#mvfom

You laid awake in the dark of your apartment, staring at the corkboard hung by your dining area. Notes, news clippings, and red string connected everything in chronological order. Post-its were spread around in questions you still couldn't crack. Aveline Academy for Girls. An older boarding school in Manhattan; prestigious in every sense of the word. Within the last decade, the institution allowed mutants and children of mutant parents into their halls. Within the last month, a typed letter arrived to the mansion that described the truly terrible conditions behind gilded doors. No signature.

Even if it was some sick prank, you did your due diligence and dug deeper. All you found were allegations, rumors, and old forums created by concerned mothers that were discontinued. The academy seemed to have great PR and an even better legal team. That was when you found it. An article by the Bulletin dating to the first week of this month, written by Ben Urich. Two girls were reported missing to NYPD a year ago and one of their bodies was discovered deceased. Your stomach churned as your eyes skimmed the words. Both students of Aveline Academy for Girls. One still missing. An edit was made the day after the initial release to include a generic statement from the school. You can only guess who authored the letter to the mansion.

The lack of attention was alarming. Considering Duncan reached out, his department had caught wind of something themselves. You wanted so badly to investigate the institution in person, making it your best interest to work with the feds on this one. You idly rubbed your neck, feeling the raised skin of the scar that wrapped around.

There was another matter at hand. Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter. Why did he throw you off so much? He was simply doing his job by providing insight with his partner, Ray. What was stranger was how he approached you after. He was quick to offer in escorting you out of the building and before you could politely reject him, Duncan practically pushed both of you towards the elevator. You held your notes tightly to your chest the entire time.

When you chanced a glance as you hit the lobby, he was already looking at you. He guided you out with that smile again, but the sharpened edges smoothened to something approachable. He even walked you all the way to your car and sent you off with a, "Have a good day, Miss Howlett." You saw him in your rear view mirror, even as you peeled away from the parking lot. It almost felt like he was trying to overcompensate for something.

Doubt warred with your gut feeling. Were you…imagining things earlier?

You thunked your head on the wooden table to snap out of it. No use in lamenting over it. You looked out your window at the dark sky. You grabbed your phone and purse, heading straight out the door with one destination in mind.

You stood outside of Nelson & Murdock and, unsurprisingly, saw a hint of light inside. You quietly opened the door and saw Karen rummaging around the front desk. You were elated by how quickly you two got along when you met at the Italian place. Her head turned to the door in alarm, only to relax once she saw it was you.

"(Y/N). Do you…always come by this late?" She spoke quietly as she returned to looking through boxes. You smiled as you approached her, "I try not to, but it's not hard to predict these two working late."

Your eyebrow furrowed in concern, "Hey, they're not making you—"

She cut you off with a wave of her hand, "No, no, nothing like that. I…want to be here and lend a hand. Besides, you really think they'll unpack all of this?" She gestured to the many boxes of documents and who knows what else littering behind the desk. You facepalmed, readying an apology for the two men before your train of thought was derailed by…singing?

You and Karen froze as you stared at each other. Foggy's passionate sea shanty ricocheted the office. As any good friend would, you whipped out your phone and pressed record. The camera pointed towards his office as you bit your lip to hold back your laugh. Her hands pressed over her mouth to hide her smile before she called out, "You know I'm still here, right?"

The song immediately ceased and a clattering of items rattled behind his door before he yanked it open. Karen waved at him cheekily. "Could you…could you hear me just now?"

"Nope!"

He looked at her first before he stared straight into your phone's camera. You cut off the recording then, bursting out into raucous laughter. Foggy's ears reddened and he tried to swipe your phone. You grinned as you moved backwards, rounding the desk to put the blonde between the two of you.

"The correct answer is, 'Yes, and you sound amazing.'" Karen stuttered out a response, face torn between an amused smile and a neutral expression, "W-Well, of the two lies, I took the lesser."

Foggy looked past her to glare at you, pointing. "Who let you in?"

"I let myself in."

"Give me your phone."

"No."

Karen moved around you to continue with unloading the boxes. Foggy's irritated look softened into one of curiosity as he looked at her, "I thought you went home. What are you still doing here?" She stood straight, "Uh…I could ask you the same." She grabbed a box that she left on her chair and scoot it under the desk. She turned her attention to another that was on top.

"Yes, but I am a partner at a prestigious law firm with very important documents needing to be documented," he paused, before gesticulating, "…so we can start generating some revenue, while you are…"

Karen held a document as she stared with a disbelieving smile, waiting for him to finish. Foggy quickly realized his mistake and tried to backtrack, "…also very integral in your own special, manager—" He cut himself off with a sigh and she chuckled at his embarrassment, hand on her hip. You buried your face in your hands in mortification.

He looked genuinely remorseful as he cringed, "I dug myself in too deep and I can't climb out."

Karen responded with her smile still in place, "You need a hand with that?"

"Please."

"Oh! Not gonna happen." She smirked, looking back down at the document she held.

You nudged one of the many boxes with your shoe, "I thought you were a lawyer." Foggy rolled his eyes, "I don't want to hear it, Frosty." He looked at Karen again, "Seriously, what are you still doing here?"

"I have work to do." Karen didn't spare a glance as she sorted through the same box.

"What work? We don't have any clients yet."

"Well, your shit's not gonna unpack itself." Karen put down the document she held in a frustrated motion, hands moving to gesture at the mess. Foggy moved towards the desk, "This box of vital import will be here in the morning." He made a point to smack his hands on top of it as if to prove it's tangibility meant that it wouldn't disappear any time soon.

He drove his point home as he gestured towards the dark sky, "You should be out having a life, doing poppers and flapper dancing! I…don't know what kids do these days!" His outstretched hand landed on you, "Or a girls night! Women still have those, right?"

Karen let out a laugh as she responded to his ranting, "We're the same age, Foggy."

That made him pause. "So you're saying I shouldn't be here, either?"

"Yeah."

"Fair enough." He put a hand in his pocket as he spoke matter of factly, "But I'm awkward and unfashionable." His tone softened as he met her eyes, "Those things don't seem to apply to you." You gaped from your spot behind Karen where you crouched to snoop through a box. Third wheeling was the last thing you expected coming here.

Karen was speechless for a moment at his sincerity before tilting her head down, "I just don't feel like going home…ok?"

Foggy nodded in somber understanding before perking up, "Well, we can't stay here. Not enough money in the kitty to keep the lights on past midnight." His tone and expression turned into something mischievous as he sat at the corner of the desk. "So let's hop a few bars, not think about it."

Karen's demeanor immediately brightened, smiling, "Yes. Big fan of the not thinking." Foggy stood, clapping his hands victoriously, "You will fit in right in here!" You tried sneaking away, you really did. Until you felt the back of your shirt get snagged by a hand, "Hey!"

"All of us, (Y/N). C'monnnn, it's always fun!" Foggy's grin made you scowl. You knew exactly what your role was going to be when you saw that glimmer in his eye. Karen gathered her items, "Should we call Matt?" Foggy dragged you towards the door like a disgruntled cat, "Sure. Yeah, let's see what he's up to." They both dialed his number and even you humored them by dialing him. No response. For some reason, you felt uneasy.

About five bars later, it only made sense to end at Josie's. Foggy, with his free hand, left Matt another voice message, "Matt, it's me again. Where are you? (Y/N) and I are introducing Karen to Josie's, and I have high hopes it's going to go terribly." He whisper-yelled the last of the message, "Climb off whoever you're on and get down here."

He pulled you onto a stool and he sat next to you. Karen, despite the alcohol in her system, still managed to look around warily at the dimly lit and, admittedly, rundown bar. She sat down next to him, "You saved the best for last, huh?" Foggy didn't even try to pretend as he grabbed three shot glasses over the counter, "Oh, yeah, this place is a shithole…but it's our shithole."

He continued with a self-satisfied grin, "The city's tried to shut it down half a dozen times, but I helped Josie with the liens, and as a result, we get to drink for free!" He looked over pointedly at the disgruntled Josie. The woman gave a sarcastic smile as she pushed a bottle towards him, "You absolutely do not get to drink for free."

Foggy, undeterred, took the bottle, "Let's agree to disagree!"

Josie then pushed another bottle towards you, "But this little missy does." You strained a smile, "Oh, no, Josie, I couldn't—" She rolled her eyes as she popped it open, "Good grief, girl. Accept generosity every now and then, will you?" She stepped away to attend other patrons and you met Karen's curious eyes.

"It wasn't that big of a deal, y'know? I just…helped this side of the city from a rampaging Juggernaut. Josie's was just one of the places I kept him from destroying." You almost felt bashful, the back of your neck starting to feel warm. Foggy scoffed loudly, pouring alcohol into his and Karen's shot glasses.

"So not fair. Not all of us can be cool superheroes, y'know. G-Get it? Cool? Cuz you're—"

You patted his shoulder to at least try to get him to shut up, "Yes, Foggy, I got it." You met Karen's still curious look again. You've seen that shine in her eyes in others and steeled yourself for the incoming questions. She leaned in slightly.

"So you're really—"

"Yes, I'm an X-Men. I was raised in Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters."

"Do you know—"

"Yes, I know many other X-Men members and have worked with them."

"Are you—"

"No, I'm not biologically related to Wolverine. He's my adoptive father." Despite your lax attitude, you felt a bit of tension welling up in your shoulders. Karen's eyebrows furrowed. "Adoptive?"

Foggy smoothly cut in as he shoved her glass into her hands, looking at her expectantly, "Cheers!" Karen was tipsy to the point that her attention span was short enough. She clinked her glass against his and they tipped their heads back. You felt yourself relax just slightly at the shift. As Karen gagged and coughed at the hard liquor, you glanced down and saw a layer of frost spider-webbing where you were gripping the bottle. Great.

Josie had popped up again and shook her head at Karen with a pitying smile, "You can do so much better, love." Foggy, at the insinuation, resisted an eye roll as he poured into the shot glasses again. His voice was thick with sarcasm, "Thank you, Josie, but this is my employee…for your information, and we are not on a date." He paused briefly as he looked at Karen.

"Are we on a date?"

"Definitely not."

The only sound from you was you thunking your forehead against the rim of your untouched bottle.

Foggy matched Karen's playful tone, "Okay, good…because I was starting to worry you might be in love with me." That was when you stood, the feeling of intruding getting too much. "Bathroom break! Be right back!" You ruffled Foggy's hair and squeezed Karen's shoulder as you passed by. You spent a long while locked in the bathroom. You took out your phone at some point and stared at Matt's contact. You breathed in quietly before pressing on it. You watched it ring, and ring, and ring…right to voicemail.

"Hey, Matty, uh…just…hope you're safe. Wherever you are. Karen and Foggy are three sheets to the wind right now. But I know they're worried. You'll probably see their calls and the rest of mine. Foggy's also doing a terrible job at flirting and Karen's eating it up anyway. Help."

You ended the voice message with a smile. You looked at yourself one last time before stepping out. As you walked back to your friends, you felt an incoming headache as the two were barely able to sit. You caught Karen by the arm before she tripped and hauled Foggy up. "Nope. Nope. That's enough for tonight."

Unfortunately, drunk adults are the equivalent to toddlers as they only giggled and beeline towards the exit. Foggy screamed cheerfully as he shoulder checked the already busted door, "Let's go see Matt!" On the way to the man's apartment, you prevented at least three car crashes and seven collisions against inanimate objects. Your nerves were shot by the time you arrived to Matt's door. Foggy smacked his hand on the wood in a rhythmic knocking, yelling, "Matt!"

You held Karen up as she giggled at nothing, her arm over your neck and yours around her torso. You hissed quietly at him, "Foggy, be—"

"MATT! Come ON! Get up!"

You closed your eyes in resignation. Foggy broke into a fit of giggles, "I drank the eel." Karen, in response, let out a snort and even more laughter, "Oh, no." His glassy eyes turned to where she slumped over you, "Not a euphemism." Foggy smacked his hand again, "MATT I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! GET UP!" Karen halfheartedly pushed his arm to shush him, only to giggle again. Foggy stepped to the side, looking at you two.

"Here, you talk to him." He leaned forward as he very loudly whispered, "Pretend I'm not here." Your lips thinned as you stared at the wooden door. Considering he's gone radio silent, was he even here? You withheld a sigh, "Matt, it's (Y/N). Karen's here, too. I wouldn't come out if I were you." Karen then yelled out, laughing, "I think I also drank the eel!" You caught her as she bowed forward, "Karen—!"

Foggy made a clawed motion with his hands, which did nothing to quell her drunken amusement, "And we are FILLED with mighty eel strength!" They both kept calling his name loudly and you were trying to shush them. You half considered letting Karen fall to the floor. Your admonishing was drowned out by Foggy's proclamations of going to the fish market. The click of a door opening had you whipping your head to Matt's neighbor that lived across from him. An older woman named Fran.

Karen also turned her head and she slapped her free hand over her mouth, "Oh, no. Oh, Foggy." Foggy turned and it almost looked like he sobered up, "Oh, hi, Fran…" They both apologized and you really thought that'd be the end of it and everyone would go home.

"You wanna go to the fish market?"

You looked at him with a murderous expression. You definitely were posting that video.

The morning after felt like you were the one out getting shit-faced. Your head pounded the moment you woke up and you groaned into your pillow. The feeling of your phone buzzing against your shoulder had you twisting to look at the Caller ID.

Frederick Duncan.

You shot up and ignored the dizziness from the sudden movement, "Hello?"

"Miss (Y/N)! How are you this beautiful morning? I do apologize for taking so long to get back to you. This may be a hassle, but…can you swing by the office today by noon?"

You blinked in surprise and glanced at the clock in your bedroom, "Yes, I can…um…does this have to do with the case?" At your question, you felt his pleasant mood shift to something serious, "Yes, it does. If I may be frank with you, the sooner you arrive, the better." You stood up from bed, eyebrows furrowed.

"I'll be there soon."

"Good. When you're here, step into the conference room from last time."

With that, the line went dead. You stared at the black screen of your phone, your reflection pinched with worry. You dashed around to get ready, but right before you stepped out of the apartment, you realized you skipped a vital duty. You posted Foggy's video on social media with a caption before nodding in satisfaction.

You arrived to the office in record time. You smiled politely at the front desk lady and she returned it, "Miss Howlett. Please, go ahead. Mr. Duncan stepped out and he will be back shortly." You nodded in response and walked towards the frosted glass doors. You can make out the warbled figure of someone already inside. You opened the door and your heart sank. Dark blue blazer and slacks, perfectly pressed white button up, and combed over dirty blond hair. Dex, professional as ever, sat on one side of the long table. You smiled politely as you closed the door behind you.

"Dex. Good morning." You sat across from him and felt unnervingly aware of yourself with his sharp gaze. He returned your smile. Did it change again? You set down your notepad and dug for a pen in your purse, "Will Ray also be joining?" A large part of you hoped that he would to make this less awkward.

Dex was chipping at your character bit by bit. The most obvious facts about you were that you were professional, tidy, inquisitive, and a little too observant. All characteristics required for your position, he surmised. You stiffened when presented with something you couldn't solve immediately. He handed you a pen from his blazer's pocket and your face went from surprised to grateful. Your expression almost made his skin crawl with insecurity. How can you be so genuine? You didn't put up a front and you spoke truthfully. His other hand twitched where it rested on his thigh.

"Thank you."

"No problem, Miss Howlett."

You met his gaze, fiddling with the pen, "You can call me (Y/N). It's only appropriate, don't you think?" You saw the way your request registered in his head. It was like an advanced machine taking less than a second to reboot before he nodded, "Of course. (Y/N). Ray's held up on another case so he won't be joining us today."

"I see."

You put down the pen before you made a fool of yourself by having it fly to a corner of the room. You laced your hands, posture relaxing as you accepted that you had to grow up and communicate with the man, "How long have you been FBI?" Dex didn't let it show that he was thrown off by the small talk. He leaned against his chair in a casual stance, hand inside his pocket, "Two years now." That made you pause.

"Oh! That's…I'm a little surprised, actually." You chuckled under your breath. Dex's head tilted in question, "Surprised?" You sat up straight as you realized how your words may have come across, "I-I just mean, y'know, I think back to when we first met. You were so well spoken—not that you aren't—and the way you see things are refreshing. You're a very intelligent and capable man, so, I figured you must have a wealth of experience in the FBI. You must really be amazing to have gotten the attention of Mr. Duncan and be put on this case with only two years." You ended with a sheepish smile.

Dex stared at you with an eerily blank look and your heart twisted. Did you say something wrong? Why did he look at you like that? Before you could say anything else, Duncan walked in with an apologetic smile, "Sorry about that, folks. I was pulled into an emergency directors meeting." He sat at the front of the table, between you and Dex. He grinned as he set down his leather briefcase, "If you ask me, it could've been an email."

You forced a smile at his joke. You dismissed your worried thoughts as you focused on the updates from Duncan, scribbling on your notepad and asking follow-up questions. Dex asked his own, seemingly having returned to normal. Once the meeting ended, Duncan was running off again for another meeting. You gathered your stuff and handed Dex's pen back to him.

"Here. Thanks, again."

"Keep it. I have plenty."

You blinked then smiled, "Sure." He beat you to the door as he held it open, "I'll walk you out." Your previous worry subsided at his offer. Maybe you didn't totally kill your work relationship. You found the confidence to ask more questions, partly due to feeling bad from earlier. You weren't sure yet of what, though, but the feeling was there.

That night, Dex sat on his dining room table. His blazer was off and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. His hands were clasped together as he stared at them. His thoughts were going a mile a second, rattling in his skull. Intelligent. Capable. Amazing. You, with your honest nature, was awed by who he tried so hard to be. You, who was a hero in every sense of the word, praised him. He smiled shakily as a tremor threatened to overtake his hands. He was doing good. He instinctively glanced at the picture framed by his door. The group of people stared back at his hopeful gaze, but his eyes were glued to one person. A red head with the brightest smile. Would she see that good, too?

It was another evening of staring at your corkboard wall. After receiving updates from Duncan, it looked even more like an organized disaster. The girls that disappeared were marked absent for multiple weeks before reported as missing after a staff member visited their respective dorms. As it turns out, they weren't the first to disappear. Founded in 1928, a girl vanished under mysterious circumstances in 1979.

Her parents filed multiple reports to NYPD, even staging a protest outside of the school. Law-abiding citizens who occasionally helped out their local church. They went missing a year later. As if they disappeared into thin air after her. You felt nauseated once your active imagination speculated their fates.

Three girls disappeared in 1987. Another in 1995. Two more in 2003. All families filed initial reports before falling silent. Duncan dug and they were living quietly, seemingly moved on. Were they bribed? Threatened?

Current staff records were squeaky clean and even the headmistress had a highly educated, respectable background. Duncan admitted that there was ongoing research on the families of the girls currently attending, but that could take days to yield results.

You dragged your hands through your hair. There's something you're not getting, but what?

The following morning, you stood outside of Karen's apartment after a concerning phone call. You shifted from foot to foot before hearing a door open. Your smile faltered at her uneasy one, "Hey. What's going on?" She immediately started to walk and you fell into step next to her. She turned her head to you, "How…would you deal with…" she gestured a nothing, trying to articulate her thoughts, "…knowing in your gut that something's wrong, and knowing you could do something about it?"

"A bit too on the nose for my current situation," you laughed under your breath. You looked up at the bright sky as you answered, "I'd follow my gut. Ask questions. Look into things that I have no business looking into. I assume this has to do with Union Allied?"

She stared at you, a bit startled, before chuckling, "I guess I was that obvious, huh?"

"Oh, super."

She chuckled again before there was a weary look in her blue eyes, "I was approached by a lawyer from Kirschner & Braun. He, uh, was representing Union Allied. He presented me with an NDA and a lot of money to stay quiet. A lot."

"So, what did you do?"

"I walked out."

"Great minds think alike."

You bumped your shoulder with hers and your heart swelled at seeing her smile. With how life has been treating the poor woman, how could you not want to see her happy? She looked ahead and her next statement died in her throat. A dark-haired woman packing boxes into a U-Haul. Did they know each other?

Karen's steps quickened to catch her before she disappeared into the apartment she seemed to be moving out of.

"Mrs. Fisher?"

The woman turned and her expression was carefully neutral as she stared down the blonde. She glanced at you where you lagged behind and you offered a tight smile, raising your hand in a greeting. Karen continued, undeterred, "Hi. Um, uh…my name's Karen Pa—" She was interrupted by Mrs. Fisher's cold indifference, "I know who you are."

It was silent as they stared at each other before Karen shifted in place, "I'm sorry. I know how…hard this must be for you." A scoff left her lips, curling them into a sardonic smile, "My husband was found dead in your apartment. You have no idea how any of this is for me."

Karen tightened her grip on her purse, "Nothing ever happened between me and Daniel."

"You think I don't know that? I know how much Danny loved me," her voice wobbled at the end. "Whatever it is you're after, Miss Page, I can't help you." She quickly turned to escape into the apartment.

Karen approached again, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Frustrated, she continued to push, "Union Allied?" At that, Mrs. Fisher stopped and turned.

"They offered me money…a lot of money if I sign an agreement to never talk about what happened. They offer you something like that?"

Mrs. Fisher breathed in deeply as she only stared at Karen, who continued, "They killed Danny. They tried to kill me. And now, they just shuffle some papers and change their name and they get away with it?"

"Let it go."

"I've tried. It just doesn't feel right."

Mrs. Fisher came down the stairs then, "He said the same thing. A few days before he…"

Her face twisted in grief, lips pressing together. She exhaled, "He said something didn't feel right…at work with the numbers…and I told him that whatever it was, he had a responsibility to do something about it." Her voice cracked, "I figure I have a couple of years before I explain that part to my kids."

"They have to pay for what they've done."

"They won't listen."

"We'll make them listen."

"I already signed." Mrs. Fisher stepped back, done with the conversation, "I have kids, Miss Page, and they're all that matter to me now. If you have anyone that you care about…let it go."

You saw Karen's fire get doused, faced with an ugly reality—Mrs. Fisher wasn't a coward. She was a mother.

She disappeared into the apartment building, leaving a crestfallen Karen to stare at her retreating form. You approached her cautiously, eyebrow furrowed, "Karen?" She snapped out of whatever daze she was in, shaking her head.

"I'm fine. I'm…disappointed. But it's not like I fault her, either," she ran a hand through her hair and you could see the wheels turning. You waited patiently as she collected herself. She breathed in, straightening up. The fire returned to her eyes, "I want to stop by somewhere else."

"Lead the way."

You followed her in silence up until you reached a building that made your heart race. The New York Bulletin. Before realizing it, you were now outside an office with the nameplate Urich. Karen knocked a few times and a man's voice answered, "Yeah."

She opened the door, "Excuse me, Mr. Urich?"

He looked at both of you in surprise. You couldn't keep your own shock from your face. He stood from his seat, "So they tell me." Karen sighed quietly before stepping in, adjusting her purse, "I read your article."

He placed his hands on his hips, smiling half-heartedly, "About the subway line?"

"Uh…about Union Allied Construction. I think there's more to the story…if you're interested."

Urich's face turned serious, lips pressing together as he assessed her. As they talked, you glanced around his office. Clearly, there was a theme to his columns. Your eyes lingered on the newspaper frames titled 'Battle of New York' and 'Harlem Terror' before turning to another wall. You fought back a smile at another frame: 'Manhattan Saved' and a picture of Juggernaut subdued. Your amusement promptly ceased when you saw another article: 'Back to the Ice Age' and an overhead shot of half of New York covered in ice.

Your ears rung as you stared at the picture, before your concentration was broken by a hand on your arm. You flinched, wide eyes meeting Karen's worried ones, "Hey. I was calling you. We can go." You blinked rapidly, before you looked past her to look at Urich.

"I've got my own questions."

Karen opened her mouth to protest before she recognized the resolve in your gaze. She squeezed your arm in silent comfort before stepping out, shutting the door quietly.

The silence was suffocating as you sized up one another. Urich broke the tension first, "Miss Howlett, I presume?" You tilted your head, eyes narrowing, "Yeah. That's me." He lifted his hands in a placating gesture, "No need for the hostility. I'm a journalist. It's my job to do my homework." The corner of your lip twitched into a frown. You sat down in the seat in front of his desk and he followed suit.

"I do have questions for you, Mr. Urich."

"Of course."

Your jaw tensed before reeling in the aggravation caused by the newspaper, "First question—did you send that letter to the mansion?" He laced his hands in front of him, unfazed, "I did."

"Why."

"I can only do so much at once."

That only made you sit up straight in wary caution, "That's not an answer." Urich gave you an incredulous look, "You're not dense, Miss Howlett. Despite no formal education, you have an aptitude and a resilience to get to the bottom of things."

"What?"

"A bit of asking around can get you far. Like how I asked around in Azure Heights Asylum. And at Little Rockers Daycare Center. And the now dissolved Rays of Life Orphanage."

Your mouth parted as he listed off every institution you've exposed for its atrocious handling of mutants. He nonchalantly pointed to the newspaper with the Juggernaut, "You were there, too." Then, at the one that made your anxiety spike, "And there." You held a hand up.

"We're getting off topic here, Mr. Urich. My next question—"

He interrupted you, "I think it's my turn, now. You've done exemplary work for the overall community. That's not up for debate. However, you agree that the X-Men are above your local Crime Stoppers group, yes? And you also realize that sheer destruction that follows. Not only physical damage. There's always a spike of activity from anti-mutant groups. So help me understand. Despite everything, why do you continue to cosplay as a savior?"

You stared at him, momentarily baffled by the sudden interrogation. The worst part is that you didn't even feel threatened. He's a journalist, first and foremost. Why would he pass up the opportunity to question an X-Men?

"I'm a mutant. I didn't choose to be one. None of us did. We live in this world just like the rest of you. Feel like the rest of you. I ache over pain that's not my own. I know what it's like to suffer at the hands of man. That doesn't make me special. Countless others have gone though the same. Some…worse. But I keep going, anyway—that's the X-Men way. Is that not enough?"

You spoke quietly, eager to shift the subject, "My next question is how much do you know about Aveline's Academy for Girls."

If Urich approved of your response, his face didn't show it. He took off his glasses to rub his eyes, "Truthfully, likely just as much as you do. My source for that article came from my contact on the force."

"This isn't just some admin screw up. A teenage girl was found dead. Why is that the only thing you wrote? There's so much more! You're seriously going to look at me in the eye and tell me that you of all people didn't find anything else?"

Urich's jaw tensed. He sighed, and you've heard that exhaustion before. The sound of a once valiant spirit leaking out from a now flagging body. Like a deflating tire left unattended for years. Your tone turned acerbic as you stood, barking out a disbelieving sound, "You're scared and you don't want to look in further. Fine. I came in here expecting nothing, and I'm walking out with nothing. Have a good day."

Your stormy expression cleared a path as you left the Bulletin dissatisfied. Everyone's attention was on Union Allied and you couldn't fault them. You knew you were being unfair, but it didn't stop you from lashing out. You walked aimlessly to clear your head before an idea struck. You swiftly pivoted and headed towards the FBI office.

After going through the same song and dance, you tentatively walked into the Mutant Affairs Division. You tightened your grip on your purse strap.

"Excuse me. Hi, sorry, uh, is Director Duncan in?"

The man barely glanced up at you as he typed, "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but—"

"You need an appointment."

Your eye twitched, patience quickly thinning, "We're working on a case together and I need to see him. Now." You practically smacked down your X-Men badge in his line of sight, lips curled up in a tight smile. The man finally met your irked expression and quickly stood, "R-Right this way."

Soon, you were in Duncan's office with a wide smirk, "I have a plan. How fast can we get fake IDs?"

The next day, you were sat in a mini van. When you detailed the plan to Duncan, you were quite specific in mentioning that yourself and Ray had this covered. So why was Dex in the driver's seat? Turns out, Ray was occupied with other matters in the Crime Division again. You absentmindedly picked at the ends of your wig, shooting him a sideways glance. He was already looking at you.

"What?"

"We've been here for five minutes. Is this also part of the plan?"

"No. Let's just go…."

You weren't petty enough (yet) to bring up the fact that he readjusted the decor that made it look like a used family car. The previously tossed in dolls and small cars were swiftly stuffed in the organizer hanging on the back of the driver's seat. The change that rattled in the center console was scooted into the coin holder at every red light. The random paint stains made his eye twitch. The hanging tree air fresheners were adjusted so they hung the same length.

His jaw tensed whenever the random sports gear in the trunk rattled from side to side.

You understood that people liked being neat, but his organization was wholly unnecessary.

Dex was already pissed at having to go through such a ridiculous op, especially after a carefree man like Duncan high-handed him of all people. What were you, in a spy movie? What's with the wig? He bit his tongue as he got out after you. Standing stood side by side, you faced a pair of extravagant doors with delicate letters 'Aveline's Academy for Girls' arching over.

You were stopped by Dex gripping your arm. Before you could question him, he looped his arm around yours. His expression was flat as he deadpanned, "I thought we were married, Mrs. Evans." You cringed to yourself, still feeling the lingering annoyance from the encounter with Urich. You took a deep breath, "Yes, we are, Mr. Evans."

He tugged one door open and you entered the school shrouded in conspiracy. As expected, the lobby was capacious and elegantly decorated. One wall was lined with portraits of headmasters and groups of students through the years. Another wall was up to the ceiling in accolades. Your eyes landed on the meek woman standing in front of the wooden bifurcated stairs.

Her hands wrung together, "M-Mr. and Mrs. Evans?"

Dex responded smoothly, "Yes, that'd be us."

"Oh! T-That's wonderful. You're here for the tour, yes?"

You were quick to respond, yanking Dex closer from where you arms were still hooked, "Yes! We saw the applications were open and we'd love for our daughter to attend such a prestigious school! Right, honey?"

"Yes," was Dex's stiff response. The woman, who introduced herself as Diane, was none the wiser as she led and prattled off the benefits of the academy. You shot him an incredulous look and he met it in kind with his deadpan one.

So much for looking natural.

You exited the administrative building and followed a stone pathway that connected all of the buildings in a semicircle. Your eyes catalogued more than just the architecture and lawn care. Tall iron gates circled the perimeter of the campus, stakes imbedded deep into the ground. Even before actually entering the property required three layers of security.

Security cameras were on a constant swivel. Guards patrolled the perimeter and at least two stationed in every building. To actually enter a building, staff and students swiped their unique IDs on a card reader and the door clicked open.

Was this a boarding school or a prison?

You quietly commented on your findings to Dex as Diane continued with her nervous ramblings. He rolled his eyes, responding, "I know all of that already." He even brought up how the clock tower in the center doubled as a guard tower. Yeah, obviously. You seriously were ready to punch him.

The longer you walked arm in arm, a sobering realization overtook you.

Dex, who you perceived as a polite, effective agent, was devolving into an arrogant man with strange quirks. Did he have to adjust every piece of furniture and painting? You were 89% sure they were older than your ages combined. If he froze again when Diane asked an innocent question about your marriage, you were walking back to the car.

Suffice to say, the tour didn't lead to anything fruitful. While the tight surveillance provided a better idea of the current state of the academy, all you got out of Diane was that the headmistress was out on some business trip. Even inquiring about the recent murder resulted in her frantically reassuring you both that safety is everything at the academy. You were worried the woman was going to pass out from talking alone.

The drive back to the FBI office was silent as you gnawed on your bottom lip. As you pondered your next step, Dex's voice cut through your thoughts.

"You should leave the investigation to the FBI."

You looked at him with a scrunched expression, "I'm sorry?"

"I said, you should—"

You pulled off your wig with an eye roll, "I heard that. I'm asking for you to clarify."

He pulled into the FBI parking garage, lips twisting, "You're seriously going to tell me that you haven't been gallivanting around and playing pretend? This operation led nowhere and you wasted both of our times. I shouldn't be surprised Director Duncan let you undertake such a useless endeavor."

You stared at him, mouth agape, before your own lips curled into a snarl, "I get you're frustrated, but that doesn't mean you need to be a dick. How many ops have you gone on that immediately yielded actual results? Huh? Mr. Hotshot here thinks this is beneath him?"

His grip on the steering wheel tightened a fraction, lips pressing into a thin line. Your hand slapped over the dash as you leaned forward, frost spreading and framing your hand in jagged spikes, "Answer me, Agent Poindexter."

Dex's frayed patience wore thinner. The more he discovered about you, the higher his suspicion grew that you were the exact type of person he despised. A bleeding heart moron he would never understand. His previous feelings of validation fizzled away as he now stared at you in disbelief, "You're out of your league, Miss Howlett. Leave this to the actual professionals. Why don't you go play pretend hero instead? Make yourself believe you're doing any good in this city. Maybe even run back to help that alcoholic father of yours."

You struck him before you realized it, matching red marks blooming on the back of your hand and his cheekbone.

You pressed yourself against the seat, hands clasping over your mouth at your own impulsivity. Wide eyes stared at his profile before your hands slowly lowered to your lap. Swallowing thickly, you broke the silence, "You can say whatever you want about me. I don't care. But don't you ever bring up my family."

He didn't look the slightest bit fazed as he met your glare head on. He even leaned in as his mouth twitched, eyes shining in elation, "You got your aggression from him, too."

Your jaw clenched. After angrily slamming the door, you stomped out of the parking garage. Every vehicle you passed had a thin sheet of frost on the bumper and hood. You felt his eyes follow you on the way out. After you were long gone, Dex languidly left the car.

You were too easy to rile up. All the better for him to justify kicking you off the case. He worked his jaw, idly rubbing a hand over his cheek. He needed to get rid of you before you became even more of a liability. And a bigger pain in his ass.

Another evening found you on a call with Matt. A tradition previously forgotten due to your busy schedules. His voice echoed through the bedroom as you busied yourself with a manicure. His most recent escapade was beating up the Russians and holing up in his new nurse friend's apartment. Based on his occasional breath hitch, you gathered that he's still beat up.

"So this new friend of yours…she just…lets you stop by? Hasn't called the cops yet?" You glanced to your phone where it rested on your bed. His defensive tone came through, "She can be trusted. She has experience with vigilantes." You hummed noncommittally, "Is she pretty?"

"How would I know, hm?"

"I think you do know. You just won't say how."

"Her looks are irrelevant."

"So she is pretty. And you just let her feel you up? Matthew, you dog!" Your amusement was infectious as his chuckle echoed. He shifted on his bed, "You know it's not like that. Let's change the topic."

"Boring!"

You smirked as you picked a nail color. His voice sounded hesitant, now, as he asked, "Hey, would you know anything about a man named Wilson Fisk?" The nail polish tubes clacked together as you sifted through a box, "Wilson Fisk? Doesn't ring a bell. Want me to ask around?" Matt's lips pressed together as he considered it.

Your network was far more extensive than his. However, you were also his friend. How can he put you in potential danger for him? Clearly, this Fisk guy striked unimaginable fear considering John Healy drove a spike through his own skull after revealing his name. What if Fisk or someone in his circle caught wind of you sniffing around? Just as you were about to ask again, Matt's sigh cut you off, "No need. Just curious."

"Matt?"

"Don't worry about it. Tell me what's going on with you, Miss Investigator?" A playful scoff escaped your lips, looking between two different colors, "Red or blue?" Matt hummed as he pretended to consider, "Red, of course." You placed the blue nail polish back, "I am not at the liberty to discuss such details."

"You really want to go there? You know I love to argue."

"Yeah, yeah. Uh…I've probably botched my involvement." You uncapped the nail polish and started on the first coat. Matt's head tilted, "What?" You paused mid application and sucked in a breath through your teeth, "I kind of technically basically slapped my colleague in a moment of weakness."

Matt sat up straighter in his bed, his voice switching to concern. While you did have violent tendencies, you weren't the type to just beat people around for the fun of it.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, Matty, I'm ok. Just..." You blew on the nails before switching to your other hand. How do you explain a man like Dex to Matt? After chewing on your bottom lip, you spoke, "He…I really thought he was a decent guy. Don't get me wrong, he's good at his job. And generally harmless. But oh my god, he's an asshole when he wants to be. It's like he's never learned the whole 'if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all'. It drives me up a wall!"

Matt hummed, "What did he say?" A probing for details disguised as a casual inquiry. He mentally catalogued this development. You weighted divulging more as you finished painting your other nails, "He lashed out on me after an uneventful op." It's true, anyhow. You cleaned up the sides with a q-tip dipped in acetone, "I can hear your concern from here. I'm fine."

"I know you can take care of yourself, but I still worry," he replied in an exasperated voice. Matt had no siblings and grew up in Saint Agnes Orphanage. Sometimes, you felt how he unconsciously positioned himself as a brother figure. You never corrected him. He only had you and Foggy.

"Look, if he's a big jerk again, you'll be the first I tell. And then you can go beat him up or whatever it is you do."

"That's a rather simplistic view of how I fight against injustice."

"Is that not what you do?"

"That's besides the point. Could you at least give me his name?"

He cut in before you protested, "I won't dig into him or seek him out. Scout's honor." You snorted as you grabbed your phone, "You were a choir boy, not a scout. Fine. His name is Benjamin Poindexter."

Two days later, you had to wonder how you let Karen drag you here. Or, perhaps, it was to satiate your own curiosity as she chased her instincts about Union Allied. The room in the auction house was dim and a large projecter beamed images of office equipment. The auctioneer spoke fast and people in the audience matched his speed as their number cards shot up. Your laidback position differed from Karen's fidgeting, her eyes darting around.

The longer you sat there, the worse the feeling of being watched felt.

"Next up, lot 87. Liquidation of Union Allied Construction LLC. 42 desktops with Thunderbolt Display, 14 copy machines, 62 IP phones as well as supporting equipment listed in your catalog."

Karen perked up, restless as she gripped the thick spiral book everyone was handed before entering the room. The bidding began at 70,000. You glanced down and she was drawing every person that raised their number as the bid increased. While creative, it was apparent that neither of you belonged here. You leaned in to whisper, but a voice from behind caused both of you to freeze.

"Stop what you're doing. Don't turn around."

Ben Urich.

Karen's face was startled and you weren't any better. Urich chided as he casually skimmed his own spiral book, "This is how you get caught."

"The hell do you care?" Her response was a shaky exhale. Based on what she told you, her own meeting with him went just as smoothly as yours did. You sat up as he continued, "To your right, a woman in a white blouse." Karen, stupidly, turned to look at her. You firmly kicked her foot and she gasped softly. Her head snapped forward again. Urich reacted the same as he quietly snapped, "Eyes front, Jesus!"

He continued, "To your left, a man in a navy blue pinstripe suit." The auctioneers voice droned on as you subtly glanced at the two. The same ones that had been observing you. Karen whispered, "Who are they?"

"Don't know. But they aren't bidding either." The realization made your hands twitch around your spiral and Karen swallowed thickly. She whispered again, "What do I do?" Urich, calm as ever, "Spend the next hour raising your paddle. Win something. One of the smaller lots." You can hear the undercurrent of panic in her otherwise steady voice, "I don't have any money."

"Figure it out. Meet me at the diner when you're done."

"How'd you know I was here? Ben?"

Urich left as quietly as he came. The bidding for the Union Allied office equipment concluded. As the next round began, she gripped her paddle to stop her trembling. One hand closed over hers and raised your paddle with the other. You weren't even sure what you just bid for, only halfway paying attention. You ignored her wide blue eyes staring at your profile.

It was definitely an effort taking a whole fax machine up a flight of stairs. By the time you got it into Nelson & Murdock, an apologetic Karen met up with you again after her talk with Urich. Foggy, who was working late per usual, came out of his office at the ruckus and stood flabbergasted.

"W-What—What is this?"

You answered breathlessly, hands on your hips, "You've never seen a fax machine?"

"I know what a fax machine is, genius. I meant, what is this relic from the nineties doing here?"

Karen wrung her hands together as the three of you stood over it, "Oh, it's not that old…I think. Um, but the rest of the stuff's coming tomorrow." Foggy's expression grew concerned, "The rest?" Karen spoke quickly as the nerves started getting to her, "Yeah, like, a printer and conference phones and a copier and…yeah, there was an auction and, you know, we needed stuff, so I—we, um…"

You leaned against the fax machine, "Think of it as a charitable donation." Foggy looked at you incredulously, "Woah, woah. Wait. Hold on, you're saying you donated this and more?" Your response was to shrug, "Yeah." Foggy put his hands on his head, "You're not serious. How much was this. How much was everything?!"

"It was Karen's idea. Realistically, I only took a small part in it."

Her voice was small as she regarded Foggy tracing the top of the fax machine, "You mad…?" His face was the opposite as a small smile graced his features. He turned to look at her, "I ever tell you my mom wanted me to be a butcher?"

Puzzled at the question, she asked, "A butcher?" Your hand dragged down your face at having to hear this story for the nth time.

"Yeah. You know what I told her? I said 'No, Mom, I wanted to be a lawyer.' And I don't remember what I said next."

You groaned into your hands, "No, Foggy, you never do."

"Are you sure you and Matt aren't related? He said the exact same thing." His nonsensical tale got a laugh out of Karen. You and Foggy shared a glance, grinning. His eyes softened as he continued to stare at you and you raised an eyebrow in response.

"What?"

You let out a grunt as he pulled you into a hug. You awkwardly patted his back before feeling a dampness on your shoulder. Oh.

"Foggy…?"

He let go and stiffly patted your shoulder, clearing his throat, "Just a bro hugging their bro. Can't a guy be grateful?" You pulled him into a side hug, smiling, "The tough guy act doesn't work on me. All I ask is a huge portrait of me in your future library. And a gold plaque with the words 'First Ever Donor and Greatest Friend to Nelson & Murdock'."

Foggy tipped his head back and laughed, "You know what? Just for you, I can work something out."

Karen watched on fondly before she gasped, turning to where she put down her stuff. She plucked a folder she placed under her purse and handed it to you. She practically pushed it into your hands, "For you."

You stared down at the unlabeled Manila folder curiously, "What is this?"

"A…gift from Ben. And most importantly, an apology."

Your eyebrows furrowed as you opened the folder. You caught a paper that slipped out and your breath hitched. A missing person's poster of 16-year-old Meredith Ward. Last seen March 5th, 1979.

"You don't necessarily show the best judgment when beautiful women are involved, Matt."

"How would I even know she's a beautiful woman?"

That was the conversation that greeted you the moment you walked into the newly acquired Nelson & Murdock. You stood at the door, eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Uh…bad time or…?"

Foggy whirled towards you, his face morphing into one of stunned surprise himself. "(Y/N)! You're here! Even though your text said you'd stop by tomorrow?" He made a show of checking his phone for confirmation. "Oh, yep. Right here at 11:47 in the AM saying, 'Yeah I'll come say hi probably around 3'."

You rolled your eyes at him as you closed the door. "Ok, yes, I said that, but I had some time now and I figured I'd come! You two dorks work late, anyway. So, what's this about Matt and beautiful women?"

You turned your pointed gaze from Foggy to Matt. Foggy threw a baseball into the air, catching it one handed. "You agree with me, right? It's almost spooky how he does it. If there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, Matt Murdock's gonna find her and Foggy Nelson is gonna suffer."

He pointed at himself before pointing at you, "And by extension, (Y/N) Howlett." You winced slightly at the observation. "He's got you there, Matt." Matt chuckled under his breath, hands on his hips, "Alright, I don't disagree with anything you're saying." Foggy threw his hands up in victory, "Thank you!"

Though, it was short-lived as Matt doubled down, "But I need you to back me, anyway." Foggy proceeded to hold his clenched hands over his face in frustration, groaning at his best friend's determination. You looked between them as you connected the dots, "No way, new firm and your first case?!" Foggy held his baseball towards you in a stopping motion, "Before you get excited, I told Matt that we shouldn't have taken it."

Lawyer confidentiality kept you from prying much. "Ok…so it's Matt trying to play hero again?" Matt shifted his stance from where he stood behind his desk, "She didn't do it, (Y/N)." Foggy inhaled deeply to calm himself down before holding his hands up in a placating gesture, "Alright, fine. Let's say she didn't and start with the obvious. If she didn't do it, who did? We're dead in the water if we don't give them an alternative."

Matt tilted his head downwards, "Agreed." Foggy tossed his baseball from hand to hand before tossing it to you. You fumbled for a bit before securing it in a firm hold. He looked towards Matt as if struck by a light bulb moment, "We need to take another run at our client. She may not be guilty, Matt, but that doesn't mean Miss Page is telling the truth."

You looked between them again, idly tossing the ball up and down, "Ok, so really bad timing." Foggy rubbed a hand down his face in response, "Well, yes. But no. But also yes." Matt carefully rounded his desk, red glasses glinting in the dim lighting of the office, "What he's trying to say is that it's been a very busy first case."

You sighed quietly, "Tell me about it. Things are getting pretty hectic on my side, too." Matt tilted his head slightly towards you, his eyebrow furrowed slightly in that telltale sign of worry. "Hectic…how?" You chewed on your bottom lip, "That boarding school I had been investigating? Two kids ran away and one turned up dead. Those things don't just happen. Something isn't right."

In your irritation, frost enveloped the underside of the baseball where you unconsciously held a tight grip. Foggy was quick to notice and plucked it from your hand, "Easy, Elsa. My ball has nothing to do with your case." You looked at him apologetically, "Sorry, Foggy. It'll defrost faster in an oven."

He side eyed you, hard. "If the cold kills the leather, you're buying me a new one."

Matt chuckled under his breath, "Jokes aside, you holding up ok?" You rubbed a hand over your jaw, "Yeah, yeah. Peachy. Maybe a little stressed, but nothing out of the ordinary. Perks of being an X-Men." Both men knew better than anyone the crushing weight of pursuing justice. Matt was a tad more familiar, however, with the rot that laid untouched within the underbelly of New York.

Foggy then suddenly perked up, "Did you get to—"

"She said no."

"Oh. What about—"

"She said no, too."

"But did you ask—"

"Yes, I asked and she got a boyfriend recently."

Foggy sighed dramatically, looking up to the ceiling as if he were a man scorned by the heavens, "You're a terrible wing-woman!"

You held your hands up defensively, "Hey! Don't shoot the messenger!"

Matt tilted his head slightly towards Foggy, "You don't ask me to wing-man for you." Foggy tossed the baseball from hand to hand again, "And that's because your little blind ways make them feel bad for you and suddenly they're going home with you." Matt didn't have the decency to look apologetic as his lips quirked slightly upwards, "What a horrible thing to say."

You snorted, "Leave some for the rest of us, will you?" Matt tilted his towards you with that smirk still in place, "No promises." You looked out the window for a moment before turning to them.

"I'm sure you two are all fired up about this case, but good lawyers need good sleep." Foggy scoffed as he turned towards his office to grab his blazer and briefcase, "I'm going, mom. But not because you told me to." Matt shook his head in amusement as he shifted to grab his own blazer and cane.

New York at night was as calm as ever with cars maneuvering through the streets and its citizens engaging in the nightlife. The three of you chatted idly before Foggy broke away towards his apartment. It was only you and Matt, now, as you walked with his arm hooked around yours as his cane quietly clacked on the sidewalk. Your apartment buildings weren't far from one another.

It was habit, really, to take his arm into yours despite knowing he was perfectly capable of getting around. It stemmed from when you used to be roommates way back when; an act of courtesy on days you went out to bond. Even after discovering his secret and how truly cheeky the lawyer was…old habits were hard to break. Matt broke the serene silence first.

"Your heartbeat was fast when I asked if you were ok earlier."

You shot him a sideways glance, "I hate it when you do that." Matt's lips quirked up into that little smirk, "Oops." Despite your mild irritation, you couldn't help the begrudging smile, "You caught me. I'm definitely frazzled about it all. It's just…I've dedicated my life to this. Protection, advocacy, so…getting tipped off about those poor kids and knowing that they're potentially suffering in silence? It burns at me, Matt."

You stopped outside of his apartment complex. Matt said nothing for a moment before tilting his head, "Need help?" You blinked once before smiling, "I appreciate the offer, really, but there's some things only I can do." You squeezed his arm reassuringly before letting go, "Besides, sounds like you have your own brand of crazy going on."

Matt's lips thinned for less than a second before an understanding smile appeared, "Don't be stubborn, either, Miss Howlett."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Murdock." You gave him a side hug, smooshing your faces together, "Night." Matt leaned his head into yours, "Sleep well, (Y/N)." You parted ways as he stepped into his building and you walked off to yours. Your thoughts were muddled. You were by no means a saint. You weren't the next coming of Teresa nor could you say you had a heart of gold. But, in a world resistant to the extraordinary and wary over something you and others couldn't control…

It didn't take long for you to enter your building and unlock your unit. If you had to be honest, your biggest worry was the feds getting involved. Though, perhaps you thought too soon as you sorted through the mail you missed this morning. Sandwiched between spam and bills was official correspondence from New York's FBI office.

Two days later, you grumbled as you sat in your car. You fumbled between notes, your purse, and phone. Twenty minutes until your meeting began. It was an uncharacteristically warm day, your makeup felt off, and now you had to deal with suits. The letter was signed by Frederick Duncan, head of the Department of Mutant Affairs and friend of Xavier. You were familiar with the man to a degree, but it didn't quell the discomfort of walking into a government building.

You were about to step out of your car before your phone rang. You took a deep breath to release some tension before answering. "What is it, Foggy?"

"Whoa! Catty already at…twelve in the afternoon?"

You massaged your temple, "Sorry, sorry…shouldn't have answered that way. I have an important meeting soon and I'm all jittery."

"Oh! Bummer. Matt and I wanted to check if you were free right now for a lunch at the office. Courtesy of our new secretary." You heard sounds of over exaggerated chewing and a muffled, "It's so good, dude."

"You have a secretary now? You guys move fast." You checked the time on your phone. Fifteen minutes. "I appreciate the offer, but I gotta run. How about some other time? My treat. For all four of us." You stepped onto the parking lot, heels clicking on the asphalt.

Foggy's excited voice came through the line, "Can it be that new Italian place near the office? I want that tiramisu so bad." You chuckled as you double checked your notes.

"Yes, Foggy, we can go to the new Italian place."

You didn't have to see him to know he fist bumped into the air. A part of you could've sworn you heard the sound of a high five; likely with Matt. "Alright, I need to go. Love you, dorks."

"You're the best, (Y/N)!"

The call ended and you checked the time again. Ten minutes. Your heels clicked against the sidewalk as you headed into what will hopefully not be a waste of your time. After about three security checks and constantly flashing your X-Men insignia, you were allowed into Duncan's floor. You waited patiently by the main desk before you heard the clicking of dress shoes before turning your head to see the familiar director, with two men behind him.

You stood and approached him, hand out in a polite gesture. "Mr. Duncan. It's been a while."

He shook your hand with an easygoing smile, "Miss Howlett. My, how you've grown into a proper young lady! I still remember when you hid behind Logan!" You smiled awkwardly in response, hand releasing from his. "Yeah…those were the days…"

Your gaze shifted pointedly to the other men. Duncan stepped to the side so you had a full view of them and gestured, "Considering the nature of this matter, I brought on the very best help from the Crime Division. Meet Special Agent Rahul Nadeem and Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter."

Nadeem's smile was sweet, perhaps a bit humble as he shook your hand. "Miss Howlett. Please, call me Ray." You smiled back warmly. You turned to Poindexter and an inexplicable sense of unease settled at the base of your spine. You held a hand towards him and you noted that his hold was just a bit stiff. A little awkward. You felt like the smile he gave you mirrored Ray's, in a way. It wasn't as warm, however, with how sharp it was at the edges.

"Afternoon. I prefer Dex." You smiled back again, but you felt the way you hesitated for less than a second. You thought you felt his hand twitch before you let go first. Duncan landed a friendly hand on your shoulder, already steering you towards what you believed was a conference room. "Now that we're all acquainted, let's talk shop."

You didn't like the burn of Dex's eyes on the back of your head.