Stick's sudden appearance acted as a vacuum, and any trace of the teasing tension that had hung in the air was immediately sucked away. Just a few seconds earlier, Sarah's skin had been buzzing and her nerves had been enjoyably on edge—now as she stood there with Matt, both of them still dripping with water, she inexplicably felt like a schoolchild who'd been caught doing something wrong.

The man tilted his head in her direction in a manner that was eerily similar to what Matt often did.

"This isn't the same one who was lingering on your sheets last time I came to visit," he noted.

Sarah blinked in surprise; partially at the mention of what she assumed was one of Matt's old flames and partially because—while she had gotten used to Matt being able to sense things like that—she didn't remember him mentioning that his former mentor could do it as well. It felt significantly creepier coming from this old man, and she folded her arms in front of herself uncomfortably, very aware of how her wet tank top was clinging to her skin.

"It's none of your business who I spend my time with, Stick," Matt said tightly, shifting slightly so that he was placed more firmly in between the two of them. "What are you doing here? I was pretty clear last time we spoke that I wanted you the hell out of my city."

"And I went. You didn't say anything about not coming back."

"It was implied."

"Flew right over my head," Stick said with an innocent shrug. "Not all of us got the fine education you did, Matty. What are you still pissed about anyway?"

Sarah saw Matt's fist clench at the nickname. Matty. She didn't think she'd heard anyone call him that before, and made a mental note never to do so if this was who he associated it with.

"How about showing up out of nowhere after twenty years so you could mock everything about the life I've made? Then insulting my dad, lying to me about a mission, killing a child —"

"I told you already—that wasn't a child in that container," Stick explained calmly. "It wasn't even a human; it was a monster. One that needed to be taken out before it could destroy your entire precious city."

"The only monster that night was the guy who executed a kid in the name of some mystical, centuries-old war that he can never quite seem to explain," Matt said harshly.

Sarah's mouth had literally fallen open a little bit as she looked between the two men. This was not where she had expected this argument to go.

"I did what I had to do. Don't know what else you want me to say on the subject."

"And the rest of it?"

"Well..." Stick shrugged. "Don't have much to say about that either."

Sarah remembered how Matt had made some offhand joke when he was teaching her how to mediate, saying that the person who trained him was much more intimidating than he was. At the time, she had struggled to imagine someone more intimidating than the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, but now she was starting to see what he meant. Matt's was intimidating because he let his emotions get the better of him—always short-tempered and quick to throw punches. But Stick was intimidating for the opposite reason: he didn't appear to show much emotion beyond scorn as he dredged up what seemed to be a very painful history with Matt. Suddenly the blank, impassive mask that Sarah knew Matt could put on so easily made much more sense.

Stick tipped his head around, surveying the room they were in.

"I don't know what's less surprising," he said. "That you haven't found a less shitty place to do your training, or that you're so easily distracted by a girl that you didn't even hear me coming."

"No, you've been doing something...cloaking your heartbeat," Matt argued.

"And? I still take up space in the room; still displace molecules when I move. Still have a scent, and footsteps, and a temperature," Stick listed off. "If you're that reliant on heartbeats alone, then you're even farther behind than I'd thought. Maybe your focus has been elsewhere."

Sarah didn't miss the way he aimed the last part of his statement in her direction, but she only rolled her eyes. Since starting at Orion, she spent a good chunk of her day being either blatantly talked about or talked down to by various men, and at this point she barely registered it anymore; it was just background noise. Instead, her attention was on Matt, whose shoulders were rising and falling in that telltale sign that he was trying to keep his temper in check. She moved a little closer to him, so that her shoulder was brushing against his, and lightly ran her fingers down his forearm, hoping that the closeness would calm him down as it sometimes seemed to do.

He turned his head towards her, his brow knitted in confusion.

"Maybe we should go," she said softly.

"Good idea," Stick said, drawing Matt's attention back to him. "Matty, why don't you send your girlfriend safely home so we can talk properly?"

"I wasn't talking to you," Sarah replied, not looking away from Matt. He still had tension coiled tightly between his shoulder blades, practically buzzing under his skin, but his eyes—still aimed somewhere near her face although he was obviously listening to Stick—were dark and pained, and she didn't like the combination of those two things that Stick was bringing out. "Matt?"

After a beat, Matt turned his head down towards her.

"Sarah, you...you should go home," he said quietly. "I'll meet you there."

Sarah stared at Matt for a long moment, not liking the idea of leaving him alone with someone who so clearly put him on edge, but also not wanting to stick around where she obviously wasn't wanted. She looked over at Stick, whose satisfied look just made things worse, then pressed her lips together, turned on her heel, and left the gym.

Matt could tell Sarah was hurt by the dismissal, but there was no universe in which he wanted her and Stick in the same room. He had been able to hear her pulse steadily increasing behind him as he and Stick argued, and it occurred to him that hearing his mentor's doom-and-gloom warnings about impending war for the first time could be alarming. Why couldn't Stick ever pop up when Matt was alone, and preferably expecting him? Some part of him was convinced that this was his punishment for straying too close to a line he'd already determined he wouldn't cross.

"You just had to make your dramatic entrance, didn't you?" Matt said.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt playtime for the children?" Stick asked sarcastically.

"I don't want you near her ever again," he said in a low, hard voice. "Do you understand?"

"Oh, what's the big deal? I thought it went well."

"I'm serious, Stick. This is the last time the two of you will ever be in the same room."

Unfortunately, that wasn't true.

"Sure thing, Matty," Stick agreed easily. "You have my word I won't interrupt any more of your dates."

"In case you've forgotten, your word doesn't mean much to me anymore," Matt said with a bitter, mirthless grin.

"You're really still upset about what happened last time? The Black Sky is nearly unstoppable once it's started. If I hadn't put an arrow through that thing's heart—"

Matt's fist clenched instinctively, and it didn't go unnoticed by Stick.

"He wasn't a thing," Matt snarled. "He was a child."

"What, you gonna hit me?" Stick asked, sounding deeply uninterested in the answer. "Go on, then. Kicking your ass has always been the fastest way to get you to listen."

Matt wet his lips, weighing the idea for a beat before shaking his head. "No. No, that trick isn't going to work every time. You can't just come goad me into a fight whenever you want."

"Of course I can," he said dismissively. "How else am I supposed to make sure that you're still on your toes?"

"You aren't. That's not your job anymore."

"Pathetic," Stick muttered.

He sounded more resigned than angry, and maybe that's why Matt wasn't expecting the punch that followed not a half second later. Stick's fist connected with his mouth, not hard enough to break his jaw, but with enough force to break the skin and snap Matt's head to the side. The intent was clearly to bait more than to injure, and it worked.

Matt's body seemed to move before his brain could catch up, and in a second he had seized Stick by the front of his jacket with both fists. Stick let out a short breath, and it took Matt a second to place what it was: a satisfied scoff at the younger man's reaction.

"Yeah, that was real difficult," Stick observed.

Matt tightened his grip momentarily before letting go, shoving Stick away with enough force that he stumbled. He wiped the blood away from the corner of his mouth, trying to keep his breathing regulated even as a rushing sound filled his ears. The devil inside was still screaming at him to hit the other man back, to get into another full-on brawl with him. But he wasn't going to give Stick that satisfaction.

"I'm not going to fight you, Stick," he said, drawing in a ragged breath. "Not this time. Sorry to disappoint you."

"I've gotten used to it by now," Stick said caustically.

The words cut as sharply as they had been intended too, making Matt's chest tighten, though he didn't let on beyond a twitch of his jaw.

"If you just came here to rehash the past, I'm not interested," Matt said.

"Fine. Let's talk about the present. How about your new friend?"

"No. We're not talking about Sarah."

"Yes, we are," Stick insisted calmly. "That girl is an albatross around your neck."

He stated it plainly, as though it were simply a fact.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Stick."

"I don't? I've had my ear to the ground since before you existed, kid. And I'd heard of Orion long before it ever came to your attention."

Matt started in surprise, and Stick gave a low, derisive laugh.

"You thought I wouldn't pick up on the fact that your sweetheart is employed by a group of criminals? If she works there and she's running around with you on the side..." Stick shook his head ruefully. "Seems like a good way for her to get a bullet to the head, and quick."

Matt would have responded angrily had his brain not gotten snagged on the ugly picture that hypothetical painted. The fact that it was such a real possibility didn't help.

"I'm just trying to help her get her life back," he said.

"Ah, right. And tell me, when you set her up with this shiny new life, how long do you think it'll take before you're out of the picture?"

It was a good question, and one that Matt had asked himself before. But it felt different coming from him, worded as an inevitability rather than a depressing possibility. After all, if there was anyone who knew what it was about Matt that made people want to leave him, it was Stick.

"I don't know," he answered honestly.

"I'm not trying to sound harsh, I'm trying to make you see that you're making a mistake getting so attached to this girl," Stick said slowly and evenly, as though spelling out a school lesson for a child. "Men like you and I have to be alone to be the best at what we do."

"What we do?" Matt repeated incredulously, followed by a mirthless laugh. "No—no, don't put us in the same category. You and I don't do anything close to the same thing."

"You're right. I actually accomplish what I set out to do. You just go around aimlessly trying to push back against an endless flow of scum without killing anyone."

"I'm doing enough."

"No, you think you are. Because you're young, and you have a pretty girl to tend your wounds," Stick cooed sarcastically. "And that's blinding you to the reality of the situation. This will end in one of two ways: she will get you killed, or you'll get her killed. Hell, maybe the stars will align and it'll be both."

One of the worst things about Stick, in Matt's opinion, was his nasty habit of being right.

"That's not going to happen," he said, but he didn't sound convincing even to his own ears. "I won't let it."

"Of course not. Because you've kept total control of the situation since the beginning, right? Never slipped up?"

Unwanted, the memory of Sarah's scream coming from the other side of that windshield sprang to mind. She had brushed it off as a close call, but it had stuck with him. How could he not have sensed that she was in that car? What if he had thrown that man just a little harder? What if Sarah had been in the passenger seat instead of Jason, and taken the brunt of the man's heavy boots coming through the windshield? As it was, she had walked away with just a few scratches, but it had been so close—too close—and if she'd gotten hurt worse it would have been entirely his fault.

"You can't protect her, Matty. But you'll keep trying even when you shouldn't, and that makes her a liability to you. I know it's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth."

"So, what, you've been following me around because I've dared to spend time with someone? You came all the way back to New York just to lecture me about Sarah?"

"Of course not. I came to New York on my own business."

"Which is what?"

Stick snorted. "Nothing you're ready for. Not if you're still hanging on to things that are holding you back."

"Which clearly I am. So why are you here talking to me?"

"Because I've been here in the city dealing with it for weeks now, and it seems like every time I turn around I hear about you all over the news."

"I've been in the news since I started doing this," Matt said. "It kind of comes with the territory."

"Not like this. Opinion articles, viral videos. That one reporter in particular...she's turned figuring out who you are into a game for people," Stick said. Matt worked his jaw in annoyance; of course Stick would have come across the articles Cecilia had been writing about him; they were everywhere these days. "And you've allowed it. So I came to see how you'd allowed yourself to get so sloppy. Now I know."

"In what world is Sarah responsible for other people writing articles about me?" Matt asked.

"She's not. But once one part of your life starts making you go soft, you begin letting other things slip, too. Before you know it, your mug'll be plastered all over CNN."

"Well, that's my business."

"For now it is. But fame makes for a useless soldier. I'm concerned that when the time comes for you have to face a real threat—"

"A real threat? In what world is your vague war with no one in particular more of a 'real threat' than what I deal with every night?" Matt demanded. "You've never shown me one shred of proof that your threat is real, but all I have to do is step outside to see that mine is."

"You want proof? Help me with what I'm in town working on."

"I'm not interested."

"I thought you might feel that way. Well, suit yourself. There's big stuff going down in New York soon; I'll be here a while."

"I don't want to hear your heartbeat following me around anymore."

"No point in it now that I know how poorly you pick up on it. Besides, I don't have any interest in listening in on your love life."

"Good."

"But when you change your mind, which you will...you give me a call." Stick tossed him something small, and Matt caught it. It was a burner phone that felt similar to his own, only larger and less scratched up. "I'll be around."

Matt stood and listened to the click of Stick's cane leaving the boxing gym before grabbing his bag and following suit.

The air outside was nearly as humid and heavy as the stale air inside the boxing gym, giving Matt no reprieve from the stifled feeling in his lungs. He felt keyed up, itching to knock someone's teeth out, and there was an edgy, reckless thrum to his blood. His apartment was blocks away, and he could hardly wait to change clothes and head out into the night to work off the instant, prickling anger that Stick had managed to instill in him so quickly.

The sounds of Hell's Kitchen rushed in to meet his ears, louder than usual. Normally he could block most of it out, but tonight he had been so knocked off balance that he couldn't seem to get a good grasp on what noises he was letting in.

As he turned the corner, Matt became aware of the person sitting on a nearby bench very suddenly: first by the scent of citrus mixed with sweat and water, and then by the heartbeat, quickening just a little in anticipation of what would probably be a tense conversation.

"For a second I wasn't sure if you'd notice me here," Sarah said quietly as he stopped in his tracks in front of her. His expression must have given away his mood, because her voice sounded wary, and he could feel her gaze move from his face down to his body language.

Her sudden and unexpected presence caught him off guard—he'd thought she was safe at home, far away from Stick and anything connected to him—and he reacted without thinking.

"I told you to go home," he said, the words coming out harsher than he'd intended. Sure enough, she let out a short, incredulous huff in response.

"I'm sorry, did we step into a time machine?" she asked. "I didn't think you got to order me around anymore."

"That's not—" Matt clamped his lips together, tipping his head back as he collected his thoughts. The last thing he wanted right now was a fight. Actually, that wasn't true; a fight was exactly what he was looking for. Just not with her. "That's not what I meant. I just...thought that's where you were going."

"I figured I'd wait to see if—" Sarah's breathing hitched in surprise as she came closer to him. "Jesus, Matt. What happened to your face? Did you guys get into a fight?"

"Not exactly," he said, bringing his hand up to touch the split skin near his bottom lip. He'd almost forgotten it was there.

"That's really the guy who trained you as a kid? I mean I kind of figured he was a dick, but Jesus...no wonder you're so—"

"—so what?" he cut her off, morbidly curious as to what aspects of his past and personality she thought she could analyze based off one short conversation. "Violent? Unstable?"

"...I was going to say guarded," she said slowly. "Growing up with someone like that."

"I didn't grow up with Stick," Matt countered. "Stick was there for a little while, and then he was gone. Don't act like he had some big hand in shaping who I am, I had a lot more years without him than I did with him."

Matt knew he was lashing out at her, saying things to her that he really wanted to say to Stick, and she didn't deserve it. He expected her to snap back at him angrily, so he was surprised when instead she stayed calm.

"Okay...okay, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," she said. He could hear the concern in her voice and immediately felt guilty.

"No, don't...don't be sorry. You didn't do anything," he said, closing his eyes running both hands through his hair as he paced around. "Stick just doesn't bring out my most levelheaded side."

"Yeah, that's not super surprising," she muttered. "What happened in there?"

"You saw what happened. Snarky comments and...non-specific warnings of an oncoming war."

"Right, but I meant what happened after you dismissed me from the room like a secretary in a Mad Men episode."

"I've never seen it."

"Matt."