The knock came at 6:47pm.

Matt had been listening for it ever since he'd gotten home from work. Perched on the edge of the sofa, elbows resting on his thighs, one heel tapping restlessly against the wooden floor, he'd listened for Calina. Terrified that she wouldn't show up. Equally terrified about what would happen if she did. Because it felt like make or break time - a single chance to save his relationship.

Although could it even be called a relationship, when only one person was still in it?

To him, only two months had passed. Two months since they were practically living together. Sleeping together, and eating together, and making love and going on dates, and planning their future...

Only two months.

He was still there, in that relationship. He'd never left. He'd blipped out of existence loving her, and returned moments later loving her still.

But she was at a different point in their timeline, five years in the distance. Had she carried her love for him with her all those years? Or had she tucked it away, too painful to contemplate. Neglected it, until it withered and died? Or had she found someone else to give it to?

Was he in her past?

Could he be her future again?

Matt had no idea. And the unanswered questions were killing him. So he listened for her. And he tapped his foot. And he tried to ignore the churning, twisting fear in his gut.

At 6:44pm he heard a motorcycle pull up in front of the apartment building, the engine ticking over, then going dead. A kickstand hitting the road.

At 6:45pm, the elevator whirred as it was called to the lobby.

At 6:46pm, it dinged as it arrived on the sixth floor.

And at 6:47pm, Calina knocked on his door.

———

Matt opened the fridge. Grabbed two beer bottles by their necks. Placed them on the counter. Popped the caps. He did it all by muscle memory, because every sense he possessed was laser-focused on the woman behind him.

The glimpse of her outside Karen's house had been too brief. The encounters on the rooftop too fraught. The interlude in the nightclub too heady and charged. The episode in the alleyway too terrifying. Only now was he able to really 'see' her, and catalogue some of the ways she'd changed.

The most obvious was her composure - or lack of it.

She used to be so...still. He remembered how her presence always calmed him. Brought him peace. He remembered the figure on his rooftop, the one who'd intrigued him from afar. The one he'd first fallen in love with. How serene she used to appear to him.

'Serene' was not a word that would describe the Calina currently pacing around his living room. Her heeled boots tapped rapidly against the hardwood floor, her long legs taking short strides back and forth. She twisted her fingers. Played with the edges of the bandage covering her hand. Chewed on her lower lip so hard he worried she would split it open.

She seemed volatile. On edge. Nervous as hell. He could hear her heart pounding. Could smell the adrenaline coming off her in waves...

He screwed his eyes closed, wishing he could somehow calm her down, hating to see her so distressed.

'Treat her kindly. Be understanding.'

Maggie's advice yesterday had seemed obvious. And not a little redundant - it's not like he'd been planning to be cruel and ignorant. But the more he'd thought on her words, the more he'd seen the wisdom in them.

Be understanding.

He needed to understand that his needs and hers were very different right now.

He needed to breach the distance between them, take her in his arms and hold her close. Feel her against him, and reassure himself that she was really here.

She needed space. She needed him not to touch her. He'd sensed that the moment he'd opened the door. The 'stay back' vibes had practically radiated off her.

So he'd retreated to the kitchen. Kept his back to her as he'd grabbed them some drinks. Now, heading back into the living room, he placed her bottle on the coffee table instead of in her hand. He took a seat on the far end of the sofa. And he kept quiet, willing to let her lead the conversation.

"Thank you," Calina said, pausing her trek across his living room long enough to grab the beer. She took a sip. Then a larger drink. Then she just stood there, staring down into the bottle, picking at the corner of the label.

"Calina?" he prompted her, his voice as soft and gentle as he could manage when his heart was lodged in his throat.

She looked at him - for the first time since arriving in the apartment. Whatever expression she saw on his face caused her to nod. And take a deep breath. "I owe you an explanation for why I avoided you for so long. And an apology."

Her words were rushed. And they sounded rehearsed, as if she'd practiced what she was going to say beforehand. But he wasn't going to complain - however she needed to get through this was fine with him.

Kind and understanding.

No problem.

"I'll listen to anything you want to tell me," he said. "But you don't need to apologise. Us - you and me - it was a long time ago for you. I know that—"

"Don't do that," she said, interrupting him. "Don't let me off the hook like that. If the situation were reversed - if I'd been the one to come back - I would have wanted you here with me."

Matt nodded. "I- I did want you here. I wanted - I needed - to know that you were alive. That you were safe. The not knowing was torture, Calina."

She ducked her head, and folded her arms across her chest as if trying to protect herself from the blow of his words. "I'm sorry."

"So what kept you away?"

She bit her lip again. Then she took a seat on the armchair across from him and launched into another rehearsed-sounding speech. "On the day you - and everyone else - returned, I was involved in a battle against Thanos and his army at the old Avenger's compound upstate."

Matt blinked. "You were what?"

"The other Widows and I were recruited to help defeat him. And during the fight, I sustained severe injuries."

He froze. "How severe?"

"Severe enough to need experimental treatment that involved being in an induced coma for a month."

Matt could feel his heart pounding and his mouth go dry, fear spiking at the thought of Calina being that close to death - because he could read between the lines. 'Severe injuries', 'experimental treatment', and 'a coma for a month' all added up to someone on the brink of dying.

"Are you okay now?" he asked.

"Physically, yes."

He exhaled in relief. But he found himself in desperate need of tangible proof. He had to grip the arm of the sofa to stop from pulling her to her feet, stripping her naked and running his hands over every inch of her skin to reassure himself that she was really healed. That she was really okay...

But then the first part of her response penetrated. "What do you mean 'physically'?"

Calina laughed, a dry humourless sound. "That...is so much harder to explain."

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. "Hey, it's just me. It's just us. You know you can tell me anything."

"I don't want to hurt you," she whispered. "And I think that when I tell you what I did - and why I did it - it will hurt you. I know you, Matt, you'll feel responsible."

Matt frowned in confusion. "I can't promise not to. But I need to know, Callie."

She nodded. Then took a deep, shaky breath. "Do you remember that time I got dosed with the pheromone spray? The one Landon Cross created?"

Matt smiled ruefully. "Calina, that was three months ago for me."

"Oh. Right." She bit her lip and frowned. Which made him realise he wasn't the only one still coming to terms with the differences in their timeline.

"What about it?" he prompted.

"You remember what it did to me? What it made me think had happened?"

"You thought I'd died."

Calina nodded. "It was the worst feeling I'd ever experienced. It was...indescribably awful, thinking that you were gone. Grieving for you like that."

"I remember." He could vividly recall finding her on the rooftop that night, huddled in a ball, her heart breaking. She'd looked so lost. So fragile.

"Well, it was nothing compared to the reality."

Matt's head jerked up - both at the words and the bitter, pained tone of her voice.

"And I didn't cope well with it. At all. I was a complete mess. I didn't know how to process so much grief, all at once. You were just suddenly...gone. And so many of my sisters were as well - Yelena, Katya, Anya..."

"I didn't realise," Matt said softly, knowing how close she'd been to those women. "I'm sorry."

If Calina heard him, she didn't acknowledge it. She just kept speaking, and her words now sounded anything but rehearsed. She stumbled and stuttered as she explained how she'd gone back to the Widows. About the nature of their missions and how hard it was to deal with their failures. How difficult it was to deal with some of the awful things she'd seen. How different it felt without her closest teammates. How she had to step up and lead, and how isolating that felt. How she barely slept, and was plagued by nightmares...

As she spoke, she pulled her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She rested her cheek on her knees, her gaze directed out the windows instead of at him.

And as he listened to her distill five years worth of pain, Matt's head came to rest in his hands, his heart tearing open.

Because she was right - this was hurting him.

"And all that time," she continued, her voice soft now, as if she was talking more to herself than to him. "I was grieving you. It never seemed to get any easier, despite what everyone said. Missing you was a constant. The pain was always there. I felt like I'd been carved out and hollowed, and there was nothing inside me except this vast, unending sorrow."

He tasted the salt of her tears on the air. She twisted her head to bury it in her arms, tucking herself further away in a protective ball as she cried.

And Matt couldn't stand it any longer. He knew he should be giving her space, but she was suffering five feet away from him. She was reliving her grief - feeling the pain of his death - five feet away from him, and he could do something about that now. He was here now. So he got to his feet, bridged that gap between them, and knelt at her side. He placed one hand on her bent head and stroked her hair. The other rubbed her back, his palm moving in soothing circles as he pressed his lips to her shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he whispered against the fabric of her sweater. "I'm so sorry."

He kept up his litany of apologies as she silently wept. His hands glided over her back, up to the nape of her neck, along her thigh, over her arm - everywhere he could reach - until eventually her tears dried up. She lifted her head, and rested it on her arms, as if the weight of it was too much to hold up. She stared at him for several long moments, before reaching out to him with her hand. He held still as she touched his face, her fingers delicate and hesitant as they traced over his brow, down his cheek and along his jaw.

She opened her mouth, preparing to speak. The air around them was silent and bated, and Matt held his breath in response.

Would she tell him that she still loved him? That she still missed him, after all this time? That she wanted to be with him?

"I'm not sure about the beard."

Matt burst out laughing, not expecting that.

———

Calina wanted to close her eyes and bask in the beautiful sound of Matt's laugher. But she also couldn't bear to look away from him, not even for a moment.

Because he was here. He was really here.

And he was so close to her. Close enough that she could make out the dark rim around the hazel of his eyes. Close enough to spy the few grey hairs at his temples, glints of silver among the rich brown tones. Close enough to see that thread-like scar above his left eyebrow...

All the tiny, subtle details of his face that she'd forgotten.

She wanted to stare at him for hours. Memorise every aspect of him, so that she'd never forget again. So that if she ever lost him again—

No.

She forced herself away from that dark train of thought. She just wanted to be here. In this moment with him. In this apartment, that she'd missed so much.

It held warmth again, and not just from the golden light streaming through the windows. There was life in here again. It was no longer a shrine, a cold mausoleum, preserving the last day of his life, like Pompeii under ash. His scent filled the air again, and things had moved. The sweatshirt that had been draped over the arm of the chair was gone, his discarded tie in its place. The coffee cup that had sat by the kitchen sink was back in the cupboard. His running shoes were now by the door. There were legal documents strewn across the top of the bureau behind her, and his glasses were on the coffee table...

He was here. He was really and truly here.

And for the first time since she'd learned of his return, she felt happy. There was no panic, or grief or fear. The tears that had fallen on recounting the past had subsided. Now there was nothing negative to obscure the purity of her joy. He was here, and he was close to her, and she was happy.

His hand came up to trap hers against his cheek. He rubbed his beard - so much thicker than she'd ever seen it - against her palm. The bristles were softer than she'd expected, and she felt him lean into the contact. "You're not a fan?" he asked, responding to her comment.

"No," she replied softly, enjoying the hushed conversation. When they spoke like this, it always felt like they were the only two people on earth. "I like when there's some scruff, but not when it hides your dimples."

Matt smiled. And even without the dimples on display, it took her breath away.

Happiness turned to giddiness.

And, God, it was such a relief to recognise an emotion, and have it be something good. Something light and positive. Something that didn't cause her pain, or steal her breath, or make her want to claw at her bones. And it was so unexpected. She'd come here tonight practically jumping out of her skin with nerves. She'd been terrified, in fact. Not knowing what to say, not knowing how she'd react to being here, to being with him.

As he'd grabbed them drinks earlier, she'd paced the floor, trying to formulate a speech. To find the words to explain what had happened to her, and why it had taken her two months to come to him. The easy part had been describing her physical injuries. Talking about her emotional damage...that was more complicated. But she needed him to understand why she'd taken the serum. She needed to give him the context...because she was so afraid of how he'd react.

She didn't want him to be horrified like Anya, or angry like Karen. She couldn't bear for him to be disappointed like Dr Gossard, or distraught like Katya. Yelena had been relatively indifferent to the news, and she didn't want that reaction either.

She didn't really know how she wanted him to react, but it felt vital that he understand the why of it.

But that conversation was still to come - she'd broken down before even getting to that point in her story. Reliving those first couple of years without him had been harder than she'd thought. She hadn't let herself think about that time in so long. She hadn't felt the specific pain of it in so long.

So she hadn't really been surprised by the tears. She'd cried over him so much in this apartment, after all. But this time...this time he was right there with her. His gentle hands had soothed her and his whispered words of sympathy had battled against the grief that was trying to pull her under. Eventually, those caresses and soft words had stemmed the tide. She'd lifted her head...and there he was. So close to her.

And now he was smiling at her, his laughter ringing in the air between them. And it felt like she'd fallen back in time.

To before.

She could almost believe they'd just eaten together, and talked about their day over the dinner that she'd cooked. That he'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and washed the dishes, while she'd admired the way he moved around the kitchen, and enjoyed the shifting of muscles in his arms as he worked. That they were now relaxing with a beer and planning how to spend the remaining hours of their evening. Maybe she'd read to him, or they'd play chess, or listen to some music. A peaceful interlude, before the night turned dark, and he would become Daredevil. She would kiss him before he left - a wish for his safe return, and a promise of more to come...

Her eyes dropped to his lips, so close to hers.

What would it be like to kiss him again, after all this time?

She could barely remember the taste of him, or the feel of his mouth against hers. Would it be like the first time, all over again? Or would it feel like coming home?

Did she want to come home?

Did she want to risk her heart again? Did she want to risk losing him again?

How would it happen the next time? Would there be another disappearance, and a slow descent towards the inevitable conclusion that he'd died? Or would there be blood and violence and a body on a cold slab in a morgue, lifeless and grey—

The thought of that - the image of that - hit her like a freezing cold wave. It doused the spark of happiness within her.

And flooded her with fear.

———

Matt held his breath as Calina studied him.

He didn't want to speak, to move, to twitch a single muscle that might disturb this strange and wonderful moment between them. He was still crouched by the side of her chair, one hand holding her palm to his face, the other resting on her back. He could feel a slight ache in his knees from holding the position, but he didn't care. He would stay here all night if he had to. Because he had a sense that something delicate and fragile was being rebuilt between them.

The 'keep back' vibes were gone. The nervous, edgy Calina from earlier was gone. She was soft and warm and still in front of him. He could feel her gaze flitting over his face, could sense the moment it landed on his lips. They were so close to each other, their faces inches apart. It would be so easy to fall against her, bring his mouth to hers...

She licked her lips, as if sharing the same thought, and Matt's every sense was drawn to the path of her tongue as it swiped over her full upper lip—

But then she gasped, the sound one of terror. She ripped herself away from him, and stumbled out of the chair. Her knee collided with the coffee table, and he put a hand out to steady her.

"No!" she shouted, backing away from him. "Don't touch me!"

Matt frowned. What the hell just happened? They'd been about to kiss, he knew it. He'd felt himself being drawn towards her, like a ship into a storm. The air had been charged with electricity, lightning ready to strike...

And he knew she'd felt it too.

But now she was across the room - as far as she could get from him without leaving the apartment. Her hands were balled by her side, and her heart pounded, the noise like thunder in his ears.

Matt rose from his crouch, took a step towards her. "Callie—"

"No!" she yelled again. "Get the fuck away from me!" The terror was gone from her voice, replaced by...anger?

He stopped moving. Held up his hands. "Calina, please tell me what's wrong."

She laughed, and it was the most bitter, resentful sound. She started pacing again, not with nerves this time, but with barely contained rage. And he didn't know if she was angry at him, or someone else, or something else. He didn't have a fucking clue what was going on. She'd turned on a dime so many times tonight it was giving him whiplash. From anxious, to sad, to affectionate, to scared, and now to anger...

Matt tried again. "Talk to me, please."

She spun on her heel to face him. "This is why I stayed away! Even after my legs were healed, this is why I couldn't come to you!"

"I don't understand."

"They never taught us how to deal with that much emotion. In the Red Room. They kept our feelings locked down for years. We never got a chance to learn how to cope with anything!" She started pacing again, and he could sense the build up of frustration within her. "It all became too much - losing you, losing my sisters, failing at missions. All the grief that I was feeling, and the devastation I was seeing. It was too much! I couldn't cope. I couldn't, Matt, I tried, I swear I tried, but it was all just too fucking much!"

"It's alright, sweetheart. I get it." And he did - up to a point. He remembered what Calina was like at the start of their relationship. How she'd once asked him to cut her some slack when she got overwhelmed by new experiences, and the strength of her feelings. So he could understand if she'd struggled to cope with all that grief and loss. But he had a sense she was gearing up for some sort of confession, and he didn't know what it could be.

"I needed to numb those feelings," she said.

"Okay..."

"So I asked Melina to create a modified version of the mind control serum."

Matt frowned. The serum that had turned her into a cold, mindless assassin? The cold, mindless assassin he'd fought in this very apartment? "Calina..."

"There was none of the controlling elements to it," she said, as if trying to reassure him. "None of the violence. Just the emotion-suppressive aspects. And it helped me. I could function again. I didn't have any more panic attacks, and I was able to live my life again. For three years, I was able to cope."

"You went without any emotions...for three years?" He couldn't imagine Calina like that. Her warmth, and her kindness, and her quirky sense of humour, and her beautiful smile...all gone? Just wiped out by some chemical, for years?

She nodded. "Nobody knew. I was able to fake being...me...enough to fool the people I worked with. And Karen. But when I was injured, they found traces of the serum in my blood, and they realised what I'd done."

Matt approached her slowly, giving her plenty of opportunity to tell him to stop, or run from him, or throw something at him. But she did none of those things. She just stood still, head lowered, as if waiting for her punishment.

He reached out, and took her hand. Her skin was cold, and he could feel her trembling, so he grasped her hand more firmly between his. Then he brought it to his lips and kissed it. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

She lifted her head. "W- what?"

"I'm sorry you had to do that. I'm sorry that you were in that much pain." He closed his eyes and bowed his head over her hand.

She tried to tug her hand back, but he held on. "I- I don't...You should be angry, or something. Disappointed..."

"Why would I be? Calina, I was there, remember? I was there when you were trying to get out from under the control of the Red Room. You hated everything about them, and what they'd done to you. So the fact that you went back to the serum...it tells me that you didn't have a choice. And I'm glad you did it. If that's how you needed to survive, in order to be standing here today, with me...I'm fucking glad you did it."

He pressed their joined hands against his chest, stepped closer to her. Touched his forehead to hers. "And I'm sorry that you were worried about how I'd react," he whispered. "I know I've been guilty of judging you and your choices in the past. But I'm done with that. You'll find no judgement here, okay? No anger. No disappointment. Just understanding."

Maggie's advice really had been spot on.

He hated the thought that Calina was scared to come to him. Scared to tell him what she'd done. That she feared his reaction. When the truth was...nothing she could tell him would change how he felt about her. She could confess to murdering a hundred people. She could tell him she'd been with a dozen men.

It didn't matter to him. Nothing she'd done in those five years mattered.

All that mattered was now. "Are you still taking the serum," he asked.

She lifted her head and laughed. "Am I behaving like someone with no emotions?"

"I meant in general. Tonight, you have seemed a bit...unpredictable."

She pulled away from him. "Unpredictable? That's a really polite term for it, Matt. I'm a complete mess."

"You're not a mess—"

"Yes, I am. Admittedly, I'm better than I was a month ago, but I'm still having severe mood swings - what you've seen tonight is just the tip of the iceberg. I'm still having panic attacks - you saw that outside the club." She pointed to the bruise on her cheek. "And I'm picking fights with my sisters for no reason."

Matt grazed his thumb over the slight swelling beneath her eye. He'd noticed the injury the other night in the club, along with the cut on her palm and her scraped knuckles. He'd just assumed she'd gotten them as part of her Black Widow duties. "Who gave you this?"

"Yelena. But I started it."

Matt shrugged. "She probably deserved it."

Calina huffed out a laugh, covering her mouth to hide the surprised sound. Then she shook her head. "No, she didn't, actually. Not this time. I hadn't seen her in five years. I'd missed her so much, and she was grieving the loss of her sister, but I still attacked her. I can't control how I react from one moment to the next."

"Then I guess I should be glad I only got tears tonight, and not a fist to the face."

She groaned at his attempt at humour. "Stop it. Please. This isn't funny. It's serious. I- I basically gave myself brain damage taking that serum."

Matt frowned, all humour evaporating. "What?"

"The serum messed with my amygdala. That's the part of the brain that regulates emotions—"

"I know what the amygdala is."

"Well mine's malfunctioning. I veer from one extreme emotion to another in an instant, even though half the time I don't even know what it is I'm feeling. And my body can't process it. I end up having panic attacks, or breaking down in tears, or hurting people. I can't be out in the field, because my sisters don't trust me to have their backs. And they're right not to. God knows what I'd do if I had a fit of rage on a mission. I could end up shooting someone on my own team, or mowing down a bunch of innocent civilians—"

"You would never do that."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I have no idea what I'm capable of. I'm not the Calina you used to know. Not even close. And I'm trying to fix myself - I'm in therapy, and I'm taking medication - but I don't know if I'll ever be that version of Calina again."

Matt stepped closer, bridging the distance she kept trying to put between them. He rubbed her arms, and shrugged. "Then I'll just get to know this new version of you."

"You wouldn't like her. She's unstable. Erratic. She's...cruel."

"Let me be the judge of that."

She shook her head. "I can't give you what you need."

"And what is it I need?"

"You used to say that I calmed something inside you. That I brought you peace. But I'm not- I can't be that person for you anymore."

"Fuck that," Matt said, his own anger spiking. The hands that had been caressing her arms now held her in a grip. "I didn't love you because of something you could do for me. I just loved you. I still love you. I'll love this new version of you, just like I've loved every other version of you."

"No, Matt."

She tried to struggle out of his hold but he wasn't going to let her go this time. He backed her against the wall behind her, pining her in place with his firm grasp on her upper arms.

Screw being kind and understanding. He was going to fight for this. For them.

"I loved you when I thought you were a college grad from Illinois," he growled. "I loved you when I found out you were a Black Widow. I loved you when you were keeping secrets from me, and when you told me the truth. I loved you when you were half a continent away, and I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again." His voice was like gravel, the words torn from the depths of his soul. "I will love every iteration of you, Calina Balashova. I was made to love you. And there is no force in this universe that will ever make me stop loving you."

His hands moved from her arms to her face, and he cradled her cheeks as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then one to her bruised cheek. Another to the angle of her jaw. Her eyelids fluttered closed, a tear escaping her eye, and he stopped it's descent with his lips. He kissed the corner of her mouth, so close to where he really wanted to be. He wanted to capture her lips and convince her with his kiss that he loved her. That it didn't matter what the serum had done to her.

That maybe he would be the one to bring her peace now.

Or, failing that, he would be the one to stand by her side and steady her as she swung through her emotions.

If she broke down in tears, he would hold her as she cried.

If she panicked, he would breathe with her until she calmed.

If she lashed out, he would take the pain.

He would give her whatever she needed, gladly and willingly.

So he lingered there, his lips on her cheek, his hands in her hair, his body pressed against hers, waiting for her to take that last step and accept what he was offering.

But she didn't. Instead she put both hands on his chest and shoved him...hard.

He stumbled back in shock. "Calina-"

"No," she said, shaking her head, her words laced with steel. "No. You didn't love me, not really. Not when you couldn't trust me." She pushed off the wall and strode towards him. "It would never have worked out between us. We both carried too much damage. I was so scared the entire time we were together that I wasn't good enough for you - that you'd figure that out and leave - and you never trusted me. One benefit of taking the serum? It let me see our relationship objectively."

"Godammit, Calina, love isn't meant to be looked at objectively! It's the most subjective thing there is."

"That doesn't change the facts-"

"No, you're the one changing the facts," Matt said, jabbing his finger at her. "You've managed to rewrite our history over the last five years. And maybe to you it is history, but for me it was weeks ago! I was in this - us - weeks ago, and I know how good it was. How amazing we were together. And so do you. Your actions speak volumes, Calina."

"What are you talking about?"

He gestured around them. "How about the fact that you bought my apartment?"

"That was just—"

He cut her off, taking a step closer, his voice low and deliberate. "Or how about the fact that you have my name branded on your neck?"

Her fingers flew to the small tattoo behind her ear. The one he'd felt beneath his lips the other night in the club.

M.M.

His initials, written in braille on her skin like a hidden, coded love letter.

"How long has it been there, Calina?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters to me. How long?"

"I- I got it a couple of years ago."

"Back when you were taking the serum." It wasn't a question.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"So three years after I disappeared, and under the influence of an emotion-suppressing chemical - when you supposedly weren't feeling anything - you got a tattoo of my name. You don't do that, Callie, if the relationship meant nothing. If it was doomed from the start, as you seem to think."

"But- but we had a fight just before you disappeared-"

"Yes, it was a fucking fight! It didn't mean we were over. And it didn't negate everything we'd been through before that. In fact, I was on my way back to you when I disappeared. I was going to get down on my knees and grovel and beg for your forgiveness. I was going to convince you, once and for all, that I did trust you. I was going to tell you that I'd let all that other shit go. All the resentment I'd been carrying around for years. All of the anger at my mother's betrayal, and Father Lantom's lies. Elektra and Stick...everything. I was going to let it all go - I have let it all go. Because the only thing that matters is you. These last two months have shown me that, without a shadow of a doubt."

He reached out and captured her hand, placing it on his chest, right over the pounding beat of his heart. "I love you, Calina. You have all of me - you have my heart, and my soul. My trust. My scarred and battered body. You fucking own me. How can you ever think you weren't good enough for me, when you're everything to me? You're everything, goddammit, and I will spend the rest of my life trying to prove that to you. You just need to let me."

He stroked his thumb over the hand pressed to his chest. "Will you let me, sweetheart? Will you give me that chance?"

She closed her eyes again. "I've told you why we can't be together-"

"No!" He yelled, dropping her hand. He raked his fingers through his hair - when what he really wanted to do was pull it out in frustration. "No, all you've done tonight is give me a bunch of bullshit excuses. That you're not the Calina I knew. You're too unstable, and you can't control yourself. You think I don't trust you. You think what we had wasn't real...It's all bullshit, Callie. There's only one thing that matters."

"And what's that?"

"Whether you still love me or not."

———

Love.

It wasn't that simple. It had never been that simple.

Calina tried to tell him, but all that came out of her mouth was his name, whispered with so much pain and regret. "Matt..."

She took a step back, trying to get away from him. It was all too much. He was too much. This is what she'd been afraid of, coming here. That he would overwhelm her. Pull her apart, rip at her skin until she was nothing but a raw nerve, exposed and throbbing in time with her hammering heart.

His touch, his words, his intensity, his passion...it was all too much. She couldn't think.

She couldn't collect her thoughts - all of those rational justifications she'd come up with for why they couldn't be together. There was no space in her head. It was all taken up by him, and the way he was touching her, and the wonderful, beautiful, heart-rending things he was saying.

I was made to love you.

The only thing that matters is you.

You have my heart, and my soul.

You fucking own me.

You're everything.

It was too much. She could barely breathe, let alone answer the questions Matt was firing at her as he stalked her across the living room.

"Do you love me, Calina?"

"I..."

"Do you want me?"

"Matt-"

"Is there someone else?"

"No!"

"Do you love me?"

Her back hit the wall.

"Do you want to be with me?"

His hands slammed against the wall, either side of her head.

"Do you love me, Calina?"

It was too much. He was too close.

She snapped.

"YES!" she yelled. Then she surged up to her toes and kissed him.