verdict on Margaret Posen's trial. I need to be in court."

Calina sat up and rested against the headboard, tucking the covers around her. She felt strangely vulnerable. Like an interloper in Matt's normal life. One who brought nothing but problems and nightmares. "I understand."

Matt cocked his head, as if picking up something in her voice. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, just...I'm sorry for last night."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he said softly.

"Well, then, thank you. For being there."

"You're welcome. Are you gonna be okay here today?"

She plastered on a smile. "I'll be fine. You go do what you have to do. Don't worry about me."

And she was fine...for the most part.

She changed the bedding. Dusted every surface in the apartment. Vacuumed the floor and even cleaned the inside of the fridge. She read several chapters of her latest book, and bought a new sweater online. She did everything she could to distract herself from her thoughts.

But they kept creeping in anyway.

And they left her so confused.

This...relationship...she had with Matt was unlike any she'd had before. She'd never really had any relationships before. At least, not ones that weren't part of a mission. And the relationships she had with the other widows felt more familial then anything else. They were the girls she'd grown up with, the ones who were in her life not by choice, but by circumstance.

Matt was a choice. A man that she'd found in this strange new life she was forging, and one she wanted to stay part of her life. In any capacity she could get.

She just didn't know what that was. Hence the confusion.

Were they friends? Purely platonic? Or more than that?

At what point did friendly care and affection tip into something more?

She knew that she cared for Matt. She worried about his safety, and enjoyed his company and admired his intelligence and his compassion. And she was attracted to him. Seriously attracted. Dying-to-rip-his-clothes-off-and-devour-his-body-attracted.

So he was more than just a friend to her. But was she in love with him?

And how did he feel about her?

He cared about her - he must do. Why else would he convince her to stay in New York? Why else would he bring her into his home to keep her safe?

But did he ever think about taking the next step with her?

Was he even attracted to her?

It was so much easier to tell with other men. The heat in their eyes as they looked at her gave them away. The slow sweeping gaze as they admired her hair and her lips and her legs was so revealing. But those clues were lost with Matt.

She'd tried to look for other tells. And sometimes she could convince herself that he leaned in a little too close in order to breathe in her scent. Sometimes the brush of his hand against her skin lingered. Sometimes the very air between them felt charged with anticipation and possibility...

But if those were signs that he was attracted to her, he never acted on them.

Why not?

———

The smell of garlic and herbs hit Matt the moment the elevator doors opened, and his stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since this morning.

It had been a busy day.

And a hellish one.

And it was nowhere near over. He only had a few hours to eat and decompress before heading out as Daredevil - where he would spend the night trying to rectify the shit that had gone wrong today.

When he opened his apartment door, the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air. It mingled with the scent of the bolognese sauce simmering on the stove and made his mouth water. An instrumental electronic song played in the background, the chilled out beats emanating from laptop speakers. He could detect pinpricks of fire on the dining table and the sideboard, and his mind created the picture of a warm, candle-lit room.

He was so used to coming back to a cold, empty apartment; it was jarring to suddenly return to a home.

"Dinner's almost ready," Calina called from the kitchen. "I hope you like spaghetti - it's one of the few things I know how to cook."

Matt dropped his briefcase by the door and took off his glasses. Then shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his tie. The stress and the tension in his frame melted away and he just stood in the hallway taking it all in.

So this is what it's like.

This is what it's like to have someone welcome you home and take care of you at the end of a hard day.

It was something he'd never experienced before. Something he'd never even gotten close to. Elektra was the only woman he'd ever been serious about, and he couldn't imagine her ever doing this.

Matt shook his head, ashamed at the disloyal thought.

"Matt?" Calina called, responding to his silence.

"Yeah," he replied. "Yeah, I like spaghetti."

———

They didn't speak much during dinner. Matt was too busy devouring two platefuls of pasta, and Calina seemed content to watch him enjoy her cooking.

But once the dishes were cleared away and the wine glasses were topped up, she took a breath and broached the reason behind Matt's lousy day. "I saw the verdict on the news. I'm so sorry."

Matt sighed and nodded. "Second degree murder. 15 years." His gut clenched at the memory of hearing that sentence read aloud in court. And the guilt that had been plaguing him all day rose to the surface.

He twirled his wineglass in his hand, trying to tamp down the urge to throw the glass against the wall and hear it smash. "I really thought we'd done enough to save her." His voice turned bitter. "That's what I get for feeling optimistic."

He felt Calina's hand cover his. "You tried. That's the important thing."

He pulled his hand back. "No. The important thing was preventing an innocent woman from going to federal prison."

"There must be appeals or something you can work on?"

He nodded again. "We've started strategising that. But it's a long shot. The only thing that could possibly help is finding the substance she was drugged with." Matt got to his feet and started pacing, the frustration inside him too great to contain. "But I've been out on the streets for weeks now and I can't find the source. The dealers know nothing. The usual informants know nothing. No one knows what this thing is."

He was all set to try again tonight, but it felt like an act of futility.

"Maybe you're thinking about it the wrong way," Calina said.

"What do you mean?"

"You're searching for dealers and suppliers, as if its part of a normal drug business. But what if its not that at all. What if its an...experiment."

"An experiment?"

"Yeah. The people you've come across who've been affected, they cover a wide demographic, right? Males and females. Young and old. Healthy and infirm. And they've all had different reactions - some became scared, some aggressive, some suicidal."

Matt's heart started pounding at the implication. "It's like someone's trying to find out the range of effects."

"Like someone's running a drug trial," Calina concluded. "With the whole of Hell's Kitchen as the sample group."