The Columbus branch of the New York Public Library was only a few blocks away. She passed it often while walking through the neighbourhood, and the lovely old limestone facade - only partially covered by graffiti - caught her eye every time.

She could have just gone there. It would have been the sensible option. The most efficient use of her time.

But when Calina had needed some reference books, she'd bypassed the sensible, efficient option and headed uptown to the main library on 5th avenue.

And found herself in heaven.

She paused beside one of the endless bookshelves and took in the room. It was at once stark and sumptuous. Pale, marbled walls enclosed the enormous space; chandeliers dripped from the guilted wooden ceiling to light the desks below; the mural above her head showed a pastel-coloured sky, a colourful reprieve from the beige and brown-toned decor.

But more than the beauty of the building, she loved the feel of the place. The hushed, still air; the melody of rustling pages and light footsteps; the muted light spilling in from the huge arched window.

And the centuries of knowledge just waiting to be discovered.

There'd been no library in the Red Room. They hadn't been allowed to seek out information for their own pleasure or amusement. They were never encouraged to expand their minds or develop passions.

Knowledge was only imparted if it was for a specific training need or mission. In those situations, approved material was provided...and taken back the moment it was absorbed.

Calina saw more of that material than the other girls - the nature of her missions often involved extensive research. When constructing a deep undercover persona, she needed more than just a fake name and ID. She needed a history. She needed hobbies and interests and experiences. She needed to build a person. A fully realised person who could react to any situation as expected. And if she was imitating a mark, she needed to learn more than just their speech patterns and daily habits, she needed to know what they knew.

Because the risk of discovery - of being found to be an imposter - brought with it the risk of pain and death. Either from her targets...or from her trainers in the Red Room as punishment for failure.

Everything she did in preparation for missions was with the goal of avoiding detection. Avoiding punishment.

Staying alive.

Needless to say...it was highly motivating.

So she became a perfectionist - one with a tendency to overcompensate.

It wasn't enough to know the black keys from the white when pretending to be a piano teacher; she had to learn to play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

It wasn't enough to use a cane when impersonating a blind woman; she had to learn to read braille.

It wasn't enough to memorise a few constellations when becoming an astronomy undergrad; she had to study astroparticle physics.

Her success in the field justified her extreme methods to her trainers and handlers. They relented when she made her case for more books, more material, more tutors.

But it never felt like enough. She always wanted to know more. She'd convinced herself that only knowledge could keep her safe. But she'd been fooling herself, as much as she'd been fooling the people controlling her. Because looking back now, Calina could see the truth. She was a woman with an intense, innate curiosity about the world. A desire to learn everything about...everything.

How the world turned and the stars died and a human heart beat.

That curiosity seemed to be the only part of her that the Red Room had never managed to erase.

She gazed reverently at the rows and rows of books in front of her, savouring the idea that her curiosity could finally be slaked. That all the knowledge she could ever want was - literally - at her fingertips.

She'd only come to the library to gather some resources for her mission: a text on South Korean social etiquette (to avoid any cultural faux pas), and a primer of the Japanese-Korean war (to get a sense of Katya's mission). But now that she was here, surrounded by all these millions of books - with every topic under the sun within reaching distance - she couldn't resist choosing something for herself.

Something for...fun.

A surprised laugh escaped her at the thought.

Of all the things she'd experienced over the past few weeks since leaving the Widows - renting an apartment, buying her own clothes, ordering indulgent coffee beverages - it was the thought of choosing a book for pure enjoyment that really hammered home just how free she now was.

Taking the star-gazing moment from last night as her inspiration, she made her way over to the science section and found the texts on astronomy. Brushing her fingers over the spines, she browsed through the titles.

Black holes, and planets, and the Big Bang, and the end of the time.

Hawking and Sagan and Thorne...

The choice was a little overwhelming.

She ended up selecting a book at random - content in the knowledge that if she didn't like her choice she could always come back.

She was free to come back.

Every day if she wanted.

Cradling the book to her chest, she smiled at the thought.

Of course, she could also study anything she wanted using her laptop and the internet, but she was used to learning through books. She liked books. The anticipation that came from turning the first page, and the sense of accomplishment that came from turning the last. She liked the tactile sensation of running her fingers over the words, as if she could absorb them through touch...

Touch.

Her mind flashed back again to last night. To the feel of Matthew's skin beneath her fingers.

She felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the memory.

Which was ridiculous. All she'd done was take his arm and draw a pattern on his palm.

Innocent.

Innocuous.

Nothing compared to some of the...things...she'd had to do on assignment.

But it had felt so much more intimate than those acts.

Because it had been her choice. An impulse - born of the late hour, the lingering anxiety of her dream, and the attraction she felt whenever she was in his presence - but one she could not, and would never, regret.

It had been a tiny, magical moment.

A real moment.

An honest moment.

She hadn't been pretending. Or lying. Or playing a role. She hadn't been weighing her words with the intent to deceive or manipulate. She'd hadn't deflected his questions or overanalysed his answers.

She'd been herself.

Or as much of herself as currently existed.

She was a woman with holes in her soul; deep gaping hollows where parts of her personality should be. Experiences and likes and dislikes and ambition and desires...all gouged out before they could fully form by the Red Room. Holes that were filled up with false personas and lies, then emptied out again.

Over and over and over.

Holes that were slowly shrinking.

She was filling in the parts of herself that she'd never had the chance to know.

The clothes she liked to wear. The music that moved her. The foods that excited her.

The books she wanted to read.

The man that made her heart race.

The man she couldn't wait to see again.

———

As it happened, she didn't have to wait long.

Exiting the 50 St subway station, she spotted him standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the lights to change.

It felt like fate.

But it was probably just geography.

Yes, Manhattan was a sprawling island, teeming with millions, but Hell's Kitchen - the neighbourhood she'd chosen - was small. 24 streets from north to south. 4 blocks wide, from 8th avenue to the Hudson river.

Tiny really.

And it had the feel of a small-town community. One with Matthew Murdock at its heart.

She'd googled him after their first interaction. He was a local boy, born and bred. Attended Columbia Law School less than 60 blocks away. Returned to Hell's Kitchen as soon as he could, to open his own practice.

A practice that catered to the poor and the downtrodden and the underdogs.

And he hadn't been bragging - Nelson, Murdock and Page were developing a good reputation. Both in legal circles and amongst their clients. They were fair and honest. And they put their faith in the people of this city, not the big corporations or the political class.

She respected that. And she liked what it said about him: that he was a good person.

She hadn't met many of those in her life.

She waited for him in front of the subway station, the beeping of the crosswalk signal and the faint clack of his cane against asphalt heralding his arrival. As he passed by, she called out to him. "Matthew?"

He paused, and cocked his head to the side as if trying to pinpoint her voice. Then he smiled. "Calina?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Hi."

He took a step closer, and she clasped his arm to move him out of the path of a group of tourists. "Thanks," he said. "Where are you headed?"

"Home."

"What a coincidence. I'll walk with you."

They started heading up the street, the heavy rush hour foot traffic mostly parting for Matthew as he guided himself with the cane.

Mostly.

A harried-looking businessman yelling down his cellphone bumped into Matthew as he passed, knocking him into Calina's side. "Sorry," Matthew said. He steadied himself with his free hand around her upper arm...and kept it there as they continued along their path. "Do you mind?" he asked, nodding to his hold on her.

"Not at all," she replied.

As if in thanks, his thumb swiped once across the leather of her jacket. Or maybe he just liked the feel of the butter-soft fabric as much as she did.

"No motorcycle today?" he asked.

"No, I felt like walking."

"I'm glad. Harder for us to run into each other when you're travelling at 40 miles an hour."

She scoffed. "If only. The traffic is so bad here, I'm lucking to get above a crawl most days."

"Ah, so you like to go fast. Feel the wind in your hair and all that."

She smiled. "Well, I didn't buy a motorbike for its practicality."

His smile grew, and the the wide, boyish grin was so...endearing. There were hints of dimples beneath the dark stubble of his cheeks, and she could see the laugh-lines around his eyes peeking out from the sides of his glasses.

She was suddenly struck by the intense desire to see his eyes.

Were they blue? Or grey? A rich chocolate shade, or a multihued hazel?

"Are you carrying something?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Um, yeah. Just a couple of books. I went to the library."

"The main one, up on 5th?"

"Yeah."

"I love it there."

"The smell, right?"

His brow creased in confusion, so she hurried to explain. "I noticed that today. The scent of all the old books, it was lovely. Woodsy and musty, but sweet somehow. And the sounds too - how there was this echoing silence, but with this...hum...underneath of all the people shifting and moving quietly. It was so peaceful."

They'd come to a stop without her noticing, and he was fixed intently on her face, his frown deeper than before.

Wondering what she'd done wrong, she stammered out an apology. "I-I'm sorry. After last night, I was trying to make an effort to 'see' things the way you do. To not concentrate so much on what things looked like, but how I experienced them."

———

Matt couldn't remember anyone doing that for him before.

His friends, the people around him, they always tried to bring him into their way of seeing. They meant well, but when they described the world, they used a language he'd not spoken since he was 9 years old.

One of colours and details and subtleties.

And they would rely on a child's memory of sight to fill in the gaps.

But after almost twenty-five years, those memories had long faded. He couldn't remember the exact shade of red of his Dad's boxing robe. He couldn't remember the difference between brown hair and auburn. He couldn't picture the blue of the sky on a summer's day, or the way the neon lights of the city looked reflected in rain puddles.

The richness of his world was in scents and sounds and touch.

And Calina got that.

She'd painted him a picture with words he understood. Coloured the canvas with his palette.

He was touched beyond belief.

But she seemed...anxious. He could feel the discomfort rolling off her, so he played back her last few sentences in his head. "Oh," he said. "Don't be sorry. Thank you."

She exhaled, and the muscles beneath his fingers relaxed in relief. They started walking again.

"But you forgot one thing," he said

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. The lion statues outside. To really experience the library in all its non-visual glory, you have to run your hands over the lion's paws when you leave."

She laughed. "I'll remember that for next time."

He nodded towards the books that she carried. "Did you get what you were looking for?" He was curious about her reading habits. Did she like mysteries? Crime stories? Romances?

"Yes," she replied. "And more."

Her voice was soft, almost wistful - but the words were annoyingly vague. Finding out anything about Calina was like pulling teeth! He thought they'd made a breakthrough of sorts last night, when they'd shared that moment under the stars. She'd been open and vulnerable then, willing to reveal parts of herself - however tiny and seemingly insignificant.

That encounter had caused a shift in Matt. She was real to him now - vividly, intriguingly real - and he wanted to continue peeling away her layers until he knew her.

It felt like a compulsion, this urge to understand her. One he didn't fully understand.

But now, she was closed back up tight. Relaxed, and engaged in the conversation, but letting nothing slip that could give him a glimpse into who she was. He would have to take a more direct approach, even if he started sounding like an interrogator again.

"Did you, um, go to college?" he asked, knowing the answer but hoping it would spark a deeper conversation.

"What?" she asked, obviously confused at the change in topic.

"I was just thinking of all the times I would pull all-nighters in the library studying for finals in college. What about you?"

"I did go to college, but no all-nighters for me - unless it was at a club. I was, um, more of a party girl."

Surprised, he glanced over at her. "I can't really see that."

"You can't see anything."

He laughed. "Oh, now you're making fun of me?"

She ducked her head. "I'm so sorry - I don't know where that came from."

He felt her try to pull away from him, but he kept his grip around her arm, not offended in the least. This is what he had wanted - for her to drop some of her walls and be herself. "It's okay - it was funny. And I'm not above dropping a good blind joke now and then."

She relaxed again, the muscles in her arm loosening, and she leaned into his hold the tiniest fraction. He suddenly realised they'd been walking perfectly in sync for the past several blocks - their strides matched in rhythm, with no awkward jostling or mistimed steps as they navigated the busy sidewalk together. He could see their apartment block down the street, and hated that this strange dance between them was coming to an end once again. Eager to prolong the encounter, he acted on impulse. "Come out with us tonight," he blurted.

"What?"

"My partners and I are meeting up at Josie's later - its that dive bar on the corner of 49th and 10th. It's kind of our unofficial after-work hangout spot. You should join us-"

"I can't-"

"-and don't say you can't. You just admitted you're a party girl, yet I've never seen you go out. This'll be your chance."

"Was a party girl. You missed that detail, Mr. Defence Attorney."

He smiled at her teasing. "I apologise. But it'll just be a few beers, maybe a game of pool. Come. Please." He didn't care that he was reduced to pleading. He wanted to spend more time with her.

Just as a friend, of course.

They came to a stop outside their building. She bit her lip and clasped her pile of books closer to her chest. "I'd like to. Really. But I can't tonight."

"Okay. How about another night?"

She bit her lip again. "Maybe," she said finally.

But it sounded like a 'yes'.