Work Text:
Blood-red interior
A shiny black shell
The rest are inferior
She's faster than hell
Karen slipped in through the barely open door, breathing hard, and locked the deadbolt behind her, before giving the room a cursory glance.
The apartment was empty. She'd beaten Matt back.
Despite the furious hammering of her heart, she was clearheaded enough to go through the motions, opening the last drawer in the kitchen and taking out the satellite communicator from its black bag.
She turned it on and counted to sixty. No missed messages came through, so she typed in the agreed upon signal, checked that the sound was loud enough for her to hear, without being heard by anyone else, and set it on the counter, grimly resolved to wait.
After a few minutes, she heard the soft ping that signaled a new message, and she left off her pacing to read it.
"Oh thank God," she said quietly, and took what felt like her first deep breath in an hour. According to the message, Matt would be back soon.
She checked the apartment door once more, locked, then the bedroom window, unlocked, and grabbed a set of clean clothes out of the dresser. She felt grimy from skulking at the back of alleys all night, and a shower was, she thought, a better way to pass the time than to keep wearing a track in the floor.
She washed quickly, dried, and had just finished dressing when she heard the bedroom window being opened and then shut again. Despite her certainty that it was Matt arriving back, her heart still took off like a shot. She stood perfectly still, listening.
"It's me," she heard Matt say, and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in.
She pulled on her socks and then opened the door, relieved to find Matt, helmet and gloves off, giving her a grim smile.
"Okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good," he nodded.
She watched as he reached for the zipper at his shoulder, only to wince and touch his side. When he brought his hand away, there was a smear of blood.
She opened her mouth to ask, but Matt spoke first. "It's just a couple small cuts. Nothing serious. I promise."
She let out an exasperated sigh.
"I promise." He made an effort to train his eyes on her as he spoke.
She scrunched her lip, but nodded. "You wanna shower? I can look over the suit."
Matt's relief was evident on his face. "God, yes," he said, exhausted. "But the suit can wait. It's gonna need a wash anyway."
"Alright."
She made her way to the window and checked the lock, then closed the gap in the curtains. When she turned back around, Matt had clean clothes in his hand.
"I'll just be a few."
"You can take your time - nothing else needs doing tonight. Hungry?"
"Starving," he grinned.
"I'll heat up some leftovers," she said, chuckling at the earnest expression on his face, then made her way down the narrow hallway towards the kitchenette.
She ate her portion while she waited for Matt to emerge from the bathroom. When he did, wearing sweatpants and carrying the first aid kit, she frowned.
"It's just a scratch," he reassured her. "A butterfly or two will take care of it."
"That's what the Black Knight said," she muttered, rolling her eyes.
"What?" he wrinkled his brow in confusion.
"Monty Python. King Arthur's cut off the Black Knight's arm, and he responds with, 'Tis but a scratch," she said, adopting a terrible British accent.
"Okay," Matt's face looked doubtful.
"Anyways…" she went to the sink to wash her hands. "It's just like you. You're always telling me, It's nothing, when in fact you could be bleeding out, your arm severed on the floor."
He laughed and shook his head. "Truly, your pop-culture references never cease to amaze me… but in this case, I promise, it's only a couple small cuts.
Hands dried, Karen pulled out a chair and opened the kit. "Alright, let's see this scratch."
Matt stood in front of her while she applied butterfly bandages to three small cuts, and when she was done, he stepped back and said, "Told you."
"Aye, so you did," her accent was even worse.
"That sounded more Irish than English," Matt chuckled.
"Whatever," she snorted.
He found the plate of food she'd prepared for him, and just as he sat down to eat, she said, "I'm having a thought."
He nodded as he took his first bite. "What's that?" he said, mouth half-full.
"The Black Knight," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
He ate several more bites while she ruminated, then asked, "What about him?"
She shook her head to clear her thoughts, then walked over to the communicator and sent off a message. A reply came through almost immediately.
"Everything okay," he tilted his head to the side, reading her.
"Great. I'm gonna wash your suit - give it a once over. Keep eating."
She didn't wait for a response, but headed down the hall to the bathroom where the suit was waiting.
*
It was hanging up to dry, ninety minutes later, when the communicator pinged again. Matt had been dozing on the couch, but he sat up quickly at the sound.
Karen got up from the kitchen table to check it. "Cherry's here. I asked him to pick something up for me."
"Huh?" Matt shook himself to wake up further.
"Be right back," she said, already unlocking the apartment door.
When she came back up five minutes later, a large jar of what smelled undoubtedly like paint in her hand, Matt voiced his confusion.
"I'm sorry, why did Cherry bring you paint?"
"The Black Knight," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't get it."
"I'm gonna make you a Black Knight."
He furrowed his brows, obviously trying to arrive at the same train of thought as Karen. She had mercy on him and explained.
"I'm gonna paint your suit black," she said matter-of-factly. "You'll blend into the dark even better - might make you less likely to come home missing a limb."
He barked out a laugh, but lost his mirth almost immediately when she didn't join in. "You're serious?"
"One hundred percent. As soon as it's dry I'm gonna get started."
Matt sat, apparently stunned.
"Look, I know it won't be perfect, but I'm serious. I think it'll help you disappear easier during a fight. And…" she grinned, "I think it's gonna put your opponent on their guard. Daredevil… but not the DD they know. You know?"
Matt nodded in response, turning over the prospect in his own mind. "Will they know it's me?"
"I have an idea for that…" she said cryptically.
*
The next night, when Matt suited up, Karen was uncharacteristically quiet.
He stood in front of her, helmet in hand. "Well? How's it look?"
She felt her heart beating a bit faster than usual, and she took a deep breath before answering, "It's not perfect… but I think it'll do."
"And the DD?"
"Damn-near perfect, if I do say so myself," her cheeks blushed pink as she grinned with pleasure. "It looks so much redder, in contrast to the black. Blood-red... like gashes showing through. I really like it."
Matt grinned and pulled the cowl up over his head, silently placing the helmet on top.
Karen sucked in a breath in amazement. "Damn," she breathed. "Those assholes better look out."