Although insatiably curious about the explanation at this point, Matt was grateful for the reprieve to dial his senses back down. Back on that lonely beach, with no one but him and the person-turned sea creature-turned person again his senses had been on high alert, the sounds of the city distant enough he'd allowed more to slip through just to make sure they were alone.
Then the – well, the teleporting or whatever it was she had done, had scrambled his senses. And he still felt nauseated, but at least it gave him time to adjust slowly, eyes resting on the woman tending to his bruises (or at least the ones she saw) as he recalibrated himself. His mask was still atop his head but since he'd pulled it up earlier – and she clearly recognised him – there wasn't really a point anymore. He pulled it off before shuddering slightly at the droplets hitting him.
"Oh, I hadn't even thought- Would you like a shower?"
Showering in unfamiliar spaces was always uncomfortable; especially if the scents in their shower gel were overwhelming to him, but the salt crusting on his skin and hair were far worse so he nodded.
"If you wouldn't mind," Matt conceded, standing up as he watched her nod and following her into the bathroom.
"So, ah, I don't know how much you can see – or tell – so this is hot water," she gestured to a tap, "just turn it to the other side if you want it colder. Hot water is there permanently, so no need to worry about running out. You adjust the pressure with this lever. Feel free to take your time. The towel rail is a step past the shower door, straight ahead on the wall. I'll put some clothes outside for you. Don't worry, they'll resize themselves to you as you put them on. I'll get cooking unless there's anything else you need?"
Matt shook his head – Meissa had said she would provide explanations post their midnight dinner, but clothes which resized themselves? He could see Tony Stark doing it with technology, but he figured this wasn't that given the lack of explanation and references to a book with magic users.
Matt hadn't wanted to leave the shower – perfect heat, steam rising, and perfect pressure. He could live in her shower. It was perfect; but it really was bad form abusing her hospitality so much just after she found out he'd been stalking for her days. Or, well, technically it was bad form to abuse her hospitality at any point, but that's what it had taken to get him to move.
Well, that and the mouth-watering smells emanating from the kitchen which got him to move a little faster. And, as it turned out, the small clothing did resize in his hands as he put them on. It was the weirdest sensation. Foggy occasionally delighted in getting Matt to put on embarrassing clothing combinations – he hoped this wasn't the same. He could just imagine sitting in a hot pink shirt with neon green trousers.
Smiling slightly at the turn his mind had taken now that the adrenaline had run its course and he wasn't pressed for time anymore, Matt made his way to her dining table, noting everything had already been set out, as he passed his hands over it.
"Hey, Spaghetti Carbonara okay for you? I grew up making a lot of high calorie foods and while I'm learning new stuff, I figured you burn it all off anyway with your nightly escapades. But I didn't ask about food allergies or anything – I can still make something else if you don't-"
He touched her hadn, interrupting her mid-sentence.
"Spaghetti Carbonara sounds perfect," he said softly, watching a blush rise on her cheeks when her eyes met his, heartbeat ever so slightly increasing in pace.
She was beautiful. Here, in the early hours of the morning, standing barefoot in her own kitchen, frying pan in hand, hair cascading down her shoulders in messy waves, green eyes vibrant as always and sparkling, even under the synthetic light – she was magnificent and perfect. In that split second Matt wanted to see her lounging with him on picnic blankets in Central Park, wanted to see her toss her head back with laughter, see how much brighter and pretty she would look like bathed in sunlight. He wanted to see her being playful on the beach with him. Nestled up on the couch with him, watching TV, listening to her describe the scenes rather than rely on audio descriptive text. He wanted- god, he wanted everything in that moment. A thousand moments sharing dinner, a thousand Christmas spent bundled up in scarves and gloves, playfighting in the snow, a thousand moments like this one, where she would look at him and see him – all of him, Daredevil and Matt, and never let her eyes stray from his.
Blinking quickly, Matt forced himself a step back, dropping his hand, trying to quell the rising emotions inside him. He barely knew her, he shouldn't be feeling like this, acting like this. Matt had only entered puberty after being blind; beautiful to him was a steady heartbeat, sensitive skin – whether baby-soft or hardened from labour, he wanted to be able to touch and entice – but mostly it had been the person's voice and their scent which had to be compatible. And, of course, what they talked about. Unlike Foggy who could distract himself with a thousand things he could look at instead, Matt was stuck listening to their words; so unfortunately, even with the right voice and smell, he hadn't been able to bring himself to do more than flirt with some of the people he'd met.
Meissa used herbal scents – ones which he had now indulged in as well – and her voice was soft, now that she didn't have to be loud like in the café, but roughened. Matt could hear the slight hitches and imperfections that came through, as if her throat was scarred, but he didn't have enough medical knowledge to discern what from. She was witty, mysterious, clever and even if he wasn't already dying with curiosity about why he could see her, he would want to get to know her better.
The food was fantastic and the tea surprisingly soothing – enough so that Matt found himself blinking blearily after indulging in a larger-than-normal portion size.
He could hear the way her lips were tilted up when she spoke as it tinged her voice with laughter, "well, maybe we should wait until morning for the revelations. You look like you're about to drop off."
She wasn't wrong. Matt should feel discomfited in her clothes, her soundproofed apartment, unmasked and no one knew where he was – but he had not felt this relaxed in a long time and would hate having to force himself back into paranoia, which was normally a more natural state of mind than this quiet sense of peace.
"Just give me something," he finally said – if at least he had part of the mystery, he could puzzle over it in his sleep.
A thoughtful hum, then a curt nod.
"Well, we've established that you know of Harry Potter. That's me, by the way, or at least a close facsimile. I never could bring myself to actually read it, so I don't actually know how close Harry Potter's experiences follow my own but from what I gleaned so far, it's pretty damn close. Except for that Ginny thing. And I am from another dimension."
Her eyes gleamed with laughter and mischief but before he could question her on the most convoluted nonsensical story he'd ever heard, he saw her wrist twitch and a wand – a real life wand – snap into her hand. Or what he presumed was one, anyway, by the way she had curled her hand around it and by how little distance there was between the palm and fingers to accommodate anything larger than, well, a wand.
He heard a whisper and wand movement and the couch promptly changed – transfigured? – into a bed. Pillow and bedding followed suit by the soft sounds of rustling feathers and bedding. Matt vaguely wondered whether this was a Cinderella pumpkin-deal and he would wake up tomorrow because everything had snapped back into everyday objects.
Although, even if it did, he wouldn't regret even a second of sleeping in the miracle magic-made bed.
"Is this an invitation?" He asked with a careless wave in the direction of the former couch.
"Yes," she admitted with a blush, clearly not expecting him to call her out or be so blunt about it. Matt wondered just how far he could make her blush spread. If the tiny freckles dotting her cheekbones just below her eyes would be spread out over the rest of her, if he could trace it with his eyes, his fingers, his lips, if he would seem them highlighted or hidden underneath a fierce blush.
With a forceful exhale, quietly, Matt smiled at her.
"That would be great, thank you."
She glowed with the praise but waved it off, another wave of her wand sending their cutlery and plates into the kitchen to, well, clean itself? Wow. Now Matt wished he had magic.
"I have so many questions," he confessed, the back of his mind had been quietly adding to his tally of questions he had even while most of him was otherwise distracted and occupied by her. "But they'll hold. Thanks again for everything. And this. And I promise I'll explain the borderline stalking tomorrow as well. I hope you sleep well."
Matt already knew he was going to sleep deeper than he ever had before – and that was before Meissa closed the blinds and all outside sound suddenly cut off. He could only hear her breath and his, their combined heartbeats, the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the lights, the almost-silent creak of the floorboards underneath her, the water and splashes when she brushed her teeth and the rustling of the duvet and pillow as she went to bed.
Sleep comes easier than it should, despite the way his mind is still spinning and before he knows it, Matt follows Meissa into sleep.
When he blinks himself awake, Matt feels rested for the first time in a long time. He can hear her calm heartbeat, deep breaths as she inhales the scent of the hot chocolate she's made (it's the same one that she made for him in the café but without the coffee) and finds her eyes resting on him.
"What time is it?"
Her eyes flick to the side where he can hear the wall clock ticking away quietly.
"Two in the afternoon," she says calmly, taking another generous sip of her hot chocolate and pushing a mug towards him as well.
He should feel full of energy given the rarity of getting this much sleep – and not a restless one either, but instead he just feels lethargic. Following her lead, he lets himself drop to the ground, sitting cross-legged, and grasping blindly (ha!) for the mug in front of him, mimicking her inhale and absorbing the strong smell of cocoa and cinnamon. After a moment he takes a sip and finds it the perfect temperature and tasting just as amazing as the first time. It's like he can feel the heat spreading slowly throughout his body.
"This is perfect," he says quietly, allowing his eyes to trail upwards to meet her own. Her lips are quirking upward and a slight blush flares across her cheeks as she avoids his eyes for a moment, thanking him.
There are so many questions he has, that he wants to ask her but somehow one becomes far more predominant when his brain has run through her behaviour and her inability to accept compliments. He doesn't like the conclusion he's come to, one which has occurred to him before but one he's never focussed on but cannot help himself now.
"They were right about the cupboard, weren't they?" he asks, voice soft and quiet enough she could pretend not to have heard it if she wanted to but she nods anyway. He winces. He had wanted to affirm his suspicions, but he hadn't wanted to know, not really. He'd wanted it to be a lie, a fabrication or exaggeration made to create a more tragic origin story for a hero. Matt's mind is still trying to wrap itself around all the other things that must be true now too.
"I'm sorry," he says, gently resting his hand on hers. He doesn't think it's the right response even before she extracts her hand from beneath his and wraps it back around her warm mug, but he doesn't know what else to say. He is sorry – sorry that she suffered from abuse and neglect, sorry that it was likely perpetuated at school, sorry that he and millions of other people know about it, laugh about it, write about it, sorry that someone came to know her story and thought the best thing to do was to sensationalise it and sell it to the masses. There are so many things to be sorry for and he's not even sure which one he's apologising for in the end, but he is sorry nonetheless.
It is remarkably surreal to sit across from a self-declared witch who turned out to be from a storybook, but, well, he's seen – for a given value of 'seen' – her do magic, seen her turn from an orca into a human woman, and, well, nothing can beat the miracle of being able to see the strands of black hair uncurling from the nape of her neck where she'd tied it to slip forward and frame her face. To see her green eyes, the frown on her face or the smile on her lips, see every inch of her when he hadn't for so long.
"Sorry – I just realised I need to call Foggy and let him know I'm not coming into work today," Matt says suddenly when he remembers her saying it was afternoon now. And god, his phone isn't working. Matt will be so damn lucky if Foggy hasn't gone to the Police to report him missing.
"Oh, no worries. I already did that," at his raised eyebrows – because how did she know where he worked? – she elaborates. "Karen's come in a few times now, complaining about legal research and law firms. It wasn't hard to figure out from there when you firm is named after you. So I found the number and called her to let her know – she said she'll pass it on."
"Oh, thank you. But what about you? Aren't you usually at the café or library now, working?"
A careless shrug.
"I called in sick."
Matt frowned. "Sorry to be indelicate, but if you're working to jobs to pay the rent on this place, can you afford to take a sick day?"
There was a momentary pause where he saw Meissa frown, confusion darting across her face – every emotion was so present and visible, it was a delight watching her, even apart from the obvious – before it cleared quickly and gave way to bright laughter.
"Oh my god, I thought you read. I'm a Potter and a Black, there's rich and there's rich twice over. The Blacks and Potter had money for centuries enough to sustain swathes of land and large families. And although the families dwindled, the fortune didn't – because while there were certainly fewer people contributing, there were also fewer people using it. Plus I got so much money gifted to me after the war, my grandkids will still be rich. So, to answer your question," she finished with a wry smile, giving him a teasing glance, "yes, I can afford a sick day."
Matt releases a sigh; well it hadn't ever really been explicitly said, he didn't think and also the character in the book was male – how was he to know what was real and what wasn't? Well, at least one thing solved. Hold on- "How come I couldn't hear you when you were on the phone?"
Another sip of hot chocolate before she puts the mug down to explain. "Beside each light switch is a small rune sequence. No real ambient magic, so it has to be imbued with magic each time and held for as long as you want it to last, but as soon as the door is closed, it's complete sound isolation."
The puzzle pieces in his head snapped together with a satisfying clap as it all suddenly made sense.
"This is your apartment block – you built it. And the soundproofing. And… Marauder's Den. You own the café. And the library was opened only recently – you own that as well? Of course you do," he dismisses, before she can gather herself enough to answer, mind still running through everything he'd figured out with that one comment.
"And you have some sort of magic protection on the building. Ones which read… intent? But they only go up to the roof and don't cover the top of the building, if I understood you right?"
There was a small smile playing on her lips as she looked at him. Meissa appeared delighted instead of upset, so at least he hadn't appeared to offend her with his quickfire assumptions.
"Yes. You normally define clear parameters for what is protected, i.e. everything from point a to b, c and d and all that is within. Issues arise with things like the roof because the protection finishes beneath it. It's like my living room, a bit, yeah? It's connected to the dining room and kitchen, no doors between – or well, the kitchen has a door but it also has an open bar connection to the dining room. Anyway, point is, where would you put the limits? I can't soundproof this room from the kitchen, but I can sound-proof the entire apartment from anything outside or the individual rooms with the closing doors. Well, that's not quite true. I could put a larger than needed protection – or silencing ward – to encompass the area. But if I did that to the roof I would either have to define an area – and my arithmancy and rune-crafting is nowhere near good enough for that – or just let it go for several miles into the sky."
She huffed slightly swiping her hand in irritation at her hair to get it out of her way.
"Doesn't sound so bad, right? Except when you remember technology and magic don't interface so well. So aircrafts, helicopters and IronMan, drones etc going haywire whenever they cross the airspace over my home is not something I want to be responsible for."
Meissa shrugged again.
"There may be other solutions, but I never learnt more than I needed to know for our protection. And, well, usually I'd have Hermione to jump in whenever things got abstract – or complicated. Either with research or an already-made solution."
"You're amazing," Matt breathed out. "I know you're trying to say your friend is responsible but you're here, in another universe, another world, and you've not only adapted. You've extended your kindness and a helping hand to everyone around you."
He laughed a little then, stopping her before she could dismiss his words as empty, could put down her own accomplishments.
"The reason I was stalking you, by the way? I thought you were a ploy. Not just because I could see you, although that was a large factor, but that you were living in an apartment block where I couldn't hear you, where rent was astronomically low and preference given to the destitute, the ones with families. Because you were too good to be true. Only it turns out – you were all that. And more, so much more."
He wiped a hand over his face but his eyes found hers again, the moment he opened them, watching the blush dawn across her cheeks, the happiness, the embarrassment, and gave her a soft smile, his voice descending into a gentler tone.
"I can hear- everything. I can hear people's heartbeats. I can hear it when a domestic fight happens just a few blocks away. I can hear a baby crying and discussions held streets away. I can follow a single car for miles just by its sound. But you- this room is quiet. And the first time I saw you – the sounds faded. There was only you, because I could see you. I hadn't seen in over two decades and there you were with your smiles and that beautiful red blush," his hand stroked gently over her cheek, "and eyes so vibrant I'm sure it would put nature to shame. And, ah! There's that delicious blush again," he added with a wicked smirk when he could hear her heart racing at his not-quite confession.
"I don't know much about you but I feel like I know all-too-much about you already. I have more questions, but you don't have to answer any of them if you don't want to. And if you'd permit me, I would like to take you on a date. Well, I'd like a hundred dates," he amended, with another sly grin, watching as she ducked her head only to peek up at him through her lashes, "but let's start with just one, if you're amenable to me taking you out for tomorrow night?"
Her answering smile is slow and wide and simply gorgeous.
"I thought you'd never ask," she teases and he laughs openly, stroking her cheek once more, pressing a soft kiss to her head as he gathers himself enough to leave and prepare everything so he can wow this wonderful woman into maybe going onto a second date with him.
She looks at him, soft and open – vulnerable. This woman who has gone and won a war, is letting a poor lawyer and masked vigilante into her heart, and he wants to show her how much he admires her, wonders if he could convince her to let him cherish her and shower her in affection much as she should have been for her entire life and often been denied. He wanted to help her get to the point where she could see how amazing she was, how much she was worth, how strong and how wrong all the people in her life who had mistreated her had been.
Instead of saying too many things far too soon, before they'd gotten to know each other better, he pressed another kiss to her head and made his way home – and then to Foggy – after giving Meissa another lingering goodbye.
"Sooo," Foggy starts leadingly as he takes a bite of his snack, leaning back and with what Matt could only assume is a shit-eating grin on his face, continues, "if she owns the building, and you're dating her, and she buys you stuff, does that make her your sugar-momma?"
Matt gapes as both Karen and Foggy burst into loud laughter.
