True to her word, as soon as Michaela feels physically up to it, she contacts Spidey and lets him know she's on her way to Queens, to which he responds with a nearly incoherent block of emojis and a single line telling her where to meet him. She smiled when she saw it, because she's starting to get really damn attached to this kid, and it's frankly a little ridiculous that he's this stupidly endearing.

The meet-up spot is a rooftop, surprising absolutely no one, though Michaela realizes quickly it's less for the ease of access and more for what's across the street. As she settles at the edge of the roof, letting her legs dangle off the side, she squints down at the electronics store, where a wall of TVs occupy the front window. They're all tuned into the news, and they're all running a story about the Avengers and the recent carnage they brought to Sokovia. Hundreds of people died when the city fell, even with the Avengers (and SHIELD, apparently, so Michaela guesses that means they're done operating out of the shadows for now) clearing the city itself. And the threat that started it all – Ultron, the fucking sentient robot – came straight out of Stark's personal labs.

Michaela is... trying not to give them too much shit for it. At least, not all of the Avengers. Stark's genius is legendary, and his propensity for AI technology well-known, but this was a step too far in a direction he shouldn't have followed in the first place. Or. What the hell, Michaela doesn't know shit about the tech he was messing around with, but she knows now that Ultron orchestrated the stealing of the Vibranium from the Wakandan mine, that Ultron lifted Sokovia right out of the ground and into the sky, and that it was Ultron's plan to ultimately wipe out the entirety of the human race by dropping the city like a meteor onto the earth. Stark designed Ultron, gave it the tools and the skills to evolve the way it did, and, well. As far as Michaela can tell, he's not getting much actual backlash for it.

He's apologized publicly several times, in different press conferences and in an interview for TIME, but he keeps reiterating that Ultron was meant to protect the world, that that's what the world needs. The phrase he used was a suit of armor around the earth, or something similar to that, and while Michaela sees the need for beefed up protection from extraterrestrial threats, she's more inclined to try living, breathing people over an AI system or a fleet of robots. For all Iron Man's technological prowess, he's a man underneath the suit, and Michaela respects that. She trusts the Avengers to do their jobs when the time comes, but apparently Stark doesn't have faith in his own people.

Again, she's trying not to judge him too harshly. He had good intentions, and he's funding a relief program for the people displaced by the city being a smoldering wreck in Europe. She just wishes he'd own up to the fact that Ultron was on him, not the Avengers as a whole.

She's a little lost in thought, jumping from one track to the next as her anxiety starts tangling everything together, when she hears "Blackout! Incoming!" from the left, and she instinctively scoots to the side, giving Spider-Man a clear landing spot as he hops down from the adjacent building. He's silent as ever when his feet hit the roof, distributing his weight evenly, arms spread slightly to keep his balance. He lowers himself into a crouch beside her, and before she can greet him he's lunging at her and crushing her in an enthusiastic hug.

"You're alive!" he cheers, while she gasps at the strength in his relatively tiny frame, too shocked to hug back properly. Also, ouch, tender ribs over here. She manages to communicate that, vaguely, and he releases her instantly, scratching the back of his head as he rocks back on his heels. "Sorry, sorry, I just... It's really good to see you in one piece, Blackout."

"Believe me, I know the feeling," she says wryly, bringing him back into a hug that's less on the crushing side. Letting go, she says, "I am sorry for scaring you. When I shorted out everyone else's phone I did the same to mine. Hitting that car didn't help things either. I would've called you otherwise, I swear."

"I know! You wouldn't leave me hanging unless you had no choice."

The trust this kid has in her... well, it's humbling, and it certainly makes her want to live up to his expectations of her. Patting his shoulder, she swivels around and presses the soles of her feet together so that they're face-to-face. "Before I get into my ultra-fun experience, what've you been up to since I last saw you?"

She can't see his face, obviously, but he definitely lights up at the question, diving straight into Spider-Man's Greatest Hits from the last three weeks or so, from actually rescuing a kitten from a tree (precious) to webbing a shoplifter to a hot dog cart (hilarious). He's a physical talker, which is interesting and mildly dangerous, as at one point he hits the switch for his web-shooter accidentally and nearly webs her in the face while he's gesturing wildly to imitate the behavior of a drunk wannabe nudist that he stopped before things escalated too far. He's had an eventful few weeks, it seems, and she can't help the smile as she listens to him.

When he's finished with as much as he can remember off the top of his head, she says, "Good god, kid, you've been busy. And all I've been doing in the meantime is groaning into my bedsheets and bothering Daredevil while he's out working. FYI, if you happen to leave him a voicemail while he's beating up some baddies, the response you get is—" She cuts herself off because what she was about to say is not appropriate for a high schooler. Or, it could be, depending on the high schooler, but Michaela's mostly joking with it anyway and she doesn't want to be a bad influence on the kid.

Ha. That's a losing battle if she's ever seen one.

"Aw, Blackout, you were recovering," Spidey says consolingly, which is unnecessary but appreciated nonetheless. "That Iron Man guy you went against... he was insane, I've never seen powers like his before. Or were they powers? The footage wasn't the best so I couldn't tell if he had something on him, a remote switch for the cars and the bike maybe, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense that he was enhanced somehow—"

"Yup, got it in one, Spidey," Michaela laughs, amazed at how perceptive he is. "He's a technopath."

"Oh, I've heard of those! He can control technology just by thinking about it? Or, like, making a mental connection with the tech?"

"Something like that, I don't really understand the... I guess the science behind it? How his brain processes all that. But then again, it's not like I understand the science behind my own powers, so."

"Okay, so technopath in an Iron Man Halloween costume, that's one thing explained."

"You've got a list?"

"...a mental one, yeah."

Michaela snorts. "Ask away, Spidey, that's why I came out here, remember?"

He takes that as the permission it clearly is and goes for it. Michaela can't answer all of his questions, either because she doesn't know how or because he's asking about something she hasn't thought about herself, but they eventually circle around to where she disappeared to after the fight. In the wake of Ultron, hearing that SHIELD is alive and kicking isn't the bombshell she thought it was going to be, and Spidey's more interested in her status as an Inhuman than anything else, which she can't really blame him for. Again, she understands almost nothing about what it means for her, either in terms of her biology or her powers, but he's fascinated all the same.

It's the polar opposite of her conversation with Matt, because Matt didn't question most of what she told him, just accepted it and accepted her; god it makes her want to cry just thinking about it. Though Spidey isn't malicious about anything (obviously), his brain just runs about a hundred miles an hour faster than Michaela's and sees things from a vastly different perspective. She appreciate it, weirdly enough; it makes her consider what she's gone through, what she's going through, from a new angle.

Spidey could probably go for another hour, minimum, but Michaela gets distracted by the news coverage on the TVs across the street. They're flipping through footage of Sokovia in the aftermath, survivors speaking intermittently about their experiences, some of them teary-eyed and grateful that the Avengers intervened, others... less so.

Her brow knits together as she watches the newscaster move on to talking about the Avengers compound that's upstate, where most of the team has apparently relocated following Sokovia. The Avengers haven't been incredibly forthcoming about the newest additions to their team and the media is ravenous for glimpses of them. A few photos have leaked online, and Sam Wilson, former para-rescue, has already been outed as a friend of Captain America, and the same hero from the fall of the Triskelion last year. They've been seen out and about in New York and D.C. together, mostly on runs, so there's a lot speculation about their relationship. Michaela doesn't give a shit if they're fucking or not, she's more concerned with how Wilson handles himself as the Falcon, and from what she's seen over while she was on mandated bedrest, she's not disappointed so far.

There's three other new Avengers, though none of their names or abilities have made headlines recently. The secrecy is curious, but again, Michaela just wants to know that they're able to do their duties.

"The Falcon is so cool," Spidey says, snapping her out of her thoughts. Instead of being upset about her basically ignoring him for the last... however many minutes she's spent glued to the news, he's just as invested in it. When Michaela gives him a look (as much as she can while masked, at least), he shrugs, unrepentant. "I know there's more important things going on with the Avengers, but c'mon, Blackout, admit it! He's cool! He can fly, and he's such a badass—I mean, he's really good in a fight?" Michaela rolls her eyes, unbeknownst to him, though he seems to sense she's let him off the hook because he goes on to add, "He and Captain America work so well together, it's weird to think they've only known each other for like, a year."

"I'll give you that," she says, humming a little to herself. Their coordination in a fight is impressive, and Spidey's right—it comes off like they've known each other a lot longer. Though she supposes going through a traumatic, high-stakes fight will do that for a partnership. "How's your worship of Tony Stark going? Strong as ever?"

Spidey balks, sputtering, "I'm not—I don't worship Mr. Stark, I just... Blackout," he trails off with a whine very befitting of his age, and she breaks and laughs, flapping a hand to say it's fine, she's done teasing him. "I know..." He audibly swallows, and she sobers quickly, straightening and resting a hand on his shoulder, a silent show of support. He ducks his head. "Ultron was a mess, and Mr. Stark... I know he wanted Ultron to be a force for good, and I know he never meant for any of this to happen... I don't know," he says, and there's such dejection in his voice that Michaela's (admittedly rusty) instinct to comfort kicks in abruptly.

"Spidey, everyone's got faults. You've seen many, many of mine, yeah? Give him a chance to make up for this before you go and toss your crush on him onto the burn pile."

Flustered as he clearly is by the 'crush' comment, Spider-Man does seem to give what she's saying some serious thought. Sticking up for Tony Stark is not how she wants to spend her afternoon, though (and god knows the man doesn't need a random vigilante from Hell's Kitchen to guard his reputation) so she changes subjects, latching onto the other thing she's been worried about since the news about Ultron broke. She's talked it over with Matt half a dozen times by now, but he's as uncertain as she is.

The Avengers just made a very public mistake. Law enforcement already doesn't appreciate the efforts of vigilantes. This seems like the perfect opportunity to crack down on heroes who aren't technically sanctioned by the government.

She says as much to Spidey, who tells her he's been thinking about it as well, though he personally hasn't had to deal much with police interfering with his do-gooding. She and Matt haven't been nearly as lucky, and it feels like every other night they have to cut their patrols short just to avoid making a scene with the local cops, all of whom apparently want to personally see Daredevil behind bars. She's less a thorn in their sides compared to him, though she fails to understand why when she's the one with flashy powers, but, well, she's also not complaining too loudly about it.

Matt has noticed, but has again been showing his gentlemanly colors, because he hasn't brought it up to her. Not yet, at least.

Things naturally wind down from there, though, the conversation gradually tapering off.

Has she had to deal with that Punisher dude in her neighborhood? Nope, Matt's had that one covered for a while now, which he finally told her about a week ago. She was... not pleased, but also in no place to judge, given the wizard situation.

Oh, yeah, what about the wizard situation? ...Michaela would prefer not to discuss her failures, thank you for understanding.

Her and Daredevil...? Michaela would also not like to discuss her nonexistent love life with a minor. That's a low she is not prepared to embrace, especially when she's recently had the epiphany that Matt can one hundred percent discern when her heart beat picks up around him, probably when she's flushed from something he says or does, and also probably when she's even thinking about him. Just. Ugh. Despite Michaela having been fairly proficient in French in high school, she's not exactly fluent in romance.

The sun's disappeared behind the skyscrapers when they eventually part ways, Spider-Man assured of her continued survival and relative health, Michaela just happy that she's checked off one of her boxes on the ever-growing list of things she needs to accomplish. Not that visiting Spidey is a chore, but she's been busy.

(Her finals, by the way? Better than expected, though Matt had to drop by one night when she was one Photoshop glitch away from jumping off the fire escape. Turns out his presence is soothing in all types of situations, devil suit not required)

Michaela, spirits buoyed and now informed of where she can get the best milkshake in all of New York, is on the subway home when her phone beeps with an incoming text. She almost reaches for her regular phone before registering the unique tone of said beep and switching gears.

Hope you're free to chat, reads the message from Jessica Jones. Michaela would take a minute or two to panic about that (because from Jessica that is anything but a friendly invitation to shoot the shit), but her phone rings a second later and she answers it on auto pilot.

"Confirm something for me," Jessica demands, skipping right past any sort of greeting.

"Uh," Michaela says, blinking. "Shoot."

"Were you in the hospital last year?"

Michael's thoughts snap to her time with SHIELD instantly. Her pulse ticks faster. "Um." She swallows and says, "November fifth through the seventh, that's when I got discharged." There're no pleasant circumstances that would prompt Jessica to call her over this, and Michaela is all too aware of that. "I have a guess, but why are you asking?"

"I found the connection between the missing people, and you're not going to like it."

Fuck. "Yeah, yeah that's about what I figured."

"They were all in the hospital – some of them at Lenox Hill like you, others scattered around Manhattan – same time period as you, same symptoms. All of them exposed to whatever gas got released during the Avengers brawl-of-the-week. A few of them stayed longer than you, apparently because they were doing worse – can't really get details unless I go the illegal route so this is what I've scrounged up from interrogating people over the phone. This mean anything to you?"

Spidey and Matt might be the only ones among the vigilante buddies to know her so called origin story, but Jessica is far from incompetent; she's probably guessed that Michaela's powers are a result of the gas, if only because of how coincidental the timing is. She might not know Michaela's name but she knows Blackout came on the scene only a few weeks after the attack. It's not hard to make the connection between her status as an up-and-coming hero and a string of disappearances involving people who experienced the same unknown chemical attack as her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Someone's targeting Inhumans.

And Michaela's got an uncomfortable inkling as to who that someone is.

"This fucking wizard."

"That's really what you're calling this guy? A wizard?"

"Okay, you can ask anyone, I'm not creative with nicknames."

"Right. Whatever. That's my big revelation. I don't have any leads on any of these people, but I'll keep you posted."

"God, yeah, thank you, Jessica, this is..." Terrifying, mostly, but she's appreciative, nonetheless. Jessica didn't have to do this for her, share information with her. "Thank you."

"Hope you get somewhere with your wizard."

Michaela stuffs the phone back into her bag, her stomach in knots. Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, splintering the black with shots of color, she shoves down the urge to scream, chokes everything down and breathes. Breathes through the ache in her chest and the tingling at the base of her spine. Through the glances she's no doubt getting, strangers curious or annoyed about the woman practically panting into her hands and bowed so far forward her forehead is nearly grinding into her knees.

She's having a panic attack on the subway, and amazingly, it's not the first time this has happened. Fuck, she hates this, hates it, the fist gripping her lungs in a vice, the sweat at her temples and the cold, clamminess of her hands. She hates this fucking wizard. She hates—

God, it's not worth it.

Wheezing out a breath, Michaela sits back, eyes closed against the glare of the lights. Her heart is still racing and her hands are trembling, even clasped together in her lap, but she's coming down from it, slowly, moment by moment. No one's tried to touch her, to see what's wrong, and on some level it's jarring that no one would lend a hand to someone so obviously in distress, but really, she's only grateful for it; in this state she's liable to fry anyone who puts a hand on her. Or the entire subway car. It's a toss-up at this point how much control she could muster in a split second to prevent whatever catastrophe she might inflict on these people.

The subway rocks around her, and the low murmuring of the couple beside her (a foot of space between them, which prior to her attack hadn't been there) almost soothing with how she doesn't has to pay attention to it, can just let it wash over her and drown out the static of her thoughts. She tries very hard not to think at all the rest of the way home, and her success rate is probably somewhere in the low thirties, percentage wise.

She'll deal with the wizard, she will – though now she's thinking Matt might've been right all those weeks ago. She's gone it alone for quite a while now; it might be time to let someone in on this.