maskormenacelogs | And I'm tryin' to make some girl / Who tells me baby better come back later next week

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And I'm tryin' to make some girl / Who tells me baby better come back later next week

WHO: Matt Murdock & Lillian Crawley-Jeffries
WHERE: Wherever supermodels work
WHEN: March 9
WHAT: Matt needs to talk to somebody without baggage. That she happens to be a beautiful woman is a bonus.
WARNINGS: Flirting? Probably flirting. HOPEFULLY NO HARVEY DENT WARNINGS NECESSARY.

Matt's quickly realized that there's a common thread between his previous life and his life here- everything is just as complicated as it was before. Instead of supervillains busting up the city, he has Harvey Dent breaking into his house and trying to intrude on his life; instead of the public circus that had become his identity, it was the never-ending rehash of a series of issues he'd thought long laid to rest. And per his resolution to never sink so low, ever again, to not allow himself to hit the depths of darkness and despair that had defined his life for years- at some point, he's got to allow himself the chance to go out and have fun. Or at least talk to someone who isn't going to want to fight, argue, violate boundaries or lecture.

It's a little sad that he only knows one person to go to, under those criteria. But he'd liked her, when they'd met at the party. She'd been funny and honest, and under the circumstances, he's not going to ask for anything more. The distinctive sound of her heartbeat makes it easy to track her, through the city- and truthfully, he's never been to a modeling shoot before. Some of the effect is undoubtedly lost on him, but the distraction in and of itself is nice...and hopefully she won't mind too much that he showed up and hung around on the "pretense" of looking for her. She'd said she'd been looking for friends, after all.

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Given the past week or two, Lil would have been flattered to know that anyone on the entire planet still thought of her in a positive light. She'd felt like an unending mess from the moment she forced herself to tumble out of bed in the morning to when she finally curled back up under the covers at night. There had been an inordinate amount of ice cream consumption. And several viewings of The Notebook. Working, at least, gave her some reason to leave the house.

The stylists had done a remarkable job of concealing the dark bags beneath her eyes and combing the unkempt tangles from her long hair. She was beginning to look and feel a little bit like a human being again -- and after an entire morning of being nagged by the photographer to give him "more high fashion," Lil was more than ready to take a break for lunch by the time the afternoon rolled around.

The theme of the day was some kind of urban edge that had the entire crew parking trailers and vans in a section of street that had been conveniently sectioned off for the day. There was a table lined up with what Lil would have called "rabbit food" that was still better than nothing, and definitely better than listening to the photographer for another single minute. Still dressed in her elaborate designer wear, Lil filled a small plate with carrots and copious ranch dressing, exhaling with a sigh at the thought of her lunch break ending.

When she glances up and spots him, she thinks it's a coincidence. She waves a hand before remembering he can't see that, making a bit of a face at herself when she realizes and opts to call out to him instead.

"Matt!"

Her noticing him gives him the convenient excuse to actually obviously focus on her. It's not like he couldn't have produced one on his own without having to explain the intricacies of his super-senses, if only to avoid upsetting her or putting her in any position where she needs to be involved in something she admitted she'd retired from...but it's easier this way.

With a casual look of surprise he waves back, aware even if she doesn't know, and casually broaches the boundaries of the shoot to head in the direction of her voice. A protesting fashion intern gets a well-placed "accidental" swat to the shins with the cane, and everyone else doesn't quite seem to know how to approach him properly to make him stop, so he makes all the way over; audacity serves him well, yet again.

"Hey, you," he says cheerfully, like he didn't just invade her workplace like it was nothing. He doesn't look in the least bit chagrined or the slightest bit concerned that he probably shouldn't be there at all, or like he has any intention of giving a damn anytime soon. "I was hoping to run into you again."

Between the two of them, there isn't a single damn given. It's her lunch break anyway, and if she didn't care for any fussing from on-site crew before, she certainly doesn't now. Lil has always been the type to do whatever the hell she wants regardless, come hell or high water. Besides, this is probably the best thing that's happened all day -- maybe for the other girls on set too, judging by their half-curious, half-appreciative looks. She'll consider it a karmic reward for putting up with her finicky photographer.

"That right?" She doesn't bother trying not to sound pleased. After the past week or so, it's nice to see a friendly face -- someone that actually wants to see her, for once. "Guess it's your lucky day then. Here I was, just waitin' t'have someone run in t'me."

Honestly, it's a bit of a rescue from the monotony.

"Wasn't sure you'd remember me."

"I don't forget people. I'm bad at faces, of course, but there's other ways of keeping track."

Humility and Matt Murdock are only passingly acquainted. Foggy'd bluntly called it out more than once, his showmanship, his capacity to revel in the spotlight, and so he leans against the table and casually twirls his cane, settling it up against his shoulder. Already this is the best outing he's had in weeks. It was definitely a good idea, to come looking for her.

"Lillian Jeffries, also known as Lil. Retired superhero. You're taller than me, which is rare, and not a bad thing, I might add. You've got an accent, north of the border, though I'm not familiar enough with Canada to tell you whereabouts exactly. Oh, and you smell nice. I'm sure that's the strangest compliment you've ever received, but I've only got so much to go on. And you're one of the few people in years to ask me if I'm really blind and not make it sound like an accusation. You'd have made an impression even if that weren't the only pleasant encounter I had at that party, and the only person who didn't want something more than conversation. Sadly, I am not exaggerating."

He can't help but grinning a bit, clearly having fun. Fun. He'd missed fun, for a long time. And Foggy wanted to get on his case for trying to get back to this.

"And then here you are. Lucky me."

She makes this little amused exhale of a noise that borders on pleasantly surprised. Maybe she shouldn't be so caught off guard, but it feels like forever since the last time someone complimented her so readily. Frank Castle certainly wasn't the type. Some days it felt like she had to fight him for a few sparse words, like squeezing water from a rock. Dwelling on that contrast too long makes her chest a little heavy, but it's still nice, being able to talk with someone this way.

"For the record, I'm from Yellowknife," she responds with a mild wryness, reaching towards him to smooth out a spot on his shirt -- more for the contact, and from her habit of forgetting personal space, than because of anything else. "If you're always this damn flatterin', can't see why folks would even dream of wantin' more than conversation. Could jus' stand here an' let y'stroke my ego all day."

Despite his tendency to brood and his past bouts of grimness, Matt's always been a talker and a charmer. He's good at the people thing, and he's never been able to refrain from a little showing off. Or a lot of showing off. It's never overt bragging, but then, he never needs to. And, though it might be a lot smarter to cut off all contact with anyone he ever loved, and leave their life for good, never making any connections ever again...he'll never be able to do that. Just one of the many things Frank and Matt can't see eye-to-eye on, no matter how many times their paths cross.

"I just gave you my honest opinion," he says casually, perfectly aware when she reaches out and not moving so much as a muscle. Not even going to pretend to flinch in surprise, although it does prompt a slight stretch...only so he can settle against the table of inadequate food more comfortably, making himself at home within easy reach. "I'd keep going, but that'd require getting to know you better."

Admittedly, it makes her a little curious -- the way he never seems caught off guard the way a person might expect a blind man to be. Of course, superheroes are always in a league of their own when it comes to certain things, and even a retiree like Lil has better reflexes than any civilian, but still. It tempts the mischievous, impulsive side of her to test just how good Matt's other senses are.

"Well," she answers after a moment, letting her hand linger another second before falling away. "Y'can ask me whatever y'want." A beat, then she adds in that same, half-jokingly wry voice, reaching out to lightly pat his face, "Except how old I am an' how much I weigh. Even a handsome guy like you can't get away with that."

Enough to be a crazy good athlete, an acrobat, to leap off buildings and never worry about hitting the ground. Enough to make drinking cheap coffee an experience straight out of hell and smell all the artificial chemicals in Foggy's snack food. To track scents like a bloodhound and heartbeats and know who's telling the truth and who's lying. To read paper by touch. And other, slightly more interesting and intimate things, if one were to be totally honest. But that is not a topic for polite conversation in the middle of a fashion shoot, with so many people still clearly paying attention.

Well, unless they wanted to be totally shameless. But it's rather early in this hopefully-a-friendship for that.

"Wouldn't even dream of it." He pretends to give it some thought, although he'd had the idea in his head ever since he came here. It'd just been easier to solidify "All right. First question: are you enjoying this lunch?"

Lil is, in general, relatively shameless. The woman's sense of personal boundaries seems completely absent some days -- though she's respectful enough now, consciously or otherwise. Aside from that brief touch of her hand, she has more or less been behaving herself, though you never really knew if Lil would break your nose or pinch your cheek.

"What, y'mean this rabbit food? It's like they've never had t'feed a grown gal before," she responds with a little exhale, one hand finding her hip. "Probably worried I'm gonna pop a goddamn button or somethin'."

She pauses then, glancing at Matt in a considering way before she asks almost impulsively, "Why, y'wanna get outta here?"

Hey, nobody will ever catch him complaining. He's no stranger to this kind of casual banter, flirting that's not necessarily meaningless but doesn't necessarily mean anything either. Matt's never objected to one night stands or casual dating or practically anything; he's a bad Catholic, that way, and it's caused him a lot of grief. But he kept doing it anyway. And he's doing it now, all over again.

It wasn't as though he came in with an explicit agenda. But now that he's here, and she's here, and she's certainly amenable to seeing him and spending time with him...

"That's what I was going for, yes," he admits, shrugging a bit, almost as though he's a little sheepish about being caught out. Though he isn't at all, of course. "Obviously I can't drive the getaway car, but we could probably make a run for it before they caught on."

Lil makes another light, entertained noise that's almost a laugh. It makes her eyes crinkle at the corners, showing off faint crow's feet. With the way things have been lately, it's nice to feel a little worry free, even if it's just in the moment. She's just had too much on her mind, festering. This is probably the best she's felt in a little while.

"Me, run in these heels?" As if to demonstrate, she lifts the skirt of her overly elaborate designer dress to show off equally elaborate high heels -- not, of course, that she needs the extra few inches. "If y'settle for a quick walk, y'got a deal."

Edited 2014-03-19 16:02 (UTC)

He winces automatically, recognizing the incredible balance it must take to actually stand up in those things, let alone move around. Couldn't pay him enough to do it. Hopefully they pay her very well to suffer through that kind of torture.

"I'm armed and dangerous. I think we can make it work." Matt shifts his cane off his shoulder and offers her his arm (much to the chagrin and delight of several nearby interns, who seem to have nothing better to do with their time and will no doubt be yelled at by one of their bosses currently storming this way.) "Act like this is exactly what you're supposed to be doing and it's likely nobody will even question it. But we'd better go before your director catches us."

Matt doesn't need sensitive hearing to be able to hear his angry impatient demands getting louder and louder.

She presses fingertips to her lips to stifle a smile that might have grown just a little too big as she steps to accept his arm, looping hers through his. What started off as a rather scant lunch during a tedious day at work had turned into something of a small adventure. Their little get-away plan suits her impulsive, mischievous side -- the consequences don't matter to her at all, despite what she says next to tease him.

"Anybody ever tell y'that you're a bad influence? You're gonna get me in all damn kinds of trouble," she answers wryly over the click-click of her heels. "Dunno how I'm gonna go back to normal work days after this. Jus' gonna keep hopin' some guy comes 'round t'kidnap me when I get bored."

"Be careful what you wish for." His voice, just for that moment, sounds dry, a bit distant and suddenly more serious...but Matt recovers his poise quickly. As far as he can tell, supervillain activity is at a remarkable low down here, although perhaps that's not surprising in such a tiny town packed with so many heroes. Or "heroes." New York, it's big enough to get away with something and not get busted by one of them.

He's not going to think about that.

"Anyway," he says, picking back up just as lightly as he had carried on before. "I have heard that before, although it depends on who you're asking, and what you mean. I've also been accused of being "reckless to the point of insanity," which goes hand in hand with 'bad influence' sometimes. So if you were looking for somebody who wouldn't encourage this, I'm afraid you're talking to the wrong man. But I think being blind would only get me so far before they started to catch on that I'm helping you escape. If you want me to come back, we might have to get creative."

Assuming he gets any lunches available, if his career picks up here. But maybe it won't, since he has no intention of registering. Maybe it's back to being one of those lawyers who has clients who pay in sports gear and chickens rather than cash (still useful either way.)

Edited 2014-03-22 01:36 (UTC)

It's good advice, especially for someone as devil-may-care as Lil is. But she brushes it off as more of the same casual banter, letting her attention move on when he speaks again. Maybe someday she'll learn -- but given how much time she has left in their home world, and the way she finally goes out, maybe not.

"Y'can encourage me," she replies easily, mouth quirking slightly in amusement around the shape of her words as she answers. "Y'jus' gotta be willin' t'deal with the consequences, that's all."

Which makes her dwell on a point -- that she knows, with surprisingly clarity, that she does want him to come back.

"We make a pretty good team. I think we could manage t'be creative. Don't you?"

This was a good idea. It was a good idea to clear his head and get away from the overwhelming questions- about what he's done before, about who he knows and what they know, about what to do about his job and his friends and the fact that they're reliving a part of their past that should have stayed in the past. It'd been a long time since he'd had a relationship that was totally, wholly uncomplicated, no matter how much he loved Foggy or Spider-Man or Kirsten or Natasha or Hank Pym...

After giving it some thought, he admits: "I'm not sure the city is ready for the likes of us." Casually reaching up, though, to undo the knot of his tie and loosen his collar, now that they've more or less given all pretense of seriousness or respectability for the moment. "I won't make any promises. Things come up." Law things. Daredevil things. Sometimes they're so close to being the same thing. "I don't always get lunch, or even rabbit food. But I can try to cut out of the office.

"Of course, you know if I did, that would make you a bad influence, too."

Things could always get complicated with Lil -- her entire marriage to Madison Jeffries was a prime example of that. But it had never been because she wasn't open, honest with her emotions to the point of it being nearly criminal. You tended to know what you were going to get with her. She was the storm you saw coming from miles away. She wouldn't keep any part of herself secret from you. In that way, at least, she's a simple kind of woman.

At the moment though, in the present, she doesn't seem to mind that no promises will be made. Promises are a bit thin to her these days anyway.

"I ain't lookin' for anythin' special," she answers plainly, absently brushing aside some stray hair from her face. The hairspray her stylist had assaulted her with was beginning to wane. "An' I ain't tryin' t'take over all the lunches y'do get. But I never said I ain't a bad influence either. Most days, I got a thing about doin' what I want."

He pulls up short, turning to face her for a moment and pulling her up with him, even though there's nothing there in her face for him to see. But it seems as though he studies it anyway.

"Well," he says, finally, clearly having thought it over for a moment or two. "Clearly I do too, or I wouldn't be here helping you get away with it." It could be argued that doing what he wanted (what Matt felt was good, and right, even at personal cost) had been a great source of many of his troubles. But he'd always keep doing it anyway. "You said you wanted to be friends. I think that's worth lunch, once in awhile. Or coffee, if you can agree to going somewhere that actually has decent coffee."

She lets him stop them both, holding still enough for him when he turns towards her, even though in her mind she knows he can't see her expression. His words call back memories of their first meeting, not too long ago. A lot of things had changed for her since then, but what she'd said still remains true -- she could use some friendly faces.

"Guess I could settle for once in a while," Lil answers after a beat, tilting her head just slightly at him in consideration. "I ain't got nothin' against good coffee. Figure even if it's bad coffee, you'd probably find a way t'make it up t'me."

"There is no point in my life that I would invite a woman out for bad coffee," he says, quite seriously, even though the topic is hardly above trite or ridiculous. Matt stands firm in the face of her consideration, studying her in return through his remaining senses; waiting for the sign of her approval, or her disappointment. "I can't even handle it myself. I can't get the taste out of my mouth for hours, and it ends up giving me a migraine. If we're going to do that, we're going to do it right."

He allows there to be a moment of silence, before he offers:

"...I do like bad popcorn, though."

- if only to try and make her laugh again.

The considering look on her face breaks at that last addendum, the quirk at the corner of her lips betraying the soft exhale of laughter that comes after it. She lifts her hand, pressing her fingertips lightly to her mouth, both pleasantly surprised and amused.

"Bad popcorn's a pretty small vice, if y'ask me," she answers mildly, "Ain't a deal break, anyway. I've had a helluva lot worse."

A little glance around, to see how far they've managed to get from the set, then she goes on, "How d'you feel about sandwiches though? I think I know a place near here, if y'wanna get fed."

"If they can keep the mayonnaise at a minimum, I think I can survive sandwiches." Which isn't probably something somebody would think about. But he can smell exactly what goes into everything, which makes trashier food sometimes extremely difficult to imbibe, when it's chock full of preservatives and Red Dye #4. Subway would always be right out. But regular delis, small on the corner mom-and-pop places, were almost always ok. "Sorry. Extra-sensitive tastebuds, ever since my accident. There's something in it that tastes awful now."

She probably shouldn't find that as amusing as she does, but Lil's never been especially repentant about that kind of thing -- or most things.

"So, mayonnaise is your weakness, huh? Wouldn'tve guessed it, but y'never know," she responds with a bit of taunting wryness. "Don't worry. It's a cute local place. Bet they could make your sandwich however y'damn well want it."

"Have you ever looked at what's in that stuff? I can hear arteries clogging every time I smell it." Although he takes her wryness with a general shrug, a bit of sheepish grace. It's not that Matt's necessarily a health nut. But processed food- cheap food- becomes a bit of a problem when you can taste all the preservatives and artificial ingredients. Living on ramen noodles and hot pockets was not a feasible plan when he went to college. "But I appreciate how very...accommodating everyone tries to be here. On everything, it seems like, if you do what you're asked."

Lil had become less picky about food after the containment camps at Neverland -- but then again, she doesn't have super-sensitive tastebuds either. Or super-sensitive anything. Her problem, though it isn't much of one, is the reverse: a dulled tactile sense, courtesy of the bioaura that's kept her safe all this time.

"Ain't that how it always is?" she asks mildly, her eyes following passers-by as they try to steal curious looks at the guy with the cane and the woman in the ridiculous designer clothes. "Folks are always real accommodatin', long as y'do what they want. Might be curious t'see what happens when someone finally breaks the rules proper 'round here. Doubt the consequences would be anythin' like a little mayonnaise on your sandwiches."

"People already are, I'm sure," he says, careful to keep his tone light and not in the least bit concerned as they wade into these deeper waters. Matt isn't going to pry into her left or grill her on registration, on the basis that it's not his place to judge her motivations or try and convince her if she doesn't want to know his opinions, and she conveniently hasn't asked. "I didn't register. I know other people haven't, much more publicly, and don't have any intention of giving up their tights or changing a thing. If I'm getting nasty looks for it, I can't tell, but as far as I know nobody's started spitting in my food yet."

The look she gives him when he brings up his registration status isn't judgmental so much as a little curious. He isn't the first ImPort she's talked to that's chosen to keep government hands away from their business, but it's always easy to let the mind wonder why. That train of thought makes her pause for a second before she finally answers him.

"I figure anybody that's ready enough t'greet us the way these folks did have gotta be ready for when we decide t'act up too." That makes sense enough to her anyway. She's no great thinker or planner -- instinct is more of a compass for Lil than logic -- but she isn't entirely unperceptive, and experience has taught her to be suspicious of systems like this one. She's got her toes in the water by registering, by her commitment is strictly on paper. "Even if y'didn't sign up, I wouldn't let 'em go after my friends anyway."

She says that with certainty, as if it doesn't even cross her mind that there's a possibility she'd fail to protect him or anyone else that matters.

He cracks a grin, ever so slightly, trying his best to suppress it and failing. Matt's not sure if any woman has ever made such a blatant declaration of protection to him before; it's kind of funny, and deeply touching all the same. He doesn't deserve that sort of loyalty right off the bat, not for anything...but he appreciates the gesture, nonetheless. And what's more, he believes her. Her honesty is like a flare in the night; bright, and obvious for miles around.

"I believe you," he says, equally sincere. "And I appreciate the thought. But on that subject, there's something I'd like you to do for me, if you wouldn't mind. When we get there."

It speaks to how readily she offers her loyalty at the first gesture of kindness -- and it's the unshakeable, steadfast kind of loyalty too. Overwhelming at times, even. Earnest and strong, like everything else about her. Stubborn, too. Frank Castle knew first hand. He hadn't been able to shake her for nearly a year now, after saving her life once.

It makes her reckless and stupid sometimes, but nobody ever accused her of being a genius. She'd choose passion before logic on any day of the week.

Without hesitating, she answers easily, "Yeah? Alright. What d'you need, hon?"

His cane hits the restaurant door, and he finds the handle without fumbling and pushes it open for her. And he waits, for them to get a seat, and makes sure there aren't any waiters immediately beelining in their direction before he reaches down, and rolls up his sleeve. The arm with the tattoo.

"I need you to tell me where exactly the marker they left is, and what it looks like." His fingers go searching for it, but he's not really sure; he can't feel the break in the skin, or any kind of irritation that suggests where it should be. "It's subtle. I can't find it. I know, in theory, what it's supposed to say, but..."

Matt shrugs. He knows it's there. If it's transmitting something, it's so faint he can't even catch the broadcasting signal, and that is damned impressive and a huge problem, all rolled into one. But he can't try to understand it when he can't really see it.

This is not really an excuse for her to touch him, per se, but that's an added bonus.

Even if he can't properly see it, the look on her face betrays her surprise at what his request turns out to be. That tattoo had been something she'd dwell on from time to time -- a little anomaly or curiosity for her, since she'd never been able to have anything like it before, for obvious reasons. But she doubts his interest in it is the same in its origins as her own.

She half-reaches towards him when a server starts heading towards them to lead them to a table, so instead of feeling for the tattoo, she tugs his sleeve down a bit instead. As dense as she can be about some things, she at least has the sense to wait until they're seated with menus in front of them before she reaches for him again.

Her thumb brushes his wrist. The tattoo itself is invisible, but she's seen her own at night or in dim rooms -- so she carefully cups her hand over the space. In the slight shadow, a faint blue glow reveals itself.

"Unsettled hero," she reads out loud.

Well, there's something at least. If they know about his actions as Daredevil (because Frank can warn all he wants, but Matt throws caution to the winds, and he can't just stop) they're not taking action against him yet. And it's encouraging to think he can get away with it, even though they've branded him and marked him.

"So that's where it is," he murmurs, resisting the urge to touch her hand, even as one part of him thrills just a bit at the contact of skin on skin. "Convenient. Somewhere it would be easy to reach." But he can't hear them tracking him through that, alone. "And you can't see it in daylight."

He'd known about the glow, the faint touch of light and heat even though he can't see it, for real. But it's clearer to him now, from this alone, because he can't feel what it looks like, not clearly, or know entirely what it says.

Her touch lingers, the pad of her thumb running lightly back and forth over that patch of skin a few more times before she lets go of him, withdrawing to fold her arms over each other on top of the table. She considers him a moment before glancing down at herself, turning one wrist just enough to glance at where her tattoo should be. Registering herself had been something of an impulse, something mitigated by circumstances more than ideals or loyalty. Maybe she should've thought harder about it than she did.

Story of her life.

Finally, she asks, "Y'worried about it or somethin'?"

"Yes."

Matt has always tried to be a fundamentally honest person. His lies have been told solely to protect people...and he recognizes now, when they came about just protecting the lie, that it was the wrong thing to do. But there's nobody to protect now but himself, and no reason he should feel he has to guard his feelings with her.

"There's something on me- in me, maybe- that I have no power to detect. I never felt it happen. There's no residual pain that you would expect from something like this. I don't know how it got there. I won't be able to tell when it changes."

He pauses, touching his fingers to where the residual warmth of her lingers on his skin.

"It's unsettling."

Lil's honesty is more of a bluntness than any kind of virtue -- but she appreciates it in other people. Few things hurt her more or make her angrier than being lied to, no matter what the motive is. But few things earn her loyalty as much as being told the truth.

"I know the feelin'," she answers at length, absently smoothing her dress out as she speaks. It gives her an excuse to look into her lap a moment. "It's funny, but I've never had a tattoo before. Or a piercin'. Or anythin' like that. I kept touchin' it, the first few weeks after we got here. It kinda scared me."

It's a bit half-hearted, but an attempt to lighten things up when she goes on, "Don't worry, though. I'll keep an eye on yours for you."

Matt doesn't tell a lie, if he can avoid it. Even a well-intentioned lie is still a sin, and he's told too many of those that went far astray. What would be the point in withholding, anyway?

He cracks a slight grin, and withdraws his hand from across the table. "I might take you up on that. I don't really know how these things are going to work. It's very Big Brother."

"Makes y'feel like the government's always third-wheelin', don't it?" She means it as a joke, maybe hoping to encourage that slight grin she catches on his face. "Thought it was kinda flatterin' though, them havin' a file on me all waitin' the second I got here."

A little sigh, as she leans to rest her face in her hand, elbow propped up on the table (very lady-like).

"'Least we're all lookin' out for each other."

"You don't worry about them knowing everything about you? You must be very confident." With not a hint of condescension. Matt's secrets are ugly. Some of them, he would have preferred to stay secret. It's too bad the world got to see so many of them anyway. But there's nothing he can do about that now.

"In theory we are." Matt can't see her anyway, but his face turns in the direction of the window, and the sunlight. "I hope in practice."

"I jus' got nothin' t'hide," she responds without hesitation. That's how she's always been -- blunt, open, with her heart bloody on her sleeve. Some parts of her past were ugly too, but she prescribed to the old saying that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. At least until it actually does kill her. And that's sooner than she'd like it to be.

At length, she reaches out to lightly pat his arm in reassurance.

"Don't worry so much, hon. There ain't a whole lot t'do about it right now."

"I'll think of something."

Sooner or later, he always does. It may take him awhile. There are a lot of variables he doesn't understand in play, and it's going to take some research. Caution. And it will be difficult, without starting to rebuild a semblance of the life he had before, to give him some support. But he'll do it.

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And I'm tryin' to make some girl / Who tells me baby better come back later next week

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