#qs63

What is your DDS4 wishlist? Oh, boy:

More Maggie, please

Marci/Foggy wedding

Elektra and Daredevil vs Bullseye

All the lawyering stuff and Karen working her new role.

All the KD. We need Matt up that apartment NOW.

Cough -shirtless Matt- cough

What is a fun fact about yourself? I can’t swim despite growing up in an Island.

What is your favorite thing about Karedevil? Ufff. It’s hard to explain this, there’s not one thing I love but a collection of them. I like how they both are driven to justice in a very similar but different way. They complete each other so perfectly and they did t even know it. So I just want to see them realize it. That their imperfections, those things they seem to hate about themselves, are actually what make them so perfect for one another.

Of course, there’s also how soft and sweet they’re with each other

How many Karedevil WIPs do you have? L.O.L. published 2, in my drive too many to count.

What are your favorite creations that you’ve done and why? The road to forgiveness - It just has a nice balance between comedy and angst that makes me happy.

What do you look for in a story? I read themes and stuff depending on my mood. In the right mood I can read pretty much anything. The one thing that will always throw me off is OOCness. I can handle it in crack to a point. But in the end, I’m reading because I love these characters and I want the characters to feel true to themselves. That applies to my writing. It’s the one thing I try to achieve.

How do you come up with ideas for creations? They just pop up in my head all the time. Sorry, this is why I have so many WIPs… My brain is an idea machine.

What other fandoms have you participated in? I’ve written for Star Wars and Ironman, only. But I’ve read for FMA, Fire Emblem, Trainspotting,

Are you a Daredevil multishipper? A bit? I’m Karedevil 100%, but I have no problem reading Matt/Elektra or Karen/Matt/Foggy, and other pairings. It’s just a lot harder for a writer to sell me those stories. I need to be convinced by the hows and whys.

What are your top characters from the Defenders in order:

Matt,

Karen,

Maggie,

Foggy,

Elektra,

Ben :’(

Do you have any advice for other creators? Just have fun and write the stories you want to read. That’s what we are here for, don’t stress too much.

What are your favorite kinds of prompts: Ficlets.

The phone startled Roy awake. Disoriented, he got up in a hurry, groaned when he blindly walked into the door, pawed at the wall to find the light switch, put the lights on, and ran to the living room, blinking under the sudden harsh light.

He had no idea what time it was, where he was, who it could be - probably late at night, his apartment in Central, and at this time, the only person who could call was -

"Yes?"

"Brigadier General."

He still had to get used to that.

The title reminded him of Hughes. His posthumous promotion. Everytime he was called this way, a shudder climbed up his spine. He hoped it would ease with time.

But what was more important, was who was calling him.

"Hawkeye? Is that you?"

"Uh. Yes. Sir."

Roy passed a hand on his face, his sensitive eyes squinting under the bright living room light. That slight hesitation. He knew what it was. Placing the receiver at the crook of his neck, he pulled on the phone to take it with him as he went on a search for his trousers - his watch was in the pocket.

The cord was too short. His trousers were in his bedroom. And he had nothing else to ask to Hawkeye - asking her how she was doing was out of question.

"What time is it?"

"If it's too late, sir, I can -"

"No, no, I can't find my watch, is all."

"In your trousers right pocket. If I remember well, you also have a spare one in the second drawer of the chest in your living room."

"You're the best, Hawkeye." The phone cord was long enough for him to reach the drawer.

Two am. Roy frowned. It wasn't right, it wasn't right at all.

"I can't decide if you're very early or very late, Captain."

"I'm sorry, I --"

"Easy. I'm just teasing."

Mustang, stop with the fucking banter.

"Nightmare?"

"I just... Needed to hear your voice."

Roy's hand tightened on receiver. For her to admit this, it must have been one hell of a nightmare, indeed. He lowered his voice, trying to sound more soothing than his usual tease.

"I'm here, Hawkeye. In one piece. Everything works more or less like it should, too."

"Yes. I can hear that. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Captain."

Silence.

"I think I'll hung up, now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. You need to sleep. I'm sorry to have -"

"You do, too, you know? Need to sleep."

"I'll be okay."

"Captain Hawkeye calling me at two am means she's very not okay, you know. Ask anyone. They'll tell you this."

"I don't want just anyone knowing I call you in the middle of the night, sir."

"Well, ask me, and I will tell you you're not okay and you shouldn't hung up just yet."

Silence. But she didn't hang up.

"Hawkeye?"

"I think I need - nevermind. I should -"

"You know what, I think we should go out one of these days. With the team, I mean -" he added quickly. "Have a glass or two. We haven't really since -"

"Since the boys threw a party to celebrate you and Havoc's healing."

"Yeah, and I asked you to take me back after an hour cause my head was going to explode, so I didn't really enjoy it that much, remember?"

"I do. And yes, it - it's a nice idea."

There was something loaded, there. She sounded like she wanted it, but like she was also disappointed.

"Hawkeye?"

"...Sir?"

"Did you mean you needed to see me just now?"

Yet another silence.

Roy was tempted to add something, anything, to stop her from hanging up on him, to stop her from returning to her bed or her sofa or anywhere in her flat as alone and lost and upset as she sounded. But he also knew that if he said anything, there, then she would never admit it.

"... Yes?"

Roy felt his shoulders slump and something warm twist under his ribs. He had to blink away a speck of dust in his eye - definitely dust, damn his eyes for being so sensitive nowadays.

"Come. I'll put the water to boil."

Roy had started to worry a little, pacing back and forth in his kitchen, when he heard the knocks. He opened the door on a very sorry looking and literally drenched Hawkeye.

His first reaction was to step towards her, intent on hugging her, stopping himself at the last second, and closing his mouth on the "Oh, Riza..." that threatened to go past his lips.

"You should have told me it was raining, I hadn't noticed. I'd have come to pick you up with the car."

"It's okay. I think I needed a walk."

Roy suspected she'd taken so long because she'd turned around multiple times, unable to decide if she should act on his offer or not. An irrational feeling of pride washed over him, but he couldn't tell if it was for her or himself.

He noticed her eyes didn't leave him, following his every move, ever since he'd opened the door.

One hell of a nightmare.

Roy cleared his throat, taking her coat from her shoulders. She let him do so. To Roy, she felt like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Make yourself at home. I'll fetch you a towel for your hair."

He turned around, feeling her eyes boring through his back.

It was a rare occurrence, but it happened that one of them decided to call the other in the middle of the night, needing to speak, share, with someone who knew what they had gone and were still going through. They usually just sat at either side of the room, silent, a warm cup of tea in hand.

But not alone. Together.

The tea had long infused, and Roy gestured for Riza to sit as he left the towel on the small kitchen table, and went to pour two cups. He gave one to her. Her hands, reddened and dried by the cold outside, curled immediately around it.

He sat at the other side of the table. They waited in silence for the tea to cool down enough to be drinkable.

After a while, Roy took a tentative sip and a no less tentative step.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Hawkeye had stopped trying to drill holes through him with her eyes, and was now intently looking at her cup. She did not look up from it, and took her time to reply, her voice very small.

"No."

Rainwater dripped from her bangs onto the table. The towel laid untouched next to her hands.

Roy took another sip from his tea, and got up. He circled around the table, and took the towel.

"May I?"

Hawkeye had a sharp nod. Almost invisible. But, after all, they had known each other long enough.

Standing behind her, he freed her hair from the clip she always wore - not without fumbling a little with it, with his still healing hands, and the clip metal being soaking wet. Honey hair, darkened by water, cascaded on her shoulders. Ever so gently, he gathered it in one hand, applying the towel to it with the other.

He did notice her shoulder tense, then relax, slowly.

Once her hair stopped dripping, he put the towel aside, and tried to untangle the silky strands with his hands. That wouldn't do.

"Coming back."

Another sharp nod, before he saw Hawkeye finally drink her tea from the corner of his eye as he turned to the bathroom again.

His own terribly straight and thick hair was pretty easily untangled by hand most of the time, but he did keep a brush somewhere for the days where he had to look at least a little better dressed.

Hawkeye had not moved when he came back, but her cup was empty. He refilled it without a word, then went to work on her hair.

The silky strands under his fingers reminded him of the last time he'd done this - the first, also. That wasn't long ago.

In the hospital, after a couple of days, Hawkeye had grown frustrated. Her hair was tangled, still matted in places, and with the cut in her neck, and her overall weakness, she couldn't brush them properly, nor tie them so they wouldn't annoy her and brush against the bandage on her nape.

She had not said anything, but Roy could feel it.

He didn't need to see her, then, to know something was annoying her, tensing her more than she was already, and after a little asking and prying, that almost turned into harassment, he'd managed to extract the information from her.

That was so simple. And not as if he didn't know how to care for long hair - his sisters had

made sure he helped them get ready quite often when he was a kid.

Of course, his hands were not as deft as they used to be, and at this moment he couldn't see, but you didn't need to, just to brush hair. He'd offered to help, and it took a little convincing, but Hawkeye had finally accepted and let him take the brush from her hand. And he could tell from her stance, the little humming sounds she made - probably consciously, for his benefit - that she enjoyed it, in the end.

He realized as he passed his fingers through her wet hair that he had closed his eyes, reliving the feeling he'd had back then, the touch of her hair, the warmth of her body being so close. It was a moment he would remember as pure happiness. A moment of bliss amidst bleak times, that would for ever shine in his memory, even if it had only been experienced through touch and sound and smell. Maybe because it had been so.

A smile pulled at his lips as he opened his eyes again, now able to enjoy the warm colour of Hawkeye's hair as well as it's softness.

As he reached for a couple of stray bangs, his fingers brushed against the side of her neck, and the scars that were now crossing it. Hawkeye immediately brought her shoulders up, tilting her head backwards, protecting the tender, still very pink skin there. Roy stilled.

"Sorry. Does it hurt, still?"

Riza answered with another question, but let her shoulders slump down.

"Do yours?"

Roy repressed a small chuckle. That wasn't funny.

"Of course they do. I can barely hold that damn hair brush, after filling paperwork all day. And I did most on the typewriter."

"Don't tell me you've found a new way to try and escape paperwork, sir."

"I don't think you'd let me, anyway."

Roy was done with her hair. It was drying, gaining more shine and becoming lighter in colour and under his fingers as it did so. But he didn't want to leave. He didn't want to let go of Hawkeye's hair, of the proximity it gave them, of just being able to touch her.

So he kept brushing, even if, yeah, his hands hurt. But he saw her close her eyes under his touch as he tilted his head to the side. It was definitely worth it.

"You don't like me using your new rank."

Roy blinked. The question had come out of nowhere, in a voice that was a little more assured than it'd been when Hawkeye had entered his flat. He sighed.

"I'm not going to lie to you."

"Because of Hughes."

"Yes."

Roy, still standing behind Hawkeye, his hands still now mostly playing with her hair rather than brushing it, expected the conversation to die there.

"I think he'd be proud of you."

Roy let go of her hair, to place his hands on her shoulders. Hawkeye and Hughes never really had what would have been called a relationship - and would have absolutely never interacted if not for Roy himself being friends with both. Hughes considered Roy's fondness for Hawkeye as an impediment on his way to find his perfect wife, and Hawkeye disapproved of Hughes's loudness, his constant boasting and his berating of Roy on the same subject - there was no jealousy there, only professionalism on her part.

Or, rather, mostly professionalism.

So to hear her talk about Hughes, and with such a tone of voice, was uncommon. But it made that warm twist in his gut rise again.

"I think you're right."

Silence, again. A comfortable silence, at least on Roy's part, that Hawkeye pulverized into millions of sharp pieces.

"You died."

Roy froze, the warmth disappearing.

"In my nightmare. You died in my arms, and - and I couldn't tell if the one who'd shot you was an enemy or myself. You kept telling me it wasn't my fault, while blood poured out of your mouth and you were clutching at my shoulders. But I think it was. I think it was me who shot you. And then you died. It took a long time. It… I…"

Hawkeye's hands were slightly shaking around the newly empty tea cup, and Roy could feel the tremors in her shoulders. First, he pushed on them, trying to put some weight on her, to ground her, show her he was there, then he changed his mind.

He couldn’t tell her that he knew exactly how she felt, for he’d experienced it not too long before, for real, and that every other night, he went through more or less the same dream. Her dying in his arms, with no way to prevent it from happening. Alone underground. Her blood smeared on her clothes, her face, his hands. The very real image of her blood dying her hair red, engraved in his mind, for weeks, while he was blind to everything else.

Roy tried to repress the shiver that crept up his spine and closed its icy hands around his throat. Now was not the time to tell her that. She needed him to be stronger than her, right now. Nor would he tell her that he had, in fact, gone so far as to pick up the phone a week prior, only to place it back down before calling her number.

He took her hand and gently pulled her up, seeing with a pang of sadness that she still behaved like a stringless puppet, following his push without showing neither want nor dislike.

"Look at me, Riza."

The surprise at him using her first name seemed to pull her out of her torpor, and she looked him in the eye.

"Good. Look. I'm here. All in one piece. You didn't shoot me." Unsure of where to place his hands, he put them on her waist - a light touch, as if they were at a formal dance. He wouldn’t dare anything more intrusive than that. "You never did. You came close ... But you didn't have to. You pushed me back on the right track. You always do. And I always follow."

He could get lost in her dark amber eyes for hours if he had nothing else to care about. But he had to care for her, right now. And he couldn't bear the fact that these eyes were rimmed red. Slowly, he brought his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. He let out a sigh as her own arms circled his waist and he nudged his head in the crook of her neck - careful to choose the right side. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, and spoke low.

"I'm supposed to be the one who follows. Not the other way around."

"You perfectly know I keep turning back to ask you directions."

"I thought it was to check if I was still there."

"No. I trust you too much to ever doubt that."

They stood still, huddled together, for a while. Then Roy stepped back.

“Are you feeling better?”

Riza sniffed against his chest.

“Yes.”

“Let me see.”

He brought his hands to the sides of her face, tilting her head so their eyes would meet again. Her features were less tense, but not fully relaxed yet.

“I think there’s still some way to go.”

Stroking her cheeks with his thumbs, he kissed her forehead lightly, taking in the smell of her hair, and the softness of her skin. When he pulled back, she had closed her eyes, and some of the remaining tension had left her face.

Smiling, he placed his hands back on her waist, where they were before.

“Why don’t we sit?”

Hawkeye frowned again, ruining his efforts. But it was only for a couple of seconds.

“We should sleep. I should go home. I just needed to check on you, to be sure. We both need to sleep.”

“We’ll sleep when we’re dead.” Roy tried a mock frown, and rested his forehead against hers, black locks of hair mixing with honey bangs. “Or when we fall asleep on the couch. Either way, I’m not letting you go.”

“Is that an order?”

That warm twist again. Hawkeye’s dry smile was back.

“I could make it so.”