"So," Matt starts as they're both wrapping their hands, "you gonna tell me your real name?"

He can feel the chagrin rolling off the massive frame next to him. "Would it really bother you if I didn't?"

Matt shrugs, standing and resting his signature red sunglasses on the bench, "I mean, I can deal. Just figured if I was going to kick your ass and take your name, I would need to know it."

The man lets out a laugh, a genuine one that has Matt surprised with how warm and lighthearted it sounds. "Let's just say, if you kick my ass then I'll tell you my real name."

Matt grins, "that's a bet I'll take."

He can't see the smile on the man's face, but he can feel it.

Matt's breath wooshes out of him as he ducks a barrage of blows, flipping up and around, using the man's knee to get leverage off of and try to cling to his back before springing off to the other side of the ring.

The man turns, his body shifting the air as he swings around. Matt's lucky this guy's heart beats like a drum because he can't even register the guy's breathing. Only the whistle of air alerts him to the oncoming fist and he leans, avoiding the blow and slipping under the guy's arms and around his back, kicking at him. But his back is like kicking a brick wall and Matt feels the way the shock reverberates up his leg and to his spine. "Ah—" he lets out a gasp and then ducks as he feels the swinging kick that would have knocked him in the chest.

The man pauses, as if registering Matt's noise, "you alright?"

Matt doesn't answer, just pounces forward, landing a jab against a torso that feels like sheet rock.

"Geez!" Matt growls out, shaking his fist, "what the hell are you wearing! Body armor?"

For some reason the man sounds guilty, "no."

Matt straightens and he feels the guy do the same. Maybe it should be awkward but Matt doesn't care, reaching out and placing his palm against the guy's chest. The man stiffens, like he's not used to being touched. And Matt can feel the warmth and the heat. The blood pulses quietly beneath the shirt and skin. There's a bit of give because skin is soft, but then it's like a brick wall, firm and unforgiving.

"Geez, what the hell kind of workouts gave you muscles like this?"

The man steps back just an inch, effectively detaching himself from Matt's touch, "a really painful one." Then it's like he's said too much, "it's just my job. Have to stay fit."

"Well, I want to know," Matt says with a grin, "always looking to strength train."

He feels as the man crouches again and Matt gets into a mirrored defensive position, "so, how are you fighting?" The guy asks, "I know you said you're enhanced, but describe what you mean."

The grapple a few more times, each landing a few hits that don't seem to do much damage other than be uncomfortable. Then Matt's crawling across the guy's back and kicking his knees to buckle him. The guy goes down but spins quickly, tangling his legs with Matt's and bringing them both crashing to the mat.

"I can hear your heartbeat. Your breathing. I feel the way the air moves around you as you swing. All my senses alert me to the way you affect the earth around you. Giving me a vague shape, allowing me to fight."

The man is shaking his head, hair scraping against the mat, "that's incredible. Truly."

And the guy's heartbeat tells him that he means it. Anyone who has come up against him has been afraid. Their heart rates betraying their fear. This guy couldn't care less.

"What about you?" Matt asks, untangling his legs and standing, feeling the way the guy mirrors his movements. "What are your enhancements?"

Unease rolls off the man in a wave, and it confuses Matt.

"What have you noticed?" The guy asks, his voice trying to be lighthearted but misses just a touch.

"Well," Matt says, before lunging, trying to get the drop on him, but the air swirls and the man spins out of his grasp. "You're obviously fast—" he throws two punches and then a kick, the man uses his forearms to block the punches and shin for the kick. Then the guy jabs left— oh it's a fake, man he's good, Matt barely dodges the right hook and just when he thinks he might be able to get a hit the the ribs, the man drops, hitting the floor, and twisting, throwing his legs up to catch Matt in the chest, "oof—" Matt breathes out, pushing off the ropes, "you're strong." Matt listens to the heart rate again, not elevated, not pounding. Neither is his breathing quickened, "you've got to have some type of endurance. You're not even winded yet." He hears the derisive snort of air that exits the man's nose, "you can see, and I'm thinking you can hear really well too." Then Matt grins, "I'm really hoping you're ugly, or else it doesn't seem fair." The man startles, straightening and Matt pauses, is that embarrassment he feels filtering the air? Like a slow smoke, radiating through the room, the guy's throat makes an odd sound. "what, let me guess, you like to workout in private cuz you've got buck teeth and a hunchback?"

"Something like that." The man whispers back, only the tiniest bit of humor included. Okay. So the guy is sensitive about his looks.

He can avoid that, "well, so to recap, we've got strength, speed, energizer bunny endurance, hearing, is that it? Any other abilities I should know abo—"

A kick to the back sends him sprawling and his face colliding with the mat. He flips over quickly but a foot is pressing him against the ground, not hard enough to do damage, but strong enough for Matt to know he could be held there if the guy wanted.

"Yeah," the guy says, and Matt can hear the teasing in his voice, "what happened to kicking my ass?"

Matt's stunned. "How—" he feels caught off guard. Something that hasn't happened in a long time.

"Rule number one about fighting someone. Don't tell them your abilities."

The foot gets removed and Matt sits up, "we weren't fighting. We were sparring."

The guy laughs, "sure, yeah, but you seem like a talkative guy. Want to make sure you don't get killed giving away your secrets."

The guy is joking with him, but Matt's still in shock, "but seriously how did you do that? Manage to slip behind me?"

"You told me what you can hear—" the man says, "so I stopped breathing, I slowed my heart rate, and I moved slow enough not to disturb the air."

The ease in which he admits to that makes Matt want to shiver. But he doesn't. "Well shit." He huffs out, "I'm not making that mistake again."

The guy laughs, "wouldn't work in a fight. I move too much, but while you were monologuing, I had the time." Again Matt's jaw drops open in surprise and the guy laughs that nice laugh again, "maybe you'll get the drop on me next time, huh, Matty?"

His chest constrict, heart rate elevating at the nickname, the name no one has called him since he held his dying father in his arms. So easy, so familiar off this guy's tongue. He feels the outstretched arm and he grasps it, allowing himself to be hauled up.

"You okay?" The guy asks, probably hearing his pulse racing.

"Yeah, just—" Matt can feel the pure force of life radiating off this guy. "Just haven't had my ass handed to me in a while. Kind of a good reminder."

The guy is grinning, Matt can just feel the sunshine warmth of it, "happy to help. Anytime."

"Next Tuesday, same time?"

The man is nodding and then stops, "can you feel me nodding my head?"

Matt laughs, unwrapping his knuckles, "yeah, I can." He almost wants to mention he can smell the guy's shampoo as the air moves through his shaking head. But he takes the guy's tip. Don't spill all your secrets.

"Okay," the man responds, "see you next Tuesday. Maybe bring a fighting spirit this time."

Matt drops his jaw in disbelief as the guy laughs.

—-

Foggy looks up, a grin on his face, "I passed!" He shakes the paper, "take that dad!" He points at Matt, "open it! What are you doing, let's go!"

Matt rips through the envelope and hands it to Foggy, "what does it say?"

Foggy's breathless as he reads, "we both passed!" He's shouting and Matt's grinning and Foggy's tugging him by the hand, "this calls for celebratory shots at Josie's!"

—-

Three weeks of Tuesday fights have left Matt sore but elated. The guy is an excellent fighter, proficient in many different forms although Matt has a feeling the guy is learning them as time is passing. So maybe his job is some sort of stunt work or maybe he's still in the military and he's being trained for stuff. The guy is a quick learner though. Matt likes having a partner to fight with that he doesn't really have to hold back.

Obviously they avoid heads, necks, and spines.

Foggy keeps asking where the hell he's going but he manages a decent excuse every time.

He's walking up towards the gym when a sigh of exasperation comes through the air. He pauses, listening.

"Yeah." The voice is annoyed, "I understand. 0800 tomorrow. Got it."

It's Grant.

0800.

So still military then. Interesting.

Matt turns the corner and sees the guy standing outside the door, shoving his phone in his pocket as he pushes open the gym door.

Matt enters and he's already taping his knuckles.

"Ready to finally get your ass kicked?"

It's an old joke. Matt hasn't won yet, but he hasn't really lost either, except the first night.

The man sighs, "yeah, it's now or never."

He pauses, feeling the way the warm moist air of the gym drives away the chill, "what does that mean?"

"I'm moving to DC." The guy says, "so I won't be able to come down here for these little spats of ours."

The genuine disappointment in the guy's voice warms him. They haven't really said anything but he can tell they've both enjoyed the routine of the fight.

"New job?"

"No, just relocated."

"I'm assuming you're not going to share details."

"Has my ass hit the floor yet?"

Matt flips him off and he hears the guy laugh. "If you don't want to go…" he says quieter, grabbing the tape off the bench, "why go?"

There's a deep sigh, "it's complicated."

Military contract then. No choice. It explains the sparse apartment. If he's always on the move.

"Well, if you ever make your way back to New York. You know where to find me."

"On the ropes." The guy says with a huff, some humor returning, "that's where."

"We will see," Matt challenges.

The next Tuesday Foggy asks if he's going to ditch again.

"Not tonight." Matt says. They head to Josie's.

Matt hears the same channels rumbling and whispering. Something big is happening. Except, instead of nervous, they seem excited. And that makes him nervous.

"Karen!"

Matt hears the call before Foggy even crosses into the office space, "turn on the news!" The door bangs open, "shit!" Then Foggy's catching himself and turning towards the small TV they have plugged in by the coffee machine, "turn it on!"

Karen, grabbing the small remote and pointing it towards the TV, shakes her head, her strawberry shampoo wafting out from her, "what is it?"

"Black Widow released all of SHIELD's files!"

Matt feels his mouth gape and he and Karen are walking towards the TV, "what?" They both breathe out.

"Look!" Then Foggy, ever mindful, "listen!"

—-Strange rumblings and reports are afoot in DC as Shield's confidential files were just minutes ago released nationwide. Trending on several different media sites and— The news anchor pauses and Matt leans forward, "what's happening?"

"She's being handed new papers," Karen answers back, he can hear her and Foggy's hearts racing.

I'm just getting word that three new Shield helicarriers are—

"They built new carriers?" Foggy asks, "since when?"

"After Loki they probably wanted to be prepared." Karen says quietly as the news anchor starts to try to explain.

Three new helicarriers are launching, and we now have confirmation through the documents, that Head of the Security Council, Alexander Pierce, is actually a double agent for— the news anchor chokes out a surprised gasp, — Hydra? The old Nazi organization?

Matt feels his mind reel, Foggy's sucking in a breath then letting out a slow, "whhhaaattt thhheee heeeellllllll."

Sources are confirming that— More information must be pouring in, — the men responsible for the freeway incident just days ago in DC are also Hydra, and they are—

Another interruption,

There's footage now— The woman says, we've got live cameras pointed at the carriers, and sources are confirming that Captain America and an unknown winged accomplice are attempting to—

Matt waves his hands, "I thought Captain America was here in New York?"

Foggy and Karen gasp.

"What!" He asks, "what happened?!"

"The carriers," Foggy replies, "they're shooting each other down—-" his voice trails off as he must be watching the footage and it's rare that Matt is frustrated by his lack of vision but this is one of those times.

"And?" He asks, prompting them.

Karen gasps, "They're falling—" she makes a stuttering breath in, "oh my gosh. One just hit the water—"

"Holy shit—" Foggy is repeating, "the other two carriers are falling apart, and—" they both gasp again as they make noises of surprise, "shit, that debris is hitting everywhere!"

"So…" Matt asks, "was Captain America trying to stop the carriers? Or help them?"

"I don't know—" Foggy says, "they haven't said."

We're going to be standing by live as this mess unfolds. Government and national security is at risk with these documents for grabs, we will be keeping you up to date as this story continues.

"Pull up the documents." Matt orders, "is Fisk anywhere in this?"

"Hydra?" Karen says in disbelief, "like how? Didn't they die with that psycho Schmidt in world war 2?"

Matt can hear Foggy typing on his phone, "oh shit, it was Operation Paperclip, the whole, taking in Germans and their knowledge thing—" Matt can hear him mumbling as he reads faster, "geez, they've been infiltrating Shield this entire time, they built the helicarriers too—" Foggy's voice gets tight, "as a way to take people or threats off the map. No jury, no judge, just execution style."

"Holy shit." Karen says and he hears her stand and start to pace, pushing back her hair, "so—"

All three carriers are now destroyed and on the ground, Shield headquarters is partially destroyed and there's no word on Captain America, Black Widow, or the man in the winged suit. Authorities are on the scene now—

The interruption quiets them.

"Avengers: 2." Foggy says quietly, "Villains: 0."

"But were they on the carriers?" Karen asks, "no one could have survived those going down!"

They stay quiet because they don't know the answer.

—-

Somehow the world spins on.

Just like New York, clean up in DC gets underway and Shield is dismantled into different factions. Or disassembled completely. Black Widow testifies and walks out of court. Word is that Captain America is alive, though no one has seen him as of yet. So Matt wonders if that's true or just to keep up morale.

It takes a while for all the pieces to fit together, but Matt realizes the channels he'd been listening to, where their ties belonged, were Hydra. They were alive and well in New York too apparently.

Although now they seemed scattered. The documents that the widow leaked condemning them all to be brought to the light sooner or later.

Most got caught, but Matt's sure some went to ground, so he keeps his ears open.

—-

"I'm just saying," Foggy just says, "we're never going to get that guy to talk. He's like a brick wall."

Matt sighs. They were stepping through Grand Central Station, having visited a witness at a prison further away than they usually had to travel.

"Mom, I swear! It was him, you hafta believe me!"

"Whatever you say sweetheart."

"It was him!" The child's voice whines as Matt listens to them pass, "it was C—

All passengers on the Harlem Line Departures, traveling to Crestwood, please head to track 28–

"—he's going to stonewall us and then make our client look like an idiot on the stand." Foggy is still talking, "I say we cut our loses and hope for a deal."

They step out of the doors and Foggy's about to hail a cab when Matt's hearing pricks his senses. He raises his head, zoning out all unnecessary sounds until he isolates the one that caught his attention.

A heartbeat.

Low and steady and strong.

He turns, zeroing in on the source, he walks towards it, feeling pulled, like it's a Sousa March and he has to keep up with the beat.

"Matt?" He hears Foggy call, "where are you going?"

But he turns the corner and—

"Grant!"

The heart rate changes briefly before settling, "Matt?"

"It is you! You're back from DC?"

They step off the main sidewalk, closer to the large marble walls, "yeah, I—" his voice is strained, "just got back a few days ago."

"Job relocation?"

"Uh…" the man says, a tint of irony in his voice, "more like… Job implosion."

Military. DC. Job implosion. Matt wants to grin but he doesn't. He'd bet anything this guy worked or used to work for Shield. Covert government espionage operation. No wonder he was a private guy. Hopefully one of the good ones. Previous experiences say probably.

"Matt!" Foggy's voice approaches, "what the hell!" Then he hears Foggy's intake of breath, "uh, hi?" He turns to Matt, and Matt can feel the anxiety rolling off Foggy, "one of your work partners?"

AKA someone who knows he's the devil of Hell's Kitchen.

"Uh…" Matt starts, "kinda, Grant, this is my firm partner, Foggy Nelson. Foggy, this is Grant…" He trails off, never having learned the guy's last name.

He can hear the brief handshake, "nice to meet you Mr. Nelson."

"Yeah," Foggy says slowly, "nice to meet you too." Then his tone gets wary, "I know you from somewhere? I swear you look kinda familiar. Voice too. We meet before?"

Anxiety rolls off Grant like a tsunami, "no, I don't think so. It was nice seeing you. Maybe I'll stop by the gym, huh? The usual time? See you around."

And just like that he's gone, around the corner, heart beat disappearing.

Matt turns to Foggy with a head tilt, "you recognize him?"

Foggy shrugs, the motion sending his cologne over, "I mean, he had a hat and sunglasses on, so I couldn't really tell, but he just seemed familiar. Maybe he has one of those faces."

Foggy's waving him over to a cab he's flagging down, the sounds of the city all back in place. Something about the interaction makes Matt's neck hairs stand on end.

He just doesn't know why.

—-

"So, you back here permanently?"

He hears the whirl as Grant spins around. Matt grins. He's been working on that. Slowing his heart rate and breathing to sneak up on people.

"Shit." The guy says, "I didn't even hear you."

"That was kinda the point."

He hears the tape drop to the bench. "I'm back for now. Don't really have a timeline."

Matt's not sure why he says those words in an ironic tone, but he doesn't question it.

"Well, I'm just glad you're back so I can officially kick your ass and learn your real name."

The guy is shaking his head, "why is knowing my name so important?"

"Why is keeping it a secret so important?"

"Let's just cut to the mat and you can whine about still not beating me or learning my name after."

Matt grins, "you're on."

—-

Something's different. Matt notices the difference in fight styles almost immediately. Instead of being up against a freight train, which is how Grant used to fight, using force, now the guy moves like a cat, light and limber, slipping around punches and flipping away from what might be bone crushing kicks.

So wherever he was he was training.

But as the fight progresses, both of them starting to breathe heavier, Matt notices another change.

It's subtle at first, mixed in with the adrenaline and life radiating off the guy.

Frustration.

Anger.

The man seems to be attempting to hold it in, but it's seeping out, filtering the air like a smoke that causes Matt's concern to grow.

Finally Matt slams on his back and he doesn't make a move to get back up.

The guy straightens, "you okay?"

"Yeah." Then Matt tilts his head, making sure he's facing and focusing just above where he can hear the air passing through the guy's nose. "Are you?"

"Yeah." The answer is too quick. "I'm fine." Forced.

"Uh, huh." Matt responds, "sure."

The guy huffs and starts unwrapping his hands, "I'll see you next week."

He's gone before Matt can even say, "okay."

—-

Matt thinks the guy's bad day has turned into bad weeks.

The next Tuesday finds him in the same mood.

Matt doesn't comment.

—-

"Where are you going?" Karen asks, the Chinese food wafting from the bag in her hands.

"His little fight date." Foggy responds, already tossing his files aside and grabbing plates.

"Fight date?" Karen asks, setting the plastic bag down.

Matt rolls his eyes, shifting his bag on his shoulder and grabbing his cane, "just a guy I spar with at the gym. It's nothing."

"How have I never noticed?" She asks, separating out the little white to go boxes.

"Just started up again," he hears Foggy snap chopsticks in half, "no promises on saving you any."

"You better." Matt responds, "or I'm leaving closing arguments up to you."

Foggy laughs and Matt makes his way out to the hallway.

It must be a really bad day.

Matt can't picture the guy's face, but he'd picture a tired expression and glazed eyes just from the aura radiating off the guy.

And because he's having a bad day, he's distracted.

And Matt learns something that pisses him off.

The guy has been holding back.

Matt dodges the fist only barely. He thought they were evenly matched, and in some ways Matt is more flexible or flowing in his movements. But not today. Matt can feel the frustration and confusion and desperation rolling off the guy, and he's more lethal when he's distracted. Punches that would have been mildly annoying are now definitely leaving bruising, and the crushing freight train of force is mixing with his new modern fight styles and it's everything Matt can do to just stay out of his grasp.

And he manages to avoid the barrage for a long time.

Until he's too tired. And a punch that he would usually dodge hits its mark. Sending him absolutely sprawling against the ropes.

He doesn't get up. Just groans and rolls onto his side and takes a deep breath, trying to see if his jaw is cracked.

A worried aura drops in front of him, "Matt? Matt! Are you okay?" Warm hands are gently holding his face, inspecting it, and Matt winces at the twinge in his jaw, the hands retract. "oh shit, I'm so sorry!"

Matt works his jaw, popping it and grimacing at the pain that flares and then settles. "It's all good. Geez, man. You been holding out on me."

The guy goes silent, "what do you mean?"

"I've been fighting you for like 2 years now. And I've never gotten a punch like that. I'm thinking you've been holding back."

The guy relaxes briefly before sitting on the mat beside him and huffing, "well. I generally prefer my friends without internal injuries. So yeah, I meter my strength."

"Friends, huh?"

Anxiety and embarrassment fill the air, "oh— uh—"

"Just messing with you man. I appreciate not receiving internal injuries." Then Matt reaches out and shoves his shoulder, "and glad we can be friends even if I don't know your name."

The guy just chuckles briefly and Matt can feel him nodding, "I didn't mean to use that much force, I'm really sorry."

"You're distracted."

"Huh?"

"Something's been bothering you since you got back. What is it?"

There's a long silence. The only sound their breathing and hearts.

"Just not the way I expected my life to go. You know?" The man's voice is soft and sad. "Had a lot of plans. Dreams. Things I wanted to do with my life. People I wanted—" his voice gets rough. "Friends and—"

"A girl?" Matt asks, teasing.

And there's something tragically sad about the guy's next words, "there was."

Matt tenses at the grief. Maybe she died…

"Anything I can do?"

"You're doing it." The guy responds, clearing his throat. "Just letting me be me. No judgment or assumptions. Helping me feel like at least one part of my life is normal."

There's a ton of context Matt knows he's missing. Even if his previously guessed pieces of the puzzle are correct.

"People tend to make assumptions about you?"

The man snorts as if that's the biggest understatement of the century. "Yeah." He says darkly, "you've got no idea."

"You could give me an idea. Maybe I could be of more help. I'm a really good lawyer."

The guy laughs, "I'll keep that in mind. But no, I'm good." He knows by now that Matt can feel his movements, reaching out his hand, "let me help you up."

"Least you can do for dislocating my jaw."

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm just joking." Matt assures. "Calm down."

The guy's phone rings.

Which is interesting because Matt knows for a fact he's never heard it go off before.

It's an old song that Matt doesn't recognize. No words, and the guy grabs it quickly. "Hello?" He says as he walks into the locker rooms away from Matt's range of hearing.

But Matt's curious.

So he breathes deep, slowing his heartrate and slipping up to the offices where he knows there's a hallway with a storage room and then a little cleaning closet where the vents connect down below.

"— two hours."

He catches as he settles down to listen.

"— busy. He can wait." A frustrated sigh, "yes, Sam is looking." A long pause. "I don't know, I don't know. He's trained to hide in case you've forgotten—"

A sigh of what Matt would describe as fond annoyance, "yes, I'm safe." Another pause, "why does it matter?" He hears a sad sort of chuckle, "yeah, that was kind of the point. You think I can't spot a tail? I may be old but I'm far from blind." It sounds like an inside joke he's missing. "Next time you try to tail me, Nat. I will lead you to Staten Island and trap you there. Got it? Let me have this little bit of space and regain some sanity. Lord knows Tony takes the majority of that away and I need all the help I can get."

Matt can hear the end of the conversation nearing, so he slips back down.

So now he has three names and none of them are Grant's. Tony, Sam, and Nat… most likely short for Natalie or Natasha, are common enough names that it doesn't help the identity case.

He's unwrapping his hands slowly when the guy walks back out. "Everything okay?"

He hears the guy grab his jacket and sling it on, "unfortunately I've got to go. But I should be back for next Tuesday."

"Sounds good. See you then."

Matt's on the phone this time when they are wrapping up. "No—" Matt sighs, "Foggy, you just need to press—" he laughs at the sound of Foggy cursing, "I left the fax number right—"

Grant holds out his water bottle, "brought you some water."

"Thanks." Matt responds, "Foggy, I'll be there in 20 minutes. Calm down."

"Come on!" Foggy pleads, "they're going to be on a float, we have to go!"

Karen is laughing, a muffled sound since she's trying to hide it behind a hand.

"They're just people." Matt says with a reproachful tone. "Not gods."

"Technically, Thor is a god." Karen corrects, then she laughs, "just saying."

Matt throws a glare her way, not sure if it helps since she just laughs more.

"I've only seen him in his iron man suit on the news! And it's the first public sighting of Captain America since the shit show in DC!"

"I won't be able to see them." Matt says with a hand wave, "just go without me!"

"But it will be a business venture!"

"How?" Karen asks.

"We can give Iron Man our business card!"

Both Matt and Karen laugh.

"When is it?"

"Four weeks from now." Foggy says, the sound of a flier in his hand, "coincides with the anniversary of the Battle of New York."

"But macabre." Karen comments, "isn't it?"

"I think it's more of a New York requested thing than an Avengers planning it thing."

"The money made from the businesses along the parade route are donating it to the charity that was set up for the victims."

"Oh," Karen'a voice is thoughtful, "I guess that's nice."

"So we're going?" Foggy's voice bares a smile, "yeah. We're going to go."

—-

"I'm too tired." Matt explains as he approaches him in the gym. "Please can we just go eat at some terrible diner while I down 6 cups of coffee?"

They've never done anything outside of the gym. But Matt had a bad round with three idiots 2 days ago and he's still healing. And he's just bone tired.

"Oh," the guy says, trepidation starting to wave off him, "we can just reschedule."

Matt frowns, but his voice is teasing, "what am I too ugly for you to go out in public with?"

"No." The man says and Matt can just hear the eye roll, "I just…"

"Just what? Don't like food?"

"No." Another annoyed eye roll he's sure is thrown his way.

"Are you too ugly to go out in public?"

"Matt—"

"I'm going to keep asking questions until you just agree."

"Fine." The man huffs, "geez. Is that how you win fights, annoy them into compliance?"

"I mean," Matt says with a smirk, hearing the guy grab his coat and what sounds like a hat off the bench, "whatever works."

"Where did you want to go?"

"Bar or food?" Matt offers.

"Food."

Okay… not a drinker. Interesting. "Let's go, there's a place nearby that is delicious and terrible for you."

"Sounds good." The guys laughs.

"I'll have the French toast." The guy is ordering, "can I get extra eggs and potatoes instead of the meat? And do you guys have sweet tea?"

"We do."

"Great, can I have a glass of that?"

"Of course,"

"Thanks, Ma'am." The guy says.

"Sure thing, sugar." The waitress, a woman named Wendy says. "It'll be right out." And Matt's senses prick in disbelief. She's flirting.

She collects the menus, Matt had ordered first, and he leans across the table, shaking his head, "you son of a bitch. You're a liar."

The man chokes on his water, "excuse me?"

"You're good looking aren't you?" Matt grins and leans back, "should have known."

"What?" The guy seems genuinely caught of guard, "I don't—"

"Well, I've been coming here since I was a kid and I haven't ever heard her flirt with a customer."

"Oh," the guy sounds like he's out of his element, fumbling, "it's not like that, she's just bein' nice."

"Whatever you say."

"So what's got you tired?" The guy asks, changing the subject.

"This group of poorly organized, yet highly violent drug traffickers are really being a pain in my neck. They keep multiplying. Everytime I take one out, it's like three more sprout, and I know it's them because they're stupid enough to carry guns branded with their group's symbol."

"What's the symbol?"

"It's the mast of a ship, and a tree on the sail." Matt grins, "it's actually a cool design."

"And you know where they operate out of?"

"Some factory on the wharf, but I haven't gotten that far. Foggy and I are trying to work the legal side of the case too."

"Oh? And what do you need to tie them down legally?"

"Anything really—"

The plate's arrival interrupts their conversation and they grow silent, eating.

"Was this you?" Foggy asks, accosting him as he enters the door.

"Was me what?"

"I didn't know you'd gotten access to the factory! This is perfect. Now we can—"

"Foggy, what the hell are you talking about?"

"The package you left on Karen's desk…"

"What package?"

He hears Foggy shuffling. "There's security camera footage, bank statements, offshore accounts and then a roster of their names, it's everything we need—" Foggy pauses, "this wasn't you?"

Matt's frozen, "what? No! I hadn't gotten close yet—"

Foggy taps the desk, "was it Karen? Did her contact come through?"

But Matt knows that's not it. "I have to go."

He's gone as Foggy shouts, "go where?"

—-

It's fully furnished. Smells like a cat lives there now. And someone who cooks with way too much cumin.

No military clothes, or single bottles of hair gel.

He's moved.

Matt's feet hit the pavement and he sighs, "shit."

—-

"You moved."

"Uh… yeah."

"Was it you?"

"Was what me?"

"Did you deliver that package to us? With all the evidence?"

"Nope." The man says perfectly calm. "Wasn't me."

Matt can't tell if he's lying.

"So, I just tell you about my troubles and then coincidentally a few days later it gets cleaned up?"

The man turns to him, Matt can feel the shrug, "I guess. It wasn't me."

"Bullshit."

The guy rolls his shoulders, "just called in a favor with a friend."

He's stunned momentarily, then he sighs, the warmth of the gym already making him loosen up, "well thanks."

"No problem." Then he can hear the humor, "but it was kind of selfish of me."

"Oh? And how's that?"

"If you're tired and beat up, then we can't spar. I take care of that and then we can fight again."

Matt grins, "well then I guess that makes you a selfish bastard."

The guy laughs that warm laugh, "there you go, you figured out my real name."

Matt laughs back as he starts wrapping his hands.

—-

What was tha—-

Matt's senses and train of thought gets obliterated as a punch lands to his solar plexus.

He crumples and groans.

"What the hell was that!" The guy says frantically, dropping to his knees and placing hands to see if he cracked anything, "why didn't you duck? You should have moved! You had plenty of time!"

Matt's sucking in air, "something—" he groans and turns, laying on his back in a huff, "something caught my hearing. I swear I heard a third heart beat." He pauses, listening, but there's nothing now. Just the two of them. "So strange. I swear I heard something."

He can tell that the guy tilts his head, listening too, "I don't hear anything."

"Maybe I caught someone walking by the gym." He gets up, "can we be done now? I'm bruised like a peach."

The guy laughs.

The anger at something that must have just happened is still radiating off the guy the next week.

"Diner." Matt says, "I'm not fighting you like this." He starts to protest but Matt waves his hand, "uh-uh. I choose life."

—-

Wendy flirts with him again, and this time says something interesting, "you sure look familiar, sweetheart." The voice is flirtatious and interested, "you sure you're not an actor or a model or something?"

"No, ma'am." The guy replies, "just one of those faces."

Maybe he has one of those faces, Foggy had said.

Wonder who he bares a resemblance too.

"Damn." Matt says, "actor or model? You're seriously underselling yourself aren't you."

The guy groans, "please shut up and eat your pancakes."

Matt smirks.

He's proud that by the end of the meal the guy seems more light hearted and even gives a chuckle or two.

As they exit about to head their separate ways, Matt turns, throwing a punch towards the guy and feeling the rush of air as the man spins, avoiding the blow and tossing one back. They trade a few more fake blows, before he manages to land one on the guy's arm.

"Ow," the guy mocks, "take it easy there killer."

Matt barks out a laugh and waves, extending his cane. "See you next week."

The man waves and is gone.

Three minutes later as he rounds a corner he knows he's being followed.

He turns, ready to drop his cane and get ready to fight when a metallic whir startles him and suddenly he's being slammed back against a brick wall, cold metal throttling his throat and crushing his windpipe.

He kicks out, landing hard blows. But the person holding him doesn't react. Matt tries to pry at the metal thing, only to be surprised by the finger shapes.

A metal arm?

"ударь его еще раз и я убью тебя."

A bone chilling voice speaks to him in what he's 99% sure is Russian. He doesn't speak Russian.

"What?" He gasps out, landing a knee against the guy's chest and shoving him away, "who sent you!"

Then the metallic whir is gone.

Matt stands there, rubbing at his neck.

And his only thought is that someone from the Russian Mob knows he's the devil of Hell's Kitchen.

But why didn't he kill him then? Or try?

He grabs his cane off the cement and takes the longer route home, listening for any sound.

—-

"Do we know anyone who speaks Russian?"

Figgy swallows his bite of Vietnamese noodles and yawns, "I don't think so, why?"

Matt doesn't want to worry him. "Heard someone say a phrase, wondered what it meant."

"Just google translate it." Foggy offers, already getting distracted again. "Just speak it to your phone. Probably won't be perfect, but it will give you the gist."

Matt pulls out his phone and speaks the approximation of the words he heard that are seared into his memory.

The automated voice speaks back in too chipper of a voice for the words it says.

Hit him again and I'll kill you.

Foggy's looking up, Matt can feel his stare, "what the hell was that?"

"A threat." Matt responds.

Foggy's voice gets suspicious, "oh and this just happens to be a phrase you overheard?"

"Yep." Matt lies with a grin.

Foggy doesn't know he can feel the way he flips him off.

—-

Hit him again and I'll kill you.

The words rattle around in Matt's head.

Hit who? He tries to remember the last Russian he tangled with. It's been over a year. Maybe a friend of a Russian. He tried to catalog who all he'd had encounters with but no one makes sense.

It makes him nervous. He starts being extra careful, listening to everything to not have the drop gotten on him.

—-

It's another week of normal until Matt can't take it anymore. "You know any Russians?"

The man's stature goes rigid, anxiety rolling off him, "why?"

"I'll take that as a yes." The man stays silent, "look, I just need help tracking down a guy—"

"A guy?"

Matt quirks his head, "yes. A guy."

The man relaxes, "oh, okay. Yeah, what's he—" the man stops.

Matt grins. "Almost slipped up, huh?" People asking him the phrase 'what did they look like' never ceases to amuse him.

A long sigh, "yeah, sorry. What can you tell me about him?"

"Well, he's Russian and has a metal arm."

Two hands grip his arms, holding so tightly it makes him want to squirm. "What?! Where?! When?!"

"What?"

The hands grip harder, shaking him, "where! Where did you see him! When was this?!"

And Matt takes a deep breath, "Grant. Let me go."

He's let go instantly, blood pounding back into his arms and he rubs at them. The man in front of him is practically radiating tension, so strong it almost buffets him backwards.

But he doesn't ask again. He waits for Matt.

"This was almost three weeks ago. Outside the di—"

Hit him again and I will kill you

It's a stupid question now that's it's so obvious, "you know him."

The man starts walking towards his stuff on the bench, "I have to go."

Matt whirls around and grabs at his arm, "not without explaining." The man rips his arm out of Matt's grasp, "why did he threaten me about you?"

That makes the guy pause. His shoulders so tense Matt's sure they might shatter. "What?"

And Matt repeats the phrase he'd been threatened with. Having studied and ensured he knew how to say it properly.

"ударь его еще раз и я убью тебя." A sharp intake of breath alerts Matt's senses. "You speak Russian?"

The guy's throat is dry, "conversationally."

"Enough to understand threats."

"He threatened you?" The guy asks, as if he can't process their conversation.

"Yes. With a metal hand around my neck."

He can't see the widened eyes, but he can picture them. "He choked you?"

"Well." Matt thinks back, "no, more like held me in place." Then he blinks, "okay, no yeah, he choked me."

"Why?" The guy asks as if he would have the answer, "that doesn't make any sense!"

"You're not making any sense." Matt retorts, "who the hell was he? Why do you have ties to the Russians? What's going on? What are you involved in?" He sucks in air, "were the friends you called in for the factory job the Russians?" His voice gets sharp, "tell me you don't owe them a favor!"

"I can't—" the guy starts, then waves his hand, grabbing his jacket, and sliding it on too forcefully. It rips. "Shit!" The guy explains, "I have to go."

"No way!" Matt snaps back, "you've got to tell me what's going on! If you're in trouble I can help you—"

The biting sarcastic and agonized laugh that escapes the man's mouth makes Matt's blood run cold.

"Think I'm past the point of help." The man says flatly. Then he's gone. The door swinging shut.

Matt bursts out the door to follow him, but there's nothing. He's already gone.

—-

He doesn't show up the next Tuesday.

Matt's not surprised.

—-

Or the next.

And now that he doesn't know where the guy lives or anything, there's nothing he can do but wait.

—-

"I don't care about the deposition!" Foggy is whining, "I wanna go to the paraaaade."

"Matt? Why is Brett facing over police records of people with prosthetics?"

The paper dispenses and he grabs at it, "can you read it? Does it say anything about any records of a Russian with a metal arm that has a record?"

"Metal arm?" Foggy asks, "like the Hydra guy?"

Matt spins slowly, "what?"

"The Hydra files that were dropped. Their like scary assassin? The Winter Soldier right?" Neither Karen or Matt speak. Foggy huffs, "what! I liked going through those! It was interesting!"

Matt steps closer, "what is the winter soldier?"

"He's like the ghost story Hydra used to scare people. He was Pierce's attack dog. Didn't anyone else read this stuff? He's the guy Captain America fought on the freeway in DC."

Matt's mind is whirring.

Is Grant Hydra? Is that why the Winter Soldier is protecting him?

Damn.

Matt would have bet money he was Shield. Knew Matt's secret. Seemed like a good guy.

Okay, maybe he's getting ahead of himself. Maybe he's just tangled up in bad company. Doesn't mean he's Hydra.

ударь его еще раз и я убью тебя

But why would the Winter Soldier want to—

Karen's voice is fading as they're walking out the door. "wait, I remember that news article, isn't that the guy who was from the 40's too? Captain America's best friend?"

And a really eerie feeling fills him. Oh.

Oh.

Strong.

Fast.

Kind.

Polite.

DC.

Shield.

Tony.

Nat.

Gran—

He runs to the door, "Foggy!"

Both Karen and Foggy stop, turning to face him, the air moving with a mix of her perfume and his cologne, "what?"

"What's Captain America's full name?"

But it's Karen who answers. "Steven Grant Rogers." She pauses, "why?"

It's like getting punched again.

By Captain America himself.

—-