Chapter 8
Two days later, Matt finally made the call. It barely took a second, until Stark picked up and immediately started talking: “Hi, didn't think you'd call at all, to be honest, but I'm glad you did, because I did some thinking and I may have come up with an idea that might suit you better than what I originally had in mind, so if I could just -”
“Could you stop talking for one second?” Matt asked, his annoyance sky-rocketing in an instant, as he let himself fall onto his couch. “I called for a reason, you know.”
“Right, of course.” There was a short pause on the other end, before Stark tentatively said: “I'm sorry, if I put pressure on you.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “You did. And I don't appreciate it.” He sighed and added: “You should have done your research. I have exactly one rule for combat, and the first thing you did, was ask me to throw that out the window.” He scoffed. “Not going to happen.”
Stark cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You're right. I'm sorry.”
“I really expected more of you, especially after you kidnapped and drugged me.” Matt began picking at the backrest of his couch, and finally asked: “What's your new idea, then?”
“Oh, yes, great,” he rushed out. “Well, I figured, since it's obviously not a great plan to have you join us on a battlefield, Clint and I would just … go with you. Help you out.”
“In Hell's Kitchen?” Matt asked doubtfully. “And what, the archer's just going to shoot air?”
Stark let out a short laugh. “No, but he can shoot to wound. He's an excellent shot, you know.”
“I've heard. And what are you going to do?”
“I can use my suit to stun people. Just have to turn down the power a bit.”
“Hm.” Matt placed his phone on his chest and crossed his arms behind his head. If he was being honest with himself, he had to agree, that this was a much better option than what they had discussed before. This way, he didn't even have to leave Hell's Kitchen to fight other people's battles.
After all, that's where he belonged: in Hell's Kitchen, protecting his own people from everyday threats, instead of aliens and magicians or whatever the hell these people got up to in their free-time.
“You still there?”
Matt picked up his phone. “I'll think about it.” Without waiting for an answer, he hung up. No need to seem too available.
For the next few days, Matt made himself scarce and spent his nights investigating the local drug syndicate currently putting down roots. It would be a big operation, involving two different locations.
He just had to find them, first.
Luckily, Foggy was very understanding, and they agreed that Matt should take a few days off work, so he could conserve his energy.
On day three, he finally managed to make some progress. Granted, it came at the cost of a few dislocated joints and a broken leg, but the dealer did eventually give up some valuable information.
Matt walked out of that alley immensely satisfied, and ready to cook up a plan.
“Has it rung yet?” Clint picked himself up from the floor and dusted himself off.
Tony pinched his nose with an annoyed sigh. “This workshop has a door for a reason, you know.”
“Well yeah, but you wouldn't have let me in, would you.” He pointed at the ceiling with a grin. “The vents are way faster.” He sauntered over to where Tony was working on his desk and gestured towards the phone laying near the edge. “So, has he called yet?”
Tony shook his head and continued tinkering with his newest invention in broody silence.
“Oof,” Clint said.
“Yeah,” Tony replied.
He crossed his arms with a frown and was about to say something else, when the phone rang. Tony made a move for it, but Clint was faster and immediately answered the call.
“I have a mission.”
“Hello to you, too,” Clint said happily. “What kind of mission?”
“Let's meet.”
With that, the call ended.
For a few seconds, he simply stared at the phone, somewhat in disbelief.
“And?” Tony stared at him expectantly.
“He has a mission and said we should meet.”
“Okay, where and when?”
Clint scratched his head and replied: “He didn't say.”
With a scoff, Tony tossed aside his screwdriver and crossed his arms. “And how the hell are we supposed to find him, then?”
“I'm pretty sure, he'll find us.” He couldn't suppress a smile, when he added: “He's perceptive like that.”
That night, Tony flew to Hell's Kitchen, carrying Clint, who was holding on for dear life. As soon as they landed, the archer jumped to the ground and squinted at Tony. “We will never speak of this!”
Tony laughed. “Whatever you say, big shot.” He stepped closer to the edge of the rooftop and looked down. “He just parkours across this like it's nothing, huh?” he asked no one in particular.
“He isn't called 'Man without Fear' for nothing,” Clint replied thoughtfully.
“I'll take that as a compliment,” came a gravelly voice from behind them.
Tony whirled around to find Daredevil standing there, dimly illuminated by the half-moon. “That was fast,” he noticed.
“I heard you coming from a mile away,” the vigilante said with a grin.
Clint swallowed thickly. “What's this mission of yours, then?” he asked and pretended like the adrenaline in his body was excitement.
Daredevil came closer and handed Tony a file, who promptly delegated Clint to take it instead. “I wrote everything down, so you can prepare.” The vigilante took a few steps back with a mock bow and continued: “I'm busy tonight, so we'll do it tomorrow, 11pm.” He walked towards the ledge and looked down. “Until then.” He flashed them a lethal smirk and jumped off the roof.
The others stared after him, too stunned to do anything but watch.