Am I the only one who's watched the Logan trailer like. 500 times already? Also remember when I said I would try to update weekly and then proceeded not to update for a month? It's finals week starting tomorrow, go easy on me.
Aishe woke up late the next morning with a pounding headache behind her eyes and the taste of copper in her mouth. She wiped her nose blearily, felt moisture, and wondered if she had caught a cold. Her eyes cracked open and squinted against the early morning light.
Her hand was smeared with red.
She jolted up, cursing when the room spun around her. Blood dripped down her chin and onto her pajamas. It felt uncomfortably warm against her chilled skin, and she shivered.
Covering her nose, she stumbled out of her bed just fast enough to make it to the bathroom and vomit in the sink.
Needless to say, she called out of work that day. Her boss, an understanding woman with a no-nonsense kind of attitude, wasn't able to reach the phone, but one of her coworkers promised pass the message on. She hated the note of pity in their voice.
When Aishe was first diagnosed, it was hard to believe.
When Aishe was first diagnosed, she pushed everyone away.
But she was an artist, and artists use pain better than anyone. She painted with her nosebleeds and cried on the canvas until she had no energy left in her disease-ridden body to care anymore.
It was amazing how a terminal illness was able to drive people away.
Friends that had been there for years before suddenly came up with excuses to not be seen with her, and she couldn't deny that it wasn't partially her fault. After all, she was the one who started the excuses first. That didn't change that it hurt. It hurt seeing old friends' faces plastered on social media, happy and normal and not dying. She had a place there once.
She debated on whether or not she should call her parents. Back when she had first gotten her diagnosis, she had called them over every little thing. At the time, it had seemed like it was the only way to keep herself together. If she was on the phone with her mom, she could pretend that everything was normal, that they were talking about something as simple as dinner or the weather. Then the guilt set in. Her illness was taking a toll on her parents too. She could hear it in her mother's voice when she answered her phone in the middle of the night, tired and hoarse from crying. She could see it in the way her father could barely look at her anymore. Their beautiful, healthy girl was gone, leaving a frail shadow behind.
She was reminded yet again why having cancer was one of the loneliest ways to die.
When Aishe was first diagnosed, she wasn't sure what to feel. The weight loss, the constant aches, the nosebleeds, and finally, it all coming to a head when she had collapsed at a family dinner. They were all explained by that one word. She vaguely heard the doctor mentioning something to her parents about a hard road, enjoying a vague "last three years" while she laughed silently in the corner, tears running down her face.
They had come back six months later and were given a new prognosis: a little more than sixteen months, if she made it that long.
Her mother cried of course. Her father was silent, holding his wife and coming to terms with the fact that their only child would die before they came to pass. Aishe just sat there, staring at the white office walls, thinking of dreams of going to Europe, of becoming an artist, already having come to terms with the finality of it all.
Two months later, she was diagnosed with depression. She snapped at the therapist, demanded how she should feel when she was dying, please someone tell her because she sure as hell didn't think they would be able to fix it all with some cheesy Hallmark apology.
Her parents had stopped taking her to therapy after that.
As she lie in her bed, staring at the white ceiling of her undecorated apartment, she thought about all of these thing and more. She thought of the paintings torn from her walls in a fit of desperation. She thought of the acrylic paints that had long since dried out. She thought about getting her degree, about her old professors, and wondered if any of them were worried.
She might have had a fever. She might have been dying. But today, just today, she decided to be okay with that. She fell asleep with her blood drying on her lips.
Matt visited Aishe's apartment that night. It was oddly silent inside, and for a second he wondered if she was even home when he heard a soft, weak heartbeat from somewhere inside. He knocked on the window tentatively.
Nobody came.
Four days later, Aishe decided to go back to work. She wrapped a scarf tight around her neck and tried not to shiver too hard on her way to work. It was the middle of autumn and not too cold out yet, but to her it felt like every movement was sending a shard of ice through her skin.
Once she arrived at the coffee shop (affectionately named "Beans, Scenes, and In-Betweens"), she went behind the counter, tied her apron on, and prayed that it would be a slow day.
Unfortunately, she was reminded once more why she did not pray.
After two hours of trying to explain to people that no, they did not have venti Girl Scout machiatto supremes what does that even mean, it was only nine in the morning and still two hours before Aishe could take her fifteen minute break. A tall blonde woman stepped up to the counter, and Aishe fixed her barista grin on her face.
"Hi," the woman said, studying the menu intently. "Can I have um... One Americano and two lattes?"
"Of course! That'll be coming right up," Aishe smiled, rushing off to put the woman's coffees together. It was slowing down a bit now that work had started for most people, and the only customers left in the shop were those sitting at the tables and the blonde woman waiting for her order.
"Are these all for you, or do you have some friends in dire need of caffeine?" Aishe asked jokingly, attempting to make small talk. The woman laughed.
"You could say that. All of the popular shops are so crowded all the time, but I found this place about a week ago and fell in love with it. One of my bosses is really picky about his coffee, so it's a relief to find something he'll actually drink," she explained.
Aishe raised an eyebrow, curling her hands on the counter to steady the slight wave of dizziness that washed over her. "Sounds a bit annoying if you ask me."
"No, no. Matt is really nice, just. Really picky," the lady laughed. "And I've been told by both of them that the coffee I try to make at the office is less than safe to drink."
Aishe grinned dryly and tried to blink back the wave of dizziness swelling behind her eyes.
"I should teach you sometime," she mentioned offhandedly before snapping her mouth closed and flushing. She tried to attribute the fact that she was flirting with the very attractive, very straight woman in front of her to the sudden dizzy spell she was having.
The woman gave her an unassuming laugh and smiled easily. "I don't know if that would help much."
"Yeah, u-um.. So your bosses... You guys sound pretty. Uh... Tight?" she squeaked, wincing at her attempt to cover up her slip up.
"Yeah!" the woman said brightly. "There's only three of us. They're both giant sweethearts."
"Oh, that's. That's nice!"
"It is," she said as Aishe worked the handpress. "Especially now that we're getting a lot more clients."
"Oh! It's good that business is getting better for you guys!" Aishe smiled nervously, trying to focus more on getting the milk to foam properly than coming up with more conversation topics to keep the silence at bay.
"Alright, that's one Americano and two lattes for um..."
"Karen Page," she said, her blue eyes crinkling around the edges.
Aishe smiled. "Well then Karen, this'll be eleven dollars at the register."
Before she left for the day, her boss cornered her.
"Here," she said, thrusting a card into the smaller woman's hands.
Aishe frowned, turning it over in her hands. "What is this?"
"A coupon for a free hot stone massage," her boss said.
"Sandra... I mean. Thank you, but why are you giving this to me?"
Sandra looked at her. "You know why."
Aishe ignored the painful tug in her chest. "I can't take this."
"Listen kid," Sandra sighed, opening a pack of cigarrettes and leading them outside. She flicked open her lighter and leaned against the brick wall. "I've known you going on a few years now. Can't bear to lose you. I know it won't help save you but... You can't forget to have some fun with life, alright? Just because you have a death sentence doesn't mean you're dead already."
Aishe wanted to say something. She wanted to say a lot of somethings, but there wasn't enough time for her to say all of them. What she did say was, "Thank you, San."
The older woman nodded, pausing to shout after her, "And be careful! I hear that masked lunatic has been running around these parts lately!"
Usually Aishe would have laughed at the her boss's protectiveness, but now she laughed because Sandra had no idea that the masked lunatic she was warning about was a bit closer to home than she knew.
The walk home was silent that night. Not even the sound of Manhatten's constant traffic could have permeated the silence, and tonight Aishe wished it would. She was aware of every beat her heart made in her chest, aware that every time it paused could be the last.
If it was already dark when she started walking, it was even darker when she reached her apartment complex. She was momentarily distracted thinking about how she had dragged Daredevil up her fire escape just over a week ago, but shook the thought away in favor of digging through her kitchen for something to eat.
She was debating drinking the last of the whiskey in her fridge when there was a knock on her window. She opened it distractedly, already having a good idea of who it would be.
Daredevil perched on her windowsill silently, watching her pace around her apartment and debate internally on whether or not to try to brave the bills again or waste the night drinking. She knew one would definitely be more fun than the other.
"You haven't been answering the past few nights," he said, breaking her out of her thoughts.
"I... No," she said quietly. "I haven't."
"You were here though." He said it like it was a question.
"Y-yes, I was— How do you know that?"
He shrugged like it was no big deal. "Educated guess."
She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it.
"You're tense," the vigilante noted. "Today and the last time I saw you."
"What does it matter to you?" she snapped and then slapped her hands over her mouth with a heart ticked up. She vaguely wondered if a heart attack would be a better way to die than wasting away from cancer.
His mouth worked silently for a minute.
"You saved my life," he said like that explained everything. "I'm just trying to repay the favor by looking out for you."
"That doesn't explain why you're still hanging around," she said quietly.
The vigilante opened his mouth like he wanted to say something and then closed it just as quickly. The silence was deafening.
"Why do you keep coming here?" she asked quietly.
"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
"No," she said. "I don't"
"Aishe," he started.
"Do you know what it's like to lose everything?" she blurted suddenly.
The man on her windowsill went still for a moment. She thought he wasn't going to answer when, for the first time since she met him, Daredevil seemed to deflate.
"Not quite," he answered. "But I've gotten pretty close."
She inched closer to him warily, finally steeling the courage to take a seat next to him on the window sill. Moonlight bathed the vigilante in soft, silvery light.
"I'm so afraid of losing it all," she said, blinking back the tears gathering in her eyes.
She studied his face silently.
"Does it ever get better?" she finally asked.
"Not really," he said, brutally honest. "But there's a balance point."
She thought about that for a moment, mulling his words over in her mind. Finally, she gave a long sigh, closed her eyes, and titled her head back against the sill.
"It would be a nice night to watch the stars," she murmured.
Matt stayed silent, finally slipping away and leaving her sitting on her window, staring out at the night sky.
Karen showed up again the next day. Aishe tried to push away the flush on her face (god had she really flirted with her that openly?) and greeted her.
"Hi!" Karen said. "The same as yesterday."
"I've only seen you once before, and you're already acting like a regular," Aishe laughed. Karen flushed.
"Sorry! Is that weird?"
"Not at all," Aishe chuckled, fiddling with the coffee press while Karen scrolled down her phone. When she looked up again, the blonde was frowning.
"What's wrong?"
"Oh." Karen's frown was replaced with a sheepish grin. "Just some dumb opinion piece about Daredevil."
Aishe stilled her hands on the press.
"One of those sensationalist pieces, huh?" she asked, keeping her voice carefully nonchalant.
"Yeah," Karen sighed in frustration. "I just don't understand why people hate the guy so much. Sure, he works above the law, but maybe that's what we need at times like this."
"People are afraid of what's dangerous and different," Aishe said carefully. "But personally? I agree with you."
Karen grinned weakly. Sadly, it was busier than yesterday, and a line of people was already gathering behind the blonde woman.
Once she was gone, Aishe sighed. It was going to be another long day.
It was close to two in the morning when the knock came at her window. Aishe couldn't sleep. She opened the window in a trance.
"You weren't here last night," the vigilante said simply.
She shook her head mutely. He looked at her strangely.
"Are you okay?"
"No, no... I. I'm fine I—" The room around her spun and the ground rose to her face. The carpet smelled old and musty. It took her a second to realize that she hadn't completely faceplanted into the floor. Her arm bent at an uncomfortable angle.
"Aishe." Matt demanded. "Have you hit your head at all today? What have you eaten?" Her scattered mind processed that Daredevil, a terrifying vigilante, was panicked. Was concerned over her.
Oh, she realized. He had caught her. That was nice of him. Her head hurt, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Didn't Daredevil know that? Why couldn't he just let her sleep?
"...Wasn't hit," she mumbled when she finally registered his question.
"You're sure?" he asked.
She hummed positively.
"Okay. Okay. Your heartrate is very high right now I— I need you to open your eyes for me alright?"
"D'know why you're worried 'bout me," she murmured.
"Aishe, I need you to open your eyes," he commanded.
She did as he said, watching his blurry face float in her vision. In the part of her mind that was still able to think, she wondered, Is this it? I die in my apartment with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?
The vigilante cursed under his breath. The room steadied just a bit. She touched his shoulder.
"Don't need help."
His jaw set. "I would beg to differ."
She shook her head, trying to shake off the fog.
"'S okay. I'll be okay. I'm just...tired is all."
"Aishe—"
"Just. Just put me down on the couch please just. Shit. I-I'm sorry. Just put me down on the couch."
Matt did as she said. She covered her eyes, and when she gave no indication that she was going to talk again, he slid out her window and pretended he couldn't taste her panic.
"Hey, have you seen that girl again?" Foggy asked the next day at work. "Ash or whatever?"
Matt's hands stilled on the file he was reading.
"Yes," he said quietly. He could hear Foggy's frown in his voice.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He sighed. "Maybe I should."
Right into the thick of it I guess. This turned out heavier than intended but. *Shrugging emoji* That's what I get for listening to Hurt on loop for three hours straight. Anyway, finals are starting this week, so here's a super long chapter. I am screaming. Wish me luck.