This is supposed to be Episode 6 in terms of chronology with the TV show, with the end going into Episode 7. I intend to skip a few episodes (which are about a week or two apart in terms of in-universe time) just to make this go by quicker. I don't have a mini-plot for each episode, so I don't want to drag this out any longer than I have to.

I hope I don't have to explain Daredevil's powers, and in the story I'm just going to assume you already have an idea how it works. But to save you a Google search, he's human for the most part — his superpower is essentially his radar sense, honed through hearing, smells, and sensing other changes in his environment. It's sharp enough that he can dodge bullets, although he's hindered by his own mortality. He doesn't have super-strength or speed or durability, so if he gets hurt, it's usually pretty bad. He's in peak physical condition, and wields two batons or escrima sticks (like Nightwing from DC comics).

So essentially he can locate people by their heartbeats, body temp, and breathing, and in the same way he can tell if they're lying, unhappy, in love, etc. He can also hear the sound of bones rubbing against each other, so it's very likely he can tell what sort of injury someone may have, if it's particularly debilitating.

Anyways, that should give you an idea of how he works. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Twenty

Pro Bono

This is bad. This is really bad.

I wasn't sure what was worse: that Rosebud was still on the streets, or that it was corrupt cops keeping it that way.

At the moment, I found myself in Hell's Kitchen resident chapel, a humble little place that was quiet and usually empty at this time; perfect for reminiscing and thinking about my life, which wasn't in that great a shape at the moment. It seemed appropriate, what with Jesus on the cross looking down at me from the apse. What would He have to say about all this?

Who the hell (hm, maybe I shouldn't say that in a church) was I supposed to go to with this sort of information? I immediately thought of Captain Stacy; I knew in my heart he was as honest as they come, but I wondered if he would believe me. Cops were loyal to one another, as tight and as secretive as any mob or mafia, only they had government backing. If something went wrong, there might be nothing Captain Stacy could do about it.

I also didn't want to put him (or Gwen!) in harm's way in case anyone found me out. I had no doubt that the Rose's moles on the force would take out anyone who knew too much; killing a captain and his family would get a lot of attention, but maybe the Rose was willing to go that far. I honestly wouldn't be surprised.

Besides, I had no way to protect them even if I could tell someone. I was about as defenseless as they were, only I couldn't use a gun, so probably even less. It didn't feel right to just dump the responsibility on them while I stuck my head in the dirt and pretended everything was going to be all right.

Of course, when I explained to Peter everything that had happened to me that day, he zeroed in on the most important part of my story.

I had the opportunity early the next morning after the incident, in school, during AP US History. We had been currently working in groups, trying to build a power point presentation on whatever particular Civil War battle we had been assigned.

Not that me and Peter were getting a lot of head-way. He was too busy dealing with me to mark down the strategic advantages General Lee had in the Battle of Gettysburg, which he ultimately lost. I didn't really care about some old dead guy when Peter was giving me crap for the wrong thing.

"You hit a blind man?" Peter gawked at me when I was finished. "Oh, my god, you're a horrible person."

"It was an accident!" I protested, even though I knew he was just joking. Still, I had been a little frustrated that this was what bothered him, and not the whole cops-letting-drugs-on-the-street thing. "It's not like I go around beating up blind people in my free time!"

"Did you say sorry?"

"Of course I said sorry!"

"You should send him a 'Get Well' Card."

"Peter!"

"What? I meant the bruises, not his blindness!"

"I swear to god..." My face fell into my hands. It was like everywhere I went, I had to have my own humiliation rubbed into my face. I said, my voice muffled, "Just start the next slide, Einstein."

Peter didn't really have any advice for me, although he did promise to keep an eye out when he was on patrol. It was hard to nab criminals when you're wondering if the police will even deal with them properly, but you had to try nonetheless. There had to be some good cops, too, right?

A week later, and I still wasn't sure. I guess that's why I came here, to this chapel; I could really do with a miracle at the moment.

I never considered myself particularly religious, but as I sat there in that chapel, I felt like I was a part of something...bigger. The sheer presence of this stone, literal tons of it, on all sides, somehow standing despite their weight, assembled before the age of modern technology. It was a sight that could awe anyone, no matter what you believed in.

It wasn't anything like a skyscraper. Skyscrapers were new, built with steel and glass and not nearly as heavy as this cathedral. How could columns this big even exist? How did those flying buttresses, filled with Gothic patterns, even hold up those walls? How long did it take to craft all of that stained glass? Who had to keep this place clean 24/7?

My radar failed to absorb the entirety of this structure. Then again, my radar failed to absorb anything these past few days, but it felt different in here. So I just sat in the pew, looking up at the ceiling, marveling at the height that made me completely forget that I've been higher.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" A voice said, making me jerk out of my reverie.

I looked around, saw a man in a suit standing at the end of the aisle. He smiled at me, eyes hidden behind red glasses, cane held against his side. I recognized the blind lawyer, Mr. Matthew Murdoch (I had become familiar with his practice after a quick Google search), although I had no idea why he was here.

And now that I thought about it, I wondered how Murdoch even knew I was there. Or what the church looked like. I mean, maybe it wasn't a stretch to think a place like this beautiful if you couldn't see it, and he was just making conversation; or maybe he was joking, making fun of me. Maybe he was capable of a level of sarcasm I couldn't comprehend.

It felt rude to ask. Usually, I wouldn't care about my behavior, especially in the presence of strangers, but I kind of liked him. The lawyer had so far been kind to me, and it was nice to know there was someone out there fighting the same fight. And it'd take a soulless asshole to pick on a blind man. "Um, yeah. It's... breathtaking."

He seemed to notice I was staring and smiled. I realized that his sunglasses had been fixed, and wondered if his friend Foggy was nearby. Murdoch motioned to the seat next to me, asking, "May I?"

"Yeah, sure." I sidled a little to the right, even though there was still roughly a meter of distance between us already. What did he want? I had a bad feeling I was about to get comeuppance for my clumsiness last week.

As the man settled himself, he turned his head in my direction and asked, "So what's a high school student doing in a church on a Friday night? Shouldn't you be out partying with your friends, getting drunk and singing a Katy Perry song?"

"I could ask you the same question," I shot back. He couldn't see the sling, which would have made as good a reason as any why I wasn't living wild, reckless, and free at the moment. "How did you know I go to high school?"

"Your voice. You sound young." The man replied, gazing ahead towards the apse. I couldn't see his eyes, even in profile view, thanks to his glasses. I wondered, with morbid curiosity, what his eyes looked like. "Kids your age don't usually take extra interest in religion, do they? Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course."

"No, I'm just here to think." I said. Belief or not, this cathedral was a wonderful place to clear my head. It was big and echoey, enough empty space and solid structure that it wasn't distracting. The lack of people was nice, too. I've never run into anyone annoying here. "I like the atmosphere. It's...calming. What about you, esquire?"

"I wander in every other night or so," Mr. Murdock chuckled a little at the nickname. "Dad raised me Catholic. I come here to think of him."

"Oh." I tried not to dwell too long on the implication of those words, but it felt too obvious to ignore. "He's...not here anymore?"

"Passed on to a better place," the was a sad smile on his face and I had to bite my lip to keep myself from thinking too much about Mom, or what happened to her. "It's nice to know he's watching over me. Sometimes you don't always know what you're doing is right, or if it's what they wanted for you. He probably didn't think I'd turn into a lawyer and still live in Hell's Kitchen after all these years."

"Why do you, Mr. Murdoch?" Hell's Kitchen wasn't exactly rainbows and unicorns; if I got a degree in law, I'd get the heck out of Dodge.

"It's home. You can't forget home." He replied, then tapped the side of my shoe with his cane. "And you can just call me Matt. Only the judge calls me Mr. Murdoch."

"I'm...Amy." I said after a pause, wondering if that was the right choice to make. It felt weird, making friends — friends who were ten years my senior, too. It seemed easier to talk to Matt than it was to Dorian. Was it bad that I was relating to old people, rather than my own age?

Then I wondered if he recognized me, my voice, from the last time we met. I had a feeling that he did. "We've met before, you know. I, uh, almost ran you over, last Sunday?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember," the man — Matt, I guess — nodded with an enlightened air. "The Running Girl. I knew I recognized your voice. Funny meeting you again, here of all places."

"Well, we live in the same neighborhood." I said, deciding that correlation between me and Falcon wasn't that big of a deal. He wouldn't be able to tell it was me through the voice changer anyways, "My apartment building is only a couple blocks away."

"And your parents know you're here?"

I took a deep breath, paused, then decided to lie. I liked this lawyer, but I wasn't ready to tell him the whole truth. "Yeah. They know my habits. They know I'm safe."

"On these streets?" He sounded skeptical.

"I grew up here, too, you know. I can handle myself." Was I really getting lectured on street safety by a blind man? There seemed to be an irony there, but I couldn't quite define it.

"If you say so." Matt just shrugged, sounding a little too nonchalant. I had a feeling he still had something to say on the matter. "Just don't go looking for trouble, all right?"

"I don't go looking for trouble," I snorted, wondering how in the world some small-time lawyer ever got the idea. I mean, he's not wrong. But that's also kind of the problem. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Trouble has a way of finding people in this city," he replied, gripping his cane with both hands as he faced straight ahead. "And even the best intentions can get people hurt. Especially if they try taking the law into their own hands."

My heart skipped a beat. I whirled around to stare at him, my mouth falling open but nothing coming out. How the hell—? What should I do? Deny everything, or demand what he knows?

My mind was reeling and every nerve was suddenly telling me to run while I still could. But instead I stuttered, "I'm not...I mean, I never..."

But Matt just raised a hand, stopping me. "I heard about the drug bust by the Park. It was on the news. And maybe this is just the inane ramblings of a blind man, but I had the feeling that whoever tipped off the police might have also seen something they shouldn't have. And they were fast enough to get away."

He waited for me to say something. When I didn't, the lawyer tilted his head. "Am I wrong?"

The breath I had been holding in came out in a huge whoosh, and my heart finally returned to its usual beat. For a second I thought everything was forfeit. That my secret was out, that I'd have to escape while I still could. Holy crap.

"...Maybe," I mumbled eventually.

So he didn't know I was Falcon. But that didn't change the fact that Matt Murdoch still thought I was up to something.

"Why do I get the feeling it won't be the last time that happens?" he asked me, no longer smiling. He didn't sound angry or upset, or that he was going to tell the police (which would be even worse than I first imagined), but rather contemplative, maybe even disappointed.

Suddenly I didn't feel so comfortable around him anymore. I snapped to my feet, so abruptly that even Matt noticed, and I said, "Maybe you should just mind your own business, esquire."

I had just left the pew from the other end when I heard him say, "Amy, wait."

I paused, glancing over my shoulder. Matt, too, had stood up, facing my direction. His face was entirely impassive, and I had a feeling his poker face would be a tough one to crack.

But his earnesty was revealed in his voice. "I'm not here to attack you. I'm just worried that you'll get into more trouble than you can handle. Eventually, you're going to pick a fight you can't win."

As 'inspiring' as his words of wisdom were, I was not impressed. Who did this guy think he was, my brother? "Why do you even care?"

"Because I want justice, too," he replied, making me feel a twinge guilty. "But I have a better way — a safer way — of getting it."

Well, obviously. I still wasn't sure what he was trying to say. "What, so I should become a lawyer, like you? Sorry, but I'm not gonna wait around for another five years before I get my degree."

"You don't have to," Matt said, and his lips quirked up in a shadow of a smile. "But you can work for me."

"I...what?" I had been ready to rebuke his stupid idea, only to be caught off guard. I thought he was going to tell me to go to the police, or let the adults handle it, or call Spider-Man, or any number of other unhelpful suggestions that popped up in my head. A job offer was not one of them.

"You seem like the kind of person who has a good sense between right and wrong," he told me. I was now listening raptly, not entirely believing this was happening. "But you don't know how to apply yourself correctly. If you work at Nelson and Murdoch, you'll get firsthand experience at how real justice works."

Work at a law firm? I bit my lip, examining the floor. I've never had a real job before, and I certainly never thought it might be working for something so prestigious. To be honest, I thought I'd end up flipping burgers like my mom, just to pay my way through college. "...I don't know. My life, it's —"

"Complicated?" Matt guessed with a knowing smile.

"Yeah," I muttered, scowling at him. I got the feeling that Matt was kind of a know-it-all and liked to show off a little. But it was hard to feel resentful if he was always right.

"Consider my offer," he said, gesturing with his hand as a sign of peace. "Come by my office when you're ready. If not, well, you'll never have to see me again. It's entirely up to you what you want to do with your life. I just don't want to see it go to waste."

"Uh, thanks," I said, frowning, starting to back away. I turned around, headed for the door. "I guess..."

And I left the chapel, leaving Matthew Murdoch, attorney at law, inside.

OoOoO

"So he offered you a job, right then and there?" Dorian asked, taking a bite into his sandwich. Through a mouthful of bread and ham, he said, "You should totally do it! Do you know how hard it is to find a job these days? He practically handed it to you on a platter?"

We were currently on our second-and-a-half date (this didn't necessarily count since we ran into each other on accident) at the Silver Spoon. It was nice to have lunch together, especially on a Saturday when I was bored out of my mind. At least I didn't have to worry about being late to anything anymore.

"I know," I said, poking at my burger with disinterest. I had been ruminating the decision for several days now, but I kept falling back on the same problem. Would it really help? Could working for Nelson and Murdoch really do what I wanted it to? Or would it just slow me down, distract me or worse, ruin everything? Matt already seemed to know so much. "It's just...I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

"Ready for what? An actual paycheck?" Dorian raised a pale eyebrow. "Yeah, too much responsibility for me."

I rolled my eyes, not appreciating the sarcasm. "That's not what I meant. I'm just not really that interested in the law..."

That sounded like such a bad lie, I was sure Dorian would pick up on it. But he just shrugged. "So it might be hard. But it's not like he's going to make you stand in front of the jury and defend a client. You'll probably be like a secretary or an assistant, writing notes and stuff. You said he was blind?"

"Yeah," I frowned to myself. I really hoped my duties wouldn't just be keeping things organized. I mean, maybe hoping for a more exciting experience was too much to ask, since I had no experience whatsoever, but still. It wasn't exactly my idea of effectively handing out justice. "He seems all right. I don't know why he seems so concerned about me, though. I barely even know him."

"Well look on the bright side," Dorian offered, holding up a hand. "He actually cares about people, which a good sign for a lawyer. And it's a lot better than working at the supermarket, like I am. Customer service is literally one of the worst thing you have to do, outside of maybe being a janitor or something. I'd say take it. I mean, what's the worst that can happen?"

"Hm, maybe you're right," I finally said, but I was still unsure on the matter. Needing to change the subject, I took a sip from my soda. "So how's that photography class going?"

"Oh, it's great," Dorian grinned, not even noticing the switch for what it was. "We're basically just compiling images of our chosen theme, but almost everyone chose Spider-Man, so it's basically turned into a competition of who gets the best shots of him."

"Oh, really?" I laughed, not entirely surprised. You could get paid good money for a clear shot, although I doubted they got the same quality pictures as Peter did. "And whose winning? You?"

"Nah," Dorian just shook his head. "I can barely hold a camera steady. But my teacher uses Spider-Man pictures a lot, the ones from the Bugle, I mean. Whoever takes them is really good at candid photography."

I decided whether or not I should tell him that Peter was actually my cousin. Would that be too much? I didn't want to encourage Dorian — I didn't want him to risk his life running after Spider-Man and getting too close to fights, just to get a good shot. So I said, "They make a lot of money that way. I heard Spider-Man actually calls a guy right before he gets into a fight, so he has someone take pictures of him for the news."

"No way!" Dorian threw me a look of astonishment. "Seriously? That's so cool — I mean, having the job. Not so much the ego."

Even if it was a lie, I had to admit, Peter kind of got overconfident when he was wearing the mask. It's not that surprising — anonymity was a powerful tool and sometimes made you feel like you were invincible. "One of the dangers of being a superhero, I guess."

Dorian was kind of an artist, as I learned over the past couple weeks. Photography was his latest interest, although he was more into music than cameras. He wasn't in a band as far as I knew, but he did play guitar, and liked to write songs.

Whenever I asked to hear, though, Dorian just flushed and said they weren't finished yet. I didn't know there was someone out there even shier than I was. Then again, I had no talents or hobbies to share, so maybe it was all right.

Dorian wasn't convinced, though, and said about as much some time later, while we were walking through Chinatown, looking for another good place to eat. It was sort of our thing now, to go to movies and then chat afterwards over a meal. Maybe it wasn't the most original thing, but I had to keep myself in a sling whenever I was around him, so it stood to reason that we couldn't try anything too adventurous.

"So you're telling me that you don't do anything for fun?" he asked me with a disbelieving look. "What are you, a robot?"

"No! I'm not a robot," I said, trying hard not to laugh. "I just...don't have a lot of time. And I really like watching movies. It's fun for me. I mean, the only other thing is computers, but then, who doesn't like computers?"

"I dunno. Luddites?"

Laughing, we were just passing under a scaffolding when a group of teenagers came rushing through from the other end. It took me less than a second to realize they were bad news: dressed in dark, ratty clothes, tattoos on their hands, multiple piercings, and a notable lack of slowing down when they came nearer.

"Look out!" I barely had time to pull Dorian out of the way before one of the idiots rammed into me, knocking me straight to the ground. The kid, with black eye liner and greasy hair, just cackled and kept going. "Watch it, loser!"

The other three punks slowed to a stop, apparently finding easy targets in a small girl and a skinny boy. They shoved Dorian into the poles of the scaffolding, making him cry out in surprise. I winced in sympathy, but didn't get up. I still had the element of surprise in this situation, and if they thought I was helpless, then all the better.

"Check out this pansy!" one of the jerks pointed at Dorian, a sneer on his face. The guy needed a dentist. He started speaking in a mocking baby-voice: "Aww, what's a' matter? You gonna cwy, wittle baby? Wah-wah!"

"Shut up, I'm not –!" Dorian said through gritted teeth, but the boys kept going, on a roll.

"Oh, look at that, he can talk!" another chortled, wiping invisible tears from his grimy face. "You gonna call ye mommy? Is she gonna come with a baby bottle? Or is she gonna take her shirt off and –"

All right, enough of that.

Before the kid could finish, I swept my leg (thank you, Karate Kid). My heel connected with the back of his knee and the kid yelped, dropping down. He opened his mouth to shout, raised his fists to fight, but I had already brought back my foot and returned it to his face.

Thump. He dropped to the cement, unconscious.

"THE HELL WAS THAT?" one of the punk's shouted. The other three immediately backed off, now wary.

I got up, leaning on the metal bars to help me. Brushing hair out of my face, I said, "How about you fight somebody your own size."

"What? Little gimp bitch like you?" one of them snorted with forced bravado. I guessed him to the leader, since he was the only one wearing a leather jacket with a gang badge on the shoulder. Of course, now that he started speaking, the others were looking more confident as well. Leather Jacket punched his fist into his other palm. "Maybe we should teach you a lesson – Hambone, get her!"

Hambone, who lived up to his namesake by being the largest mofo on this side of the Hudson, grinned wide and lumbered up to me. Almost six feet tall, he towered over everyone else, head nearly brushed the lowest bars in the scaffolding. He readjusted his fingerless gloves, saying, "Check it out, bitch thinks she's tough. How'd you get that scar on your face there, huh?"

Absently, I reached to touch it. The one on my lip, after I busted it open during my first ever fight with a thug. I felt the shallow ridge cutting itself from my upper lip to my chin. I just suppressed a smile and said with wry honesty, "The White Rose. How'd you get that broken nose?"

"Broken what?" Hambone frowned, right before I grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked down, my strength compensating for his mass, and slammed his face to my knee.

Hambone fell, curling up in a fetal position as he covered his face with his hands, groaning weakly. I looked at the other two, gone pale, and said, "I call that one the Kneebuster."

There was a second of silence as the other two punks just stared at me, paling a little. Then Leather Jacket's remaining compatriot shook with sudden vigor, somehow emboldened by Hambone's defeat.

He suddenly charged at me, shouting, "Gah!"

I wasn't exactly sure how he expected to land such a telegraphed move. "What kind of move is that?" I asked, ducking the strike and pushing him, sending the already too-fast idiot into the brick wall behind me. He smashed into it face-first and fell on his back, dazed.

Leather Jacket froze when I turned on him. "What? Aren't you going to join them?"

"Uh, uh, uh," with wide eyes, the kid looked around in a panic, as if somehow expecting to see his friends get back up from what was honestly an unfair fight. But when none came to his aid, Leather Jacket quailed. He suddenly snatched Dorian's hat off (as if that was somehow a victory) and shouted, "This is mine!" before taking off in a head-long sprint.

"Hey, give it back!" Dorian's hands flew to his head too late, the hat already clutched in Leather Jacket's hands. Dorian had been sitting on the tarmac during the entire – albeit brief – showdown, and only now was getting up to retrieve what was his.

But before he could stop his knees from knocking together, I said, "Don't worry, I got him!" and ran after Leather Jacket without another word.

The sling didn't even slow me down, and I didn't even consider what Dorian might be thinking at the moment. The thug had turned the corner a second ago and when I rounded it, he was already thirty feet ahead. But his normal human legs had nothing on my super-soldier-serum enhanced ones, and I was quickly catching up.

Leather Jacket made the mistake of looking behind him. There was a grin on his face, like he actually thought he was getting away, but when he saw me closing ground, he yelped in fright. A split-second later, he tripped on a trash can he would've seen had he not gotten arrogant, and smashed his face into the ground.

I slowed to a stop a few feet away, taking my time to actually just walk up to the fallen punk and pluck the hat from his hands. Leather Jacket looked up at me, eyes wide, saying, "Don't hurt me, please! We was just trying to have some fun –"

"I wouldn't quit my day job if I were you, dude," I replied, deciding not to kick the kid while he was down. That'd be mean, and he was just some misguided delinquent, not a gang member with any real experience or loyalty. A part of me was hopeful, that he might make a change for a better. "Consider this a fair warning, an opportunity to turn your life around before you get someone really ticked off, all right? Tell your friends, too, before they get their asses kicked again."

"Uh, yeah, yeah, sure, whatever you say," the kid nodded frantically, was already up and running away. Hmph, good riddance.

I turned around, started heading back to Dorian when he appeared around the corner, the hood of his sweater pulled up. I thought it odd, but didn't question it as I handed over the hat. "One hat, hold the punk."

"Uh, thanks," Dorian gave me a wary smile, taking the knitted object with sudden delicacy. I felt kind of bad – I guess he was now seeing me in a new light, thanks to the fight. "Holy crap. Are you all right?"

He meant me with the sling. I glanced down at it, almost forgetting that I had been hindered at all. I had been careful to avoid using that arm, so it didn't particularly hurt. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I was being careful."

"Wow." Dorian's eyebrows shot way up. "That, uh, that back there was, uh...pretty impressive. Are you a professional in breaking people's faces?"

"Only the bad ones," I said with what I hoped to be a nice look. I didn't know why I suddenly didn't want to intimidate him anymore; although I suppose just looking mean and actually kicking ass were two very different things.

"So you train."

"Judo. Muay Thai." I stated matter-of-factly, stuffing my hands in my pockets. "Kickboxing. I'm thinking about learning Tae Kwon Do, has more emphasis on the legs."

"Because a girl can never know too many martial arts," Dorian said, a wry smile drawing on his face. It made me feel better, knowing he was making an attempt at humor, that he was okay with it – at least he wasn't going to run away from me, screaming.

"Basically," I said, deciding to go with his reasoning rather than the truth. Dorian still had his hat in his hands, hadn't moved since I'd given it to him. "Uh, aren't you going to put it back on?"

"Oh, right," Dorian chuckled nervously, eyes flicking everywhere but me. I frowned. Why was he nervous all of a sudden? Did he think I was going to attack him, too? "Yeah, um, sure..."

Another pause. I raised my eyebrows at him. "Is there something wrong?"

"Um, no," Dorian said, rather unconvincingly. He gazed at me for a moment, his brow rising in worry. "Would you, er, mind closing your eyes for a second?"

"...no?" I had no idea what to say to that. But Dorian looked earnest and I just sighed and covered my eyes with my hand. "All right. Can't see anything. You're not going to turn into a werewolf or anything, are you?"

"What? No, I'm not a werewolf," he said with a nervous laugh. "Okay, you can look now."

When I did, I was not surprised to see he hadn't grown fangs or fur or anything. No, nothing had changed about his appearance, aside from the hat now being on his head instead of in his hands. "Can I ask what's with that, or is it a weird personal thing you don't want to talk about?"

"Erm," Dorian looked away for a moment, crossing his arms and tucking his hands away in a decidedly embarrassed gesture. He bit his lip in consideration, before glancing at me to gauge my reaction when he said, "The last one?"

"Oh, okay." I said, deciding to put it out of my mind. Unless whatever he hid under his hat was, like, a bomb or something, I wasn't concerned. Maybe he got a bad haircut, I don't know. With a careless shrug, I walked around him and called, "Come on, we should head back to MJ and the others, they'll probably wonder where we've gone."

"Wait, you're not bothered by it?" Dorian spun around, apparently surprised.

When he caught up with me, I kind of just laughed. "Everyone's got secrets. I don't know about the other people you've met, but I'm not the kind of person who has nothing better to do than take people's hats off to find out what they're hiding underneath." I remarked. Still, I found myself going back in time, trying to recall what his head looked when the punk stole his hat. I was so in the moment that I hadn't really paid attention. He had hair, was all I remembered, and it had been too dark to recall anything else. "Seriously, if people do that to you, tell them to buzz off."

"Or I can just let you handle them," Dorian offered.

I threw him an eye roll. "Sorry, I can't fight all your battles. That back there was just pro bono."

A dark chuckle filled the air, startling me. A low voice said, "That's funny, coming from you,"

I suddenly halted. My blood went cold. Then, slowly, I pivoted on my heel. Barely able to breathe, I stared at the man standing behind us.

Eddie Brock. Smiling.