Calina rubbed the petal between her fingers as she waited for the phone call to go through. The flower Matt had given her had wilted and died after a few days of sitting in a glass of water on her bedside table. All that remained was the single blood red petal she held in her hand.

Matt couldn't have known that the colour of the flower exactly matched his Daredevil suit - it was purely a coincidence. But during her more fanciful moments, she thought it was more fate than random chance.

The first and only flower she'd ever received was like being gifted a piece of the man himself.

And with his offering and his apology, the wall that he'd erected between them had crumbled. They were closer now than ever before. Falling asleep next to him felt natural. Waking up in his arms, even more so. And Matt no longer seemed embarrassed to find himself wrapped around her in the morning. In fact, touching her seemed second nature to him now; he was always brushing his hand down her arm or grazing her waist when he walked passed her in the apartment...

It felt like they'd entered some new phase of their strange relationship. She should have been excited. She should have been over the moon.

Instead she was feeling anxious and unsettled again.

She hoped the Widows would have news that would ease those feelings.

"Yes? What is it, Calina?" Yelena finally answered after the phone had run a dozen times. She sounded annoyed.

"I'm so sorry for disturbing you," Calina replied. She couldn't hide the snark in her voice. "I was calling for an update, seeing as you guys have been radio silent for the last couple of weeks."

Yelena's answer was just as snarky. "Well, I'm sorry that we've been too busy trying to find info on the man who drugged you to text you all hours of the day."

"Well has all your busy-ness paid off? Have you found out who he was? Are there more like him out there?"

"Sort of. Yes. And we don't know."

Calina mentally matched the brusque answers to her questions. Then sat up straight, the petal falling forgotten to the floor. "Really? You know who he was?"

"Nicolai Aminev. A low level grunt from the research division of the Red Room."

"Low level?"

"Yeah. Best we figure, he stole some tech during the chaos of the Red Room fall, managed to survive, and tried to make some cash out of selling a Widow."

"If that's the case, then there shouldn't be anyone else after me. If he wasn't part of some bigger operation-"

"We don't know that for sure yet. We have a lead on some of his associates that we're following up on. In fact, we were prepping for a recon mission when you called."

Calina winced at the not-so-subtle rebuke. "I'm sorry. I know you guys are trying. I'm just feeling...trapped here. And useless."

"It was your choice to stay."

"I know. And I don't regret it. I'm just going a little stir-crazy, Yelena. I can't stay cooped up in this apartment much longer." She rose from her chair and stared out of the windows, subconsciously counting down until the moment the billboard outside changed display. She knew the timings and the pattern down to the second. She knew every crack and mark in every window pane. She knew every dent and scratch in the floorboards and every frayed thread in the rug.

She never thought she'd get sick of being in Matt's apartment, but she was fast approaching that point.

"I hate that they did this to me, again," she continued, her voice rising with anger as she paced. "I hate that they took away my choices - again. I'm trapped again because of those...those fucking bastards, and I hate it!"

The rage and the frustration and the helplessness that had been simmering inside her for weeks suddenly boiled over, until it had nowhere to go but out. She lashed out and punched the wall between the arched windows. The hard brick scraped her skin, causing it to split.

A warm, strong hand suddenly covered hers. "Don't do that," Matt whispered, stroking the damaged skin of her knuckles.

She gazed up at him, surprised. She hadn't even noticed he'd come home from work.

How much had he heard?

He took the phone from her other hand and put it to his ear. "Yelena? It's Matt. I've got this."

She could hear Yelena's tinny reply. "I warned you this would happen."

"I know. I'll deal with it."

He hung up. "Go get changed," he said to Calina.

"What?"

"Put on some workout clothes. We're going to the gym."

———

"She's going to get angry. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But at some point, she's going to snap out of her numbness and her fear and she's going to get really, really angry. And you need to be prepared for that. You need to give her an outlet."

Matt remembered Yelena's words vividly. She'd taken him aside as the three Widows were leaving that Friday night weeks ago and issued her warning.

And Matt had been waiting ever since for Calina to snap.

It looked like tonight was the night.

"Are we allowed to be here?" Calina asked, as he ushered her into Fogwell's with a hand on her back. She sounded curious, but there was still a tension in her voice. The muscles in her back were taut, as if she was wound tight.

"It's been abandoned for months," Matt explained. "I come here all the time. It's fine."

He dumped his bag on the floor and shrugged out of his jacket and sweatshirt, leaving him in a sleeveless T-shirt. He sat on the bench beside the ring and started wrapping his hands as Calina wandered around the disused gym.

She flipped back the hood she'd worn to disguise herself as they'd left his apartment. The move sent a wave of her scent towards him, clearing the musty smell of the gym from his senses. The dust on the floor swirled about her feet as she inspected the old equipment, and he heard a punching bag swing as she gave it a light tap. The wooden stand by the lockers creaked as she picked up one of the dumbbells resting on it.

"'No Pain, No Gain'," she murmured, reciting the mantra painted on the wall. "We have a similar saying in Russia: 'Without effort, you won't even pull a fish out of a pond.'"

Matt laughed. "Not quite as catchy."

That would have made her smile a few days ago. But now there was no response. She just moved on to the Wing Chun dummy in the corner. Before the gym had closed down they'd started hosting Kung Fu classes to try and generate more income. The dummy was a remnant of that failed plan.

He heard a muffled whack as Calina hit one of the wooden slats. Then another. And another, the pace increasing until she was executing a fast series of blocks and strikes against the dummy in a practiced routine.

Matt winced as the force of her hits increased. He could hear her breathing heavily beneath the rhythmic sound of her attack.

"Hey." He came up behind her and pulled her away from the dummy by her shoulders. "You'll hurt yourself."

She shrugged out of his hold and viciously kicked the wooden statue. "No pain, no gain, right?" she sneered.

"I didn't bring you here to hurt yourself-"

"So why did you?"

"Yelena said you'd need an outlet. This is the one I use." He handed her some wrap for her hands and a pair of gloves. "I thought it might help."

"I'm not much of a boxer."

He remembered the way she'd fought against him before, all balletic grace and lithe deflection. "No. But the gloves and the bag will be less painful than the dummy. Just try it."

While she prepped her hands, Matt tugged on his own gloves and started hitting one of the bags.

By the time he'd slipped into his own rhythmic routine, Calina was next to him, jabbing forcefully at the other bag.

Her form was good. She may not favour the style during a fight, but she was obviously well trained in it. She was light on her feet and swung from the hips, and her gloved hands connected with the swinging bag with satisfying slaps.

Matt tried to concentrate on his own bag - wanting to give Calina the space to process her anger on her own - but after a while it became hard to shut out the signs of her distress. The more she punched, the more erratic and harsh her breathing became. The faster her heart rate. He could taste the salt from her angry tears and her grunts of effort transformed into cries of rage as she pummelled and kicked at the leather target in front of her.

He wanted to pull her away from the bag and into his arms where he could hold her close. But she needed to work through this. She needed to let her anger out. So he continued with his own workout and waited for the moment she exhausted herself.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait too long. After one last vicious roundhouse kick, Calina staggered back from the bag and braced herself on her knees, panting. When she straightened up, he finally got the chance to wrap his arms around her. He held her firmly from behind and rested his head against the side of hers.

Her breathing started to slow and sync to his, just like when they would meditate together. Her heart rate levelled out too, and eventually she relaxed back against him.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

She nodded.

"Do you feel better?"

Another nod. "Yes, thank you." Her voice was hoarse from her cries.

He reluctantly broke the embrace. "I'll grab you a drink."

He ripped off his gloves and dug through his gym bag for the water bottles. When he returned to Calina she was studying something on the wall.

And he knew exactly what it was.

"Here," he said passing her a drink.

"Thanks." He heard her twist off the cap and gulp down the cool liquid. Then she started played with the half-empty bottle, rolling it around between her palms, making the plastic crinkle. He knew her well enough now to recognise the meaning behind her uncharacteristic fidgeting - she was debating whether to say something.

"You can ask," he said, gesturing to the poster he knew was on the wall in front of her.

"'Carl Crusher Creel vs Battlin' Jack Murdock'," she read. "That's your Dad? You said he was a boxer."

"Yeah. This was his local gym. I practically grew up here. I used to sit on that bench over there and do my homework while he sparred."

She took a seat on the bench he mentioned and he joined her. His eyes swept around the room, as if he could see its contents. And in a way he could. This vantage point was so familiar to him - it was one of the clearest memories he had from when he still had his sight. He could easily overlay the details he remembered onto the impression his senses gave him of the room - the black shine of the floor; the silver duct tape holding the punching bags together; the beat up looking grey lockers and the rich golden yellow light that would flood the room at dusk.

"Do you want to tell me about him?" Calina asked. "About your Dad?"

Matt sighed and leaned back against the wall behind him. "There's not much to tell. He died when I was nine."

"I'm sorry."

Matt shrugged. "It was just the two of us growing up, and I idolised him - so much. I knew he wasn't invincible, not like some kids see their dads. I had to stitch him up after enough fights to know that he bled and bruised just like a normal person." Matt let out a hollow laugh at the memory. "Man, could he take a beating. He could get hit all day long and never got knocked out. That's how he won his fights - outlasting the other guy. Never giving in."

Matt could hear his Dad's voice, clear as day in his head. 'It ain't how you hit the floor, Matty. Its how you get up.'

He continued speaking, his voice wistful now. "I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. Even though he hated that idea."

"What do you mean?"

"He didn't want me to be a fighter. He wanted me to get an education and get out of Hell's Kitchen. He'd be proud of me for being a lawyer. I'm not so sure he'd be proud about the Daredevil thing."

"But you're helping people."

There was that acceptance again, Matt thought, remembering his internal battle the other night during the storm.

But now he was worried that she was a little too accepting. That she'd romanticised what he did and turned it into something more noble than what it was. She'd never seen what he did in the suit, after all. She'd never seen him when he truly became the Devil

"I don't think he'd see it that way," Matt tried to explain. "We both have this...thing inside us. This rage and this darkness that's always trying to claw itself out. 'Beware those Murdock Boys. They got the Devil in 'em.' That's what my Gran used to say. She saw it in my Grandfather. And in my Dad. During his fights...he would occasionally snap. His eyes would go dark and he'd just start wailing on the other guy. I think Dad would worry that I'm just using the suit as an excuse to let that rage out."

"Is that what you believe?"

Matt leaned forward and rested his arms on his legs. He tugged at the fabric wrapping his hands as he debated how honest he should be. "Sometimes. Sometimes I worry that I'm kidding myself that I do this for any other reason than to hurt people."

"You're wrong."

He sighed. "Calina, you can't say that. You haven't seen me out there. I-"

"Yes, I have."

Matt sat up straight and faced her. "What?"

She bit her lip and looked away.

"Calina?" He prompted, starting to get worried. When had she seen him? What had she seen?

"When I first found out about, um, you being Daredevil. I followed you. At night."

"You followed me?"

"Yes. I was curious. I was trying to reconcile this person that I knew from this tabloid news story character."

"How often did you follow me?"

"Just a few nights. Four at the most."

"Jesus." Matt sprang up from the bench and started pacing. He didn't know what he most angry about. That she'd kept it a secret from him? That she'd seen what he was like as Daredevil, or that he'd been followed that many times without suspecting a thing.

No, that wasn't right. He had suspected something. He remembered back to that time period, and the vague sensation he'd had of being watched. But it had gone away after that incident by the docks.

That incident...

"It was you."

"What?"

"That night, with those kidnappers. It was you, wasn't it?" She'd been the one who'd taken out the thugs while he was lying incapacitated on the floor.

She tipped her chin up. "Yes."

Matt raked his hands through his hair as he thought back to that night. And to the next morning, when Calina had come to his door.

She'd been checking up on him. She'd known he'd gotten beaten up, so she'd come to check on him. He'd let her back into his life that morning. Everything that had brought them closer together since had started that day.

And it was all based on a lie.

He'd never suspected that she'd had an ulterior motive that morning. He'd just accepted the care and attention she'd given him while he'd been sick.

God, every time he was reminded of how good a liar she was it hit him like a suckerpunch.

He forced down the betrayal that he felt. They'd both resolved to start fresh and discard the lies that had tainted beginning of their relationship. By introducing themselves to each other after their fight, they'd wiped the slate clean. Then they'd sealed that unspoken deal with a handshake.

He needed to let it go.

So he focussed on something else that he'd been wondering about from that night by the docks. "What did you use? To take those guys down. I remember hearing something odd, like an electronic device..."

"It's called a Widow's Bite. It's an electroshock weapon. Standard kit on a Widow's suit."

"Wait, you were suited up? As a Black Widow? Jesus, Calina! Did it ever occur to you that that's how you were found?"

The stubborn tilt of her chin edged up a notch. "Of course it did. But I don't regret it. You needed my help. And that little girl needed you. Just like the other people you saved that week. When I followed you, I didn't see someone revelling in violence and enjoying the pain he was inflicting. I saw someone helping his community. You showed mercy towards the people you stopped, Matt. Not needless cruelty."

He took a seat beside her again and shook his head. "There's still something dark inside of me. You need to understand that-"

"We all have that, Matt. Parts of ourselves that we're not proud of. Dark aspects of our soul."

It was her turn to sound self-loathing. He rested his hand on top of hers on the bench between them. "Hey. Whatever darkness you think resides in your soul was put there by the people who trained you and controlled you."

She laughed bitterly. "I'm not the innocent victim you think I am, Matt. I've made choices - since I was free of the Red Room - that I'm not proud of."

"But those choices were informed by the life that they forced you to live. By the person they forced you to become. Could you still say you'd have acted the same if you were allowed to be raised by your family, in a loving home, far away from the Red Room?"

She turned her hand over to grasp his, as if it was her turn to offer comfort. "The same could be said for you, Matt. If you hadn't had your accident, and lost your Dad, would you still feel the same about the man you are today? We're all at the mercy of chance. We're all shaped by our experiences."

He shook his head. "But that's what I was saying before, about me, and my Dad. This is nature, not nurture There's something inside us-"

"No. I don't believe that. You make it sound like there's something fundamentally wrong with you-"

He gave a hollow laugh. "Calina I dress up in a devil suit to go beat up criminals at night. That's hardly the picture of a normal, well-adjusted human being."

'"It's no measure of health to be well-adjusted to a profoundly sick society'," she quoted.

"What?"

"I moved on to philosophy books this week, and came across that quote from Krishnamurti, an Indian philosopher," she explained. "I think it means that most people go about their lives not seeing the sickness and corruption in this world, or not caring about it if it doesn't directly affect them. But people like you - who've experienced it, and gained empathy from it - they don't conform. They fight. They fight to make the world a better place. That's how I see you, Matt. Not as some rage-filled monster."

Matt sat in silence for a few moments, humbled by Calina's opinion of him. He tried to absorb the words, to make them his truth...but he was fighting against thirty-odd years of dogma. Thirty-odd years of believing there was something wrong with him.

It would take more than a few words...but he was still grateful. "Thank you."

She squeezed his hand in response.

"And thank you, for before," he continued. "That night with those kidnappers. If you hadn't been there...you probably saved my life."

"You're welcome," she said. "Thank you for saving mine the night with the serum."

"I didn't save your life. All I did was hurt you." He could still hear the crack of her knee impacting the floor. He could still hear the pop of her elbow as it was wrenched out of his socket. He could still feel the heat rising from the bruises littering her skin...

It didn't feel very heroic.

"You stopped me from having to live that life again, Matt. I consider us more than even." She stretched her arm out in front of her. "And look, good as new."

He took hold of her arm and moved it around, feeling the joint as it flexed, wanting to assure himself that she was telling the truth.

And she was. There was no evidence of any lingering damage.

He ran his thumb down the delicate skin of her inner arm, and reluctantly let go when she started talking again. "I think that's why I've been feeling so antsy lately," she said. "And why it all came to a head tonight. I feel ready to go back to my life, but I'm still at the mercy of whoever's out there."

"Did Yelena have any leads on that?" he asked.

Calina explained about the identity of the man who drugged her. "But Yelena's being cautious - she's worried there's more to it than a low-level lackey trying to make some money."

"What do you think?"

"I think what I've always thought - that there's no danger here. Not anymore."

"Does that mean...are you going to move back into your place?"

There was a beat of silence. Then another. And he felt like every muscle in his body went tight as he waited for her answer. "Calina?"

"Is that what you want?" she finally said, turning his question back on him.

"No," he replied.

And it was the truth. He knew she'd have to leave eventually. He just hadn't let himself think about what that would feel like - watching her walk out of his door. And he didn't want to think about it now.

He wasn't...ready.

"You can stay as long as you need, you know that," he finally said.

"Then I'll stay a little longer. I, um, think Yelena would feel more comfortable that way."

Matt smiled, recognising it as an excuse.

She wanted to stay.

With him.

"Then stay."