Black and Midnight Blue

Hands.

Hands.

Hands.

Rough on your skin, calloused fingertips bringing the crawl of your pulse to a fever pitch, every trace felt against each goosebump, your skin prickled with sensation though it was so very hot.

And so were his hands.

Warm.

Tender.

Rough.

Gripping at you with every sultry word, every husky utter from his perfect lips, his hot breath steaming temptation over your neck.

Shivers in warmth, the perfect opposition.

His hands were on your shoulders, on your hips, around your waist, around your neck - clothes less than an afterthought.

Above his hands, though, were his lips, pressing flush against your neck, and you felt your voice escape you, out of your control.

Under his control, needing nothing but the touch of his skin to yours to take you down.

He bit into the sensitive skin below your ear and sucked, his teeth scraping into you, too much pleasure in the movement for any pain to be considered.

Or - maybe the pain was what made it feel so good.

Hands moved down your waist, down your hips, across your skin until they were at your thighs, and you were in the air, your hands pulling helplessly at his fluffy hair as his teeth kept marking themselves against you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your body entirely off the ground - entirely his in this moment.

He held you to him, walked you backward like he’d done too many times before - in different contexts, of course - and slammed you against the wall, never taking his lips off that spot below your ear, his fingertips pressing into your skin as if you were apt to float away.

He pulled his lips off your neck, tipped his head up and connected them with yours, and reached one hand between your legs, beneath his waist.

You breathed in, he slammed you against the wall with every inch of him, and you cried into his kiss.

And it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Bang. 

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

"Get your ass out of bed, Selena!"

Your eyes shot open, the dream fading fast into morning light as a chorus of thuds came from the other side of your apartment door. The warmth that had pooled between your legs faded in your abrupt awakening, and you rubbed at your tired eyes, willing the pictures behind them to stay for just a little longer. 

You could barely feel the dreamy wisp of his hands on your skin, his lips on your neck - your back slamming against the wall. 

Wonder if that's what it would really be like.

After Matt walked you back to grab your bag and then walked you home, both of you on guard for cops and regular people alike, he'd left you atop your fire escape with a warm smile and a request that you sleep well. You'd considered inviting him in but thought better of it; bringing him inside after what you'd been through together had a risky amount of potential of leading right to your bed.

And not in an "oh, we've been through so much today, let's be healthy and get some rest" sort of way.

As your eyes blearily blinked you back to reality, you thanked your judgment a million times for letting him solitarily descend your fire escape as you climbed through your window alone. Although there were definitely times where you'd use a man to get your mind off of things, sexually complicating your already complicated - alliance? Friendship? Flirtationship? - whatever it was with Matt this early into knowing him was not a good idea.

You may know some pretty big secrets about the guy, and he may know some about you - but you really hadn't known him long enough for it to carry actual weight. He had a lot going for him, but in any case, a pretty face and charming demeanor can go quite far in making someone seem better than they actually are. The facts you did have were few and far between - and even when you'd known someone for years, it was wise to be as cautious as possible.

That dream will have to stay just that - a dream.

"I know you're awake! It's nine-fucking-thirty!"

Shit.

Last night, you'd just managed to peel off your suit and all but collapse into your bed before totally passing out. Unfortunately for Jessica, you'd totally forgotten about the coffee meeting you'd planned for this morning - for eight-thirty.

You catapulted out of your bed, threw on the first outfit you could see - benefits of being in a messy-room phase of your life - and rushed over to the door.

"Sorry, relax! I'm right here!" You called out, reaching for the doorknob and yanking the door open to see Jessica, fist up in mid-knock, looking like she was about to knock you in the head - and that was based on her expression alone. Her eyes darted to your clothes, and her look of impatient frustration flipped to lip-curled, eyebrows-raised, confused disgust.

"Why the hell are you dressed like an elf?"

You scoffed. "I am not dressed like an elf."

"The elf suit would beg to differ."

Sure, your hair was a bit messy, and the clothes you'd reached for were a bit aggressively festive for this nowhere-near-the-holidays time of year. Your plaid-green, billowy pyjama pants and excessively oversized red hoodie, whose hood was squarely around your head like a little elf hat, may speak to Jessica's comment.

"Whatever. It was the first thing I could grab."

"Yeah, once you finally got the hell up."

You sighed. "I'm sorry, Jess. I-"

"Don't worry about it." She brushed past you and into your place, her black boots clunking over the floor. You let the door slam shut, following her into your living room, a bit too off-put by her attitude to ask her to take the shoes off.

"We need to talk," Jessica continued, her face ever placid, although a few lines extended from her eyes, reaching in vain for sleep.

"Is everything okay?" you asked, stepping around her to sit cautiously on the edge of your couch. Jessica paced back and forth in front of your coffee table, her boots thudding against the floor with growing force in every step.

Jessica scoffed at your question, shaking her head with a bitter laugh. "You need to get your shit together."

You gulped. "What?"

"I'm serious," Jessica spat. "These are dangerous fucking people you have me tailing, and I'm not gonna be jerked around left and right to go running around after them whenever you think I should."

Your head was still a bit fuzzy from the, ahem, excitement of your dream, so it took a moment for Jessica's anger to seep through the rosy sheen around your mind.

"I'm not jerking you around. I had a long night and slept in by mistake. It's not the end of the- "

Jessica hissed your name. "Maybe you should start thinking about people other than yourself."

You frowned. "What do you mean, Jessica?"

"I mean, Confederated Global Investments?" Jessica shook her head and stepped towards your kitchen table, running a hand over her head. "Did my research. No real proof, but I'm sure they're scumbags. Definition of evil. You're gonna drop that bomb on me, nothing but a damn phone call after I've been trying to reach you for forever, even though apparently a phone call is unmanageable when I try to call you-"

"I'm sorry." You winced, shaking your head. With the chaos of work and your own undertakings, you hadn't been able to actually meet with Jessica, but you needed her to get the information - so you dropped the info on her with a quick phone call, hanging up before you could hear her response. It was brash, and insentive, but the information was too important for you not to keep her in the loop.

But still.

"It was an oversight. I should have waited."

Jessica whipped her head around to face you, her lips twisted into a sneering frown. "Yeah, well, you didn't. And if this Fisk asshole gets wind of any of this," she continued, stepping towards you with a finger outstretched and a piercing glare in her eyes, "who do you think he's gonna go after first? The government-protected FBI agent or some freelance investigator?"

Jessica had a point. She might not know what you did in the dark, but on the surface, your life seemed to have more protections than most. Civilians tended to see "FBI" and immediately assume you were untouchable, but that untouchability wasn't true, not for regular agents. Not even Ray, not even Janelle.

Fisk was the type of man to know that and know it well. And if he knew about the Nightingale and her pursuit of him? 

That wouldn't end well for her, Selena, Eve...

... but it would end particularly badly for you.

But Jessica didn't have to know that. Either way, explaining it would not help.

"I'm sorry, Jessica, I really am."

"I didn't come here to get an apology. I came to tell you I'm done."

You tilted your head, brows knitting as if you hadn't understood her words. "What?"

"You heard me," Jessica nodded curtly. She laughed, the sound of it bitter and pained. "I really am just a business partner to you, aren't I? A means to an end?"

You shook your head. Knew this would happen. "Jessica, this is something bigger. It isn't about our friendship-"

"Never is. You never talk to me, never call me, never make any effort to care about any part of this other than yourself! Jesus, you don't even have the decency to be on time for a meeting you scheduled!"

So that's what this is really about.

A pang bit through your chest and pricked at the back of your narrowed eyes. "Jessica, I'm glad we've been friends, but - I mean, I'm paying you for this. It's - it's different."

"Glad we've been friends? What the hell are you saying?"

You groaned. "Don't pick apart my words."

"Oh, shit, right, right, the rates would be much higher for that sort of bullshit work," Jessica hissed, her eyes like lasers, zapping mercilessly through your skull. "You'll have to cough up a hell of a lot more money for me to get into the head of someone this messy."

Your jaw dropped. You'd hardly ever seen Jessica this furious. She'd always been direct, but she'd never been mean. Maybe to other people, but not to you. You all but bared your teeth.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It's supposed to mean that you're acting like a dick. The kind of people you're after, people you're sending me after - what, do you have a death wish or something?"

Your words were a low snarl as you got to your feet. 

If I'm gonna be able to protect her, I can't entertain this.

"It's none of your damn business."

"Yes, it fucking is! It literally is my business!" Jessica's voice was incredulous, high-pitched and roiling. Her eyes searched yours, running through every shade of disbelief to every shade of hurt - and every shade of fear, which was not something Jessica Jones was known to have much of. "I know enough about these assholes to know what they're capable of. You think it's just fine for you to use me with no consideration of what could happen to me?"

A spiteful laugh escaped you against your better judgment. "And what's happened to you so far?"

Shock flashed over Jessica's eyes. She shook her head. "You bitch."

No words rose up in your throat, nothing to say came to mind - and though memories of your friendship with Jessica held a special and secure place in your heart, the weight of your baggage-laden psyche and all your growing responsibilities was wearing that love thin.

She was right. She was. You just couldn't afford to concern yourself with that right now - for your own sake and for hers.

"Look," she continued, staring daggers into the wall above you, avoiding your eyes however she could. "I found that random-ass blind guy for you, I got you Wesley and whoever else it was, and I'm done. Don't bother sending me any more checks."

You nodded, avoiding her eyes just the same. "Fine."

"And don't you even think about calling me, or- or texting me, or anything, because I am done."

"Got it."

Jessica's eyes shimmered, the sunlight glinting off their new, thin layer of near-tears. They flitted back to you, and your heart sank.

Her voice was uncharacteristically quiet, choked up with fury and a twinge of hurt.

"You're really gonna let me go that easily?"

You shifted your jaw. Tears threatened to spill out from your own eyes, but you held them steady, sucking your breath in deep and refusing to give emotions of the past or the present any room to breathe.

If you apologized, if you let her stay close and get even closer, there's no telling what could happen to her. This was a mistake from the start, and right here was your chance to make it right - to save Jessica before she got hurt.

"I'll walk you out," you managed, motioning to the doorway, your face like stone.

Jessica scoffed, her expression going cold. "Don't bother."

She spun on her heel and stomped off toward the door. You followed her, and as she reached for the doorknob, she paused, turning back to you.

"I hope you find whatever the fuck it is you're looking for," Jessica hissed, "and I hope it kicks your self-serving ass."

You just stared back at her. To tell the truth, you didn't fully know if your motivations were selfless. There was a thin line between doing what you were doing to save other people, and doing it so you could feel the rush of rediscovered power that revenge might just bring you. Luckily, you didn't have close family to worry about, and the few solid emotional ties you had in your life didn't know your secrets.

Jessica had just gotten too close to it all. That was the problem.

Should have known.

She yanked the door open and paused mid-step, mild surprise crossing her face. The moment only lasted half a second before she awkwardly shuffled around the elderly woman standing in your doorway. You didn't say anything as Jessica stormed away, down the hall and out of your hair, out of your business, potentially out of your life.

You took a breath and stamped down all the hurt, the pain, the whirr of rejection and loss and loneliness that had been spreading through your stomach, hot and acidic, tumultuous as boiling oil and three times as likely to leave you burned. Like the seasoned expert you are, you shoved Jessica's hurt expression out of your mind, hiding your suffering beneath a pleasant expression and a clenched jaw.

It's for the best.

"Morning, dear!" The gray-haired lady on the other side of your doorway exclaimed cheerfully, a pink-lipsticked smile complimenting her floral patterned pantsuit.

"Morning, Sheila!" You smiled. Sheila was one of the few neighbors you had in this building that you both knew and liked. It'd be hard not to, what with her cheerful attitude and her generosity with baked goods. Her vibrant style was constantly in stark opposition to the dreary and slightly run-down aesthetic of your building, and it added a pleasant charm to the place whenever you saw her. "What's up?"

"Oh, well, this is for you," Sheila explained. Your eyes fell to the drink tray she carried, which held a coffee cup and a brown paper bag. Stapled to the bag was a piece of white paper, carefully folded. She held the tray out to you, and after a beat, you took it.

"I- oh, Sheila, that's very kind of you, but-"

"No, no, dear, it's not from me," she grinned. "There was this delivery person - some teenager, lost and confused with the calling system downstairs, you know how strange it is - and, see, I thought I'd give him a hand."

You nodded, the tray still hot in your hand, as you remained confused. "I didn't order anything."

Sheila shrugged, lips quirking up as her eyes crinkled at the edges. "Maybe it's a gift, dear. You seem like you turn a few heads, don't you?"

"That's very sweet of you," you laughed. A thought crossed your mind of who the mystery gifter could be - a thought that tasted like sweat and smoke, smelled like cinnamon, and could be either black cloth or red glass, depending on the lighting. 

You shook it off and gave Sheila another quick, pleasant smile. "Thank you so much for bringing it up to me, Sheila."

"Oh, my pleasure, dear," Sheila nodded, waving you off as she stepped away from your door. "You enjoy your day!"

"You too!"

You shut the door and walked back over to the couch, placing the tray on your coffee table. Sitting down, you paused.

Jessica.

What a mess that was.

You'd known her forever, and although you'd grown apart over the years, she was the type of person you never thought you could really lose.

And, now that you'd taken advantage of her, taken her for granted, put her at risk for the crazy sake of risking yourself - she'd be crazy to stay.

You shook yourself through a stuttered, shallow breath. Then another, and another, until you finally felt control return to you, finally felt a blanket of calm, accepting resolve lay itself over you in solitary warmth.

You made your choice, and she made hers. She had every right to make that choice - no matter how much it hurt you.

Besides, you hurt her first. You had it coming.

No matter what, you'll get over it.

Always do.

The lid of the mysterious coffee cup popped off with ease. Steam flooded upwards around your hand, wafting the luxurious scent of sweetened caffeine and frothy milk through your nose and into your lungs in a satisfying wave. Next, you picked up the bag and peered inside - and had to laugh.

It was a bagel. An everything bagel, to be exact. Toasted with cream cheese. 

Maybe Foggy just has weirdly good timing with thank-yous, but I doubt this is that.

Last but not least was that piece of crisp white paper. Gingerly, you tore it from the paper bag, unfolding it slowly, careful not to corrupt its perfect cut and pristine clarity. Written in the black ink of a ballpoint pen and the handwriting of a rushed cafe employee, the message was simple, but all too perfect:

"Hope you got some sleep. Just in case you didn't, this should help. M."

Warmth spread across your cheeks, an uncontrollable grin stretching your face with giddy glee.

It's just coffee.

Coffee he got for me.

Just a bagel.

A bagel he chose for me.

Just a note.

That he planned out and asked to be written for me.

Usually, when you felt this sort of fluttery warmth make its way through your core - light and dark, sweet and savory, filling your head with soft glitter just as it danced low and steady between your hips - you'd tell yourself to shove it down, act like it wasn't there, and move on.

Instead, you lifted the coffee, letting your grin brighten further as you smiled into the first sip - the fleeting thought of smiling into his lips all too vibrant in your mind for you to push it away.

You settled on telling yourself you'd pay for it later and savored this momentary indulgence.

Still keeping him at arm's length.

Still taking this as slow as possible.

Doesn't mean I can't enjoy the ride.

Your FBI division could sometimes be high-strung, but it did have its pros. One particular pro was that if the day after a mission was a weekday, you weren't required to come to work until after lunch. Sometimes you and Ray would grab breakfast or get some extra work done together, or you'd sleep in, enjoying the rare pleasure of a late morning wrapped in a puffy comforter and your softest pajamas.

Today, though, you were using it to pay a quick visit to your favorite law office.

After your ordeal with Jessica, you savored that excellent bagel and even better coffee and decided it was high time you hit Nelson and Murdock. You and Foggy had messaged a bit over the past little while, trying and failing to find another evening where all four of you were free to spend another evening at Josie's. Not only were they lawyers, save for Karen - great to be on the good side of, you constantly reminded yourself - but they were great to be around. You hadn't gotten much chance to get to know Karen, but she seemed like a wonderful lady. Foggy was a ball of exuberant joy and sunshine, and every interaction with him felt like a second-grade turn on the bouncy castle at the school fair, fun and light and never long enough.

And Matt? No explanation needed.

In fact, Matt - or "M," not that we need any more names at this point - had given you a perfect opportunity to stop by.

On your couch, coffee in hand, you raised your brow.

Does he want me to visit him?

No.

Reading into it too much.

Unless…

You shook your head and downed the last of the coffee. It was time for you to accept that this wasn't going to be one of those situations where you could stifle what you felt until it gave up on its own. Matt was a fantastic ally in the day and night, plain and simple, and you couldn't logically just walk away from him because of a few stray sparks.

He, from what you'd heard from Foggy, is an excellent lawyer.

He's well-educated, friendly, and kind, choosing to practice criminal law out of the goodness of his heart instead of chasing wealth - also learned from Foggy.

He's evidently highly skilled in combat, with literal, albeit small-scale, superpowers.

So, no, you can't walk away. You're also human, though, and you can't just ignore the obvious attraction between the two of you.

You were sure Matt felt it, too. Even the way he smiled around you, the way he breathed around you, made this obvious - not to mention the many ways in which he'd touched you last night, the way every phrase he uttered drove waves of tsunami-level tension through the cramped air of that shipping container. 

You can usually see right through people's words and actions, delving into a person's true motivations with ease. Although the lie detector in you isn't nearly as strong as it is in Matt, you can see attraction - especially his - from a mile away.

And yet, through all the tension, the attraction, the flirtation, the stitching each other up and saving each other from criminals and hiding from the cops together in soaking wet vigilante costumes - neither of you had made an actual damn move.

It made you wonder what his true motivations were. Maybe he was just working with your mind in a way that he thought could somehow benefit him - perhaps he just liked to flirt. You hadn't made a move either, though; although it could be fun to pursue something, it would be more work than you had time for and more risk than you could reasonably handle.

It would be best to go with the flow - see what happens. No goals, no expectations, only giving what'll get you the most in return.

Tried "giving to get" with Jessica, though. Didn't really work.

You tried your best to shake Jessica from your mind as you got ready. The elf suit was tossed aside in favor of clean clothes you felt great in. High-waisted black slacks, black heels, a vibrant, deep blue sweater, and a creamy tan blazer wrapped themselves around your body in a way that screamed professional and wow-this-woman-is-fine in equal measure. Milky white pearls and gold earrings tied the look together, and once you finished your makeup and your hair and collected your files for work, you were ready to go.

Well, along with one more thing - the tape recorder from that meeting you'd stalked.

The one that Jessica so brutally interrupted.

Now, after a brisk and slightly-jittery walk, you were standing outside the door of Nelson and Murdock once more, hand raised to knock, fist formed, heart pounding.

Wonder if he already knows I'm here.

You gritted your teeth and gave a knock - once, twice, three times. Steps crossed the floor on the other side, and the door opened, revealing Karen, her blonde curls hanging loosely around a light jacket and a pink blouse. Her blue eyes lit up brightly when she saw it was you.

"Karen, hi!" You smiled.

"Oh, Selena, hey!" Karen grinned, turning back to the office as you stepped inside. Foggy peeked his head out from his office, coat in hand.

"O-Malley! The man, the myth, the legend!"

You laughed. "Morning, Foggy."

"Sorry, Selena, wish we'd known you were gonna drop by," Foggy shook his head, almost mournfully, "but Karen and I are just heading out."

You smiled, hiding a brief flash of disappointment. Shouldn't have taken so long to get ready.

"Early lunch?"

"Oh, yeah," said Karen, clutching her stomach. "We're starving. You're more than welcome to join us if you'd like."

Your heart skipped up pleasantly, and you opened your mouth to say you'd love to join, but the other office door creaked open before you could get the words out.

"I can keep her company."

Matt stood in his doorframe, leaning on one shoulder, relaxed as ever. His white button-down was incredibly well-fitting, particularly outlining the bulk of his arms where they crossed together.

Almost as nice as the black shirt.

"Hi, Matt," you offered, flickers of last night crowding your mind.

His hands shoving you against rough, crumbling brick.

Steps through darkness, his warmth your only guide.

Bodies tangled, hot and wet, aching and oh-so-close, on a cold metal floor.

You're not getting rid of me that easily.

"Morning, Selena." Light reflected off his glasses in a glint of what felt like playful innocence, the curve of his lips soft and subtle. "Been a while."

You half-smiled in knowing agreement. "Guess so."

The room paused, what with you and Matt caught up in an obvious-yet-subtle moment of careful observation, both of your minds swirling with newly-made memories born of sweat and rain and moonlight. Foggy ended it quick as he whipped his jacket around him, striding towards the door.

"Alrighty, my friends! Lunch for either of you?" Foggy bellowed.

"I'm alright, Fog."

"Yeah, I had a late breakfast," you hummed, catching Matt's head tilt in your direction out of the corner of your eye. "Next time, though, for sure."

"Well, we'll be back soon!" Karen smiled.

"Always nice to see a fellow super spy," Foggy nodded, seriousness in his expression and his jokingly low voice. He'd started this joke between the two of you where he claimed to be a super spy, excited to know someone - you - who would finally understand his double life.

If only he knew.

You giggled, your attention warped and drawn out of you by the last man standing in the office. "Bye, guys."

They opened the door, filed through, and left. You watched the door move in a slow crawl to shut until it finally did so with a satisfying click.

Your fingers tapped nervously against the edge of your blazer. Slowly, smoothly, and with a smile you simply couldn't suppress, you turned to face Matt - who was already smiling at you as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Late breakfast, huh?"

"Small one," you grinned, stepping towards him. "It was delicious, though. The dose of caffeine was particularly appreciated."

He tilted his head towards the floor before lifting it up again to face you, a slight blush adorning his dimpled cheeks as he grinned right back. "Glad to hear it."

You couldn't help but smile at his moment of bashfulness, all sunshine and generosity from his glasses to his shoes.

"Mind if I come in?"

"Of course," Matt affirmed, stepping into his office. You stepped through and sat in the chair on the client's side of his desk, and he shut the door behind you.

"So, Miss O'Malley," Matt began, the half smile on his face evident in his voice as he stepped around the desk to his chair. "What brings you here today?"

"Thought I owed you an in-person thanks for that little pick-me-up," you explained lightly. "And I thought I'd check in with you on a little case of mine."

Matt's brows knitted slightly, though his smile didn't fade, and he took a seat.

"A case?" He asked. You noticed the line on his face from your stitches was healing quite nicely; it was hard to tell there'd been any stitches there at all. It warmed you to know you'd had a part in helping him heal.

"Would this be pertaining to your day job or to something… else?"

A small laugh drew itself from your lips. Matt's courteous caution extending to you even when no one else was around was cute, to say the least.

"I'd say it relates to a shared interest. I've got some… evidence that could be mutually beneficial."

"Mutually beneficial evidence?" Matt leaned forward over his desk, clasping his hands, his voice grittily warm through an open-mouthed smile. "Sounds worthwhile to me."

Keeping your eyes on Matt, you reached into your purse and drew out your tape recorder. It felt heavy in your hands, reminding you of bullet-shattered glass, assailants on motorcycles, your car soaring through the air, and the lyrical prowess of that iconic-and-now-insufferable Three Six Mafia song.

Still gotta figure out how to change that damn ringtone.

You paid your price. The tape recording, with all the strife it caused you, was yours. Now, you just had to figure out what to do about it.

And, without Jessica, Matt was your next best sounding board.

You placed the tape recorder on the desk in front of you. Matt examined it for a moment, twisting his lips.

"A tape recorder?" He asked before you could tell him yourself.

Right. "Abilities." Of course he knows what it is.

You took a breath. "A while back, I got some intel about a meeting - a meeting between some… potential targets of ours."

Matt nodded. You sucked in a breath.

"Leland Owlsley, Anatoly and Vladimir Ranskahov, and James Wesley."

He tipped his head.

"Do you know who I'm talking about?"

Matt licked his lower lip, rubbing his thumbs together. "I think I do."

"They're all connected to Fisk's crime syndicate," you explained, just in case Matt didn't know as much as he seemed to. "It's all tied back to this umbrella company - Confederated Global Investments, or Confed Global."

He frowned. "Confederated Global Investments?"

You nodded. Matt ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek before clenching his jaw.

"And," you continued, "I was able to record a lot of the meeting. Some of the things they said, discussing this Union Allied Construction company - part of Confed Global - and this gangster Prohaszka, and -"

"Wait, Union Allied and Prohaszka? Selena, this is-"

"I'm not done. Direct names were mentioned, too, those of Anatoly and Wesley - and of us."

Matt tipped his head to the side, lines on his forehead crinkling up in subtle disbelief. "Our names?"

"Well, our "names,"" you continued, making air quotes with your fingers. "Guess we're each building a reputation for ourselves out there."

His chuckle was brief and distant, the air in the room settling in quiet anticipation of his words. You waited with it, hoping against hope that this wasn't an overstep.

"How did you get this?"

"I- it's a long story, actually," you began. "I had a- well, a connection I was able to use to do some tailing on some people. She got me Wesley and Owlsley, and with her info as a backup for my own research, it wasn't all that hard to locate the meeting."

"Okay," Matt nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "And getting to the meeting, how-"

"I stole a car."

"You what?"

"It was just abandoned in an alley. Left there for weeks, I'm sure of it. No one could be missing the thing."

You didn't often have people in your life you could be honest with, and honesty, you were now finding, could be pretty addictive. 

Probably to a fault. 

Outwardly, you kept your expression still; inwardly, you were slapping yourself across the face for being so open with him so easily.

His fault for making me feel comfortable. And for being the only person who'd understand.

"So," Matt began, tapping his fingers against the desk. "You commit grand theft auto, break into wherever the meeting was-"

"A Union Allied construction site."

His eyebrows raised. "-Break into private company property to record the private conversation of a group of people you've been stalking?" He paused, his mouth agape as if he found this so ridiculous it was almost funny. "I mean, you're a fed, Selena - I don't need to tell you how illegal all that is."

Now it was time for your brow to furrow. "Coming from the defense lawyer who beats criminals senseless after he gets home from work."

Matt paused a moment before dipping his head, his lips curling slightly. 

"Got me there." 

You nodded, brows raised, triumphant and teasing.

He tipped his head to the side, taking a deep breath before facing you again. "Guessing you didn't have a warrant for this?"

Ray's warnings of unauthorized investigation crossed your mind, and you shook your head. "Nope."

"Okay," Matt hummed. "Well, talking to you as a lawyer, I'd say that this-" he pointed to the tape recorder, pale gray and ironically unassuming, though it held secrets and admissions worth their weight in gold, "-this is something that I may or may not advise you to totally destroy."

"Oh- Okay."

"I mean it," he insisted, leaning towards you across the desk. He came closer than you thought the desk would allow, his hands crossing over to your half. Although you caught a usually-distracting whiff of that subtle cologne, you were trained on how his expression sharpened - the way severity and seriousness had shaped his face into a symbol of lined and brow-furrowed warning. "If any of them had any way of knowing you were connected to this, they'd pounce on you like that," Matt almost hissed, snapping his fingers.

"I know. I- I know."

He lowered his voice. "They didn't see you, did they?"

Your heart sped up, lightning in your chest clawing to be let out. Recalling your one encounter with Wesley just outside Nelson and Murdock, you heard his chilling voice at the back of your head, felt his soulless eyes on yours, and breathed out the one word you could manage. 

"No."

Matt shifted his jaw, ran his hand down his face, and half-groaned. "Selena. You can't be serious."

"They didn't see me," you explained. "I had everything on. The mask, the gloves, even a hoodie. All they saw was the Nightingale."

He considered you for a moment. "You're sure?"

"Entirely. They can't trace the car back to me, either, of course." You paused, watching the lines on Matt's forehead, around his eyebrows, and around his mouth flicker in and out of focus. A slow breath shaped your words into messages of calm. "I know what I'm doing. You know I know what I'm doing."

Matt's shoulders rose and fell in tandem with a deeply drawn breath. "I do. I know you do." He took another breath, reaching his hands slightly closer to you over the desk and pulling them right back, calloused skin sliding over polished hardwood as he chewed his lower lip. "I just don't want you to end up hurt."

You shook your head, smiling in spite of the heavy subject matter. "I won't. And, even if I do," you paused, flicking your tongue over your lips as you eyed Matt, "I know I've got somebody on call to stitch me up."

His smile returned in full force as he laughed, the sound as warm and perfect as always. Under the glinting red of his glasses, he narrowed his eyes. "Thought you said that certain somebody was just terrible at stitches."

Lips quirking upward, you tilted your head. "Thought you said you can tell when people are lying."

That buzz between you and Matt was slowly slinking back, spreading through his office like a thick blanket of vibrant, sweetly perfumed mist. You breathed it into your lungs and felt it concentrate through your bloodstream, all hot and heavy as it pulsed down every vein and artery you had. Matt shifted slightly in his chair, and the tiny movements of muscle in his shoulders, arms, and chest were strikingly evident through the thin cotton of his shirt, his black tie the only thing holding it all together.

Matt shook his head, the smirking purse of his lips light and sly. "You're quick, O'Malley."

Your grin matched the slight narrowing of your eyes all too well. 

"Oh, Murdock," you crooned. "You can keep up."

Matt let his head tilt back just slightly, his open-mouthed smirk calm and concentrated as he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. You felt red flame creep across your cheeks and expand through your chest - and, based on the way Matt leaned forward in his seat, attention all on you, you knew he felt it, too.

"So, I've spoken to you as a lawyer," he murmured. "Speaking to you as somebody else - is there anything still valuable on that recording?"

"To be honest, not really," you admitted. "It got me up to here, served as a starting point - now, if some certain things fall into place how I'd like them to," you paused, thinking of Ray and his hopefully-still-standing offer to lend his clearance, "I can use what I found through this information to move forward. Potentially by a lot."

Matt nodded. "This a research thing?"

"Research, cybersecurity, the works. Let's just say I have a lot of access to certain resources - and what I don't have access to, I can still… get."

A vision passed over your mind - one of gunshots and electronic signals, frigid air and dim screens, intelligence the greatest weapon of them all - and yet, your enemies still ended up broken and bleeding in the dust. You stood atop the mountain that was their suffering, bleeding along with them. The difference, though, was that they were beneath you, burning up in disbelief as you remained certain, unfeeling, cold - your blood a serum of power, theirs a symbol of defeat.

Only took some expertise and the slide of your fingertips along a keyboard to take them down. 

Well, that and your fists, on occasion.

"Sounds like you know what you're doing," he hummed, eyebrows raised, shades of "wow" painted through his skin. "I have to ask, though," Matt leaned forward further, his tongue dragging over his lower lip, brows back into a dip as his mouth curved just slightly, "what's someone as skilled and resourceful as you doing in my office when you could be working on this case all on your own? You're more than capable, from what I can tell."

You shrugged, considering the warm comfort of his office, and wondered for a moment if it was the office itself or just Matt's presence. "Thought I could use a sounding board."

"Thought you worked alone."

"Always have, yeah." You tilted your head. "Maybe I should try a new strategy."

Matt bit the inside of his cheek, a light smirk drawing itself into his lips. "Might be some merit in that idea."

You laughed. "And you, working alone? Isn't that your whole thing?"

"I'd be open to expanding my interests," Matt smiled, opening his hands and rubbing his fingers together in what looked like a wave of nervous energy. "I can help you, you can help me."

"Chasing the same man, after all."

"That's right." He shifted his jaw just slightly, a muscle in his neck twitching. "Mind if I ask what your motivation is?"

A flash of bitterness coated your tongue. More memories flickered across your psyche - beatings and bruises, scars visible and invisible, turning to your fists by virtue of having no other choice. You felt a staff mark itself violently against your back - heard a snarling, crackly voice tell you to fight. To get your ass back up and fight.

Next, you saw your father. You saw him watch, emotionless, as you cried, screamed, begged him for love in the depths of the night and all its curses. You felt your insides curl and squirm as you woke up in a place you didn't know, surrounded by people who only wanted you around for what you could do for them - who saw you as a resource rather than a child. Waited days and weeks and months and years for dear old dad to come looking for you. After a while, you surmised that he hadn't even noticed you were missing.

You saw the burning light of a screen reveal to you that this, all your suffering, had been pushed and supported and financed by some mystery investors, names that were as poisonous to you as they were unknown.

And, now that you knew one of these names, you were more determined than ever to drive it into the frozen, icy ground until the blistering depths of hell claimed it as its own to torture.

To torture it as it had tortured you.

"As of right now," you began, hiding the horrific pictures in your head with a tight smile, "I do mind."

Something in Matt's expression flashed, a shade of darkness splitting through him in a moment quick enough for anyone to miss.

"Never say never, though," you added, leaning forward. Your voice lowered, and Matt leaned in further as if to hear you better - although both of you knew he didn't need to. "At least let me get to know you better first."

Matt hummed, short and sweet, his voice carrying smoothly over the short distance between your lips and his. "I'd be happy to."

You smiled. "As for your motivations… we already talked about those, didn't we? Mister, "I just want to make my city a better place?" I mean, that's you, isn't it?"

Matt chuckled, feigning offense with a slightly dropped jaw. "Hey, it's a valid reason."

"It is, it is. And, tell me, exactly how many women have you won over with that line?"

He grinned darkly this time. "None quite like you, that's for sure."

What a fucking flirt this guy is.

You shook your head, the grin on your face impossible to fight. His smile relaxed, and he dipped his head to face yours head-on, nothing but sincerity beneath his glasses.

"Whatever your reasoning is," he began, his tone soft at the edges, "I hope it hasn't caused you too much suffering."

Your mouth turned upward into a small, subtle half-smile, gratitude blossoming through your chest. "Thank you."

The look on Matt's face was gentle and bright, with genuine concern that you could both see and feel. "So, I guess we can officially say, although we still work alone…."

"…Allies." You finished the statement for him. "I help you, you help me - we can give each other a hand without having to compromise our own ambitions. We're allies."

Matt nodded. "Works for me."

He held out his hand to you over the desk. You eyed him for a moment, the twitch at the edge of his lips hinting at a smile, his hand outstretched in patient warmth. After a beat, you placed your hand in his, the slightly calloused skin of his fingertips contrasting with the softness of his palms as he shook your hand lightly, firmly, sending shockwaves up your arm through your fingertips.

No gloves.

No masks.

Just you and Matt, finally linked in the day as you were in the dark.

"Allies," he hummed thoughtfully, all deep and gravelly and rife with a new sense of tender consideration.

You smiled for the millionth time.

"Allies."

As much as a deeply-constrained part of you would have been okay with Matt throwing you down on his desk and acting out your most recent dream, nothing else happened. You shared some more logistics on how you'd stalked the meeting - leaving out the rude interruption of Three Six Mafia and your daringly stupid escape - and, before you knew it, it was time for you to head to work. You stuffed the tape recorder into your bag and gave Matt a brief goodbye.

No hug, no more handshakes, just smiles rife with words left unsaid, desires left cloaked under a guise of feasibility and risk - along with a new, barely-there wisp of tenderness.

Having fun with this doesn't mean being reckless, though. Head in the game.  

As you walked out of the building, double-checking your bag, you realized you'd forgotten an important case briefing at your apartment. Not anything you'd borrowed without authorization, but files that were crucial for, you know, your actual work responsibilities. Cursing yourself for letting such an essential work thing slip, you rushed back to your apartment, whizzing down the sidewalk as fast as your heels would allow you.

Rushing into your building, you ran up to the elevator, only to see a black and white "Out of Service" sign taped haphazardly onto the door.

Shit.

Time was running out, and being late for work was never a good look - especially not in Janelle's judgemental eyes. You all but sprinted to the stairs, swearing at yourself for choosing an apartment on the eighth floor.

By the time you reached the top, you were panting. The sweat under your arms leaked into your top as you struggled to catch your breath. You pushed your hair back and shoved open the door to the eighth floor, soaring down the hall.

Turning the corner towards your apartment, you froze.

A man stood between the hall and your door, his back to you. His perfect posture was wrapped in a black and very expensive-looking suit, not a single piece of lint or dust contaminating its immaculate cut. The shoes on his feet were of black leather, perfectly polished, the hallway light gleaming off their shine. He carried what looked to be a file folder in one hand and lifted the other for what you assumed to be a second or third time, knocking knuckles once, twice, three times against your door.

From behind, you could make out the back of the arms of a pair of glasses resting atop his ears. His brown hair, though short, had a certain wave to it, coiffed in unnatural coils of perfection. Your heart shot up to your throat.

No way. No fucking way.

The man turned slightly and drew a phone from his pocket, and you shot back around the corner, plastering your back against the wall. As much as you knew you should bite the bullet and run to work, you had to listen to his words - had to make sure that man knocking at your door was the same well-kept picture of seething, corporate villainy you thought he was.

"Yes," the man affirmed into his phone, the haunting familiarity of his voice gripping around your neck with claws of manicured steel. "She was next on the list. Doesn't appear to be home. I'll come back later."

You heard footsteps begin to track back down the hallway - towards you. Time stopped and yet wouldn't seem to go slowly enough as you panicked, not knowing whether to run back to the stairs and all but jump down to the lobby - although he might catch you running and assume the worst.

Time and panic aren't friends, though, and it took less than a moment of lost time for this man's leather shoes to stride just around the corner from where you stood, frozen.

You shut your eyes with a deep breath and accepted that panic had made your decision for you.

Rookie fucking move, girl.

With seconds to prepare yourself, you straightened your posture, plastered on a peaceful look of all innocence and no suspicion, and turned the corner.

"Oh!" You gasped as your body ran itself directly into his heartless chest. He stumbled slightly, giving you a tiny flicker of satisfaction.

It's the little things.

"Oh, miss, my apologies," the man exclaimed. You met his eyes, blue and unforgiving, though soft at the edges - but they narrowed momentarily at your gaze.

"Selena O'Malley?" he asked, stepping back to straighten his still-perfect suit.

You raised your eyebrows in gracefully feigned, courteous innocence at James Wesley, your heart rate spiking even as your voice remained cool and controlled. The nod you gave him was short and sweet, slow and simple.

"Yes," you hummed, kind and welcoming, ice and bile in your throat. "That's me."

He smiled, that predatory glint in his eyes as solid and ice-cold as ever. "Lovely to meet you, ma'am. I represent various business enterprises here in Hell's Kitchen, and I have a few things I'd like to discuss, concerning one of your associates, if you've got a moment to spare." He gestured back to your apartment. "Mind if I borrow a few minutes of your time? I'm happy to go for a walk to chat if you'd prefer."

Okay. Think.

Go for a walk, and he drags you into an alley and blows your brains out.

At least in the apartment, you have the upper hand.

Unless he just wants to blow your brains out and doesn't care where it goes down.

God.

Your pulse felt like it was about to shatter through your wrists, through your neck, leaving you shaking in a heap of skin and bones on the hallway floor at Wesley's feet.

He knows my name.

He knows where I live.

No way I'm getting to work on time today.

You forced a smile back onto your face, and although you were skilled at masking your true feelings, you just couldn't get this smile to meet your eyes. A threat of self-defending poison drew itself through your gaze towards Wesley, fire at its finest working overtime to melt his focused, cutting ice.

He only stared back at you; the ice didn't so much as drip. The man was a monster of venom, just waiting for a chance to sink his teeth into your skin.

"Don't mind at all," you hummed pleasantly, stepping around him, your apprehension thinly veiled. "You can just come on in."

Wesley nodded with a subtle smile. You turned the corner and, with him at your back, felt a shiver of unease creep through your clothes and vibrate against your skin. He was a soldier of the wicked, a single doorway between the daylight world and the depths of Hell's Kitchen depravity. Though Wesley's presence was, well, terrifying - it gave you another reason to be angry. 

Another reason to fight. 

Your safety was now under direct threat, with privacy soon to be a thing of your past - if it wasn't gone already. Rage coursed through you with each delicate, high-heeled step on the floor's hallway carpet, and you visualized your heels as spikes driving through the chests of these evil, evil beings you were pursuing, too despicable to really be considered human.

Maybe this is about Jessica, you considered, a flash of worry painting streaks through your chest. Either way, it's not fucking good.

However, little did Wesley know, that poison in your gaze was laced through each cell in your body. Might not be immediately visible, but it was hardly an empty threat.

Bite in the wrong place, and the man would be dead before he could taste your blood.

You took a breath and ironically smiled to yourself, the moment bitter, furious and threatening, as he followed you to your door - right into the snake pit.

Game on, motherfucker.