In the weeks since Matt more or less accidentally showed his hand to Michaela, he's been equal parts relieved and anxious. Relieved, obviously, because Michaela finally isn't someone he has to tiptoe around – she knows him, both sides, and, like Karen and Foggy, she didn't immediately kick him to the curb. And she would have had more reason than most, what with him not letting her know he was aware of her secret identity until he was called out on it.

He's anxious, though, and contrary to popular belief, it's only gotten worse these last few weeks, because now Matt has... it's not a need, per se, Michaela is an adult and a super-powered one at that, she's not looking to be coddled, and maybe especially not by him, but. She checks in every night, or close to it, and he's always able to think a little more clearly after she's done it.

She hasn't checked in tonight.

It's a slow night by his standards. He and Foggy have been taking on more cases lately, most of them pro bono, and while it hasn't made a sizeable difference in the neighborhood, he's starting to see the ripple effect. More people going to jail for the crimes they commit, more people feeling safe in their own homes, getting the justice they deserve. And Matt's not giving himself the credit, their legal work has been seventy-five percent Foggy and the rest of it is probably Karen – Matt's been taking the night shift, so to speak, and it means he's not making it to as many court dates as he'd like. Or as many as Foggy would like, and Foggy hasn't even really forgiven him for the entire Frank Castle fiasco.

Matt hasn't forgiven himself for that one, either, but as Michaela likes to remind him, that's at least partially the Catholic guilt talking. Doesn't make it any easier to ignore, but he's working on it.

So, slow night, nothing out of the ordinary besides the odd screeching of stray alley cats duking it out over food scraps. Matt's staking out a rooftop, far enough from home that there's no viable connection but close enough that, internally, he wonders if suiting up was worth the effort. Casting out his senses only gets him inconsequential feedback: the rumble of faraway cars, the buzz of streetlights, mundane conversations from the residents of the buildings in the surrounding area.

Rocking back on his heels, Matt reaches for the hidden pocket of his suit and draws out his phone. He tugs his glove off with his teeth, so he has a free hand to work the touchscreen, swiping the phone open. His thumb taps restlessly against the cool surface of the glass.

Call or don't call? She's not going to be mad if he calls and interrupts her, or if she has a voicemail waiting for her when she has a free minute to catch her breath. He knows that from experience (and also from the laughter she'd spilled down the line when he called back after she left him a voicemail while he was in the middle of breaking up a gang fight). But if feels like he's giving in if he calls before she does; not that he knows what he'd be giving in to, and not that it's a contest, he's not losing anything either way.

Except maybe his sanity.

I'm acting like I'm back in middle school, he thinks, a little too amused at his own insecurity. Making fun of it is better than confronting it, he supposes, though it's certainly not getting him anywhere.

...Matt took down the genius-level leader of a massive crime syndicate, and he doesn't know whether he should call the woman he likes. The spider kid calls Michaela without hesitation, and here Matt is – hesitating.

"Alright," he murmurs, tightening his grip on the phone. "Just call her, Murdock, the worst that can happen is she doesn't pick up right away."

Matt holds down the home button. "Call Michaela—"

Sirens.

His head turns automatically, following the course of the police cars and fire trucks as they screech into a turn onto 11th Avenue. The docks? Most of the warehouse buildings in that area are abandoned, the factories they catered to dried up in the recession. Matt's there often enough because it's a prime location for anyone actively breaking laws to hide out, so he's not surprised that the police have been called down there. But the fire department...

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of Matt's stomach.

He's on his feet and clambering down the fire escape in moments, his phone tucked away and forgotten, heart thudding in his chest in a way that has nothing to do with the sudden exertion. He's quick to hit the ground running, taking off down street in the direction of the docks. The rooftops might be faster but he's distracted and he's painfully aware of it; the last thing he needs is to lose a handhold or not stick the landing, so he's grounded for the time being, narrowing his focus down to the sounds immediately around him and those of the emergency response vehicles that are slowing to a stop.

Running at this speed, he'll make it there in fifteen minutes, less if doesn't hit any moving traffic he has to dodge around. That's—

"Michaela is calling."

Matt freezes, shooting out a hand to catch on a passing stop sign, dragging himself to a standstill. He's breathing sharp and fast and that's not his normal for a run like that, fuck, he has got to pull himself together.

"Michaela," he says, once he's sure he won't sound like he's been sprinting through the city for the last five minutes. His voice still hitches, caught on the edge of a breath his lungs are desperate for.

"Matty," she says, low and soft, careful. Like she doesn't want to be overheard. She's quiet, then, only her breathing coming through clearly.

Shit. That's a tone he only just recognizes, one that brings to mind the suffocating space of a secret he shouldn't have kept, the distance of a few inches that felt like miles. Matt braces a hand against the stop sign, leans his forehead into the crook of his arm. Breathes in, out, listens to the creaks of his body armor shifting with his movements.

"I was about to make my way over to the docks," he says, closing his eyes when he hears her inhale sharply. "Any reason I should've been there earlier?"

"Matt, I—"

"You really need to start taking your own advice, Michaela. What's the point in connecting all of us when you never call in anyone for backup?"

She doesn't answer for a moment. There's chatter in the background, the sirens dulled by distance and possibly a wall; two, three people talking together, hushed, not wanting to intrude on Michaela's conversation. He'd give a lot to be there next to her, to know who she's with, because he hates the quiver in her voice and her uneven breathing, the groan of plastic under the heavy press of her fingers. Hates that he doesn't know why she's scared and vulnerable.

God, does he wish she'd called him sooner.

"It's... I know, okay? I know. I made what is, in retrospect, a dumbass decision to go it alone when I didn't have to. But. Fuck, I don't know, I panicked. But Matt, this girl, she came to me, she wanted me to help, and then everything happened so fucking fast... Just. Fuck, fuck, give me a second."

He gives it to her. Gives her a hundred or so of them, in fact, while she strangles the sob clawing its way up her throat. He wills himself to stay quiet, to not press; he remembers lashing out at Karen when they were together, lashing out at her after, even, wanting to keep her safe and stifling her in the process. He's not making that mistake again, not with Michaela, but he's aching to do it regardless.

"I'm... mostly okay. That doesn't sound reassuring and trust me, I am aware, but it's the truth. I'm hurt, and it sucks, but I walked it off, yeah? You should know, though. The uh. The wizard? He's a lot more of an evil shit than I thought."

"...the wizard?"

"Long story short?"

"I'd rather you give me the long version, if you've got the time for it."

She doesn't. Her fidgeting is audible even through the phone, and he'd bet on her looking over her shoulder, wary of whoever's with her.

"Long version," she echoes, each word heavier than the last. He almost takes it back, but she carries on without waiting for him, shoring herself up with a deep breath he can't help but emulate. "Okay, right, I can do that. Coulson can wait for that goddamn debrief, this is more important." A pause. "You're more important, Matty. I don't... tell you that often enough, how important you are to me. Fuck, sorry, that's not—you wanna hear about the wizard. He's a total dick, Matt, and quite probably a murderer to boot..."

It's not at all what he wants to hear right now. Another account of Michaela taking on more than she can handle, all without bringing anyone else into the fold again. And this time she had the opportunity to call one of them, any of them (it didn't have to be him), and she didn't take it. She admits she thought about it, way back at the beginning of the night, thought about contacting him because something felt... off, and he has to resist the urge to ask her why she didn't. There's no point in turning this into a fight – more importantly, he doesn't want a fight with her.

"You're with SHIELD right now?" he asks after the silence between has stretched too thin.

She sighs, clearly unhappy about her current circumstances. He can't blame her, either; she complained for a solid week about Coulson and his secretive bullshit after what happened before. Though she is fond of Skye, at least, and Michaela says she's come along for this visit, plus another guy that wasn't there last time. The new guy hasn't spoken to her yet, so it's up in the air whether he's friend or foe.

"They got me out of being arrested, Matty, or else I'd have run out on them already. SHIELD... maybe they really are doing good, but I don't wanna be a part of their... squad, or whatever. I don't even know what they want from me."

"You mentioned a debrief..."

"I mean, sure, yeah, they want me to explain what the fuck went down tonight, and I'll do that, gladly, because clearly I am not a match for District 1's darling wizard boy, but. SHIELD wouldn't have stepped in if that's all they wanted, ya know?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. And you don't trust them, with every reason not to." Matt pauses, considers whether he should add the next part. Fuck it. "I can arrange a rescue, if you're interested...?"

That startles a laugh out of her, and Matt smiles, pleased he can do that much for her. Given that it's all he can do, it's almost pathetic, but. Matt'll take what he can get here.

"You are aware they've one hundred percent tapped my phone, right? And they're also less than a dozen feet away from me?"

"You say that like it matters."

Michaela snorts, and there's the clap of her bringing a hand to her mouth. Another win. "Gonna round up the vigilante buddies and stage a jailbreak, Matty?"

"If you want me to? Of course."

"...I... shit, Matt, the things you say... crying's not an option for me at the moment, buddy."

"I'm not trying to make you cry, Michaela. I'm giving you options."

One in particular he wants her to take, if he's being honest with himself. He hasn't a clue as to how he'd manage it, but he'd coerce the others into coming (aside from Spider-Man, who would, quite literally, jump at the chance to help Michaela) and they'd storm SHIELD's headquarters. They could do it, he's pretty sure – they might all have files somewhere in the bowels of SHIELD's databases, but desperation makes people unpredictable.

"Thank you for that. Honestly. But I can't ask you to do that. I'm—"

"You're worth the risk, Michaela, and I'll tell you that as many times as I have to."

"Aw, fuck, Murdock, I swear to god... Fuck, fuck, just. Okay, no rescue mission, I'm fine, everything's fine, they'll let me leave eventually. There is something I gotta ask you to do, though."

"What is it?"

"There's... most likely a woman outside my apartment?"

It's times like these where Matt wishes, just a little, that there was a chance he didn't hear that correctly. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"The woman I was with, the one who got kidnapped. I told her to, uh. To head to my apartment? And that you'd take care of her?"

"You didn't let the police process her?"

"She was gone when they got here! And also, FYI, I was a little busy being arrested! Maybe they did pick her up, I don't know, but check for me, please. That woman is my responsibility, I need to know she's alright after this shitshow of an evening."

Matt counts to ten in his head, eyes squeezed shut even though it doesn't make much of a difference to him. He's not going to deny her this – she could have asked for almost anything right now and he'd do his damnedest to get it done, because he is that... well. He's worried and she's, shit, she's as important to him as he apparently is to her.

He says he'll do it and she thanks him again, breathless suddenly, her pulse thudding in her wrist. The voices in the background tick up in volume and Matt isn't listening to them, precisely, still tuned in to Michaela, but he gets the gist of what they're saying. Time's up – wheels up in five.

Goddammit, Michaela. They're not even going to be in the city, and she expects him to... what? Carry on like everything's normal?

Which he'll do, of course, because she asked him to.

One day I'll graduate from middle school, he thinks wryly, tucking his phone away.

Matt can get to Michaela's apartment in under twenty minutes, and he can take the faster route now that he won't be as out of his mind with worry. Hopefully this woman won't have left before then – he doesn't know anything about her that would assist in tracking her down, Michaela barely even gave him a description he could have Foggy or Karen search for online. Not that that'll stop him, in any case, but it'd be nice to start with a leg up rather than both hands tied behind his back.

He and Michaela are really due for a talk when she gets back from SHIELD, and he's thinking he won't be able to avoid this time around.