She should have been expecting it. She was a well known forensic anthropologist for the FBI. It wasn't like people couldn't recognize her. And she should have figured that sooner or later, a criminal would recognize her. She spent most of her time in the lab, but she did testify. Quite a bit. And in a city like New York, that meant that a lot of people were going to know that she was the person who could connect them to their victims.
She'd just been walking to her car when it happened. She'd been out for a late dinner in Hell's Kitchen, as there were some pretty good places near her apartment. And maybe she was hoping to run into a familiar face, though not quite as literally as when they'd met. She sang and danced on the way to the car, watching the way her skirt twirled with her movements. And then it all went wrong.
She heard something in Russian, which was a language she did not speak but could recognize, and then a bag was going over her head. She screamed, trying to force every bit of air in her lungs into it. She could only hope that someone heard. Even if it was the man in the black mask that everyone talked about. That man that had all of the higher ups at the Bureau going crazy, trying to figure out what to do with him. He wasn't a superhero like the Avengers were. He was a man in what was basically pajamas, beating people up in the dead of night. These people just so happened to be criminals.
"Shut up!" Someone hissed in an accented voice.
"Don't touch her," a different voice said, very close to her.
"Ah, the man in the mask. Why don't you show us who you are?"
"Let her go."
She heard a gunshot, and she heard the bullet ricochet off of something, and then the sound of fighting. Gasps and groans and the sounds of punches being thrown. She had her hands bound behind her back, but she tried to scurry for cover as best she could. She ended up tripping. Of course. Because she couldn't stay on her own two feet to save her life. But it didn't matter after all. The sounds were ending, and then cautious hands were helping her up. Her hands were unbound, and then the hood was removed.
"Are you alright?" he asked gently, tilting his head just a little.
"Yeah. Thanks to you." She put a hand to her head. "I'm a little woozy." The adrenaline had to be wearing off, because she was pretty sure she hadn't hit her head, though falling on her arm was not the greatest feeling.
"You're bleeding. Your arm, where you hit the concrete. Just take some deep breaths."
She looked at him. The concern, the way he held himself. It was familiar to her. But she couldn't place it.
"Do I know you?" she asked quietly.
He smiled, and that's when it all clicked in Riona's head. She loved his smile so much, so of course she knew it was him.
"I've been in the papers," he answered. "Can you call anyone to get you home?"
"My car, it's right around here. It should be, anyways."
He put a hand on her arm. "Are you sure you're okay to drive?"
"Yeah. And I have a first aid kit in there. Trust me, this isn't that bad. It's just the adrenaline fading."
"Okay. I'll walk you there. Lock the doors as soon as you're inside of it."
"I will." She looked at him again. How could it be him? She knew it was, but she didn't know how. She walked to the car, watching as he kept shifting his head, as if trying to listen for something. "Well, thank you." She stood awkwardly by the driver's door.
"Be careful," he replied, and then he was gone.
"Matt?" Riona whispered after him.