A/N: Hello all! This fic was originally going to be a one-shot, but it came out being almost twenty-three pages, so I've broken it into two parts. Those of you who've been to my profile or know me know that I write a lot of Daredevil fanfics. For those of you who don't have a clue who Daredevil is, I'm just going to say he's a blind superhero. My beta from that fandom is extremely conscientious about the little facts (and rightly so), and she's taught me a lot of the little things that make the story true. This story is the cultivation of all the blind-living things she's taught me or caught me messing up. I've only fudged a couple of details here and there to add humor or move things along. Unfortuanitly, something no amount of internet scrolling can tell you (trust me, I spent WAY too long trying. It's either ridiculous or in binary) is details on spyware. On another note, it wasn't easy going from writing a blind guy with super senses to a normal blind guy. I had to stop myself from writing about hearing heartbeats and the like!

This is dedicated to Girlwithoutfear, my beta from the Daredevil fandom. She taught me to do my research or face the wrath of her red pen.

Just Another Monday, Part One

I slap my alarm, accidently hitting the talk button instead of the snooze.

"Five fifty-five, Monday, August 2, 2010," it says in its broken English. I once tried to make it sound more human, but I quickly realized it was a lost cause. The thing would always be annoying, especially this early in the morning. At least now it's a female, not some hermaphrodite flight attendant.

I groan and turn over before greeting the darkness. It takes me a moment to blink away the residual colors left over from one of my better dreams, one that doesn't involve fire or guns but still has red, green, and my favorite, blue.

At my closet, I run my fingers over the labels sewn into the clothes, contemplating whether I should forgo my favorite vest for a nice button up. I go with the vest. A guy's gotta have some comfort on Mondays.

I have to have breakfast on-the-go because I took too long in the shower. It's a terrible way to start the morning, running to catch the subway with a banana in your mouth. It's a bad omen.

Someone grabs my arm at the stoplight across the street from the subway station. The first time it happened, I jumped and nearly killed the guy, but now I only startle a bit, if any.

"Can I help you across?" The slightly too-loud voice and vice-grip belong to an older woman. From the smell of her perfume and sound of her voice, I'm putting her at fifty. She is much shorter than I, and she's almost yanking me down.

I put on the smile I learned a long time ago. I've been told it looks like I'm going into the dentist's office, but I hope it's more of a I'm-okay/please-let-go grimace. "Thank you, but I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Are you sure, dear? It's not a problem."

There's only a few more seconds left before the light changes back to green. Either I wait out another cycle or I let the Good Samaritan "help" me across. I'm going to miss my train.

"In that case," I draw my words out to make her feel like I really did want her help, "if you wouldn't mind?" I offer her my upper arm.

"Where are you going? Do you need some help getting there? I could call a taxi, if you like…"

The woman is still chatting, but I tune her out. I focus on planning my assault on the new intel processor Joan asked me to check out. Encrypting the program to CIA standards shouldn't take too long–

SMACK.

The old lady ran me into a lamppost! If I'd wanted to bang my face in, I would have gone straight to the Agency's gym!

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry!" The woman is flustered but definitely sincere.

"It's fine," I say, removing my hand from my shoulder. "It's partly my fault." I should have been paying attention. The number one rule of orientation and mobility: when you're being guided, always keep your cane in front of your body. I'd been so absorbed; I'd let my cane drift off.

I brush my shoulder unconcernedly. "No harm done. I've had worse collisions."

She seems a bit less guilty, thank goodness. She's not still hovering, at least. "I'm very sorry."

"It's okay," I interrupt again.

She's silent for a few moments (during which I'm trying to decide whether it's polite to just leave and try to catch my train), before she says, "At least let me get you a cab."

I've missed my train and the next one won't be around for a while. Joan hates when one of her staff is late. Plus, I haven't taken a cab to work in a couple of weeks. "If you insist."

"I do."

For an old lady, she can whistle. There aren't too many taxis around Georgetown, but one appears almost at once.

"Where to, Buddy?"

"6862 Elm Street. McLean." It's the address of the General Council firm a few blocks away from Headquarters and (for those of us who take a taxi to work) the standard drop-off. I turn back to the woman. "Thanks for your assistance."

"I'm sorry again. Let me pay for the fare. It's the least I can do."

I smile again. "I couldn't let you do that. No harm, no foul." I get into the cab. "Thank you again." I nod at the cabby to go and hope the lady won't insist on paying. I really am going to be late.

The cab lets me out in front of the firm, for once without chatter. It's a somewhat expensive fare, but Friday was payday.

I'm almost to the security station when something gooshes under my foot and a noxious smell hits my nose. Damn. Dog shit. There is an ordinance about that somewhere! Leave nothing behind, people!

I rub my foot viciously on the grass. These are the times when I really hate being blind. The cane is good, especially when I feel completely lost – it's a sort of anchor and that – but it's not that good. Somehow, no matter what, if there's dog excrement anywhere in my vicinity, I'm going to step in it and there's nothing a trusty white cane can do about it.

I'm going to be so late!

~OOOOOO~

"Trouble?"

I shove aside my thoughts of dog crap and intel processors and feel for the card reader before swiping my ID. "Just a normal Monday. You?"

Annie Walker, my best friend and the rookie to the DPD (she's still the new agent, even if she's been here for almost ten months), accepts my pre-offered arm.

"Same old. The girls were a bit hectic, as usual." She yawns and I feel her tense for a second before she relaxes into my arm again. "Coffee. I need coffee."

I grin and pull her toward the food court. "I couldn't agree more." The smell of freshly baked mixed-berry muffins slaps me in the face and my mouth waters like one of Pavlov's dogs.

"You're late," John, one of the retired agents turned coffee brewers, mentions as we draw nearer the succulent berries. I assume he's talking to me because Annie is always the last agent in. I'm usually one of the first. Whoops.

"Transport troubles," I explain. "I'd like two of those fabulously unhealthy muffins, one coffee with-"

"I know, the regular? Same for you, Walker?" John interrupts. One of the many good things about having ex-agents work in the food court is that they have excellent memories. Another is that they are much less likely to spill Agency secrets, but that's another matter.

"Yeah," Annie confirms. She snags the muffins before I can get them. I guess that means she wants one. I should have ordered three. "Your turn to buy."

I snort, but pull out my wallet. I'm pretty sure I bought the last round of beers Friday night. I feel for the dog-eared bill-–the twenty, then I remember I paid the cabby in cash. I pull out my last five-dollar bills. "I'll have to owe you the last dollar, unless…" I turn toward Annie, pulling one of my expectant looks.

I get the feeling she's rolling her eyes, but I don't really care. I hear John take her dollar. "You owe me," she mumbles.

"I'll let you keep a muffin."

"Good, but you'll still owe me a dollar. You wouldn't want to eat all those carbs, anyway."

I pretend to look affronted and reach for the coffee John held up to the back of my hand. "Are you calling me fat?"

Annie takes a sip of her coffee. I feel rather than hear her sigh in contentment. "I'm calling these muffins high in cholesterol."

"All the more reason." I wish I could reach for the bag, but my hands are a little full. With my laser cane (I'd replaced the bulker cane with it as soon as I'd entered the atrium) in one hand and my latte in the other, there wasn't much I could do without putting one of them down, and no way was I sacrificing either. "I'm protecting you."

"How so?" Annie opens the glass doors to the DPD and lets go of my forearm.

"You won't have to risk the carbs if I eat them." Got her there!

"Walker! Anderson!"

I jump and I feel Annie do the next to me. Joan does not seem happy. I shouldn't have dawdled in the shower.

"We have a meeting in five. Auggie, I want your assessment on the intel Agent Banks just brought in ASAP." Joan sweeps away in a cloud of peaches and spearmint and an echo of sharp heels.

"See you in the briefing," Annie whispers, handing me the bag of pastries. She's gone before I can comprehend much beyond the smell of the siren-ish muffins.

I shrug to myself, and head to my office. "Morning Stu, Greg." I place the muffins to the side and slip on my headphones.

My subordinates in the tech department stop talking about the hot agent of the day and return my greeting.

"Where were you, Aug? We were about to tell Joan." Stu rolls his desk chair up to mine.

"Got a late start." I pull the headset down to my rest around my neck as my computer begins its morning diagnostics. "Where's the stuff Banks brought in?"

I hear Greg, the resident hacker, shuffling some papers around. "Here." He tosses the hard drive to Stu who plugs it into to my computer. "I managed to circumvent the autodestruct."

I turn toward his voice. "There was an autodestruct? Why?"

I hear Greg shrug his shoulders. "Banks says he just took the whole drive. He said there wasn't enough time to clean it."

"What's supposed to be on here?"

"You know, normal intel. Nothing special," Stu replies. He's a great engineer, but he has little patience for the weeding and decoding. I'm not going to lie and say it's not a little annoying sometimes.

"I gotta go to the debriefing. Greg, what are you working on?"

"I'm monitoring the feds. They're keeping tabs on the rogue IRA agent Wilcox is supposed to be tailing."

"Right. I'll tell Joan. Stu?"

"The new mics."

"The long range, undetectable, untraceable, should-have-been-completed-yesterday mics?"

At least Stu has the decency to sound ashamed as he mumbles yes. We were supposed to present a prototype to the directors at their next meeting. Next week. Looks like I'll have to make our excuses to Joan again.

Stu's lucky he's the best gadget-man this side of Research and Development, else he'd be on at least suspension. He has the bothersome tendency to get so absorbed in one task he forgets the others. Not a good thing in this business when you have to work fast and know priorities.

I decide to let it go this time. He knows what he's supposed to be doing. And I'm going to be late again. "I'm going to the debriefing." I'm almost out the door when I remember the muffins. I snag the bag and hear Stu growl in disappointment.

~OOOOOO~

I smell a hint of grapefruit as soon as I walk into the boardroom. I hear her clicking her pencil against the wood table and zero in on the sound. "Hey. Is everyone here?" I ask as I sit down in the empty seat next to Annie.

I hear her chair squeak and I assume she turned to look at me. "Everyone but Jai and Joan."

I hold up the bag and shake it a bit. "Muffin?"

Annie smiles, I hear the soft hiss of air whistle between her teeth, and she takes the muffin I'm holding out. "I was sure you'd already eaten them."

I shrug and pull the wrapper away from the bread. "I was going to, but the guys can smell a bit ripe. Need something to keep it away."

Annie snorts and I'd give money that her expression resembles a precocious child's after you tell them Santa doesn't exist. I laugh at the thought. "Fine, you caught me. I didn't have time."

She was about to reply, but Joan interrupted her. "These," Joan must be using a presentation, "two known Iraqi spies are going to exchange information at a restaurant in Arlington. Our sources tell us it is going to be an important conversation. We need to hear it."

I know where this is going. My guys and I are going to have fun. I grin over my fresh cup of coffee.

"Agents Walker and Wilcox are going under as dates. When the spies have the handoff, you will take a copy."

"How will the data be exchanged?" I ask.

Joan looks at me. "We have it under good authority that it's a digital file."

"Stupid," Agent Banks whispers to my left. He's right. Paper might be wasteful and bulky, but transferring information in a crowded restaurant via a cell phone or other handheld device holds a sizable risk of hacking, made more so by more and more buildings having Wi-Fi. I doubt the agents aren't aware of this, though, so it's save to assume they'll take precautions. More fun for my team!

"When do we go?" Wilcox seems raring to go. I don't blame him. If I were stuck on tail-duty, I would be too.

"It's a lunch meeting. Jai, you will arrive first at 1100 hours, Annie will follow you. Report to tech ops at 1000 hours. Dismissed.

"Auggie, stay here for a moment," Joan adds as everyone stands up.

I throw the muffin paper in the trash and wait for Joan to gather her files. "I think we can do a standard jam and lift."

"Hmm. I don't think they know they have been compromised. Have you got anything a little less hands-on?"

I have to think about it for a minute. I know Stu's been working on something for the seventh floor. "I'll have to talk to my team."

"Good. We want something clean."

"Course." I sense that the conversation is over and take out my laser. I know my way around at least this department backwards and forwards, but I learned a long time ago that it's safer on the shins to use the guider.

The laser warns me just before I walk into a chair.

~OOOOO~

"The range is only about ten feet, so sit as close to them as possible."

"Right." Annie takes our newest masterpiece. "Why is it always a blackberry?" she asks after a moment.

I laugh. "We have an exclusive with AT&T."

"Really?"

"No. They're just the right size." I reach behind her for the mic. "Here, put this in."

"So you'll be monitoring?"

I turn to look her, hopefully, in the eye. "I'm always monitoring. I make sure you agents don't screw up."

"Yeah, we're your conscience!" Greg interjects from his desk. "We make sure you don't embarrass yourselves!"

Annie sounds amused. "I guess you kind of look like a Jiminy."

She lost me somewhere. She must be referring to pop culture. I don't do much pop culture. Even before the accident, I was always a bit of the "huh" kind of nerd.

"Jiminy Cricket?" I guess no one got her point, if she has to explain it. "Oh never mind. Has Jai left yet?"

"Yeah. Your turn." I gently push her towards the door. "Go before he thinks you've stood him up."

"Wish me luck."

"You never need it, but good luck!" I reply as her grapefruit scent drifts away.

~OOOOOO~

"Will ya look at that! She's gorgeous!"

My eyebrow rises on its own accord as I hear Greg push off from his desk to look at Stu's screen.

"Look at the size of the rack!"

"Guys!" I couldn't hold it in any longer. I spin my chair around to face their direction. "It's not natural for humans to be drooling over a new computer!"

I can imagine their faces. They are probably looking at me like I stole Christmas.

"It is when the computer is this beautiful!"

Or not.

"Five gigabits of RAM with speakers that will knock your socks off, Aug. That's a gift from the gods!"

I have to admit, it does sound nice. My computer is top of the line by any standards, but even it pales under the computing processes of the new Mac. I wonder if Joan would spare some of the budget if I put in a formal request. Actually, screw that, I just want to touch it!

An urgent BEEP BEEP issuing from my headset tells me we have a Code Fib. I run my fingers over the Braille imprint of the screen and have to force the laugh down. Some of the things agents think of for covers! It is enough to brighten this tech's day.

"Hey, whose turn is it on the fib phone?" I call out.

"Mine," Stu answers, dragging himself away from ogling the new equipment destined for the seventh floor. I feel him reading the information he needs to work in over my shoulder.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Greg joins us and promptly claps Stu on the shoulder. "You're up, Buddy. Make it good!"

"Twenty bucks says he doesn't get it out."

"Deal!" I hear Greg slap a bill on my desk.

"That better be a twenty."

"Course it is! Have I ever cheated a bet before?"

Stu's cough from back at his desk sounds suspiciously like "Christmas eggnog."

"That wasn't a fair bet. Hal would have spiked it if Joan hadn't caught him."

I reach for where I heard the bill land and hold it up. "Is it a twenty?"

"Yeah," Stu rules, before going back to either writing his opening (his job as fibber) or drawing the blueprints for the new combination breaker Joan asked for. Either way, he's working, which is more than I can say for Greg or myself.

"You don't trust me?"

I don't have time to respond to his over-theatrical reaction as the "fib" phone rings. I toss the Bluetooth to Stu.

"Star Trek headquarters, where our mission is to seek out new fun. Is this your first conta-? What do you know, they hung up."

"Hah!"

I hold out the twenty, but just before Greg can take it, I snap it back. "Did he ask how he could help them?"

There is silence, then Greg says, "Doesn't matter. Didn't have to. It was implied."

"Naw, I meant to say it."

My smirk widens into a grin and I pocket the bill, while, I assume, Greg shoots Stu a hurt glare. My assumptions are proven correct when Stu mumbles something about it being the truth.

"A bet's a bet," I reply to my computer screen.

I feel something impact the back of my head, but I don't turn around. "Did you really just throw a grape at the blind BOSS?"

~OOOOOO~

I used to love the excitement of fieldwork. The way it gets the blood pumping and the mind racing. The way you have to go with your gut and your training. The way you have to trust something or someone or die.

When I was first getting used to the idea of being blind, the thought of losing that feeling of life was what scared me the most.

I was stupid to think my days of adrenaline were over.

Annie had given me the syncing device as soon as she and Wilcox had returned from their mission. For once, everything had gone as planed. And by that I mean they'd only needed to talk (directly – they're always talking toward me when I'm in their ears) to me once when the new "Blackberry" hitched in the middle of the download.

I should have known it was too easy.

I was just about to start the standard battery of decryptions when the bug came online.

"We have a boogie," I say to the office and my computer screen. The virus is programmed to spy on our systems. I haven't seen this particular bug before, but I have to admit, even as I type back-codes and set up firewalls, it's damn good.

My fingers skim over the Brailed impressions of my codes as my ears listen to my typing. I wrote my screen-reading program myself. It is calibrated to my comprehension speed, but as useful as it is (and that's very useful), I have to go with my gut not to get lost in the stream of blocks I have to write.

As exciting as it is to plan an escape during a firefight, I live for this. Programs and codes are my game, and, if I may say so myself, I'm the best at my job.

I disarm the bug in less than a minute before it has a chance to grab intel or form a good foothold in the database.

"We're good," I say, yanking my headsets down to hang around my neck. "It's gone."

"New record, I think. Greg, you time it?"

"Forty-seven seconds, plus a few from before he said anything. What'd it manage to get?" Greg replies, actually walking instead of rolling to my desk for once.

I rub my forehead and estimate where they are. "I think it might have managed a look-see into a few dead missions before I noticed it, but I don't think it had time to plant anything. Can you see if Joan's in her office?"

I hear Greg lean his head out of the doorway and grunt a bit as he ducks back in. "Yeah. She's talking to Wilcox at his desk."

I stand up and turn on my laser. "Thanks."

I wait until Wilcox finishes whatever he was saying to politely butt-in. "Joan, I need to talk to you."

"Walk with me," she replies, gently touching my elbow to show me where she wants to go. I don't really need the tactile warning, but it's a habit Joan acquired a few weeks after I returned to work while I was still getting used to zeroing in on footsteps. There's no point in having her stop it now.

"The lunch rendezvous was fixed."

Joan's footsteps stop and she's looking at me. "How do you know?"

"Bug. I should have realized it was too easy to download."

Joan's long hair rubs up against the nylon of her dress, so it's safe to assume she nodding. "Did they get anything?"

"I think I caught it before anything important was compromised, but I suggest you have everyone run another sweep of their computers."

"What should they be looking for?"

I hear a chair wheel squeak somewhere to the right and I instinctually turn to look in the direction before I respond. "It's a sneaky bastard, but I'm ninety-five percent positive it is programmed to target files and tags. A general sweep of the documents and the standard spyware search should take care of everything."

My boss exhales slowly and nods again. "Okay, I'll have someone send out a priority memo. Good job catching it."

I nod as well and turn around to go back to my lab. I still have one more encryption to break on the Banks acquisition.

~OOOOO~

"Hey, Auggie."

I jump a little before the voice and faint, but distinct, smell of grapefruit register in my mind. I pull down my headphones. "Annie. Didn't hear you come in."

"What'cha working on?" she asks, peering over my shoulder to sneak a peek at my screen.

"Nothing much. You?"

Annie turns back to focus on me. "I'm done for the day."

"Really?" I press the button on my birthday present from the guys last year, my watch. I didn't realize it was already six. "Crap!"

"What?" Annie sounds surprised.

"I forgot. I have to return a favor for Mason upstairs. He wants me to take out his girlfriend's best friend or something."

"Why you?"

The corners of my mouth twitch. I know Annie didn't mean that the way it sounded, which, of course, just makes it all that much funnier. "Because I'm a handsome, dependable, employed guy who's single."

I can feel Annie's embarrassment from a foot away. "True, but so are a lot of guys here."

"Ouch!" I cry, still smiling. Then I shrug a bit. "Truth? I was the only handsome, dependable, employed bachelor who owed him a big favor and would agree to a set-up."

"Well," Annie jumps off her perch on Stu's desk, landing gracefully on her office flats. "I suppose I'll just tell Conrad you are otherwise engaged while we get drunk."

For a second my heart leaps and I contemplate going with her (Conrad drunk is always fun to listen to), but my stupid conscience tells me to forget it. Sometimes I hate being the dependable bachelor.

I don't let my regret show on my face as I say, "Tell Conrad he owes me a beer."

I reach for my collapsible white cane I have to use outside the building and hold out my elbow. "Accompany me outside?"

Annie laughs a little and takes my arm. "Just stop off at my desk for a moment so I can change my shoes."

In the parking lot, we part ways, but not before I say, "Wish me luck."

"You don't seem the sort to need it, but good luck." She laughs and pulls out of her parking space, leaving me to face my date.

A/N: Thanks goes out to Lady Of Light 4 the elves. She graciously let me use her metaphor of Jiminy Cricket. I'll have the last part out soon. Please review.

9/19/10: I changed the other techie's name from Tom to Stu to fit with my other stories and the seeming general consensus around the fandom. If I missed any "Toms", I'm sorry. I've done too many simple edits on this page to bring the document from here into Word so that I could do a search-and-rename thingie.