He passed out on her.

It was possibly the most unusual, unexpected way the night could have gone. Aishe Zierau had been walking home to her apartment when it happened. She always knew that walking the streets of Hell's Kitchen at night would get her in trouble one day, but nothing bad had ever come of it.

Until now.

By the time she registered she was being pulled into the dark alleyway, it was too late to scream for help. The harsh brick wall bit against her back through her thin work clothes, and the sharp autumn air bit sharply into her lungs.

Two large men blocked her pathway, smiling hungrily, the way stray dogs drool over a piece of meat. She was vaguely aware of her mouth moving, panicked words coming out, but she couldn't hear it over the roar of her heart in her ears as she cursed herself for her stupidity.

And just like that it was over, the men sprawled across the ground, blood oozing sickeningly from the side of one's head. The man in front of her was panting harshly, dressed in all red and black. Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized the sharp little horns on top of his head and she cursed herself in panic while the name Daredevil bounced through her skull. She had just opened her mouth to say something, probably squeak in fear or beg for mercy or something like that when he took one step forward and collapsed on top of her.

...Wait, what?

Wasn't that her job?

...Oh no.

Matt woke up, sore all over and bone tired. He registered foggily that the couch he was on wasn't his own and then that the room he was in wasn't even in his apartment and then he panicked and—

A gentle, if not shaky hand pressed against his chest.

"Um," a small, hesitant voice came from his right. "I think you should maybe lay back down."

He swung his head to the side and winced when the action pulled at his reoppened cut.

"Where am I?" he demanded lowly. He chased away the guilt when he heard the girl's heartbeat skyrocket nervously.

"Um, y-you're in my apartment, you um...passed out on me in the alleyway where you uh. Kind of knocked those two guys out. Thanks...for that by the way."

Aishe blinked when he shifted his head again, tilting it towards her. He opened his mouth again but then shut it tightly with a thinly veiled grimace.

"Who are you?" the masked man grunted.

"O-oh! I'm. I'm um. Aishe. Uh. I don't. Think you would be willing to tell me your name...would you?"

If she could fully see his face, she would have sworn he was giving her a bland look. After a minute of him staring quietly at her, she laughed nervously, wincing when she heard her voice go an octave higher than usual.

"W-well, um. Let me, uh, get you a glass of water...or something?" She wrung her hands anxiously.

"Water is fine," he finally said.

"Okay! Um. Good. Yes. I will, uh...go get that. Right now."

She saw a ghost of what could have been an amused smirk flit over the lower half of his face as she hurried into the kitchen of her tiny apartment and grabbed a relatively clean glass.

He sipped at it slowly when she handed it to him and grimaced.

"Are you hurt?" she yelped, reaching towards his shoulder. He leaned away sharply from her touch, and she flinched.

"Nothing I can't fix later," he muttered gruffly.

"Oh. Um...okay," she replied doubtfully.

"How did you get me in here without being seen?" he asked suddenly.

She stuttered hastily. "Uh..."

He set a hard...look? Face? Mouth expression? On her

"I, um. Dragged you? Here?"

"You dragged me here," he said blankly.

"I dragged you here," she confirmed.

"How?"

"Uh...through the alleyways? I mean I've had to take them to get home before and my apartment wasn't that far anyway. I mean, I've never been mugged before, but sometimes I just wanted to take a quicker way home or, like, you know, get away from creepy drunk men who would catcall me from their cars and stuff. I mean. I had to drag you because you're like. Really heavy. Like really heavy, so I couldn't pick you up or anything but I could like, drag you on the ground kind of?" she squeaked.

"You dragged me on the ground," he stated.

"By the leg," she added.

It was silent for a long while. Aishe studied the man on her couch. He was tall, well built. She could see why so many were afraid of him. With his outfit and his gruff demeanor, he seemed. Well. Demonic. But for all the stories she had heard about him horrifically beating criminals, she had heard at least two of him saving women from being raped, children from being sold. He was...surprisingly at ease.

Little did she know, he was struggling to keep calm and not vault out the window at the nearest opportunity. The shoulder Claire had just stitched up was screaming at him and every time he moved, the deep gash in his side pulled tightly. The nurse had warned him not to do any vigilante work for the next few nights ("I would really prefer it if you didn't show up at my apartment at three in the morning tomorrow night too.") but he had gotten wind of a situation downtown. A cop's kid. Eight men. They were planning on selling him off to some human trafficker.

His head swam hazily. Had they gotten him in the head too? He couldn't quite recall. All he remembered clearly was grabbing the kid, depositing him as close to the police station as he dared, and calling him in. And then he had heard a young woman pleading from a distant alleyway and pushed his body towards the sound, ignoring the sticky feeling of blood running down his shoulder and chest.

"You're okay?" he asked.

The girl, Aishe, lifted her head, as if she had forgotten he was there. "Oh. Yes, I-I am. Thank you. For that. I um. Don't know what I would have done without you."

He grunted softly as he pushed himself off of the couch on unsteady arms.

"Good," he said. "I have to go."

"W-wait!" she yelped. "You're hurt!"

He smirked tiredly again, that same half there expression that she wasn't sure was really there. He fumbled around for her window, finally unlatching it and pulling it open.

He paused, halfway out already.

"Aishe, was it?"

She nodded, dumbstruck at the injured man about to throw himself out her window.

He nodded shortly. "I wouldn't recommend walking home alone this late in the night anymore."

And with that, he vaulted out the window, leaving no trace except for a small bloodstain on the couch and the open window. When she looked, the masked man had already melted into the thick shadows of Hell's Kitchen. She closed the window numbly and sank into the couch, the bills sitting on her counter long forgotten.