Burden of Proof
“Hi, Eve.”
The Man in Black cooed at you through that lazy smile, bright against the backdrop of this shadowed alley.
The only true light was a single nearby streetlight, unsteady and flickering in its already-dim shine. This minimal light glinted off puddles in potholes that littered the pavement, shimmers of reflection contrasting with the grime and filth that seemed to coat everything else. As people gave in to the pull of sleep, apartment lights began to shut off from above, and at this point, the streetlight and the stars were all you had to guide you.
Those, and the Devil’s grin, bright like a crescent moon and just as elusive.
It was elusive, at least, for most people. A part of you began to suspect that he saved this grin for a select few, of which you may have become one. You shoved that thought down, opting instead to simply let yourself indulge in the growing thrill of his presence.
Just a bit. Just for now.
He’d begun stepping around you like a wolf circling its prey - cautious but all too ready to pounce.
“You gonna answer my question, or will I just have to follow you until I get an answer on my own?”
“Follow me?” You asked coyly, noticing how his neck craned in your direction as if to examine your every movement. A shiver passed through you at the thought of him blatantly exploring the way you moved, even the way you stood, and you were suddenly conscious of every muscle in your body, every position of your bones - but you weren’t nervous. Just aware.
Just mind-numbingly conscious of this dark, charming, muscle-bound man in black and his uninterrupted attention assessing every inch of you.
He stepped behind you, and you shut your eyes, willing your voice to stay steady. Somehow, it did.
“That sounds suspiciously criminal for a man who fights crime.”
“It’s all about the big picture,” he hummed, coming up on your other side. You opened your eyes as he stepped back in front of you. He was so close that you could feel the heat of his body, trace the lines of muscle woven beneath his shirt, catch the tug of stitches as his grin waxed and waned. This time, though, you couldn’t take your eyes off his lips, pink and perfect with every curve of a word or a smile.
“Besides,” he continued, his voice huskily, teasingly low. “Worked the first time.”
With the Man in Black this close to you, it had grown increasingly difficult to focus your breathing, to keep yourself calm and composed. Still, you fought to stay above that biting, aching heat that stoked itself in the air around the two of you, keeping your voice as smoothly poised as possible.
“The first time.” You nodded thoughtfully. “You mean the time I saved your ass?”
That drew out a chuckle. “I’d hardly say you saved my ass.”
“How about Barrett? The little knife trick?”
“I could have managed.”
“Theoretically,” you nodded, stepping around the Devil this time. His tongue flicked over those lips as they curled into a smirk at your lilting arrogance. “But - theoretically - you also could have totally lost.”
It was your turn to play the role of the predator, and you savored it, making every step slow and calculated as your eyes wandered over your prey. He let you examine him, staying still and relaxed, not even turning as you stepped behind him.
And the back - the back - was just as good as the front. That shirt hugged every arc, dip, and edge of muscle, pure power trailing from his broad shoulders all the way down to the tight bend of his waist. Plus, you couldn’t deny that the pants did wonders for his legs, hefty thighs hugged tight by that perfect black fabric - and not to mention that ass.
I am so totally fucked.
You gulped down any last bits of nervous tension and summoned all that good tension in your body to replace it, tension you could feel from him, tension you could use. His head tilted slightly to the side as you stepped towards him from behind, your gaze entirely entranced by the curve across his shoulders, up the side of his neck, and further to his sharp jaw where skin grew stubbled, soft and malleable becoming hard and rough. You briefly considered how it would feel to draw your lips over that path, to slowly let yourself taste the different sections of his skin.
In that consideration, you wondered what it would feel like to have his lips on your neck. Would they feather over you, the slightest touch more than enough for him, teasing you into begging for more? Or, would he press his lips against you, hard, teeth bruising the edge of your skin until you cried out under his grip?
God.
Stop it.
Stop it now.
”I don’t know if that’s true, Eve,” he hummed, something in his voice purely teasing. “If you knew my track record, you’d know I work best on my own.”
You laughed. “If you knew mine, you’d be begging me to give you a hand.”
His warmth and scent were equally intense, heat and incense mastering your senses. It was like some hypnotic spell that only drew you closer to him, every other part of your surroundings fading at the edges. With one more step forward, you were right at his back, which expanded and contracted smoothly with each of his slow, deep breaths. He seemed so relaxed it almost gave you pause.
But you didn’t let that stop you.
Your voice carried over his skin and past his ear, feathery, light, and raspingly dark all at once. The words sent a shiver through him that you could both see and feel, his breath hitching just slightly, a twitch of muscle in his neck giving away the sparks beneath his composure.
“I wouldn’t take my help for granted if I were you.”
The Devil clenched his jaw. His head turned back in your direction, and the streetlight behind him made his features stand out like a living shadow, lined with light and born of the dark. He didn’t turn around to face you but instead seemed to be taking in the feeling of you at his back, and you wondered if he felt the same buzz you did.
His low laugh cut the moment short. “Since when have I taken your help for granted?”
You snorted. “Literally right now? Besides, you barely let me stitch you up.”
“I could have done it myself.”
“Please. If you’d done it yourself, I’m sure many more people might just have figured out your secret.”
“Oh, yeah?” He asked, finally turning around. His expression was sharp - still playful but pointedly taunting as he leaned in, daring you to say the words out loud. He sneered. “What secret?”
The way his scent and fire surrounded you was making your brain short-circuit. Still, you smiled. “Obviously that you’re-“
Your back collided with the brick wall as he shoved you backward, and you felt the back of your head drag lightly against the building’s rough grime, your hair snagging on chipped stone as his hand wrapped firmly over your mask, around your mouth.
Well, with the size of his hand, it was more like the whole lower half of your face.
The other hand pressed flat against your abdomen, holding you firmly in one spot, totally at his mercy. His whisper was a threatening hiss, albeit twisted with that sultry slink you remembered from that first night, spice and sweat eating you alive.
“I don’t know how long you’ve been doing this,” he mused, so close you could feel every husky word across your skin, “but most people know it isn’t wise to talk about that sort of secret in the open.”
You tried to speak but couldn’t move your lips under his grip. His hand felt hot through his glove and the fabric of your mask, the stitched leather of his fingertips scraping at your cheekbone. You tried again, humming in protest as your lips struggled to shift around. His jaw twitched, and he released his hand, finally moving it to hold your shoulder against the wall.
“I was going to say,” you breathed, trying and failing to bury a smirk, “that you’re terrible at stitches.”
Jack paused. He dipped his head slightly, and when it came back up, his expression was a mix of exasperation and amusement, the tiniest hint of dimples beginning to show in his cheeks.
Didn’t notice those before.
“Well, that’s a pretty big secret, right? Imagine being known as the vigilante who can’t do basic first aid.”
He scoffed. “I think your calf would beg to differ.”
“And I think you and your lip should be thanking me.”
“Me and my lip?” He laughed, his hands relaxing, though he didn’t draw away from you, didn’t separate his touch from your body.
“Yes, you and your lip.” Fittingly, your gaze fell back to his mouth, and this time you eyed his lips with no shame.
We’re talking about his lips. It makes sense. That’s the reason.
“Without my help,” you continued, your voice slow and quiet, “that lip would have been out of commission for quite some time, I’m sure.”
Jack paused for another brief moment. His head tilted in a slow, sure nod. “You might be right on that count.”
Your eyes narrowed. “So much you wouldn’t have been able to do.”
“So much.”
“Like eating and drinking….”
“Eating and drinking, for sure.”
“Oh, for sure.”
His voice had fallen impossibly deeper, the low tones vibrating through him and into you, burning you up in the dark.
“I guess I do owe you my thanks, then,” he whispered. “So, thank you. I’m still confused about one thing, though.”
His head dipped so close to yours that any nod or shake would brush your face against his. You only stared at him in response, but no matter. His next few words shot electricity through you, every cell in your body igniting, unsavory thoughts and even less savory pictures saturating your mind.
“How do you expect my lips to thank you?”
Your mind fell slack, and your jaw went in tow, shock with an undercurrent of delight blurring your judgment and making your brain waves go all fuzzy.
Did he really just go there?
He did.
He fucking did.
A steady pool of heat burned at the base of your core, melting downward in a hypnotic spiral that only led to the thought of Jack’s touch. Still, no matter Jack’s advances - or simply his willingness to make advances - composure was the name of the game. You curled your lips into a smile seething with buttery charm, flirtation at its finest in the subtle lilt of your voice.
“I’m sure we can figure something out.”
His grin faded into something altogether dark and haughty, a cool sense of pursuit bubbling over his edges until it poured itself into you, deep red and too temptingly thick to ignore. You shivered for the millionth time.
“Looking forward to it,” he breathed.
In another world, the two of you would have kissed right then and there. You would have tilted your head up, he would have tilted his down, and your lips would have met, fire and ice mingling in a radiant dance of snow and flame.
But you didn’t kiss.
Not the time.
Instead, you took him by surprise.
Jack almost didn’t have time to register your movements as you wrenched his hands off your body. You gripped each of his wrists and twisted him around you, shoving him into the wall where you’d been shoved. You didn’t push him hard enough to hurt him - just enough for him to know that you could do it.
The move took mere seconds, and as you held Jack there, his wrists pinned against the wall on either side of his head, you took another breath in the cool comfort of regained control. He didn’t struggle against you, but his jaw did drop.
“How the hell did you do that?”
You smiled. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Jack. More than you realize.”
“Forgive me for not realizing I’d be ambushed tonight.”
Jack tried to inch himself forward, and you shoved yourself against him, pushing his body back against the wall with your hips. You could feel his brow lift under the mask, and your face grew hot.
“I’m serious, Eve.”
“Well, as you’ve noticed, you’re good, but you’re not the only fighter around.”
“This isn’t about fighting. I tend to see certain things coming.” He breathed. “And I didn’t - how did you do that?”
You tilted your head as he dipped his, realizing what he’d said only after the words left his mouth. You’d deduced the truth about Jack-slash-Devil-slash-unconfirmed but still very obviously Matt, although it didn’t feel right to fully think of him as ‘Matt Murdock in a Black Mask’ just yet. Still, you were - well, a bit confused about how exactly he was able to do the whole vigilante thing at all, to be totally honest. It was yet another question on the extensive list of things you needed an answer for.
“I don’t know if we’re talking about the same secret right now, but are you sure ‘seeing things coming’ is really-“
“Seriously?”
You shook your head. “No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put it like that. I just- I’m confused.”
“Confused?”
“About how you do this.”
He pursed his lips. “I have some abilities that help me out.”
Abilities?
“Abilities? Like what?”
Jack considered for a moment. “Like being really good at what I do.”
Your scoff was a mix of amusement and annoyance. “That’s not an answer.”
“Just because it’s not the answer you want doesn’t mean it’s not an answer.”
You narrowed your eyes. The nerve. “Yeah, well, if you’re not gonna give me a straight answer, you’re not gonna get one.”
Jack tilted his head back with a groan. His seeming impatience intrigued you, and the line of his neck as it stretched from chin to jaw and down to chest flicked at sparks within your core. He seemed like he wasn’t used to being challenged in the way you were challenging him. The way he responded to you was nothing short of entertaining.
He tilted his head back down to face you and set his jaw. “I knew you were going to grab my wrists, I knew you were going to push me against the wall, but your strength doesn’t make sense.”
You snorted.
Let’s hope he’s not one of those guys.
“Just say you’re jealous and be done with it.”
“That’s not what this is, Eve,” Jack shook his head, leaning towards you with a sliver of frustration in his voice, doing nothing to hide his brazen intrigue. “I mean, it’s not so off that it’s unrealistic, but your muscle mass and density - they just don’t match your power.”
You snorted once more, although this time, your laugh was less teasing and more nervous, tinged with slight confusion. “If it bothers you that I might be the stronger one, you can just say so.”
At that, Jack tore his wrists out from under your grip and wrapped his hands around your shoulders. You strained against him, grabbing at his arms, but it was no use. He was all raw power and determination as he walked you back across the alley, ramming you into the opposite wall. You groaned, and he chuckled.
“Hate to break it to you, but I’ve got the strength card here,” he whispered. “Still impressed with yours, though. Don’t get me wrong.”
“Well, good for you.” You rolled your eyes, fighting off a wince. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that there’s something more to you. I can tell.”
“Just like there’s something more to you, apparently,” you hummed at him, that hum dangerously close to becoming a hiss as it hit you how late it was getting. “Maybe the two of us, with our something-mores, could get to the docks already before somebody else gets trafficked tonight.”
Jack frowned. “They’ve barely set up. It doesn’t seem like trafficking, either. Maybe drugs, but even that’s unlikely.”
“And how the fuck would you know that?”
“What, you need me to drag you down there and prove it?”
You scoffed. “I don’t need you to drag me anywhere.”
Jack stilled with an almost laugh; his lips were closed, but those dimples betrayed him. His grip on you softened, and you eyed him carefully as he pulled his hands off you - and although technically you were finally free, a part of you ached in longing for the lost sense of his touch.
Really? You’re whipped this quick? Embarrassing.
You slumped back against the wall, and he stepped further into the shadows. As he became little more than a darkened silhouette, your eyes fell to his growing grin, lightning to the thunder that was his voice.
“Okay,” he began. “If I don’t have to drag you, maybe I’ll just have to see if you can keep up.”
You remained where you were, eyes crinkling up in confusion. “What?”
Jack only shrugged, his smile lazy and arrogant as ever. Suddenly, he tipped his head up as quickly as if he’d been hit by something. You watched him move from one thought to the next, the lines around his lips bending and relaxing as he pursed them in thought. Then, he tipped his head back to you and smirked.
“And now, I’ll have the rain on my side.” He laughed. “Even better.”
What?
“Since when is it supposed to rain-“
The moment the words left your lips, you felt a tiny prick of cold hit the top of your head.
Then another.
You tipped your head up in disbelief and felt another prick of cold rain fall onto your cheek. The stars you thought you’d seen earlier were only visible in tiny patches, all the rest of the sky covered in what must be thick, dark clouds.
As you tilted your head back down, the raindrop ran down your face, a cool breath seeping into your scorching skin. You looked back at the Devil through a veil of slow-falling raindrops. His smile stayed steady as he began to move backward, further from shadow as he grew closer to that one trusty streetlight.
“See you at the docks, Nightingale,” he snickered.
You stood up to follow him, skepticism with a touch of awe coursing through you in a cold buzz. “Don’t be so smug. You could have just checked the weather.”
He laughed, finally turning away from you, long strides carrying him towards the sidewalk. “Of course. Sure.”
“You know, you’re gonna have to explain yourself sooner or later-“
“You first.”
You huffed, storming after him as he proceeded towards the docks.
Who does he think he is?
Though Jack’s pace was quick, it took little effort for you to keep up.
“You know, for a challenge, this isn’t very challenging, Jack.”
“Challenge hasn’t started.” His head turned towards a building up to the left - black paint over brick and mortar, the fire escape rickety, dripping with rust, and definitely not up to code. You swore it barely had enough steps to be considered an ‘escape’ instead of a hazard on its own. No way it could hold your weight or Jack’s. Or anyone’s, for that matter.
You sucked in a breath. “You’re not serious.”
“Not for you.”
“Still.”
He turned to you with a chuckle. “Like I said, I’ll see you at the docks. Or, rather, you’ll see me.”
Looking at him this time, your stomach fluttered with one part attraction, one part apprehension, and three parts ambition. You’d never been one to back down from competition, and you were certainly not one to lose. Red determination burned across your face and bloomed through your chest, and you smiled in spite of yourself.
“I seriously doubt that.”
Jack laughed, and it was a subtle thing - subtle but strong, bathed in the light of the night and shooting sparks through your core. He turned away from you and jogged up to the fire escape. You watched in awe as he hoisted himself up with little struggle before climbing higher and higher with powerful ease until he disappeared onto the roof.
Well. Wow.
You shook your head, snapping yourself back into focus. You had a mission within a mission now, and although this issue wasn’t exactly the most pressing, you were not about to be shown up by this guy, ‘abilities’ or not.
The rain started to fall more heavily now, droplets crashing into the puddles that already lay strewn about the pavement around you. You slicked back your hair - which was now covered with a sheen of nighttime rain - and tightened it in its ponytail before pulling your mask up closer to focused, narrowed eyes.
Deep breath. In and out.
And you were off.
Eyes splitting time between the ground and your surroundings, you sprinted towards the docks, light on your feet and nearly soundless through the night. Water poured down over your clothes, over your boots, and you welcomed it as you ran. The rain bled into the sweat and heat under your clothes and cooled you into focused concentration. Here and there, you swore you heard a tumble from a rooftop, the clang of another fire escape, but no matter.
Your focus was your own path. That was all you needed to devote your attention to.
That, and the potential satisfaction of wiping that smug smirk off the Devil’s face.
You swerved through back alleys, curved around buildings, dumpsters, and lonely cars left behind for the night. Their owners were likely warm and dry in a bed somewhere, fast asleep while, unbeknownst to them, two masked vigilantes were racing past their vehicle in a competition called “who-can-get-to-the-criminal-first.”
You ran up to the next building and paused. Leaning against another slab of brick, it took you a minute to catch your breath - longer than you thought it would, anyway.
Devil versus Nightingale. Not quite as exhilarating as it sounds.
From where you stood, you could see the docks clearly - only a few streets away. A few steps to the right, and from between two buildings, you could see the mountain of shipping containers you’d stood atop of the night you took down Barrett.
“Don’tstop now,” a voice - his voice, of course - called out from above. “You don’t need to make this any easier for me.”
You rolled your eyes and stuck your middle finger high in the air. Another sound came down from on high - this one a laugh, distant and yet ringing like a bell in your ears.
The steps came easier as you begrudgingly took his advice and resumed, one foot after the other taking you further and further towards the docks. This run broke out into one like a bullet train as you cut through the air just as fast, your dampened clothes and hair made cold against your skin in the midnight air. You were driven forward by pure adrenaline, a river of excitement running through you with scorching force.
This force carried you to the edge of the docks, the maze of shipping containers holding a new familiarity to you this time around. You didn’t see Jack, so you darted forwards into the mess, taking twists and turns that led you deeper and deeper.
He did tell me not to make it easy for him, after all.
Reaching a container close to the water, you froze.
Deep and rattling with chattery unease, a man’s voice sounded out from the other side of the metal.
“-well, if the goddamn cops are coming, it’s about time we get the hell out of here!”
And another one - a younger voice, though just as deep and a shade more pained.
“If we have any goddamn time!”
The shift in the air around you was unmistakable, and your inner rhythms changed with it. This lighthearted game was now something else entirely, and the switch flipped in your brain and body like second nature.
One moment, you were blithe and full of competitive enthusiasm - and now, you were back in your element, entering that zone of your mind reserved for missions in the day and night alike.
Time to go to work.
You took a deep breath and pressed your ear against the shipping container. The rain kept falling from above, pouring down the side of the container and against your already-soaked clothes. The metal was cold and wet against your cheek, and you found the cold comfortable in a strangely soothing way, still clenching your jaw at the thought of who could be on the other side.
Okay. Calculate.
Two subjects. Might be targets.
One older.
One younger.
Both agitated.
The click of a gun being loaded echoed through the metal, and you sucked in a breath.
Both armed.
The rain grew sharper in its fall, every drop heavier than the next as they crashed around you on all sides. You struggled to hear what the men were saying behind the metal, their now-whispery voices having grown muffled beneath the rain.
All of a sudden, you couldn’t hear them anymore.
What?
You pressed your ear further against the container, willing the men to speak again, to incriminate themselves somehow, give you some sort of chance to dive in and take them out. The rain pounded against the containers around you, crashing through puddles and pouring down your skin. Your eyes darted around the space, potholes and mud and stones and the wood paneling of the docks all rendered a dark shade of gray by the rain.
You pulled your head up from the container, starting to wonder where your Devil-friend was-
-and felt the cold barrel of a gun press against the back of your skull.
Shit.
Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit.
The man attached to this gun chuckled, the sound low and conniving and anything but pleasant.
“Not wise to be out at this hour, miss.”
You took a breath, careful not to make your voice threatening but not wanting to seem weak.
“Could tell you the same thing.”
He laughed again, just as devious, just as bitter. “I’d advise against telling the man with a gun at your head what to do.”
Okay. Iffy move.
But he hasn’t shot me yet.
So there’s that.
“Who are you,” the man pressed, pushing the gun harder against you, “and what are you doing here?”
His push shoved you forward, and you stumbled, one of your feet nearly sinking into a deep, muddy puddle. Your brain darted every which way for something to do next, and you settled on letting your voice shake just a bit.
“I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m just - looking for someone.”
“Looking for someone?”
“A friend. He- we had a fight, and he stormed off into the dark.” You sniffed, hoping it didn’t sound too over the top. “I just need to make sure he’s okay.”
Not a total lie. Either way, you were buying time. He had to be close, and from what you’d been able to tell so far, he must already know you’re in trouble.
Whether you were just stalling or not, your effort at convincing this guy didn’t work at all. The sound of the other man cocking his gun made that certain to you.
“You think I was born yesterday?”
You stayed silent, every muscle in your body growing taut with nervous tension.
“What motherfucker goes “looking for a friend” in a damn mask?”
You closed your eyes and worked to steady your breathing. You could whip around and wrench the guy’s gun from him, but then you had to worry about grappling with him and his friend alone, and whether they could fight, and whether the friend was good with his gun, and-
A clang and a grunt resounded from behind you, and your new favorite husky voice answered the man’s question before you had to.
“A damn good friend, that’s for sure.”
Something in you settled, and you took a sharp breath, the lightness of this night’s first half fading fast into a new, pointed determination.
Time to go to work. Part two.
In one fluid movement, you ducked to the side and reached your hand around to grab the guy’s wrist. He fired and missed, his desperate bullet clanging off a container in the distance. Your fingers wrapped around his hand as he kicked behind your knee. You stumbled but regained control faster than he expected and drove your other fist into his gut. His lips parted in a groan, and in a quick, stray thought, his sharply carved facial hair looked ridiculously villainous to you in the darkness. You dragged him towards you by the collar of his jacket and wrenched his arm behind him, ramming the heel of your hand against his chin. He was strong, but you were skilled, and with a drive of your heel onto his toes and one more pop of your fist into his face, you distracted him enough to get the gun fully out of his hand and into yours.
The commotion of your fight with this target had totally distracted you from Jack’s plight - which was, apparently, relatively effortless for him. Your bearded target stood in front of you, his hands in the air and fear in his eyes, while Jack’s opponent lay on the ground, unconscious and covered with a mixture of rainwater and mud.
Mud. It's just mud.
Jack’s head tilted toward you, and you saw him inhale deeply and slowly.
You knew his attention had fallen to the gun, cocked and pointed at the chest of your target - so unsettlingly natural in your hands that it seemed like an extension of your body.
The target licked his lips, rain washing off the sweat you knew was dripping from his brow, which was knitted together in tangles of panic. Behind him, you saw the Devil shake his head slowly, his hand reaching out to you in measured disapproval.
“Really?” Your target choked out, working to cover his fear with a see-through layer of brassy overconfidence. “You seem like a smart lady. I doubt you wanna shoot some random guy.”
Jack’s silent objection to your stance and the weapon in your hand shot out to you stronger than a bullet through the skull, but you couldn’t take your eyes off this haughty man in front of you. Your eyes narrowed at him, brow furrowing, nose sneering upwards in a frown.
It was true that you didn’t like guns, but you liked being underestimated even less.
Especially by messy little criminals like this one.
"I've seen stronger men than you walk away from guys like me," the man continued, his nervous laugh and shaky words digging him into his own grave. "No way you'll pull that trigger."
You tilted your head to the side and lifted the gun higher until it was aimed right at the center of his forehead. The man’s eyes grew wide, his lips parting with quick, shallow breaths, tremors of distress becoming impossible for him to hide. The fearless, probing glare of your eyes drove through his fearful gaze as your breaths came slow and even. Your voice held steady, carrying through the darkness in a songlike cadence of a hiss, drenched in more shameless scorn than your clothes were drenched in rain.
“Wanna bet?”
Jack let his hand fall to his side, and you could see him purse his lips and clench his fists. Still, your eyes were trained on your target, and you stepped closer to him as he shivered under your piercing gaze. You let the gun hit his forehead, let it trail down his face until the mouth of it kissed his jaw with poisonous insincerity. Now, with your face mere inches from his, you met his fearful eyes and smiled even though he couldn’t fully see it, smiled even though it was far from genuine.
“If I ever see you here again,” you purred, “you’ll be losing a lot more than just a Glock.”
Something in the man twitched, and you swore you saw a tear drip down his face amongst the raindrops. You only leaned in closer, your voice light and feathery, though it carried threats heavier than either man here could speak of in plain words.
“You got that?”
The target opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came except a quick, fearful nod. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Jack’s head whip to the side before whipping back to you. He strode towards you, his voice snapping with what almost sounded like anger.
“Do not fire that gun.”
You glared at him, almost ready to cuss out the guy for undermining your credibility in such a high-tension situation as this. But, before you could find some way to assert your dominance, Jack wrapped his hands around the target’s head and slammed it into the side of the shipping container. The target crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and Jack grabbed your arm, dragging you forward. The gun dropped from your hand and fell, in all its steel glory, into a pothole full of mud.
“Cops,” he whispered. “They’re almost here.”
At that, you heard sirens wailing in the distance, and panic rose in your gut. Jack dragged you forwards, and you ran with him, the two of you sprinting in tandem from container to container as the sound of sirens grew louder and louder. You heard police cars skid across the pavement in the distance and wished you could look back, but you didn’t dare.
No unnecessary risks.
“We’re not gonna make it if we keep running,” Jack huffed.
You nodded, knowing he was right. No way out of this would involve a safe and immediate escape, especially if the police were already looking for two suspicious characters on the docks.
Jack slowed and tipped his head to the side as if listening for something. You let him do his thing, assuming it was related to these ‘abilities’ he’d mentioned earlier. After this momentary pause, he was off again, dragging you down a winding path through the containers.
“There’s one further down this way. Unlocked. Just enough room for us to fit.”
You didn’t question it, forcing the little energy you had left away from overthinking and into running.
Step after step, one foot after the other.
Finally, Jack slowed his pace as you reached a once-bright orange shipping container, rendered dull by the rain and years of wear. He took his hand off your arm and fiddled with the broken padlock on the door, removing it with little effort. He creaked open the metal, slowly and surely, and stepped inside, reaching a hand behind him for you. You looked at him for a split second before placing your hand in his. He pulled you inside and around him, reached back, and shut the door, enveloping you both in darkness.
“Here,” Jack whispered, spinning you around so he stood at your back. There was hardly any room to breathe, let alone to move around, and his chest pressed against your shoulder blades with every one of his breaths. He lifted his hands and placed them on your shoulders, the feeling soft, warm, and heavy. “It’s hard to move around in here. Let me guide you.”
From what you’d been able to make out before the door was shut, this shipping container was filled to the brim with plastic and cardboard boxes alike, floor to ceiling and nearly wall to wall. Either Jack didn’t actually know what he was talking about, or this was some really lame joke. “Where exactly do you plan on going?”
“There’s some space at the very back. Getting there will be a tight squeeze, but it’s our safest bet.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Jack pressed gently against your shoulders, and you took a cautious step forward, trying to ignore the gentle warmth that spread from his hands and down your upper body. You took another step and moved to take one more - but Jack pulled you back.
“Careful,” he breathed. “Sharp edge there. Inch a little to the left.”
You did as he said and took another step, reaching down to test his theory - and, sure enough, sharp plastic jutted out into the space just enough for any unintentional contact with it to be potentially painful.
“There. Good. We’re pretty much in the clear now.”
With one more deep breath, you took another slow step, then another, Jack’s force at your back holding you to the earth when all you could see was darkness.
Jack’s force.
Jack.
Jack?
Alright. One more deep breath, and-
“Do you want me to keep calling you Jack?”
He paused for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” you continued, keeping your voice low. “Haven’t we- figured this out?”
“Figured this out?”
“You know what I mean. Haven’t we… gotten to a point where…” you paused, working to find the right words. “A point where we understand each other? Where we know each other- better, at least?”
He let out a soft chuckle, more of a smiling breath than anything else with how quiet it was. Still, you felt the heat of it against the back of your neck, wispy and gentle.
“How much better have we gotten to know each other?” He asked, all innocent. You wanted to roll your eyes and laugh at the same time.
“Better enough to use real names, maybe.”
You took another step, and Jack stopped you again, just as your knee bumped against the back wall - you reached the back of the crate. Before you could turn, though, Jack dipped his head down closer to your shoulder, and your entire body slowed. Without any visible picture, with the still and static air inside the container, all you could feel was his energy, his presence. He buzzed with heat and aliveness as he leaned closer, his hands sliding gently down your arms, no longer there for direction; now they were just on you to be on you.
His next whisper sent shockwaves through you for more reasons than one.
“If you want us to start using real names,” he breathed, sure and soft and full of hushed vibrance, “you can’t just go by Selena, now, can you?”
Your stomach flipped, the blood in your veins slowing to a frozen crawl.
"I- I don't know what you mean."
He chuckled. "Yes, you do."
You scoured your brain for a reason why he could possibly know that Selena wasn't your real name. No, you didn't get drunk and reveal your entire life story when you went to Josie's with Matt, Karen, and Foggy. And, no, nothing existed that could indicate that Selena wasn't your birth name. You'd covered every base, fulfilled every legal and illegal requirement, and hacked whatever databases you had to in order to erase your true self from the world, fully and completely.
Maybe it's some sort of lucky guess.
"Don't worry, I don't know your real name," he murmured, his voice surprisingly soothing. His hands stayed warm and almost still on your arms, save for the slow circles his fingers drew against the damp fabric of your sleeves.
The near-total darkness of the shipping container made it feel like every sense apart from sight was dialed up a hundred notches. Your breath hitched as Jack's touch sent strikes of lightning through your arms, his heat at your back turning all your instincts to mush. You knew you should try to distract yourself, but when there was nothing but darkness, and your senses, and him - and when he was this warm, and this close, it was an impossible task to think about anything else.
"All I know is that you weren't telling the full truth when you said your name was Eve and not when you said it was Selena, either."
You forced an edge of composure into your voice and just barely succeeded. "And what would lead you to believe that?"
At your question, Jack's right hand lifted off of you and snaked itself between your arm and your torso, his arm curling around your waist.
You sucked in a sharp, sharp breath.
Sure, he'd touched you before - but not like this.
He tapped his fingers softly against your stomach. No matter the gentleness of his touch, every tap felt like a press of all his intensity into the core of your being, into the depths of your skin. You could feel his breath slow against your neck, feel him lean even closer to your back, and although you knew this was no time for distraction, you couldn't help but lean into the part of yourself that would so enjoy being distracted by the Devil.
Jack's fingertips trailed up from your stomach, slow inch by slow inch, every finger tapping gently on your front as they went. Shivers ran from your head to your toes and back again, your body electrified in the dark. He hit your sternum and stopped, less than an inch from actually touching you in a way that would make the heat between you real.
You knew your own heat was almost more than real, though, feeling flushed as roiling flame pooled in your core, only to drip down into a throb you couldn't describe without sounding obscene.
"Heartbeat," he whispered in your ear, his hot breath melting over your skin. "If I focus, I can hear your heartbeat. Maybe even feel the way it thumps in your chest." He paused, tapping once, twice, three times against your sternum, and as you tried to grasp at the fraying edges of your composure, you could feel him smile behind you, hear it in his voice. "I can feel it thumping right now."
You hesitated, your thoughts muddled in attempts at remembering how to speak, confusion over how someone can hear or feel a heartbeat, and a brief and desperate hope that he couldn't also hear or feel another heartbeat of yours. "So, you can hear heartbeats, and that means…?"
"I can tell when people are lying. Their heart rate picks up," he began, tapping at your sternum once more, "and that's the first clue. Usually their breathing changes, too," he continued, letting his left hand drag slowly down your arm, his fingers leading down to your forearm where they brushed at your exposed wrist. You shuddered at the drag of his leather-wrapped fingertips over the delicately thin and sensitive skin.
"So," you choked out, "those are your abilities? Hearing and feeling… heartbeats and breaths?"
He chuckled, the low sound barely audible over the deafening intensity of his touch. The way it warped your attention was something you knew you'd be kicking yourself for later.
"More like… heightened senses." He dropped his voice impossibly lower, that left hand dragging back up your arm. "Might be lacking in sight, but the rest of me makes up for it."
Woah. "So it's all your other senses, then?"
"Yeah. Sound, scent, taste," he paused, his left hand curling against the side of your shoulder, his right trailing a slow line back down your core. "Touch."
Fuck.
It wasn't totally implausible. It would explain all the little random things he'd mentioned from time to time, and there were weirder abilities people had these days, but you needed a better marker of proof before you could fully believe him.
"How can I be sure you're telling the truth?"
He seemed to laugh in a low rumble from behind you, something that you felt more than heard. "For starters, I can tell you have a motorcycle."
Your brows lifted.
"I can smell the motor oil, the metal, the gasoline, the rubber of the tires. And," he paused, a deep breath brushing his chest against your back, "you must have gone for a ride near the water… today. The salt's impossible to miss, even after the rain."
You didn't know what to say. "I- woah."
He chuckled. "Woah, huh?"
"How- were you always like this?"
"No," he began, the tone of his voice sharpening slightly. "I got into an accident when I was a kid. Radioactive materials, big car crash. That was how I lost my sight, too."
You nodded, a thin string within you pulled taut at the thought of him going through something so traumatic as a child. "That must have been really hard."
"Yeah. But the superpowers are pretty cool, so I'm not complaining."
Now it was your turn to laugh - softly, quietly, but you laughed. You felt something in Jack relax behind you as if he was relieved you felt comfortable enough to laugh.
"So," Jack hummed, all vibration at your back. "I won't make you tell me your real name. You can do that whenever you're ready. But," he continued, his right hand pulling away from your waist to land on your shoulder once more, "I thought you should at least know that when you lie to me, it's not a secret."
His whispers buzzed through you, and as much as you wanted to respond, those fingertips stole any words you could have managed right out of your mind. Jack kept going whether he noticed his effect on you or not, both hands on your shoulders in a comfortable, heated weight. You suspected that he noticed - and simply didn't care.
Maybe he even enjoyed it.
"You don't have to think of me as Jack. I hope you don't use my real name when we see each other in the street in this way, but-" he sighed, the feeling of it like a caress against your neck, "we might as well be honest with each other where we can."
You could only think of one word, only manage one movement of your lips to sound it out into the air.
"Okay."
So.
Jack.
Jack is… Matt.
Matt.
You smiled to yourself, taking a second to embrace the limited, dangerous comfort of Matt's hands on you in the darkness.
Your momentary peace was lightly interrupted when Matt suddenly gripped tighter at your shoulders, his breaths coming quicker as he pulled impossibly closer to you.
"The cops. They're patrolling the area."
It took you a moment to process that sentence. More than a moment, really, what with Matt's body pressed against yours, every line and curve and peak and depth held flush against the back of you. You could feel his heart beating against your back, feel his pulse as it quickened against other parts of your body. At your hitched breath, Matt realized what he'd done and pulled back slightly.
"Sorry. Instinct."
"I- it's okay," you whispered, pushing down an almost unbearably persistent part of you that wished he hadn't pulled away. "Are they close?"
"Sort of. Could come around this way."
You bit at the inside of your cheek. "Maybe we should take a look around, just to be sure."
"You know I just told you I have heightened senses, right? We don't need to."
Though he had a point, you didn't know his senses, didn't know just how strong or accurate they were, especially at a distance. Besides, you were trained for these situations. You didn't just do this in the dark - you did this for a living.
"I know how to scout this stuff out, Matt," you whispered, the murmur of his name as low as you could make it. "I think it's a good idea."
You felt him take a slow, measured breath before speaking. "It's an unnecessary risk."
Okay. It's also an unnecessary risk to hide out in some shipping container the cops could very well be about to search, with no intel and no plan. But whatever.
"Look, I told you a while ago that if we work together, I'm not gonna be bossed around. It's a smart move."
"I can assure you, it's not," he hissed, his grip tightening on your arms.
That competitive, fiery streak in you lit up, red and roiling under your skin.
"I'm just gonna go take a look-"
"I'm serious, Selena."
At that, you turned in his grip, breaking his hands off of you. He reached for your shoulders again as you turned, and you swatted him off, trying to step around him to work your way back to the door. Unfortunately, the darkness made it hard for you to properly judge where Matt's feet were in relation to yours.
In the tangle of limbs as he reached for you and you tried to push him away, you tripped over one of his feet and lost your balance. Your hands gripped onto his arm, dragging him off balance, too. Matt tried to hold you and himself up, but the weight was too off. Quickly noticing the sharply-edged metal boxes you were tilting towards, he gave in to gravity and wrapped himself around you as you fell, holding you away from harm as the two of you hit the ground with a thud.
"Ah," he winced, his back slamming against the metal flooring.
"Shit," you hissed.
Right after preaching about how well-trained I am. Perfect.
You'd landed partly on your hip, the bone slamming against the floor - and partly on Matt, your other hip landing squarely on his abdomen.
Well - maybe a little lower than his abdomen. You thought it wise to ignore that.
In Matt's failed effort to keep you upright, his hands slid up your waist. They'd dragged against the wet fabric of your shirt and shifted it up with your movements, and his gloved hands slid directly onto your rain-slick skin, cool and full of pressure. Your chest was partly on his, and turning your head left your lips less than an inch from his neck.
Your hands had ended up on him, too - one wrapped around his shoulder, one pressed against the damp fabric of his chest.
He sucked in a breath.
"You okay?"
You nodded, unsure if words would work, not with him half under you, half around you, his scent intoxicating even after the pouring rain. He surrounded you, figuratively and literally, and to sum up, no, you weren't okay.
Fighting to even breathe, fighting to keep yourself still, keep your brain from going haywire as you lay half-sprawled over him - okay was certainly not how you'd describe it.
"I'm good. I'm- I'm okay. You?"
"Good. I'm good."
You moved to get up, and he stopped you, one of his hands running up your back to press between your shoulder blades.
"Not yet. They're close," Matt breathed, his words seeping into your skin, hot and feverish. "They might have heard us."
This wasn't exactly the kind of 'they might have heard us' situation your brain was currently focused on, to say the least.
You nodded again, submitting to Matt's tight hold on you against your better judgment. You shifted slightly so less weight was on his body, though your head remained cradled against his shoulder. That flame beneath your skin died down, leaving you somewhat embarrassed at how it had led the two of you to literally crash to the ground.
"It was a good point," Matt hummed quietly as if he could sense your thoughts. Your lips quirked up in a hint of a smile, and though tension kept your nerves and muscles electrified, you relaxed slightly into him.
His breathing slowed as the two of you settled into one another on the floor, both of you wet with the remnants of the rain and ignited with the threat of being found - and being found together, no less.
Usually, you'd be on edge in a situation like this, the threat of being discovered wrapping itself like a noose around your throat. Somehow, though, with Matt here, you weren't as scared. With him involved, your missions became more of an adrenaline rush than something that felt genuinely risky to you.
Like a new version of your motorcycle ride, breathtakingly unpredictable and dangerously addictive, giving you a more potent high every damn time.
He gripped you tighter, his voice nearly inaudible as he breathed against your ear. "They're about to walk past. Stay still."
You did as he said, your body freezing up against his, hands still on his shoulder and chest. He kept his hold on you tight, dipping his head slightly as he waited in silence for the moment to pass. Though it had felt cold at first - with both of you soaked in rainwater - you'd grown warm against him, the heat of both your bodies enveloping the two of you until the water in your clothes was an afterthought.
A chorus of bangs sounded out from the wall above you and you jumped. Matt pressed his hands further into you, his tightly-wound arms holding you steady.
"They're just walking past. It's a few knocks, that's all. They don't actually know we're here."
"Okay. Okay."
You waited, silent, still, for what felt like an eternity, until Matt let out a breath.
"They're gone."
"Gone?"
"Yeah. Got those two guys and drove off."
You nodded, inhaling deeply in a fleeting sense of peace. That was a mistake, though, as this deep breath only brought you more of Matt's scent - incense, leather, rain, sweat, and ashy cinnamon twisted with just enough vanilla to melt your brain.
You didn't move, didn't speak - only found yourself dragging in another slow, indulgent breath.
He waited a moment before slowly pulling his hand off your waist, dragging his other hand down your back to smooth out your shirt. You remembered yourself and, with a quick shake of your head, pushed yourself up and off of him. As the two of you got to your feet, you cleared your throat.
"I- thank you."
Matt stood close to you, just close enough that you could see his smile in the darkness. "You don't need to thank me."
You shook your head vigorously this time. "Yes, I do," you whispered, tipping your head slightly closer to his, letting your voice fall deeper. "Matt."
Matt shook his head, still smiling. "Seems unfair."
"Unfair?"
"That you know my name, but I don't get to know yours."
You chuckled. "A minute ago, you said I can tell you whenever I'm ready. You want to know that badly?"
"I really do."
Something about the way he affirmed how much he wanted to know your name - your real name - sent warmth surging through you. You thought about telling him right then and there but decided against it.
Not yet.
"I don't go around telling just anyone my real name, you know."
At that, Matt placed a hand on his chest in teasing indignation. "So I'm just anyone to you?"
"Of course not," you smiled, turning the tease right back to him, the subtle knit of your brows feigning earnest innocence. "You're Matt Murdock."
Matt scoffed, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Right."
"Besides, I beat you to the docks, didn't I?" You hummed. "I deserve a win here."
"Sure, sure, you beat me to the docks," Matt smirked. "Right before I saved your ass."
You laughed, shaking your head at his joke. "I could have managed without you."
Matt paused, sucking in a breath. He took a step closer to you, his scent and warmth invading the space around your body once again, dripping down your skin and pouring itself into your lungs. His grin was bright with sincerity, dark as he studied you.
"That sounded like a lie, Selena."
You looked at him, searched the black of his mask where his eyes would be, and finally noticed the subtle way your pulse had picked up, the way your breaths had grown just a bit more shallow.
Interesting.
Your own smile grew before fading into something slack, sly, confident.
"I said I could have managed. Theoretically." You took a breath. "Didn't say I'd have been better off without you."
"Huh," Matt nodded, his voice a gravelly breath. "True."
You stood for a moment, relishing in his presence, in everything about him, before finally tilting your head. Your words curved your smile into a wide grin beneath your mask, your eyes probing in their narrowed gaze. The question, rhetorical as it was, was more of an invitation than anything else, testing the edges of the water before you decided to plunge in.
"So, since I don't need you for stitches this time, I guess I'll be walking home all on my own, huh?"
Matt smiled.
"You're not getting rid of me that easily."