Alison's POV
(bellamysgirl)

I sighed, looking at Frank across the small table between us. He was watching the street quite intensely. "And here you were saying I needed to relax," I commented, semi-sarcastically. I took a sip of my coffee and his eyes shifted to mine. I raised my eyebrows expectantly. "Because you do. I'm the escaped convict, remember?" he replied, calmly. "It's my job to be keeping an eye on things."

I titled my head in an expression. "I can do more than just sit here and look pretty."

"Let's not do that," he suggested, turning his head more toward me.

I gave him a look. "But you did it anyway."

"Okay." He sighed, giving an almost flippant nod, looking away.

"Why do you care who does the heavy lifting?" I asked, genuinely curious. "I own a gun, and I know how to use it. It's not like I'm defenseless."

"Because I love you and I want to protect you. This is my mess—I'm not letting you get hurt trying to clean it up, okay?" he replied, looking back at me. The look in his eyes was intense, focused. I knew he meant what he said. It didn't stop me from wanting to help more, but it was enough to shut me up. It was quiet between us for the longest time. It was back to watching the street and pretending not to notice what I did.

I sighed and looked down at the half empty basket of fries a few inches from my coffee. When we arrived, I said I wasn't hungry. But Frank ordered for me anyway and when the food got here I couldn't stop myself. Stress-eating is starting to become my super power. That, and ignoring the obvious. I should get a medal. My stomach seemed to turn at the idea of eating now, so I shifted my eyes to my mug.

It was a solid ten minutes of quiet. I was beginning to think he was ignoring me. Then Frank suddenly asked, "Who was the last guy that kept walking?"

I glanced up from my coffee, pausing. I knew I should've said that at the Café. Nice job, Alison. Incriminate yourself even further. Instead of not seeing me at all, now his eyes were burning a hole through me. I swallowed. "Uh…my ex."

"Who was he?" he asked, neutrally. He took a drink from his coffee and I took that second to gather my thoughts. He probably already knew that I was the one that killed him. What could be the harm in telling him my war story? I mean, I've heard all of his. Well, for one, he could cease to like you anymore because you're a murderer. Then again killing people is what he does. Would it really bother him that much? Probably not.

I exhaled, tightening my fingers around the ceramic mug in front of me. "James Wesley—he worked for Wilson Fisk."

His eyes were instantly on me, a mixture of surprise and seriousness spread thin across his features. I rounded my eyes in an expression and chuckled nervously, "I know, it was bad. What can I say? I was nineteen, fresh outta high school…he was older, and charming, and had lots of money. I fell right into that trap. I only found out it was a trap when it was too late." I shrugged a little.

"Was he abusive?" he asked, his tone almost curious. He looked to be bracing himself for my answer—focused eyes, tense posture, soft features. I nodded slowly and his eyes shifted down as he sighed through his nose, readjusting his position. He looked up and out at the street for a moment. Then he turned back to me. His eyes seemed to be having a hard time staying in one place—especially when that one place was me.

"What happened?"

"Uh, well…" I inhaled, exhaled. "I got pregnant when we were dating and I made the mistake of telling him about it. He'd only been mentally abusive until then. He wrote me a check and told me to 'take care of it'. But I said no…and he tried to kill me. I ran and I thought I lost him—until he resurfaced last year. He claimed to be the good guy now but…I didn't believe him. I mean, why would I, after what he did? One night, he kidnapped me and took me to some warehouse. Said it was to protect me. I didn't believe that either."

I shook my head at myself, scoffing at the thought, staring into my coffee. That almost endless seeming, black liquid. Might as well just rip off the band aid. Just say it, Alison. I sighed heavily in indecision and forced myself to look back up at Frank. "I told him to stop and he wouldn't listen—he wouldn't stop walking—and…I don't know what happened, I just…pulled the trigger," I continued, struggling to speak at all.

I couldn't make my voice loud enough. "Sounds to me like self-defense. You were scared, he was out of his skull, you shot him—no one's fault but his," he said, with a small shrug. His head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowing a bit. "So why are you acting like you pulled a Punisher?"

It honestly surprised me to get that reaction. It was a relief that I desperately needed. I chuckled a little at the term and shook my head, glancing out the window. I paused, "I guess I just…I should've believed him, you know? All the signs were there—he was telling the truth, and it was so obvious...to everyone but me. He shouldn't have died that night."

His eyebrows rose, giving me an almost dumbfounded look. "Even after what he did to you?"

"Oh, trust me, he deserved a lot worse than death," I assured, sitting back a bit. "But it wasn't what I wanted, killing him. And it shouldn't have been me that did it."

"If it were up to me, that piece of trash would've been in the ground the second he laid a hand on you," he said, seriously. He leaned back in his seat, turning his head to scan the street again. There was no denying that he was completely genuine in his statement. My eyes were stuck on his for a moment. He wasn't even looking at me, but I couldn't look away. He had no idea how long I'd spent crying over James.

How horrible I felt after what I'd done. But he just shrugged it off, like it was no big deal—something that happens every day. He didn't care that I killed someone in cold blood. It caused me to smile a little, glancing down. I looked back up at him after a second. "Thank you," I nodded a little. His eyes switched left, landing on mine. "Really, I…I needed to hear that."

He eyed me a moment. "Why didn't you shoot me?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it, thinking. Why didn't I? Did I not want to make the same mistake twice? Yes. Was I not even sure Frank was the bad guy? Yes. But neither of those seemed to fit in my mind. In the pit of my stomach was a seed of realization swirling with a sinking boat of fear. Though a spark of joy came from my thoughts, it felt like I was about to suffocate.

I inhaled against the constriction of my rib cage, opening my mouth again. "There are probably a lot of long winded excuses I could use. I think I'd just be wasting time, though," I said, inwardly stalling. It was hard to focus on words when his eyes were so intensely scrutinizing mine. "Honestly, Frank, I...I've gotten so much flack for all of this and it would be a lot easier for me to just say goodbye and walk away. But I can't."

"Why not?" he asked, like saying I couldn't was absurd, sitting back. "Like you said, it would be so much easier if you walked away."

"Because I don't want to lose you. You're the one good thing in my life that hasn't left me," my voice dropped a little at the last bit. Frank was watching me closely, his eyes scanning me, trying to see if I was lying. But I wasn't. "And, yeah, there's all this violence and guns and people trying to kill us—but I wouldn't trade it for anything."

His eyes looked down at the table, his features completely relaxed in thought. My insides were wound tighter than a rubber band ball. They were just waiting to snap, and they would, too, if he didn't respond fast enough. He looked up at me. There was just a hint of a glossed over tint to his eyes. They were reflecting the light, like they held just a little too much water. "You really mean that?"

"Yeah…" my fingers crawled across the table top to find his, latching on as they intertwined. "I do."

Dani's POV
(Nightwing27th)

A guy walked past me, completely oblivious. We were in China Town, cracking names and taking skulls. We landed on a drycleaner's. Snuck in, as usual. No one ever uses the front door these days. I smirked, slowly following the man. He spoke…Chinese, I think, into his walkie. He stopped and continued talking. Daredevil jumped out of hiding and knocked him out, with ease, tossing the gun.

I continued as he finished. I heard someone coming and ducked to the side, around a square support beam. My bow was drawn, an arrow ready. I waited for him to get a little closer. He had his gun drawn, seeing his past out friend. I take one step to shoot…when my phone rings. Suddenly, Boom Clap by Charli XCX started blasting like we were at a stinking concert. "Oh, my goodness," I sighed.

The guy turned toward me and fired his semiautomatic. I rounded the post to the right, coming out on the other side. I aimed and fired, shooting the gun out of his hands. Daredevil jumped in and took over, the song still playing. I really should've had that on vibrate. And I usually do! Figures…the one time I don't.

I quickly rifled for the phone. I found it, quickly switching on the earpiece in my mask. Clint helped me…acquire the things I needed for it and then Potter put it in. It's completely sealed off. Meaning, no matter how hard he tries, Matt can't listen in. Best invention ever. I glanced up. Daredevil was staring at me, standing over the guy.

"I know," I sighed. "It's Alison." I accepted the call, sliding the phone away. "I'm a little busy." We started walking to the back. I heard a sigh on the other end. "Did you find anything?" I recognized Frank's voice and sighed. Actually it was more of a grunt in annoyance.

"No," I pulled out an arrow and slid it into place. "Nothing we didn't know before."

"'We'? Red with you?"

"Surprisingly, yes." I heard a door open ahead and took cover in the hanging clothes. Daredevil went left, slowly approaching it. Frank was talking but I wasn't hearing what he was saying. "Yeah, just…hold on." I slowly walked down the aisle. Two guys appeared from a secrete hatch in the floor. Daredevil jumped the first guy, kicking the second back.

I stepped out and shot the second in the knee. I jammed my knee up into his chin and then back handed him with the bow. I straightened, breathing heavily. "Sorry about that," I said into the ear piece. "Where were we? Oh, yeah. Where are you?"

"I'm going down," Daredevil said. You can't wait TWO minutes?!

"Okay," I said. He turned and walked down the stairs.

"We're at a diner. You?" Frank asked.

"China Town."

"Why?"

"We're looking for the Blacksmith's enemy. Which is supposedly here. If we press hard enough, it could lead us to him. Or, to another clue. How are thing's there?"

"Fine."

"That's code for it's not, right?" I sighed.

"Yep."

"Need me to come down there?"

"No. You keep looking." Frank hung up the phone.

"Rude." I clicked off the ear piece and then headed down the stairs, bow at the ready. I closed the door behind me and then continued. The stairs didn't go down far. It was just two flights. I walked down the first and then made a sharp left turn. Daredevil was talking with an old Asian woman. One I recognized. Gao.

I walked down the remaining steps and stopped next to Daredevil. She sat about ten feet in front of us, behind a table, painting. She was perfectly calm. A younger Asian woman sat not too far behind her. "And his Angel," Gao said, looking at me. "I've been hearing…rumors about you. Tell me, are they true?"

Alison's POV
(bellamysgirl)

Frank slid my cell phone back across the table and I took it, putting it back in my pocket. He looked like he was just about to say something, but then his attention shifted to the window beside us. Suddenly his features hardened again. "Alison, you need to go. Get the waitress. Tell the cook and anyone else who's back there to find the biggest piece of steel and get under it," he said, looking over my shoulder.

My eye brows knitted together a little. "Wait, what's going on?"

"The Buick—it rolled around the block three times before pulling into the parking lot," he explained, looking back out the window. "You need to go. Now, Alison." I wanted to protest, say I could help. But the look on his face told me not to try this time. I quickly slid out of the booth-like seat to stand. My feet took me behind the counter before I could even think about it and I grabbed the waitress and started leading her to the back.

"What's going on?" she asked, panicked.

I sighed. "There are some bad people outside, alright? You need to hide." She and the cook hid in the kitchen under the metal counters. I went through the kitchen and slipped into the narrow hall by the bathrooms that opened toward the front. My feet instantly froze and backtracked a couple steps when two men in black came in the front door. Great. At least there are only two this time. I had no doubt that Frank could take these idiots.

But it didn't stop me from worrying. And it didn't stop me from inching up to the corner of the hall, either. I slid my gun from my belt and pressed my back against the wall, then dropped the clip enough to check for ammo. It was full. I carefully slid it back in and locked it into to place—without making too much noise. This might actually be fun. It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel. I jolted at the sound of the first shots.

Game time. I racked a bullet into the chamber and peered around the corner of the hall. Frank had one guy's arm pinned against the counter, and they struggled for his gun. I turned enough to get a good view. Then I aimed and fired. My bullet hit the guy's wrist. He cried out and Frank shot two rounds into the guy's stomach before tossing him to the ground. He charged at thing two next.

Thing two grabbed Frank's gun with one hand, while Frank tried to wrestle away his gun in the other. They were deadlocked a second, sending a bullet into the closest table beside them. Thing two rammed his head into Frank's, causing Frank to recoil, letting him slip away. I sighed in frustration, fired twice around the corner, and dove across the aisle to the other side of the diner. The bullets both hit thing two.

One hit his thigh and the other his shoulder. Frank grabbed the man's gun as thing two writhed in pain and aimed it upward as it fired. Thing two pushed away, sliding on his back onto a booth seat. He cocked his shotgun and Frank dove over the counter just before it fired. The bullet exploded a small stack of plates and cups on the counter, shattering them into a fine dust that wafted up into the air like baby powder.

Thing two moved behind the counter as fast as he could with the hole in his leg, arriving just as Frank was standing up. Here we go. Thing two instantly sent his fist right into Frank's face. I instinctively cringed. They exchanged missed punches, ducking and swinging, as the two moved backward toward the front of the diner. Frank saw his opportunity and managed to get the upper hand on thing two, slamming his head into the counter.

Then he slammed his face into the hard surface once more before sending his fist into thing two's jaw repeatedly. I lost count after five. But somehow thing two slipped back just in time to miss another swing, backing into a station full of cutlery. He rummaged a quick second before whipping out a butcher knife. Okay, this has gone on long enough. I slipped out from behind the small section of wall I hid behind and dashed across the aisle.

I placed both hands on the countertop and pushed down, swinging from the waist down over the top of the counter. My feet went straight into the side of thing two. He slammed into the wall and counter to his right, causing other knives and tools to clatter to the ground. I landed on the other side of the counter as thing two whirled to face me, swinging his knife. Instinctively, my whole body lurched back a step.

My jacket just barely missed getting sliced. He swung once, twice—missing both times—and then I slammed the butt of my gun into his left temple, extremely close to his eye socket. There was an odd, almost wet crunch sound and he screamed, a hand flying to his eye. I took the opportunity to grab his head and pull it down as I hiked my knee up. His face collided with my knee in a hard thrust.

Then my fingers gripped his jacket and shoved him to the right, into the wall. His head bounced off and he was flung back. His back hit the edge of the counter and his knees buckled, toppling him to the floor. My chest heaved as I looked up. Frank didn't look too happy with me. But he wasn't looking at me for more than a second before he stepped out from behind the counter, eyes on the floor. He stopped moving and a muffled cry sounded.

Thing one. He's still alive? I quickly went to the break between the counters, stepping around Frank an inch to see. Sure enough, thing one was reaching for his gun. But he couldn't because Frank's foot was pressed on his wrist. Frank reached down and grabbed the gun off the floor. "Frank…it's done," I puffed, the adrenaline wearing off. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not letting this trash get away." He slammed his foot into thing one's side, causing him to groan and roll onto his back. Frank then turned the man's head with his foot, forcing it to stay put, and he aimed his gun at the thing two—who was slumped against the wall on the floor where I'd left him. "Frank, don't-"

The gunshot rang out before I barely even spoke two words. My whole body startled slightly and my feet instinctively moved back a step. Frank removed his foot from thing one's face, but only for a second before he pulled the trigger again. This time the bullet went into thing one's face. Blood sprayed and I quickly tilted my head back, looking up at the ceiling. I closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath, then I looked to Frank.

He was breathing raggedly with blood dripping from his lips. As if he needed any more bruises than he already had. I swallowed and stepped over to him, sliding a hand onto his shoulder. "Frank? Hey-" he instantly turned his head enough to see me, as if coming from a deep thought. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

He shook his head and I breathed a small exhale of relief, nodding. Nothing could really cause the nausea bubbling up in my stomach to subside but at least it was something. It took every ounce of will left in me not to look down. Because I knew, if I did, all I'd eaten for the past week would be on the floor. "Nice work back there," he suddenly said, his voice nothing but gravel. "You do that just to show off?"

I huffed a chuckle and shook my head, exhaling. "We better get out of here before the waitress calls the police. You're sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Why?" He sounded like he had no idea why I would be asking that. I absentmindedly brushed my fingers over every inch of his face to check for cuts I couldn't see in this awful lighting. "You look like you just got hit by a truck," I replied. My eyes shifted up to his. He still wasn't getting it. "In the face." I didn't feel anything so I looked around at the counter. My eyes stopped on a silver napkin holder not too far down the counter from us.

I sidestepped and leaned over, reaching for it. My fingertips just barely brought it my way enough to grab. I brought the container back over and yanked a small wad of paper napkins from the opening, then sat it on the corner of the counter. I turned to Frank sliding my left hand up to rest at the base of his skull. Then I brought the napkins up to carefully dab up the blood slowly dripping from his mouth. He didn't say anything, didn't try to stop me.

Just stood there and let me do whatever I wanted. His eyes were unmoving, watching me closely. It was hard not to squirm under his intense gaze. But I stayed put and finished mopping up the blood. Maybe it was the doctor inside me that helped me finish. Either way, I twisted and dropped the blood-soaked wad of napkins on the counter, then turned back to him. "You don't have to do this," he shook his head a little.

I raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"I can finish this on my own. You can get out now—while you're still in one piece, yeah? Just go home and I'll find you when it's over," he finished, with a worn demeanor. I understood exactly then where he was coming from. Even if I wanted to go home, there was no way I could make myself get in that car and leave him here. I sighed, dropping my shoulders, and took the gun from his hand. It was still warm from being used.

I dropped the clip into my hand and eyed the bullets inside. "We'll need ammo if we're gonna finish this thing," I shoved the clip back in and looked up at him. I smiled a little. "Off to restock at Dani's?"