[ This particular band had been trailing her for a little over a week now. It was not safe to be on the street level, except in brief spans, and so she kept to the rooftops. Alleyways.
She had seen this man many times over the past week. He rides a motorcycle, stops in at the little bodega, he likes plums, and always buys one or two. She watches him because he reads as able to protect. Not just able. Willing.
Laura can smell that she can trust him.
So, she takes a chance when they get too close. She climbs down from the fire escape she was in, and drops onto the dirty, cracked pavement with her backpack, tugging her hood over her head. When she heads into the store, she knows they aren't far, but they are looking for a young girl who is alone.
When she slips between a lady and man deciding on what to eat for snacks for the road, and takes the tall man's hand, small one curling around it. Now she isn't alone. ]
Bucky's simply too much of what he is, still far too much the Winter Soldier to not be aware of it. It's careful though, staying out of sight. And it doesn't make a move, so he lets it be. There had been a moment of course when he'd considered mentioning it to Tony, but he simply doesn't have enough information about it: no motive, not even a positive identification. It'd only make Tony worry, and that's not at all what he wants to do.
Besides, it's not like he goes out unarmed. And even if he did, it's not like he's not a weapon simply by nature of what he is.
Still, it's a good week and change before things change. He's out on a bike, as has become usual for him, and a bike means leather jacket and gloves, easy to conceal that arm. Not that he needs to do much of that, but it's easier. Simpler. Draws less attention, fewer stares. And he likes this shop, likes the friendly staff just trying to make a few bucks. They're simple people with simple lives. Sometimes he envies it.
Other times he remembers blood on the floor and the cold fear of having to press the reactor back into Tony's chest and he's thankful that he is what he is.
He's just starting to reach for a few plums off the display when a hand slips into his own and he stiffens for a fraction of a second, glancing down at the dirty figure at his side. His shadow then; she has to be. Younger than he would have expected; smaller too. And further observation is forestalled by the arrival of— Well, it doesn't matter what organization they're with, not really. Bucky knows their type well enough, and can certainly stop their type a mile away. The two who come into the shop aren't exactly inconspicuous, but that doesn't mean he wants to hang around for too long.
He bypasses the individual fruits for a prebagged dozen instead, pulling the paper bag off the display and tugging her toward the cashier. The sooner they're out of the shop the better; it doesn't take much for him to figure out that she's being hunted and he's her disguise. It'll work for a while, but a hooded sweatshirt and an adult make for a poor disguise overall and he'd like to put some distance between themselves and the two agents sooner rather than later.]
Put these in your bag. [It's quiet as he leads her out of the store. Putting a kid on the back of a motorcycle probably isn't the best idea, but it's going to have to work. And a dozen plums are too many to put in his jacket pockets.]
[ There were other people. Other regulars. Marks who could have passed. Made due. It would not be good. They do not carry themselves the same way that the tall man does.
They would not survive very long. They would die because they tried to protect her and could not. This man does not feel like that. He's also armed. It's a habit of his, she can tell. He doesn't want to use it, but always has it.
Laura can feel him tense as she takes his hand, and for a second she holds her breath, uncertain if she misjudged. She's glad to find that she hasn't when the men come in, and he keeps holding on to her hand, going about his business as if she were always there.
It's simple enough to go along with getting what the other man is buying, and not cause a commotion. She doesn't make eye contact with the men in the store, but keeps them in her peripheral. They are the ones that have been following her.
He keeps up with his longer strides easily. She slings her backpack off her shoulder, and opens it up to let the plums be put inside. She's ridden in cars before, but never a motorcycle. It's the one part of this plan that she isn't certain what to expect from. The bag is zipped back up, and slung back on, hand resting on the seat of the motorcycle, unsure how to proceed. ]
[It's just a brief look he gets of her bag but it's enough to confirm to him that she's alone and on the run. And inside are two men who want to change that and haven't realized their mark has slipped away. That's fine, but they're probably not the only two. And he probably doesn't have much time.
When she hesitates Bucky doesn't, hands on her waist to deposit her on the bike's seat. Even with a backpack she's small enough that it won't be a problem to have her in front, not once he shows her where she can hold. She's heavier than he would have though; good. At least she's not starved.
He wastes no time gunning the engine and pulling out of the small lot. He's not sure where to go except away, definitely out of town limits but certainly not back to the house. Not until he figures out what her deal is.
They're on the bike for a good half an hour before he pulls off and into a park. He parks by the picnic area, where the facilities building hides the bike from the road, and kills the engine.]
[ She has herself, a picture in her pocket of her family (the other kids), and a bouncy ball that barely fits in her hand. If one doesn't count the plums now. She tenses just a little at being picked up, but then straddles the motorcycle.
It reminds her of the mechanical horse outside of the convenience store somewhere else on the road. A lady had been nice to her and put a quarter in it to make it move like she was riding. She puts her hands where he tells her, eyes widening once the bike starts, and they are off.
She has a moment of surprised laughter that is swallowed up by the wind in her face, blowing her hood and hair back. Her eyes are wide as they speed through the roads with ease. She learns quickly to lean a little when he does, so that the bike stays balanced.
Eventually, they stop in a park. She shimmies off the bike in order to get her feet under her and face the man properly. ]
Men wanted to hurt me. Looking for me. Alone. With you. Not alone.
[ Her words are heavily accented, stilted and broken. She knows English, but not very well. Her Spanish is better. He slides her bag off of her small frame, unzips it, and pulls the bag of plums out to offer it back to him.
She's grateful for the help, but she doesn't expect any more now that they are not so close to the city. Her sleeves near her wrist are filthy, knuckles bloody, but not raw. ]
[The first time he meets her, he's not a pedestrian. He's suited up. Helmet on. In the process of finishing up a street fight. She's low to the ground and fast, for a moment Matt thinks it's a stray dog. Scrappy and ill tempered because that sounds like a growl though a half full can of beans is still rolling up to his foot.
Daredevil drops the thug who just lets on a tight thank you Lord as he books it. Nothing too bad, selling stolen things out of the back of a van. TVs, radios, though he has reason to believe there are weapons hidden in there too. The florescent lighting from the front of the convenience store buzzes in his ears. The collection of trash rustles again.
It all smells....disgusting. The thug books it across the pavement and down the street. Matt will find him again. Later. His head tilts. There's a heartbeat. Fast with either adrenaline or anxiety.]
[ It was not safe to be on the street. The people looking for her were still out there, and it was just safer to break into the little bodegas when they were closed, get food and water, and go back to the alley where she hid. It was not very nice. It did not smell good, but no one came looking.
Apparently it was not something to last. The scuffle that ended in the alley after the man in the body armor and mask let the man with the van go knocked into her little hiding space near the dumpster, tipping over her can of food. Laura growled again, shifting and putting her backpack on, and bolting out to grab the can, then use her claws to dig into the wall to jump up to the fire escape.
Her clothes were dirty, hair matted and filthy, and she rubbed a dirty sleeve across her face once she landed above the strange man in red. She doesn't stay much longer to watch him, and heads up for the roof of the building to get away. ]
[A child alone at night in Hell's Kitchen isn't exactly ever safe in the conventional sense. If it isn't the bitter cold of the city, it's criminals and unsavory people. That's what colors Matt's expression as shock enough for his jaw to drop as he sees what could be a child. It had to have been. Unless there really are demons and creatures in the city.
Matt gets his wits to try and chase who or what that was. Though size means agility. And being on the ground, it takes effort to get to the roof though he is faster than the typical person. And she? Even faster.
The second time he meets her he's in plain clothes. A blind man on an errand. Another bodega. Another hour. His paper bag has a juice, a sandwich and a few other small things. It's easy to consider that strange encounter in an alley as a one off. New York is the home of those. Any thing can happen. Except...]
[ Laura is not what one would consider a conventional child. Most wouldn't even consider her a child. She's an experiment. A tool. A weapon.
It isn't hard for her to lose him on the rooftops. She can watch him from a safe distance until she's certain he won't follow her. She scents the air after he's gone: concern. The nurses who let them out felt the same. Concern. Worry. Fear.
Maybe this man is not all bad. Maybe she'll watch him. In turn, she watches others, and finds new ways to blend in. She finds a place to take clothes from, and another to clean up so that she does not look so unkempt. It's supposed to be cold outside (it doesn't bother her), but she wears the right clothes all the same so she doesn't stand out.
The man who runs this little bodega is nice. He caught her looking at things, wondering what she could take and run with. He must have known. Instead, he has a bag waiting for her when she comes in, and insists she picks out something sweet each time.
Laura's fiddling with the wrapper edges, and sniffing at a package she's picked up when she notices the familiar scent of the man in line. Her eyes widen a little, and she peers around the corner to get a better look at him. He has glasses over his eyes, so dark that she can't glimpse his eyes from her vantage point, and a cane in one hand. She's not sure what it means, no one in the place she came from had anything like it. ]
[ It is late enough that Matt is usually home. She does not worry, because he can look after himself, but waits patiently for a phone call. By the time he does call to let her know that research for a case is taking up his time, she is already dressed, and packing her backpack. ]
The lady on the phone tells me that it is twenty minutes to get to you, but I am faster than that.
[ Once she's got an idea in her head, it's difficult, if not impossible to persuade her. She climbs up onto the counter to get his favorite coffee to bring with her as well, her stuffed horse is looped through the straps to stay against her side as she heads to the roof.
If she hurries, she can stop at the bodega near their office, and bring some snacks to share. ]
[Keeping watch of one another has become a literal interpretation. They both are very aware of one another's skill set now. Matt doesn't fight it. Why combat positive impulses? Caring about other people is a good thing. And while he is a might concerned about the under twenty minute commute to Nelson, Murdock and Page she arrives.]
I don't know if you will like staying in the office. It's small.
[Not the same as telling her no. It's too late to restrict that. And really, he has talked in passing about how he has been taking care of a young girl. The details have been very in depth. Just mostly that Matt is trying to help her, using his experiences to channel it for the better.]
[ Laura has seen them from a distance: Foggy and Karen. Mostly from following Matt through the city sometimes. Or following the scents on him to get a glimpse of them. They have talked since, that it isn't a polite thing to do, which is another strange thing to have to learn about. ]
I have my pages to color, and my horse.
[ Obviously, that's enough. And sure enough, less than twenty minutes, and she's heading up to where they are at. Adjusting her clothes and hair so that she does not look as if she was just vaulting over rooftops (she also learned that from Matt), and knocks. ]
[Following scents or using tracking--that's about the only description of it Matt could come up with to set it apart from paying attention to details--is an invasion of space and privacy. Space is what you give a person out of respect. Privacy is a right. It's all part of the learning. At least putting it as manners helps. concepts of right and wrong are being worked through by explaining the principles.
If Laura doesn't enjoy listening to Matt talk she has not yet told him. They have many talks.]
I'll be here waiting for you. Please be careful.
[Because he trusts her. Fifteen minutes and his ears are open. He hears her up the block and is able to get the door for her himself.]
[ Experiencing Halloween had been one thing. Everyone dressed up. Getting the candy for visiting different houses. She and Matt had put together a simple costume, and wandered around the neighborhood. Then, immediately after there was talk of Thanksgiving, but it did not capture her attention so much as the other one they spoke about.
Christmas.
Everyone was already excited and decorating. They put pretty lights up, and round pieces of trees on their doors. Wreaths, they called them. This isn't something she and Matt have talked about yet.
Soon enough, she can't hold her curiosity and excitement in, and she ends up hanging half over the back of the couch to get his attention once he starts putting away work things for the day. ]
What is this Christmas? They decorate everything, but it is not like Halloween. What is it for?
[Matt turns. As much as he tries to instill a little respect for the furniture he has come to accept that Laura will hang about it. At least her shoes are off.]
Christmas is...a pretty big holiday. I mean, Halloween is too. But Christmas time is from after Thanksgiving until New Year's.
[Though the stores are already challenging Matt's point. He grins a little.]
There's a lot to unpack and it's not a simple answer, Laura. I'll start with what I know. Does that sound okay?
[Meaning that he's going to be talking a lot so it's a fair enough warning.]
[ He is very particular about the furniture, and having shoes off while on them. She does her best to follow that rule, but forgets not to jump sometimes. ]
It is bigger than Halloween then? If it lasts so long?
[ She reaches for the bottom of the couch cushion, and flips herself over to a sitting position. At least it was gentle. ]
There are a lot of things. The man in the strange outfit. But there is a baby as well? Is the baby his?
[ She has a lot of questions. Foggy and Karen couldn't answer all of them. ]
[Then again, Matt knows for sure he didn't have basic respect for the couch or his bed. He was a kid. That's what they do.]
It is. There's more to celebrating.
[He shifts and tilts his head thoughtfully.]
Okay. So I believe that the world was made by one God, remember? And this God felt cut off from the world and the people he made. He found a young woman named Mary who was pure of heart and selfless, she wasn't married or touched by a man and by a miracle Mary became pregnant with the son of God.
[Okay that is a lot. Is she still following.]
Christmas is the birthday of the son of God, Jesus.
[ Laura is not dumb. There are many things she is still learning about the world, but she knows the looks that people give each other. The special ones that say they like someone in a way that is not just friendly. She also knows when she should "make herself scarce" as the saying she has heard goes.
She does that so that they can have time together with just the two of them. It is a good thing. She has watched shows. She has asked questions. Karen is surprisingly open about these conversations where Matt and Foggy sometimes stumble. This gruff, dangerous man makes Matt happy. He does bad things, but it makes her daddy happy to be around him.
They do not always agree, but neither do Matt and Laura. Matt says it is important that they feel comfortable enough to disagree. She wants to understand what Frank wants. She wants to know if she can trust him, too.
Which is why she comes over onto the couch where he is sitting one day, and sits cross-legged next to him. Watching. ]
What do you want here?
[ Her English has gotten a lot better, but it is still heavily accented. ]
[Not startling has been a bit of a challenge for Frank. Laura is very, very quiet on her feet. Matt is ever unsurprised when she pops out of nowhere. And in Frank's opinion he has taken to this paternal guardian role swimmingly. It's great. A little suspicious on both sides, but great. He's got a magazine he's flipping through. Matt was supposed to be here by now. Just the two of them. Waiting.
Frank looks up from his magazine.]
Right now? I'm waiting here for Matt.
[The literal answer is likely not at all what she was looking for. Her dark eyes are on him, analytical.]
[ She has always been like that. Quiet and quick. Matt is used to it. Frank is not. Laura has thought of being a little louder, but then she does not know if she cares to do that yet.
Her eyes narrow slightly. Expression pinched. ]
No. With Matt. You are around him a lot. You like him?
[Coming and going out of a room as she pleases. That whole ninja stealth approach only more like a house cat somehow. Still deadly.
Frank lifts an eyebrow. He can't and won't tell her that he's liked railing her father figure when they get the private time. That would also be a lie. It's more than that. He sighs and shuts the magazine.]
[ Laura knows she is not supposed to follow Matt and Frank when they go out in the city. It does not stop her, though. She stays well enough away that Matt cannot pick up on her. She's quiet enough to do it.
She's glad that she followed tonight, even if that may be a short lived emotion to feel.
Right now, she's sticky with blood, and there are men groaning and whimpering around her. It echoes oddly in the warehouse. The scent of blood and fear makes her nose scrunch. She sees a shift out of the corner of her eye, a person trying to crawl away, and calmly stalks towards them with her claws still outstretched.
The only thing that stops her is the sharp retort of her name. The man keeps crawling, and she offers a dismissive snort in the direction of the voice trying to placate her. Her blood is up. She's furious.
These people tried to hurt her Matt. Tried to hurt Frank. They are her family. They might have killed them if she hadn't been here. She doesn't even remember when her claws came out, just that they did. The wounds that she received have already healed. They heal very quickly for her.
As for the other people there? Blood is still dripping from her claws. ]
[You know when Matt had the talk with her, seemed loud and clear. He told Laura his expectations, reminded her of the rules. She told him what she was going to be doing. He give her a kiss on the forehead before putting the dopey horned helmet on. It all was pretty straightforward. Th past couple of weeks though there had been these ghost of memories drifting into his thoughts. Laura and Lisa do not look a thing a like. And still, his brain would short circuit and small overlays of times past would filter over the scenes he saw play out between Matt and Laura. Maybe that's why he's having a hard time with this.
Laura is hardly four feet tall. Her clothes are cotton. No armor, no protection. Blood in her hair, staining the bright colors she likes, blood on the ground. Bodies slumped. It doesn't take a lot for his thoughts to spiral.
Lisa.
Frankie.
Maria.
Matt clutches Frank's arm and gives him a gentle squeeze as he pushes past him.]
Frank, please.
[Desperate to keep them both on the ground in someway, Matt staggers closer to the small girl. Matt's the one that said her name. Sharp because he felt fear as surely as the chumps felt claws. She has a temper, he always knew that. Though he wasn't sure if he would lose her to it.]
Laura, it's alright now. You're done. You can stop.
[ In her defense, and his, she had not followed that first night. Not even the second or third. She knows the rules. She also knows the funny feeling she gets in her stomach. The strange one that sends her out after them that night.
They are both hurt, Frank and Matt. She can smell their blood clearly through the rest pooling on the ground and dripping from her claws. Her teeth grit and she makes a low, noise in the back of her throat. More feral animal than little girl. Fear comes to her nose then, sharp and acrid. It isn't the same kind of fear as the man babbling on the ground, crying for mercy from a tiny little girl.
It's Matt's fear. Not of her. For her. She's learned to recognize it. ]
Yes it is. No more fighting. It's over now. We will go home. You did help. We are safe.
[Clipped, passionate words in her own tongue. She knows English, yes. When the moments are tense, when her head and instincts have gone to a sort of default, Spanish comes easier.]
I'm with you. Are you with me?
[In a manner of speaking. It's a call for awareness. No judgment. He knows why she acts as she does, the level of brutality is a knee jerk response. He couldn't stop or reach Elektra, and he hopes to cross the divide enough to bring the inertia of the moment to a stop.
Frank still hangs back. He has a pretty lousy gash across his thigh where a bullet grazed. Matt is weary, taking a bad fall and trying to keep the sway of fatigue out of him. There is hardly any movement in the warehouse. The tension is thick.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
( for sinistral. ) where do all the memories go the ones we hide away with lock and key
She had seen this man many times over the past week. He rides a motorcycle, stops in at the little bodega, he likes plums, and always buys one or two. She watches him because he reads as able to protect. Not just able. Willing.
Laura can smell that she can trust him.
So, she takes a chance when they get too close. She climbs down from the fire escape she was in, and drops onto the dirty, cracked pavement with her backpack, tugging her hood over her head. When she heads into the store, she knows they aren't far, but they are looking for a young girl who is alone.
When she slips between a lady and man deciding on what to eat for snacks for the road, and takes the tall man's hand, small one curling around it. Now she isn't alone. ]
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Bucky's simply too much of what he is, still far too much the Winter Soldier to not be aware of it. It's careful though, staying out of sight. And it doesn't make a move, so he lets it be. There had been a moment of course when he'd considered mentioning it to Tony, but he simply doesn't have enough information about it: no motive, not even a positive identification. It'd only make Tony worry, and that's not at all what he wants to do.
Besides, it's not like he goes out unarmed. And even if he did, it's not like he's not a weapon simply by nature of what he is.
Still, it's a good week and change before things change. He's out on a bike, as has become usual for him, and a bike means leather jacket and gloves, easy to conceal that arm. Not that he needs to do much of that, but it's easier. Simpler. Draws less attention, fewer stares. And he likes this shop, likes the friendly staff just trying to make a few bucks. They're simple people with simple lives. Sometimes he envies it.
Other times he remembers blood on the floor and the cold fear of having to press the reactor back into Tony's chest and he's thankful that he is what he is.
He's just starting to reach for a few plums off the display when a hand slips into his own and he stiffens for a fraction of a second, glancing down at the dirty figure at his side. His shadow then; she has to be. Younger than he would have expected; smaller too. And further observation is forestalled by the arrival of— Well, it doesn't matter what organization they're with, not really. Bucky knows their type well enough, and can certainly stop their type a mile away. The two who come into the shop aren't exactly inconspicuous, but that doesn't mean he wants to hang around for too long.
He bypasses the individual fruits for a prebagged dozen instead, pulling the paper bag off the display and tugging her toward the cashier. The sooner they're out of the shop the better; it doesn't take much for him to figure out that she's being hunted and he's her disguise. It'll work for a while, but a hooded sweatshirt and an adult make for a poor disguise overall and he'd like to put some distance between themselves and the two agents sooner rather than later.]
Put these in your bag. [It's quiet as he leads her out of the store. Putting a kid on the back of a motorcycle probably isn't the best idea, but it's going to have to work. And a dozen plums are too many to put in his jacket pockets.]
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They would not survive very long. They would die because they tried to protect her and could not. This man does not feel like that. He's also armed. It's a habit of his, she can tell. He doesn't want to use it, but always has it.
Laura can feel him tense as she takes his hand, and for a second she holds her breath, uncertain if she misjudged. She's glad to find that she hasn't when the men come in, and he keeps holding on to her hand, going about his business as if she were always there.
It's simple enough to go along with getting what the other man is buying, and not cause a commotion. She doesn't make eye contact with the men in the store, but keeps them in her peripheral. They are the ones that have been following her.
He keeps up with his longer strides easily. She slings her backpack off her shoulder, and opens it up to let the plums be put inside. She's ridden in cars before, but never a motorcycle. It's the one part of this plan that she isn't certain what to expect from. The bag is zipped back up, and slung back on, hand resting on the seat of the motorcycle, unsure how to proceed. ]
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When she hesitates Bucky doesn't, hands on her waist to deposit her on the bike's seat. Even with a backpack she's small enough that it won't be a problem to have her in front, not once he shows her where she can hold. She's heavier than he would have though; good. At least she's not starved.
He wastes no time gunning the engine and pulling out of the small lot. He's not sure where to go except away, definitely out of town limits but certainly not back to the house. Not until he figures out what her deal is.
They're on the bike for a good half an hour before he pulls off and into a park. He parks by the picnic area, where the facilities building hides the bike from the road, and kills the engine.]
You gonna tell me what that all was, kid?
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It reminds her of the mechanical horse outside of the convenience store somewhere else on the road. A lady had been nice to her and put a quarter in it to make it move like she was riding. She puts her hands where he tells her, eyes widening once the bike starts, and they are off.
She has a moment of surprised laughter that is swallowed up by the wind in her face, blowing her hood and hair back. Her eyes are wide as they speed through the roads with ease. She learns quickly to lean a little when he does, so that the bike stays balanced.
Eventually, they stop in a park. She shimmies off the bike in order to get her feet under her and face the man properly. ]
Men wanted to hurt me. Looking for me. Alone. With you. Not alone.
[ Her words are heavily accented, stilted and broken. She knows English, but not very well. Her Spanish is better. He slides her bag off of her small frame, unzips it, and pulls the bag of plums out to offer it back to him.
She's grateful for the help, but she doesn't expect any more now that they are not so close to the city. Her sleeves near her wrist are filthy, knuckles bloody, but not raw. ]
Gracias.
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Daredevil drops the thug who just lets on a tight thank you Lord as he books it. Nothing too bad, selling stolen things out of the back of a van. TVs, radios, though he has reason to believe there are weapons hidden in there too. The florescent lighting from the front of the convenience store buzzes in his ears. The collection of trash rustles again.
It all smells....disgusting. The thug books it across the pavement and down the street. Matt will find him again. Later. His head tilts. There's a heartbeat. Fast with either adrenaline or anxiety.]
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Apparently it was not something to last. The scuffle that ended in the alley after the man in the body armor and mask let the man with the van go knocked into her little hiding space near the dumpster, tipping over her can of food. Laura growled again, shifting and putting her backpack on, and bolting out to grab the can, then use her claws to dig into the wall to jump up to the fire escape.
Her clothes were dirty, hair matted and filthy, and she rubbed a dirty sleeve across her face once she landed above the strange man in red. She doesn't stay much longer to watch him, and heads up for the roof of the building to get away. ]
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Matt gets his wits to try and chase who or what that was. Though size means agility. And being on the ground, it takes effort to get to the roof though he is faster than the typical person. And she? Even faster.
The second time he meets her he's in plain clothes. A blind man on an errand. Another bodega. Another hour. His paper bag has a juice, a sandwich and a few other small things. It's easy to consider that strange encounter in an alley as a one off. New York is the home of those. Any thing can happen. Except...]
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It isn't hard for her to lose him on the rooftops. She can watch him from a safe distance until she's certain he won't follow her. She scents the air after he's gone: concern. The nurses who let them out felt the same. Concern. Worry. Fear.
Maybe this man is not all bad. Maybe she'll watch him. In turn, she watches others, and finds new ways to blend in. She finds a place to take clothes from, and another to clean up so that she does not look so unkempt. It's supposed to be cold outside (it doesn't bother her), but she wears the right clothes all the same so she doesn't stand out.
The man who runs this little bodega is nice. He caught her looking at things, wondering what she could take and run with. He must have known. Instead, he has a bag waiting for her when she comes in, and insists she picks out something sweet each time.
Laura's fiddling with the wrapper edges, and sniffing at a package she's picked up when she notices the familiar scent of the man in line. Her eyes widen a little, and she peers around the corner to get a better look at him. He has glasses over his eyes, so dark that she can't glimpse his eyes from her vantage point, and a cane in one hand. She's not sure what it means, no one in the place she came from had anything like it. ]
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for fightlikehell.
The lady on the phone tells me that it is twenty minutes to get to you, but I am faster than that.
[ Once she's got an idea in her head, it's difficult, if not impossible to persuade her. She climbs up onto the counter to get his favorite coffee to bring with her as well, her stuffed horse is looped through the straps to stay against her side as she heads to the roof.
If she hurries, she can stop at the bodega near their office, and bring some snacks to share. ]
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I don't know if you will like staying in the office. It's small.
[Not the same as telling her no. It's too late to restrict that. And really, he has talked in passing about how he has been taking care of a young girl. The details have been very in depth. Just mostly that Matt is trying to help her, using his experiences to channel it for the better.]
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I have my pages to color, and my horse.
[ Obviously, that's enough. And sure enough, less than twenty minutes, and she's heading up to where they are at. Adjusting her clothes and hair so that she does not look as if she was just vaulting over rooftops (she also learned that from Matt), and knocks. ]
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If Laura doesn't enjoy listening to Matt talk she has not yet told him. They have many talks.]
I'll be here waiting for you. Please be careful.
[Because he trusts her. Fifteen minutes and his ears are open. He hears her up the block and is able to get the door for her himself.]
The GPS doesn't consider short cuts.
[Like people who are uncannily fast.]
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( for fightlikehell. it's the most wonderful time of the year )
Christmas.
Everyone was already excited and decorating. They put pretty lights up, and round pieces of trees on their doors. Wreaths, they called them. This isn't something she and Matt have talked about yet.
Soon enough, she can't hold her curiosity and excitement in, and she ends up hanging half over the back of the couch to get his attention once he starts putting away work things for the day. ]
What is this Christmas? They decorate everything, but it is not like Halloween. What is it for?
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Christmas is...a pretty big holiday. I mean, Halloween is too. But Christmas time is from after Thanksgiving until New Year's.
[Though the stores are already challenging Matt's point. He grins a little.]
There's a lot to unpack and it's not a simple answer, Laura. I'll start with what I know. Does that sound okay?
[Meaning that he's going to be talking a lot so it's a fair enough warning.]
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It is bigger than Halloween then? If it lasts so long?
[ She reaches for the bottom of the couch cushion, and flips herself over to a sitting position. At least it was gentle. ]
There are a lot of things. The man in the strange outfit. But there is a baby as well? Is the baby his?
[ She has a lot of questions. Foggy and Karen couldn't answer all of them. ]
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It is. There's more to celebrating.
[He shifts and tilts his head thoughtfully.]
Okay. So I believe that the world was made by one God, remember? And this God felt cut off from the world and the people he made. He found a young woman named Mary who was pure of heart and selfless, she wasn't married or touched by a man and by a miracle Mary became pregnant with the son of God.
[Okay that is a lot. Is she still following.]
Christmas is the birthday of the son of God, Jesus.
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for endlesswar.
She does that so that they can have time together with just the two of them. It is a good thing. She has watched shows. She has asked questions. Karen is surprisingly open about these conversations where Matt and Foggy sometimes stumble. This gruff, dangerous man makes Matt happy. He does bad things, but it makes her daddy happy to be around him.
They do not always agree, but neither do Matt and Laura. Matt says it is important that they feel comfortable enough to disagree. She wants to understand what Frank wants. She wants to know if she can trust him, too.
Which is why she comes over onto the couch where he is sitting one day, and sits cross-legged next to him. Watching. ]
What do you want here?
[ Her English has gotten a lot better, but it is still heavily accented. ]
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Frank looks up from his magazine.]
Right now? I'm waiting here for Matt.
[The literal answer is likely not at all what she was looking for. Her dark eyes are on him, analytical.]
...what do you want here?
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Her eyes narrow slightly. Expression pinched. ]
No. With Matt. You are around him a lot. You like him?
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Frank lifts an eyebrow. He can't and won't tell her that he's liked railing her father figure when they get the private time. That would also be a lie. It's more than that. He sighs and shuts the magazine.]
Yeah. I like his company. He likes mine.
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behind every question: what happens next.
She's glad that she followed tonight, even if that may be a short lived emotion to feel.
Right now, she's sticky with blood, and there are men groaning and whimpering around her. It echoes oddly in the warehouse. The scent of blood and fear makes her nose scrunch. She sees a shift out of the corner of her eye, a person trying to crawl away, and calmly stalks towards them with her claws still outstretched.
The only thing that stops her is the sharp retort of her name. The man keeps crawling, and she offers a dismissive snort in the direction of the voice trying to placate her. Her blood is up. She's furious.
These people tried to hurt her Matt. Tried to hurt Frank. They are her family. They might have killed them if she hadn't been here. She doesn't even remember when her claws came out, just that they did. The wounds that she received have already healed. They heal very quickly for her.
As for the other people there? Blood is still dripping from her claws. ]
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Laura is hardly four feet tall. Her clothes are cotton. No armor, no protection. Blood in her hair, staining the bright colors she likes, blood on the ground. Bodies slumped. It doesn't take a lot for his thoughts to spiral.
Lisa.
Frankie.
Maria.
Matt clutches Frank's arm and gives him a gentle squeeze as he pushes past him.]
Frank, please.
[Desperate to keep them both on the ground in someway, Matt staggers closer to the small girl. Matt's the one that said her name. Sharp because he felt fear as surely as the chumps felt claws. She has a temper, he always knew that. Though he wasn't sure if he would lose her to it.]
Laura, it's alright now. You're done. You can stop.
[Careful but stern.]
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They are both hurt, Frank and Matt. She can smell their blood clearly through the rest pooling on the ground and dripping from her claws. Her teeth grit and she makes a low, noise in the back of her throat. More feral animal than little girl. Fear comes to her nose then, sharp and acrid. It isn't the same kind of fear as the man babbling on the ground, crying for mercy from a tiny little girl.
It's Matt's fear. Not of her. For her. She's learned to recognize it. ]
Not done. Not all right.
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[Clipped, passionate words in her own tongue. She knows English, yes. When the moments are tense, when her head and instincts have gone to a sort of default, Spanish comes easier.]
I'm with you. Are you with me?
[In a manner of speaking. It's a call for awareness. No judgment. He knows why she acts as she does, the level of brutality is a knee jerk response. He couldn't stop or reach Elektra, and he hopes to cross the divide enough to bring the inertia of the moment to a stop.
Frank still hangs back. He has a pretty lousy gash across his thigh where a bullet grazed. Matt is weary, taking a bad fall and trying to keep the sway of fatigue out of him. There is hardly any movement in the warehouse. The tension is thick.]
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