Blackout | Matt Murdock

chapter three | harry potter and the skirmish of hell's kitchen

Daredevil does not, in fact, have a convenient number she can call to order herself a badass costume. Superhero Amazon would be such a great service, though; someone should pitch that to Stark, let him provide for the less fortunate heroes running around New York.

Anyway, he's apologetic about it, at least, letting her down easy; says his guy did him a one-time favor as repayment for... something Daredevil did. He's sketchy on the details, but Michaela doesn't hold it against him; people like them can't exactly afford to reveal too many personal anecdotes, not even in the interest of getting to know their vigilante buddies a little better.

In a surprising turn of events, Daredevil also congratulates her for handling the attempted robbery at Cody's. Michaela, in true school girl fashion, flushes to the roots of her hair, faking a cough just for the excuse to spin away from him so she can hide what's visible of her beet-red face. Why she's embarrassed she doesn't know; hormones, probably. They're a bitch most of the time, they might as well try to ruin all aspects of her life when presented with the opportunity to do so.

She'd ask him how he even knows it was her, but then it hits her — it'd been a slow news day, so the robbery, or lack thereof, made it to the front page of the New York Bulletin. Emmett's testimony made her sound a lot more self-assured than she was, but he did work in that she calls herself Blackout, so at least the media has a genuine name for her now. No more Knock-Off Thor, or toaster oven.

Well. From the Bulletin, anyway.

"Aw, shucks," she says, kicking her legs out like the child she's never quite outgrown, letting her heels thump back against the concrete of the building they're perched on. She'd gone up here, climbed a fire escape and settled right at the edge of the roof, to give herself a moment's pause, time to consider where she's going to go from here. Daredevil came out of nowhere, silent as a goddamn shadow, said he was passing by and thought he'd check in with her. She certainly isn't complaining. "I didn't do all that much. I'm just glad I was there when it happened, ya know? Before anything went screwy."

"That kid thinks you did a lot," Daredevil says, with a flash of a smile that he directs at the cityscape around them. "Though I think he said your — what was his phrase? — bedside manner could use some improvement."

"Okay, first, that is not applicable to the situation, I'm not a fucking doctor. There was no bedside by which I could be mannerly. Second, I made sure he was alright! I wasn't rude or anything, just... maybe a little abrupt. I wasn't looking to get arrested, thanks."

Daredevil shrugs. "Hazard of the job. You're never going to please everyone all the time. The important thing is that that kid isn't hurt, and he got to go home to his family." He looks at her, and though she can't see his eyes his gaze seems more intense, grounding. She sits up straighter without consciously choosing to. "You did a good thing."

"Feels kind of... I don't know, selfish that I'm happy about what I did. Just. I'm not doing it to get thanked, that's not why I... And anyway, I'm terrified every time I go out like this, so I. Ugh." Michaela drops her face into her hands, huffing out a tired sigh. "Can you like, do your ninja thing and just sneak off while I'm not looking? Let me go back to gazing soberly out at the city like the Batman wannabe I am on the inside?"

She hears him laugh under his breath, then the scrape of his shoes over the concrete as he resettles his weight on the roof's ledge. A gloved hand catches her shoulder and squeezes. "I actually have to head out anyway," he says, and she peeks out from between the cracks of her fingers, sees him smiling again, this time looking her way. "But don't be so hard on yourself. You did good, you can be happy about that. I'm not exactly the best example of an emotionally stable vigilante, though, so. You fit right in."