Author: Arsenic Kisses PM
Natasha Romanov is her own woman. She is the Black Widow and Matt Murdock has been bitten more times than he could recall. Now she's back again and he is only left to wonder: Did she come to protect him from harm or is it something else entirely?Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance - Chapters: 4 - Words: 5,378 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 12 - Follows: 11 - Updated: 03-25-10 - Published: 06-29-09 - id: 5176266
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Bella DeMuerte Here!
Ok so, Being a huge DD fan I decided to write this. It's a love story (with action packed sequences to come) centered around Matt and Natasha Romanov ( The Black Widow). I hope everyone enjoys it. I know I enjoyed writing it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline. DD and The Black Widow belong to Marvel ( and rightfully so :) )
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Roaring below him was the din of an 18 wheeler. Above; the duel engines of a jet plane. To the direct right was the shuddering clinkity clank of a busted air conditioning system. To his left, domestic dispute. This was Hell's Kitchen. A box of noise and calamity. A fish tank, full of creatures unaware of the hand that kept them alive. And how they would have laughed if they knew it was the hand of a blind man. The hand of a lawyer keeping them sound with his own brand of justice. How they would titter and guffaw at the inkling it was Matt Murdock.
He had situated himself in one of the noisiest spots in the Kitchen for no logical reason. Was his subconscious trying to overwhelm him? What horrible treachery if this was the case. How nefarious one's mind could be against itself. Matt cracked his neck, the minuscule snap barely making a ripple in all the clamor. Each sound wanted its own voice. The plane had flown past moment before and the truck went along on its way. And in 20 minutes, the air in the building he was settled atop of would sputter to a stop and wait another 30 minute cycle to start up again. Matt wondered if the couple would just agree to disagree.
The office was in shambles. Matt and Foggy were practically buried in cases and the gifts given by contented clients. Matt nearly took his own head off at one point on a low hanging basketball hoop. Foggy grumbled and groused about it all, but Matt could tell he almost enjoyed it.
The slow, precise steps of another came closer and closer. He didn't hear their arrival, but that was intentional, he knew it. The snap of each heel as it made contact with the pebbles spread out on the rooftop gave her away.
" Natasha, you know sneaking up on a blind man could give him a heart attack," He heard her blowing the bangs from her eyes with supple Russian lips.
" I know, darling. But it's fun to watch you squirm." Matt pursed his own lips, inadvertently opening the wound that had just congealed. He sucked on the gash, turning around to face her.
" What do you need?" Matt groaned, remembering all of a sudden that he was wounded. Was that why he smelled the piquant scent of excess iron in the air? Natasha situated herself across from him, legs crossed.
" I came to check on you, Matthew."
" I don't need a baby sitter, 'tasha." She scoffed in that way that made her seductive. With it, he could see her chin and lips momentarily.
" By the looks of it, you need a straight jacket."
" I'm not crazy." He grumbled defensively, feeling his torso for any bloody patches. There were a few, but nothing major to be concerned about.
" We all are, Matthew. Sane people don't dress up in spandex." She gestured to her person, which was not entirely wasted on him. The rush of air from her movement showed a phantom outline of thigh and taught bottom.
" Unh." was his only response. She blew the bangs out of her eye again and drew one knee up to rest her head on.
She looked at him closely and without a verbal reaction, applied pressure to a wound that was bleeding a bit more than it should. His hand came up and cupped her elbow, helping her effort. There was a vast yet calming silence. It reminded them both of the halcyon days when they were together.
" Someone," she stated, almost tenderly, " needs to protect you from you."
" Hah!" he laughed, but it was half-hearted. Natasha flicked him on the forehead, her brow drawn in.
" You need manners, Murdock." He touched his hand to his forehead and rubbed.
" Are you feeling faint at all?" she asked a moment later.
He didn't know it, but she looked ashamed, her red tresses covering her face. He shrugged with nonchalance. She looked about and then peeled off his mask delicately, assured that the coast was clear. She looked into his eyes for a moment, feeling that familiar twinge. They were murky from the isotopes and yet, still beautiful. She pressed her forehead to his and felt for a temperature.
" You're too cold." She whispered, still applying pressure to the wound from before. He breathed in, unsure of how he felt with her so close. And she had practically reduced him to reclining on one elbow without a thought.
" Natasha...I'm fine, really."
" Matthew, don't try to pull the wool over my eyes. You've lost a lot of blood."
" How can you tell if the costume is red?"
" Shut up. I'll hit you regardless." She replaced the mask on his face and stood. The Daredevil sat up, but the pain was ringing through him more acute than before. How had he gotten banged up so badly? Natasha crouched down and hoisted him onto her shoulders.
" 'tasha, put me down." She merely raised her fist in warning, hopping off the roof and using a grappling hook to propel them through the city.
Matt could smell his apartment around him. He was in his bed, under his sheets with only his boxers and various gauze jobs to clothe him. He raked a distracted hand through his fiery hair, getting trace amounts of currant and vanilla from the bandages that dwelled there.
She was somewhere in the kitchen. He could hear the rhythmic thumping of her sturdy Russian heart. Matt sat up slowly and waited for pain. Assuring himself that there was not a tweak or a twinge anywhere, he slid out from under the protective layer of comforter and into the doorway.
" 'tasha...." Matt breathed, his voice an odd husk of what it should be.
" Mmm, you sound about as sensual as sandpaper on a chalkboard." she joked, moving to the teapot. He felt the roll and rumble of her consonants down the back of his neck. Meanwhile, she had poured the hot tea over a mixture of honey and sugar, secretly drinking in the scent of it with a yearning for home.
" Do you want cream?"
"– Beg pardon?"
" Cream in your tea, Matthew. Do you want some?" He nodded dumbly, leaning against the frame of the kitchen door. What was she doing here? Why did she always just pop up unannounced into his thoughts and now into his life? But, that was Natasha. She had her own agenda and would follow it without pity or exceptions.
" Here." her voice lilted, pushing the handle against his fingertips.
" Thanks..." he murmured in return, sipping on it tentatively. It was just like she used to make, perhaps better than before. Natasha leaned her lithe frame back onto the counter top with a watchful eye. Black Widow. Romanov.
Matt had never thought her a much of a spider out of battle. If anything she was like a...well, like a comfort. She was that kind of glow you feel around someone who makes the bad things go away. Yet underneath it all, you could feel the potential lethality of her. Oscillating through her body like an electrical current. Like tamed lighting.
" – I said, are you distracted?"
" Mmm, a little. Thinking is a better word for it."
" What are you thinking about?" purred the Widow. She was wearing some of his sweat pants and her sports bra. She knew he wouldn't mind and she had promised him secretly to wash them after she was done.
" Just, old scars," he paused, touching the gauze with hyper-sensitive fingertips, " and new. It never seems to end. " Natasha laughed behind smirking lips.
" It never does, comrade." she offered ruefully, her voice resonating in his ears. He sipped his tea again and again, draining the cup to the point where the sludge of honey and sugar left at the bottom slid down to his lips and over his tongue.
" You ever think about it?"
" Don't be vague, Matthew." she stated sternly, taking his cup and washing it out under the faucet.
" The job. All of it. The violence and the crime, the guns and the succeeding wounds that follow every so often. Do you think about it?" She sighed as quietly as she could.
" This is a couch conversation, darling." She spirited out of the kitchen and slid with the force of exhaustion onto the couch. Matt moved to follow and halfway to the couch, she answered his question.
" I don't think about it. It makes the rest of my life too complicated. And life in itself is already that." He plopped down, the sound revealing she was sitting with her legs tucked under her, head resting on her hand at the temple.
They sat in silence for awhile, her gaze at his neck, noticing how his shoulders sloped into his chest, the collar bone appearing like an unexpected cliff.
" What are you doing here, Natasha?"
She rolled this question around and around in her brain, thinking of the best way to answer it. There really was no correct way to answer and if she were to lie, he would know it without missing a beat; or rather, missing a heartbeat.
" I can't answer that, Matt...not without being highly embarrassed and foolish. Just trust that I'll be out of your hair soon." She continued to look at him as she said these things, watching his eyes search vainly for a visual stimulant, though he didn't know that they did. She had always loved how they looked when he was confused. His face would always match their child-like quality.
" Natasha, you can't be so evasive." he implored without trying to sound pathetically confused.
" I'm sure that what I said was not evasive!" she offered with a short, incredulous laugh. She bit her lip softly, staring at him. Why the feelings all of a sudden, and after so long? She knew that their relationship didn't work. They made great partners but horrible lovers. Not that the sex wasn't good.
It was great. Phenomenal, even. But that was beyond the point. She was still getting that warm feeling in her breast that she was taught to suppress and exorcize. Natasha reached her hand out and twisted Matt's flaming orange bangs around her pointer finger. They were still so silky, as lovely as when she touched them last. Matt could hear her trying to control the rapid palpitations in her chest, but she was failing. Or was that his chest?
Matt didn't see how this was happening after so long. He wanted to stop her, but she was already running her fingers though his hair with such gentle strokes that his ambition and rebellion was quelled.
" Tasha...." he managed, sucking in air with slight pleasure. She took his right hand and placed it behind her neck. This was not her original goal. All she wanted was to look at him and assure that he was still alive.... and now this.
" Just give in, love," she found her lips cooing, " I already have..." Then Matt did something he hadn't done since Milla went insane: he kissed with unabashed passion and youthful tenacity. And how he missed her full lips, the perfect match to his own. Why was it that Natasha always showed up like this?
He had asked this of himself earlier and now he didn't care what the answer was. She was here and that's all that mattered. Damn the dawn when it breaks, he'll have no regrets. He couldn't see it's muted blues and shade of grey anyway.
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Up next: Chapter 2: Dawn Breaks, Big Mistakes