AN The intertextuality of this story is outrageous. It's a companion piece (but works as a stand alone) to eyes blue, which is already a fanfic, but the title is also from the song Icarus by the Staves about the myth of Icarus. Just outrageous.

Real talk, I was Very Stressed writing this, because it's the Matt Acknowledging the Problems Stemming From His Abuse fic I deserve. Which means I gotta delve into his abuse. Which means I gotta watch 1x07 of Daredevil. Which means I gotta quietly die because canon!Matt does not handle things at all as well as I wish he would.

Warning: discussions of child abuse and brief allusions to child prostitution.

"Y'know, gotta say, Matt, when you suggested splitting off from the herd and doing our own thing, I honestly thought you were kinda nuts," Foggy told him, stirring his cup of coffee. Matt guessed from the way his voice bounced back to him, Foggy was facing the window. Foggy often became contemplative when surveying the stunning Manhattan landscape out of their large, floor to ceiling windows.

"I know you did," Matt said, cracking a smile. "You've complained all the time and constantly threatened to become a butcher."

"Okay, first off, you make me sound like a whiner, and second off, I didn't constantly mention becoming a butcher."

"At least once a month."

"Once every thirty days! Give me some credit. But seriously, though, man. We've become everything we wanted to be at Landman and Zach. Chrome, glass, a secretary, plush carpets, lawyers we employ, conference rooms! We did it, buddy!"

Matt gave up trying to review a court transcript and gave in to Foggy's reminiscing. "Is it because our five year anniversary's coming up?"

"Uh, yeah, man! Five years of Nelson and Murdock and we're already titans!" he exclaimed, turning and nearly slamming his mug on the table from delight. "Get hyped, Murdock! Five years ago we were happy to keep the lights on! But you and I, we're big thinkers, stuck our nose to that grindstone and made it big! After we had Fisk locked away, it was all smooth sailing."

Matt had to concede the point. Their rise from anonymity to premium had happened overnight. What they thought was a simple case of extortion brought to them by their soon-to-be secretary Karen Page had quickly led to the rabbit hole of a crime ring. Exposing and then prosecuting the mastermind, Wilson Fisk, had brought the attention of many firms seeking new blood to improve their standing. Only a few had offered uncompromised morals as part of the deal, and out of those only one went far enough to include total freedom of their practice. Anthony Warwick might have appeared to be a hardass, but his support had allowed Nelson and Murdock to be the newest name in a line of prestigious law firms.

The gamble of taking on a man apparently connected to the Triad, yakuza, and Russian mob had resulted in everything they wanted.

"How we gonna celebrate?" Foggy asked. "Cake? Fireworks? Interpretive dance?"

"I don't even want to know what you have planned for that," Matt laughed. "Anyway, cake in the break room sounds fine."

"Okay, but what about afterward?"

Matt grinned, loving the way Foggy's whole being lit up when he was excited. He sent out a warm glow that could be felt across the room. "I can do drinks, but I promised Claire I'd spend the evening with her."

"I can't impose on your special night with Super Nurse," Foggy sighed dramatically, perching on the table beside Matt. "Tell her hi, thank her for her loyal service of helping you make good choices, and tell her she still needs to take me up on the group dinner thing. She can't dodge me forever."

"She's busy," Matt insisted, a smile cracking across his face. "She's not dodging you. Ask her on a weekend or something."

"Eh, weekends,"

"Guys?" Karen interrupted, light voice carrying through the doorway. Matt never failed to marvel at how she could make her voice sweet or stone cold, depending on the situation. For the first few months he had known her, she had fallen somewhere between the two. The persecution Fisk's people had put her through had hardened her even in her kindest moments. Now, though, her voice was all sunflowers and summer breezes.

"Yeah?"

"We just got a call from Mr. Warwick. He's recommended one of his clients to us. He says it should be a fairly easy custody case."

"Custody?" Foggy asked.

"If it's so easy, why throw it to us?" Matt asked. He could hear the shrug in Karen's voice as she stepped into the room.

"I didn't get the details, but he said he was already handling a separate case for the client."

"Two court cases? At once? That's brave."

"The one he has is bigger, I think. And it's ugly, so they want to sort out as much as they can now."

"So what are we looking at?" Matt asked, leaning back in his chair. "A custody battle between parents?"

"No," Karen said. Her voice turned low and serious as she stepped deeper into the room. "The girl in question, Gracia…apparently she worked for a pimp until just recently. Her parents are totally out of the picture, but one of the prostitutes she worked with managed to get out of the business. She wants to attain legal custody."

"Holy shit," Foggy breathed. "And you said this would be easy?"

"Mr. Warwick said it should be. Didn't say it wouldn't be tragic, though."

"No kidding."

"When will they be coming by?" Matt asked. He barely registered how smooth his voice was, how untroubled. He didn't register much, actually. It took him a few good seconds before he realized he was clenching his hands hard enough to make them ache. He relaxed them, praying Foggy hadn't noticed.

"I didn't put them on the books. I wanted to see what you guys wanted to do first."

"Put them in as soon as possible. We can adjust for Anthony's recommendations," Matt said.

"Yeah…recommendations," Foggy echoed. Matt felt his careful appraisal as Karen left the room. Matt acted like everything was fine, though, waiting (hoping) for Foggy to regain his anniversary thread.

Matt drew in a slow breath as Foggy started talking about the kind of cake they wanted. He heard the hesitation in his friend's voice, the worry he was afraid to mention. Matt played along, knowing that the words stuck in his throat might make him sick if he actually said them out loud.

"Matt? Hello, Matthew Murdock," Claire sing-songed. She gently tapped his nose to catch his attention, making him smile.

"Hm? What were you saying? I kinda spaced."

"I was just talking about this ER patient that I'm pretty sure was running a dog fighting ring. What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," he said, leaning his head back into the couch cushions. He was so comfortable in that moment, with Claire's delicious fruity lotion all around him, her voice light and gauzy on his skin, and a wonderful meal in his stomach. Everything was okay.

And yet he was thinking about that little girl, Gracia, whose life had not been okay for a very long time. She wasn't even sixteen, and yet she had been working for a pimp for years. Even trying to imagine the horrors she had been through made his stomach turn (or maybe her suffering ignited the memories of his own).

Claire hummed in vague disbelief and trailed her finger up the bridge of his nose to his forehead. "Are you bummed you missed out on spending the anniversary with your office?"

"Nope," he said, taking her hand in both of his and holding it against his chest. "I spend all day with them. I only get a few hours with you. I'd much rather be here."

"You're definitely smooth, Matt, I'll give you that," Claire said. She curled into his side as he toyed with her fingers, the sound of his leather couch and her soft sigh trying to lure him back to peace.

They sat in silence for a few moments, their breathing the dominating sound in the apartment.

Matt ran the pad of his finger across her palm. Sitting next to Claire sometimes made him feel like Tantalus, taunted by her body but never allowed satisfaction (and, like Tantalus, it was because he sometimes had absolutely no self-control). He was only allowed the tiniest of touches with Claire. He didn't get to take her clothes off, didn't get to run his hands across her body.

They had agreed, somewhere before they got serious and after he confessed he had an addiction, that maybe sex was something to put off until a later date. That had been new territory for him. That level of honesty was new territory for him. Telling her the truth had been terrifying and humiliating, and yet Claire's genuine gratitude had made every word worth it. Worth it enough to go back farther to the reason (person) why he needed such a destructive coping mechanism.

He could tell Claire knew something was bothering him, but she didn't push. She had the incandescent gift of knowing how to wait. She didn't always; waiting until he was absolutely and completely ready to talk about something was a fool's errand, but she knew where she had to. Matt didn't do well when he was pushed. Not figuratively, not literally. That was usually when he started swinging.

"Warwick handed over a case today," he began.

"Yeah? What about?"

"Custody battle. Open and shut."

"How profile is it?"

"Not very. The family, they're with Warwick on another case. He wanted this one done right, so he gave it to us."

"Are you going to give it to one of your lackey lawyers, since it's such easy work?"

"No, I—I want to do this case," he said, the words again trying to stick in his throat. He swallowed hard, trying to force them out. "She—the girl the case is about—she…she's been working as a prostitute. She just got out."

"How old is she?" Claire asked, voice quiet with dread.

"Barely fifteen."

"That's awful," she breathed.

"Another prostitute escaped with her from the pimp, and she wants custody. The girl's own parents just let her be taken, they didn't even care what that monster did to her."

There it was. There was the repulsion and anger he'd been biting back at the office. He had let go of Claire's hand to clench his fists against his stomach, digging them in like hurting himself would make that girl's suffering better.

"Oh, Matt," Claire whispered. She turned to face him, a hand settling on his shoulders. He grit his teeth.

He hated it when people got that tone of voice. It wasn't pity or anything half so condescending, though that was its own sort of awful. It was the sudden understanding of someone that had just pieced things together. It was like they blinked and realized that he was actually stained with something dark and disgusting, helpless in the face of another person's barbarity.

"What?"

He suddenly felt edgy, ready to fight that understanding in Claire's voice. He wanted to back up, keep himself from ever mentioning the subject and beginning a safer line of conversation. Telling Claire the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about what had happened to him as a kid had been a horrible idea (which was why he rarely told people at all), because now she where to look for the anger he tried so hard to control.

Heat spread across his face. He was a grown man. This shouldn't bother him so much.

Claire sighed through her nose. She waited a moment, then carefully slipped his glasses off his nose. He swallowed and fought the urge to turn away.

"Hey, it's okay," she told him.

He grimaced, hating the ugly words he was biting back. Breathe, breathe, he just had to breathe. He could get through this. Talking about the past would get better with time—that was how trusting people worked. Better with time.

"Her parents—they're supposed to protect her, and yet they don't even care." He forced out a smile, because people smiled when they weren't hurt. Then it cracked, sabotaged by the flighty fears in his head. "But I keep thinking about what if they do start to care the moment this goes to court? What if they show up and ask for their daughter back? What if they get her? She can't go back to them, Claire! She can't go back to be hurt by them!"

He was breathing hard, body practically shaking. He pressed his lips tight together.

"Matt," Claire said in a way she had, voice both soothing and firm, "it's not going to be like that."

"You can't—"

"Neither can you. It's okay."

He swallowed and bit his lips.

"Hey, Matt, don't avoid me," she told him. He hesitated, expression contorting with his reluctance to face her.

Claire put her hands on his cheeks, her touch feather light. She turned him toward her, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "We both know you'll do all you can for her," she said. "You and Foggy, you'll help her. You'll be okay."

Matt let out a slow breath and leaned his face into her hand. He pressed a kiss into her wrist.

"I became a lawyer to keep this from happening. But it's been five years and I started to think—hope—that I'd never actually have to face something like this," he mumbled into her palm. It was such a weary confession.

He didn't know if Claire understood, but she smoothed the hair from his forehead.

Gracia was a quiet little girl. Matt forgot she was fifteen for most of the meeting, because her voice was always sounded so small. It barely took a handshake to know he would personally beat back hell to make sure this girl found somewhere safe.

Warwick had passed on some files about the situation, so Foggy and Matt had at least some idea what was going on. Gracia had been living in a nightmare, there was no doubt about it. Hearing even the vague details of the living conditions and rules of her pimp had made his stomach turn. Matt's own suffering seemed laughable in comparison. That man had stolen something fundamental from Gracia, and Matt was determined to help her get it back.

And Natasha too, the woman Gracia had left with. Apparently she and Clint, Warwick's long standing client, had fallen in love and made things work. Then she had saved Gracia, Orpheus leading Eurydice from the underworld. Matt tried not to wonder what had happened before she left the life. If their pimp had been willing to torture and abuse a little girl as horribly as he had, what would he have done to a grown woman?

Foggy tried talking to Gracia for a few minutes, but she refused to do more than mumble. Natasha ended up filling in the gaps for her. Clint was just as supportive, but it was obvious Natasha knew this girl better than anyone.

Matt clenched his hands under the table. This was going too slow. Their only real hope was to get Natasha out of the room and make Gracia stand on her own two legs. Gracia couldn't be the hero of her own story if she was too afraid to even discuss the monsters in her life.

"Ms. Romanoff, might I have a word with you outside?" Matt asked.

Matt felt Foggy glance at him, but he kept his attention on Natasha. She hesitated for a moment, then murmured to Gracia that she would be back. Even as Matt held the door open for Natasha, his resolve tightened in his chest. As long as Clint and Natasha were good as they appeared, he would fight until he was bloody and torn to keep them with Gracia. Children needed someone that loved and respected them, not just someone that would give them food and a place to sleep.

The two of them paused in the waiting area of the conference room. They were tucked away from the main hall, though Matt could hear the thrum of Karen's voice as she spoke on the phone.

Matt drew in a breath, bracing himself to ask a question. There was a sick anticipation as he opened his mouth, the breathless nausea that came before pain. No, that wouldn't work. He would be the reincarnation of Achilles, sent forth after being baptized in his own suffering to be impervious to all other hurt.

"Miss Romanoff…I didn't want to address this with Gracia in the room, but could you please tell me the full extent of Gracia's abuse while under the employ of Calvin Hughes?" The words tasted sterile on his tongue. Full extent. Under the employ. Abuse. He kind of liked the disconnect he felt when he actually had to deal with the case. At least this way none of Gracia's misery resonated with his own until he was somewhere private.

Natasha dragged in a breath, shocked he had been so direct. "Didn't—didn't Warwick tell you?"

"Mr. Warwick gave my partner and me a rough outline. You didn't provide him with many details, did you?"

"No, I guess not." She huffed out a sigh. There was the rustle of fabric, making him think she was holding herself tight.

"Here, why don't we sit?" he suggested. The offer was as much for her as it had been for him. Natasha sounded like she dreaded every word to come, while he…Matt was certain his knees might give way if he kept standing.

(Disconnect, apparently, only went so far.)

Natasha quietly explained Gracia's life and role in Hughes' twisted system. She spoke so simply, the harsh facts and euphemisms coming out bit by bit. He could hear the removed horror in her voice as she recounted what had happened, but she didn't seem to notice how perverse it was to never use Hughes' name, how horrible it was that dozens of women, especially a little girl, were all expected to do nothing but work and sleep and work some more.

Except for when she talked about her own behavior. Natasha's voice caught for a moment, forcing them to sit in stilted silence as she tried to work through.

"We would do anything to make the weak ones feel less. There was only so much happiness to go around," she whispered, sounding so heartbroken for having accepted and helped such a monster.

Matt listened to the rest of her story unfold. It hurt. Despite his promises to be strong, Natasha's story hurt to listen to. But Matt accepted the aching in his chest, pulling this woman's past torment to himself like he could make it all better. His disgust over how they had been forced to survive this way was equally matched with his breathless relief that they had made it out.

His anger did snap out once, though. His mouth tightened and his hands clenched when Natasha told him that the Landlord had tried to poach Gracia into his bed. Matt's stomach turned at the thought of someone so monstrous walking free. But then, Hughes wasn't walking free anymore. And that wasn't Matt's case.

(Which was probably a good thing, since he would probably break all of Hughes' teeth if he was ever in the same room as him.)

"When was that?" he asked, pushing on like he was supposed to do. He let his hands relax like everything was fine, just fine.

"Forever ago. Over a year. She wasn't really important to me, then or even a while after," Natasha confessed. "But she started to hang around, she became one of the few people that spoke to me. And then we stayed together."

"Do you know anything of her situation before she came to the boarding house?"

"No. Gracia never speaks about her parents."

"Alright. Thank you for your honesty." Matt stood, knowing that he was being abrupt, but also knowing that couldn't listen to any more. He busied himself with buttoning his suit jacket, listening to Natasha stand.

"Thank you for helping us," she said, almost too soft to be heard over the conference room door opening. Foggy led Clint and Gracia out, boisterously joking with the little girl. Matt couldn't make himself lie and offer Natasha a smile. Not when things were so serious.

"Of course. We'd be equally responsible if we didn't try to help."

Natasha, Clint, and Gracia left after a few handshakes and good byes. Matt quickly retired to the conference room to gather his things.

"So…how'd your talk with Natasha go?" Foggy asked. He leaned against the doorframe, the buttons of his suit jacket clicking against the metal.

"Good. And Gracia?"

"Not bad. She warmed up a little, enough for me to ask about her parents. They were not stellar, to say the least."

Matt pretended he couldn't hear the taut edge in Foggy's voice, the one that said he didn't approve of something Matt had done and was trying to find the perfect way to say it.

"It's that sunshiney charm of yours, Fog," he said, choosing a joke over what he wanted to say, which included a lot of swearing and maybe throwing a few things. "She barely spoke when I was there."

"Because you, Mr. Grumpy Pants, are intimidating. Why do you think I let you make all the opening statements?"

"So you can cram a little more into your other arguments." Matt gave what could almost have been a grin as he leaned against his cane.

"Okay, that was rude. But yes, I did get Gracia to melt with copious amounts of cheap puns."

"Oh, not the animal jokes," Matt groaned.

"Fruit, actually."

Matt smiled a moment, making the expression stick until he felt it. Almost. He kept thinking about Natasha's flat recitation of the appalling treatment she and Gracia had endured. Calvin Hughes was a piece of shit on his own, but Gracia's parents? How could anyone let a little girl make her own way on the streets? How could they not care that she had been pressed into prostitution?

"You…wanna tell me what that was about in there?" Foggy asked.

Matt clenched his hand, making sure his other one was hiding it so Foggy couldn't see. "I could tell that Gracia was leaning on Natasha. So I split them up."

"Yeah, but throwing her in cold water might have made her clam up even more," Foggy pointed out. Matt didn't say anything. If he explained that his blunt reasoning was that everyone needed to suck it up and stand on their own, Foggy would get that tone in his voice that said 'Matt not everyone is like you—they don't always get right back up'.

"Seriously, though, you okay? You seem kinda…off." Foggy sounded timid, now, his voice getting quieter as he edged to questionable territory.

"Yeah, fine. I just…have a lot to think about. Natasha…gave me some details about their lives there."

"Yikes. Bet that was fun."

"Not really," Matt said. He couldn't make himself smile again as he squeezed out the door.