#defendare

"and here i thought we were having so much fun playing cat and mouse,” felicia sighs, fingertips swiping a line of dust off of the artwork of her fancy. she looks at the dirt on her gloves with disdain, blowing them off with a single exhale. “you look good, red.”

     sound  of  gun  cocking. 

she stopped trying to sneak up on him months ago, but the habit was still hard to shake. leave it to selina kyle to opt for the window instead of the door, an m.o. that was often ill-received but which never really drove her to act otherwise. his words, terse and tense, cut through the darkness of the room to her end, spearing right at her chest and breaking whatever was left of her heart into pieces.

it’d been months since she’d last seen him. that day at the courtroom, after telling him he was just another pawn in her game, selina packed up and left, hopping from country to country, empty penthouse to empty penthouse, pretending the warmth of the alcohol could replace the warmth of body she had come to know on every sleepless night in hell’s kitchen.

she hadn’t apologized; he was right. she didn’t think she’d find herself in a position to have to utter the words anyway. besides, who in their right mind would expect a world class thief, a renowned villainess, to come forward with so much as an apology?

a blind, red-leather donning vigilante who daylights as a catholic lawyer, that’s who.

and so, half-way into his office and half-way still in the city, selina pauses. the drops of rain fall lightly on her suit, a gentle pitter-patter that cushions the silence his greeting has afforded them.

“i’m sorry,” she says, because she can’t think of anything else to say, even if it sounds disingenuous. she was —  sorry, that is — but she didn’t blame him for not believing her. she didn’t blame him if he chose not to see her again. in fact, she didn’t really know what she was doing back in the city, back in hell’s kitchen, in this office, at this hour, when she knew he’d be alone.

can’t teach an old dog new tricks, let alone a cat.

“if it counts for anything, i didn’t mean what i said.” she slips in entirely, not waiting for an invitation, allowing the drops of water to race into a puddle on the floor. “i ….” her finger taps nervously against her thigh, and she second guesses her visit altogether. “i was scared.” 

     knuckles  meet  the  back  of  his  door  three  times;  its  prolonged  creak  introducing  a  vibrant  nest  of  red  hair  &  thick  glasses  framing a  face  one  wouldn’t  easily pinpoint  in  a  crowd.  allowing  herself  in  &  adopting a  butchered  australian accent----      ‘   evenin’,  mister  murdock! woo-wee,  now  this  is  a  fancy  work  place!  ‘am gonna  need  us  to  exchange allies’  phone  numbahs!  ugh,  janeth was  supposed  t’  take  care’af just  my  room  last  week  but  merely made  me  wahnder where  th’hell  she  got  that  doctorate  in  interior  design. anyway!  i’ve  heard  tons  an’  tons  an’  tons’a  good  things  about  ya  that  i  just  said  to  myself  “oh,  margot,  this  is  definitely th’  mans  who’s  gonna  take’cher  alligator  outta  the  goddamn  pound,  mate!”   ’

𝐇𝐄𝐑   𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓   𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐒   𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇   𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘   𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄    .    she   wants   to   scream   until   she   grows   hoarse   ,   to   shed   tears   she’s   never   allowed   herself   to   .   she   wants   to   mourn   the   ruins   of   their   relationship   but   she   is   blinded   by   anger    ;    anger   at   herself   ,   mostly   .   she’s   always   ruined   every   little   good   thing   that   has   managed   to   edge   its   way   into   the   shattered   remains   of   her   life   .    typical   natasha      !

and   as   they   stand   there   ,   the   unforgiving   rain    sleeting   down   in   what   she   can   describe   as   only   the   most   cliche   of   circumstances   ,   the   exterior   seems   to   fade   away   .   the   world   around   them   muddles   beneath   the   streams   of   freezing   precipitation   and   there   he   stands   ,   crystalline   clear   above   all   else   .   her   jaw   clenches   ,    she   blinks   hard   beneath   the   showers   .   she   barely   notices   that   her   frame   shakes   now   ,   uniformed   black   soaked   through   due   to   her   persistent   stubbornness   .   nothing   ,   not   the   rain   ,   not   even   a   god   damned   hurricane   ,   would   move   natasha   romanov   .      (       let    the   empire   crumble   around   her   ,   the   woman   who   will   not   be   moved       )

it   happens   quickly    but   fervently   ,   with   such   haste   that   it   knocks   the   literal   breath   out   of   her   throat   .    she   could    build   a   home   in   his   embrace    —     hell   ,   she   has   .   but   she   burned   that   home   to   the   ground     ;     the   widow   be   damned   ,   skilled   at   destruction   is   she   .   she   clutches   at   him   with   desperation   ,   how   her   bones   have   yearned   for   him   ,   how   her   chest    has    ached   with   longing   .   

  and   amongst   a   furiously    ardent   and   slightly   wistful   kiss    ,   her   lips   part   with   a   subtle        ❝        fuck   you   matt   murdock   .       ❞         but   god   ,   does   she   love   him   all   the   same   .