Blackout | Matt Murdock

chapter twenty | the end-times are near

"Avengers Tower?"

"Or Stark Tower, whatever. Did he ever like, legally change the name of the building?"

"I don't think incorrect labeling of architecture is the major issue here, but—"

"Fuck, no, you're right. Sorry. I just – I think you made a good point before. About Cato."

Matt's arms uncross, dropping to his sides. She's thrown him for a loop, she can tell, because he doesn't immediately say anything, just. Studies her. Cato was not originally even in the ballpark of this conversation, so she's not surprised – truth be told, she hadn't really understood how he factored into it at first, either. But Michaela's had a long while to think this through, and seeing as it's been a few weeks since Mordo unceremoniously dropped them from the wizard case without any tangible results, she figures it's time they bring in the big guns.

Meaning the Avengers. If that wasn't already desperately obvious.

"I can't handle him myself. I admitted to that," Michaela says, sitting up from where she's been sprawled across Matt's unfairly comfortable couch. "Karl says he's got it covered, but I don't know him and I don't trust him. Which means I'd like to see this through myself. But, like I said, doing this on my own is only going to end badly."

"And you've decided that we're going to ignore the three other supers we happen to have an in with already?"

Ah. Yes. Michaela's considered that, Luke and Jessica and Peter, all of them gearing up together and having a go at Dumbledore's distinctly evil cousin. And she's not even opposed to it, really – she's done big jobs with all of them before and they work together like a dream. They get all the teamwork points, especially Luke and Jessica. It's just. Well.

"I think this is... bigger than us. Less small-fry, more trophy-fish-mounted-over-the-fire-place."

There's a pause. A lengthy one.

Michaela contemplates the merits of shocking herself unconscious, then turns her head to groan into the back of the couch. "You know what I mean," she says directly into the cushion, knowing Matt'll pick up on it regardless of how muffled her voice is.

The couch dips beside her, signaling that Matt's abandoned his post staring with brooding intensity out the window (never mind the fact that he can't actually see out the window). His warm hand slides around to squeeze reassuringly at the back of her neck, and she sighs, the tension already starting to bleed out of her.

"He's that dangerous, huh?"

"Pretty sure he fits right in with the usual band of world domination-seeking assholes the Avengers take down on the regular, Matty."

Another squeeze, and Michaela's a fucking touch-starved loser, but she latches right on to the feeling of each individual finger, the prickling warmth against her skin, the grounding pressure. A shudder runs through her and she'd be embarrassed – more embarrassed, anyway – but Matt barely reacts beyond adjusting his grip on her and scooting to close the gap between them on the couch, pressing their thighs together. Her mouth quirks into the faintest of smiles; Matt's too good for her, he really is, but hell if she's going to be the one to tap out of this relationship. Matt's stuck with her until he decides otherwise.

"I trust your judgement," he says, and Michaela looks at him, at the soft, determined smile he's wearing, the openness of his expression. "I trust you, Michaela. If you say this is Avengers-level villainy, then we'll take a trip to Manhattan."

"I love you," she says, because it's true, and because it might never have been truer than it is in this moment.

Matt's smile turns more or less blinding, and she's saying that with full knowledge of what the Mighty Thor and Captain America look like when they're being their happy-golden-retriever selves.