Posting two chapters today! This one (Chapter 11) and Chapter 12!


Foggy

His eyes flew desperately from the wound in Matt's leg to his phone screen. Trying to keep his sanity together.

"Fog you need to press harder," Matt gasped, leaning his head back on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain.

He winced "uh okay," and pressed on the towel he held against the bullet hole, feeling the wet squelch of blood in the fabric. Best friend, injured and bleeding out on the floor, perfect way to spend a Thursday night in. It was deja vu, emotions were battling inside of him, part of him wanted to cry out in hopelessness, part of him wanted to lash out at Matt for no good reason. When it was Nobu who had almost killed Matt, and not a bullet from a cop's gun, none of the lies had mattered in the very thick of the moment, only saving his best friend's life.

He was sweating buckets, at a loss of what to do, maybe I should've gone to med school, maybe I should've been a doctor, maybe then I could actually be a useful in this situation. Frantic knocking on the door caused him to jolt up. He folded Matt's hand over the wound, and stole a fleeting glance at him as he stood, he gulped, please don't die while I answer the door.

Someone upstairs had answered his prayers. Claire Temple stood in the hallway, medical bag in hand, forehead creased with concern, panting as if she'd run here. "Thank God!" Foggy near threw his arms around the nurse in relief, instead he stepped aside to let her in.

"How bad is it?" She shouted back at him just as her gaze fell on his best friend in the middle of the living room. "Holy shit."

That is a gross understatement. "Help me get him out of his suit," Claire ordered.

Foggy landed on his knees next to her, gladly prepared to take orders and pass Matt's life into more capable hands. They quickly and delicately got the Daredevil suit off; rivulets of blood ran down his leg, more shockingly red than ever.

"Okay Matt, I need you to focus on the wound," she instructed him, firm, but gently. She scanned him head to toe taking in what clinical findings she could find with her eyes, checking his vitals. Claire tossed Foggy a pair of gloves as she put on a pair herself.

"It's the only thing I can sense right now," Matt exhaled roughly, he groaned and turned his head to the side. She lifted the towel and begin to palpate around the wound; "do you feel my hand?" Having forgotten what it looked like for the past fifteen minutes, Foggy's stomach turned over on itself to see it again.

Matt made a sickening guttural noise; "Ah!"

"Sorry," said the nurse but her face didn't show it, she had on a face of steely focus. "Tell me does the wound go anywhere near where my fingers are tracing?"

Matt inhaled deeply, concentrating, "no."

"That's good; it means the bullet didn't hit any deep veins. We need to slow the bleeding, before he goes into shock." She grabbed a pillow from the couch, "I'm going to elevate your leg," she told him as a warning. As she did it Matt let out the loudest groan he's made in that half hour, pain rippled across his entire body, and Foggy winced seeing it.

"You," she looked at Foggy, "I need some better lighting in this place, clean towels, hot water, and first aid kit should be on the shelf over there."

They spent the next hour stitching him up and getting him stable with fluids. It was a flurry of quick movements, stern orders, red towels, and Matt on the verge of passing out after every low moan.

Finally they had him on the couch, wrapped in blankets. Matt was fast asleep, but not dead, he was relieved. When the situation seemed to calm down, Foggy was at the kitchen, wiping sweat from his forehead and getting himself a glass of water. Claire joined him at the sink, he poured a glass of water for her too and set it on the counter;

"Thanks." She took off the gloves and tossed them in the trash. "I never wanted to do this again."

He heaved a rueful sigh; you and I both. "I should be the one thanking you, for coming here on such extremely short notice."

"After that fight with that ninja, I never wanted to do this again. But somehow I ran into more and more of his type," she lifted her chin in Matt's general direction.

"Somehow he still hasn't gotten himself killed," said Foggy morbidly, taking a sip of water and then downing the entire glass. Suddenly all the adrenaline was drained from him, he was exhausted, and the tiredness gave him a pounding headache behind his eyes. How did Claire manage to do this kind of thing for a living?

She shrugged, "he's good at fighting, I've seen him. It's not all just luck. But he can't go back out like this, or too soon," she washed her hands, doing the five step procedure as if she was in the hospital. "We need to make sure he knows that."

After their brief conversation, Foggy tried to make himself something to eat in the kitchen. Matt's fridge was scant of anything appetising but he could make do, Claire declined his offer for a sandwich. She was sitting on the edge of the couch, besides Matt's legs staring at him sleeping. The way she looked at him, and softly pushed aside the matted hair on his forehead, really tugged at a heart string for Foggy. He believed in keeping one's head in the present, but what about happiness? Could his best friend ever have any of that if he always pushed it away?

Matt never told him what happened-or didn't happen-between him and the nurse. It appeared like a lot of things had been left unsaid and hearts broken, on both sides. Given the number of times she's saved his life, I think it's Matt's loss.

He walked over to pick up the Daredevil suit off the floor. He looked at his friend asleep, and had half a mind to toss it into the garbage for all the good it's done for Matt, who almost died again tonight. But then Matt would probably wake up and knock him out, then he'd be the one passed out instead.


Matt

It was the quiet that woke him. The stillness of the world around him. For someone who could monitor the shift in air currents, hear the rhythm of someone's pulse; a sense of unfeeling was alien to Matt. He knew he was home and that at some point Foggy had answered his garbled, wretched call in the middle of the night. The rest of it was a blur. He wanted to continue resting, to sink back into the comfort of sleep, but he couldn't shake this unfeeling, it wasn't his norm, and it was scaring him, he had to address it.

His eyes opened slowly as if they were weighed down by cinderblocks. The canvas in his head was fuzzy; he wasn't catching outlines and temperature imbalances as fluidly as he normally would, there was a delay in how they patched together, like a puzzle with missing pieces. His head felt heavy, the weight of it didn't sit comfortably on his shoulders. He could sense someone on the couch with him. He reached out, ironically, like a blindman. Luckily, the touch of familiar fingertips told him who was sitting beside him.

"Claire?" He said her name like a prayer.

"Forget my name already?" Her speech was slow, or was he just not catching up with her in time? Then it occurred to him that the heaviness in his joints, head and the hindered senses was because of the numbing power of painkillers. "How're you feeling?"

"Exhausted, ah," he'd tried to sit up, but failed when a dull wave of pain throbbed upwards from his thigh. Oh, I remember now.

"Don't move, we don't want to rip those stitches. The wound was clean, and your vitals are stable."

"My...head," he mumbled, closing his eyes for a moment.

"You know, there I was, updating some charts in the wards, I thought to myself, huh I do miss Matt, I haven't heard from him in a while," mused Claire, resting a hand on his leg to steady him. "And then I got the call, and I realized I definitely don't miss any of this."

He lied down, the drugs almost lulling him back to his dreamless sleep again. He cracked a cheeky smile, "not even me?"

She smiled back, "nope."

"Ouch, took that hit... right here," he said pointing to his heart. She shook her head at the gall he had to flirt in a state like this. She adjusted the blanket on him, tucking it under his arms. God, do I miss being taken care of by her.

"Thank you for being here... I don't know anyone else." He couldn't thank her enough for all the times she'd been there when she didn't have to be; she was probably tired of hearing his excuses and apologies.

"Where's Foggy?" Asked Matt. He caught the scent of his best friend in the kitchen.

Foggy raised his arm into the air. "Over here. I'm not actually a ball of sunshine right now, thought waking up to a pretty nurse would be better than my grumpiness."

"I'm sorry," Matt told him when Foggy sat on the armchair across from them. Fog sighed tiredly, he was running on limited hours of sleep.

"I know it must have been…hard, on your own."

Foggy puffed out some air, as he tried to keep his temper in check; "as macabre as it sounds it's getting easier with practice. But I wish it wasn't. You're not bulletproof Matty, I keep saying that."

Ah the 'I told you so' I was waiting for, haven't heard this in a while. Now would be the perfect instance for the drugs to kick in at full force so he could return back to a peaceful slumber, and be voluntarily absent from the strained angst-filled conversations that were about to ensue.

"Before we get into that; you need to get that leg checked," Claire interjected. "I can stitch a wound up no problem, but the only thing that's going to tell you the extent of the damage is an x-ray, and a physiotherapist to help rehabilitate you—"

"Physiotherapist?"

Claire frowned at him, "you'll need crutches Matt, for at least a month."

He made the mistake of trying to sit up again to strongly argue her point, "no, no that's too long—ah."

"You're not already thinking of going out there, are you?" Said Foggy, appalled. "Jesus Christ!"

As the pain gnawing on his leg gradually subsided he said; "the more time I spend sitting here, bed-ridden, the more time and opportunity our enemies have to take what they want."

"Our enemies?' What the heck have you gotten yourself into, now?" Claire raised her palm to stop him from explaining. "You know what, I don't even want to know. Could you for once stop talking like a vigilante? The city can wait a few weeks."

Matt kept stubbornly quiet.

"The number of gang violence related incidents coming into the ER has escalated by at least 20% I look at some punk in front of me and I wonder if you were one who put him on that stretcher. Or if it's someone else who's decided to start handing out justice the way you are. Cuz' morgue is overflowing as well."

"You know that would never be me," he said, vehemently. She was only handing him more reasons to get out of bed as soon as possible. He cursed Valentine, cursed Knight, cursed this whole damn city while he was at it. I should consider myself lucky to be alive. Still, he couldn't help but be salty about it his current debilitating state.

"There's a shithead in a coma too, he took quite a fall from four stories. Was that you?" She asked pointedly, arching a brow. "You've done it before." She referred to their first encounter on her rooftop when he dropped that dirty cop off the side into the dumpster.

He grounded his teeth. Foggy watching the exchange unfolded his arms, eyed widened; "was that you, Matt?"

Grunting in pain, Matt wedged himself back into a comfortable supine position on the couch, ignoring everything they said; "give me whatever painkillers you have."

"You're asking me to start smuggling drugs for you, now?" Said Claire.

All the forced movement he was doing was making him slightly nauseous. "I know you've given me some already; otherwise I'd be worse." In the past, he'd specifically instructed her not to give him any because of how they interfered with his senses, but clearly no one cared for his opinion in these matters anymore.

"You can do whatever the hell you want, and I will get you the drugs you need- if you get that leg checked out, please."

"I can't go to the hospital," he said, trying to not to sound like a whiny kid.

"Say you were in an accident or mugged," she proposed, "nobody would think twice about something like that happening to an unsuspecting blind man."

"I can't go to the hospital, because she might be there."

"Who?"

"The detective."

"I see," she replied, knowingly.

"Foggy brought you up to speed?"

"You were out for a while."

"Daredevil and Detective Knight, it's adorable," quipped Foggy. "And also the second worst idea he's ever had, the first being to put on that suit."

Matt grimaced, he was really in the worse frame of mind to be having this conversation; "Foggy—I can't handle you arguing with me about this—"

"Oh I'm sorry," he interrupted, crossly, getting out of the armchair, looking as if he was prepared to shoot Matt in the other leg. "It must be real difficult for you to watch your best friend bleed out on their carpet, twice. Oh wait, that wasn't you, it was me!"

"Foggy-"

"How am I supposed to explain this to Karen? To our clients? To the Detective Knight?" He demanded.

"We've been in similar situations before."

"Karen's not stupid, she thinks something's seriously wrong with you already. What do I tell her now? A stray bullet hit you in the leg?" Foggy started to pace the room, clutching his head, "Oh my god, I am sick of lying-"

"You two, shut up!" Claire held up both hands at either of their directions to stop them, not like Matt was going anywhere, or standing vertically any time soon. "Arguing back and forth isn't going to make anything better or worse. Can we talk like reasonable adults here?"

They both kept their mouths shut and nodded. "Thank you."

She looked down at Matt, speaking to him with less aggravation; "I know Detective Knight. I know she's good at what she does. But you're her brother's lawyer; it ain't rocket science she's going to put two and two together."

"That's why I'll keep a low profile, especially in this condition, until I can figure something out."

She pursed her lips in that way she did when she didn't accept any of his thin solutions; "If you were really partners with Knight you would stop wearing that mask, it'd be simpler wouldn't it?"

It would be miles easier to just tell Knight the truth. No need to lead a double life, second-guessing what he said to her to ensure Matt Murdock and Daredevil had not said the same. No more juggling secrets and deceptions.

"I don't trust her," he concluded, "I doubt that will ever change."

Claire sighed dejectedly, he always managed to bring her to her wits end; "I tried stopping you once, and it didn't work. We've both tried, it seems," she glanced at Foggy. "So do me this one favour and go to the hospital as Matt Murdock and see a doctor. I'll make sure the detective isn't around while you get checked up."

"It was practically a flesh wound."

She gaped at him, incredulous; "A bullet still went through you! I can't—" she was pissed, but held herself, breathing out calmly. "—You know, I just had a 12 hour shift, my brain is melting in exhaustion and I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore, I just don't. You figure it out...but this cannot happen again. I need you to be prepared in case Knight does find out the truth, because you need to take responsibility for what happens."

He let out a frustrated grunt; "You think I don't know that?"

Her eyes were drawn to slits at him, "Oh you clearly know everything don't you?"

He flushed, "I didn't mean—"

"Can't I be worried?" She asked him, wounded, and for once Matt had to shut his big mouth and simply listen. Guilt exacerbated the nausea he was already experiencing. He had put Foggy and Claire through another near death ordeal, and he couldn't even make the promise to stop putting himself in these dire situations. I'm such an ungrateful son of a bitch. One day they'll just give up and not come to my rescue.

"You got shot at twice in less than two months, both bullets got you, you're not-" she peeked at her watch, "never mind, I got to go."

Foggy, who had been silent for a while, suddenly perked up and freaked; "Wait, are you sure?"

"I gave you instructions, you'll be fine," she assured him with smile, putting the last of her things into a medical bag.

Matt bit his bottom lip weighing the options, he tilted his head to face the ceiling, and sighed heavily, giving in; "I'll go to a hospital."

Her eyebrows rose in pleasant surprise, "thank you. Now was that so hard? Didn't have to be fighting me and trying to rip open your stitches."

"You never agree with me on anything," said Foggy, salty.

"Well I need to get better fast, and I need to know how long it's going to take."

"The human body doesn't always listen to what we want it to do," she said, matter-of-factly. "Just go as soon as possible, tonight at the latest," she commanded in her no-nonsense nurse tone. "Call me when you decide when you want to go," she slung her bag over her shoulder and pointed at Foggy's chest. "Make sure he does."

Claire knelt beside Matt's head, and cupped his face gently; he felt the rough pads of her fingertips worn by countless detergents and soaps. Matt forgot Foggy was there. For a spilt second his head started to wonder, what they could have been like.

He would have only hurt her more in the long run.

She kissed his forehead, and he closed his eyes, taking in their warmth and softness; "take care, Matthew."


Riley

At dawn, Riley woke up to the sound of groaning. She found Tommy puking into the toilet, the symptoms of his withdrawal in full effect. She didn't say much, just went to him and rubbed his back offering him a clean towel when he was done. He was sweaty and complained of joint pains afterwards. It was like he was experiencing this for the first time again. But the methadone did the trick. A Band-Aid to stave the ailments he had now, and she hoped he wouldn't need it in the distant future.

The next week, Riley and Tommy began preparing for his trial, which couldn't be dismissed at the hearing. The Murdock half of the lawyer duo had taken a sick leave, leaving Nelson to handle everything. Riley had not heard from her vigilante colleague either. Which she did not mind, he shouldn't be leaping from buildings any time soon.

They had some cushion time before the trial, though. It gave them a chance to attempt at being a family again; Tommy moved into the guest room, they went grocery shopping together, tried to have at least one meal together everyday.

Despite the normalcy of the past few days her brother was slightly on edge and more passive aggressive than usual, in better health but still suffering from nightmares that he didn't like to share with her. She had been trying to convince him to go to AA meetings on the weekends, but he still had not come around to the idea.

"I went to the church," she told him one day at breakfast, seeing no reason to hide it from him any longer. "The one you crashed in, where you lived." He looked at her, stupefied. "I saw grandma's blanket, you'd kept it all these years...and I saw what you were stashing in it."

He nearly dropped his spoon; "Fuck—"

At least he didn't try to deny it. She held her hand up; "I don't know how long you were there for, or whether you sold the drugs to others. But I got rid of the evidence."

He blinked at her, stunned, "You what?"

"I did it to protect you. I burned everything." She didn't mean to be harsh but he needed to be reminded of the lengths to which she protected him; "I want you to know that I risked a lot by doing that."

"You could get in loads of trouble, sis."

Oh Tommy, if only you knew how much trouble I've been in these past few months.

"I know, and you can't tell the lawyers," she said stonily. "This has to go with you to the grave. With what we're facing, I just need you to tell me, and be honest with me, as I am with you now." She stared at him directly in the eyes, a reflection of her own. "Did you deal the heroin I found?"

I swallowed, a little taken aback, but held her gaze, "no, I didn't."

"But you have in the past? When you were with Natalie?"

He pushed his food away from him, slouching in his chair, finding it difficult to fully explain things to her; "Friends called me up for some gear, I shared it, it was...it was no harm meant," he replied, hesitantly.

"I understand," that was all she expected, she did that when she was his age too, younger than that even. She was the go-too gal once upon a time. A reputation she was glad to keep in the dark of her past. "It's important that that happened a long time ago, and that right now you've been clean."

With his track record, it was about image from now on. They needed to see that he was on a straight and narrow track to recovery.

..

She popped into the precinct to check the progress of the dupe blood sample she dropped off at the CI department. It was lunchtime for them and the lab was empty. Riley logged onto the computers and changed the record to being inconclusive. When Alfie got the alert to pick it up, he would have nothing; he'll be back to square one. She felt a bit uneasy in the stomach as she logged out of the computer.

She also called the hospital to check on the comatose Gardner. There was no change in his condition. But there was added security to his room. Sinjon has figured out that this guy has a price on his head. He wakes up, he'll talk, but if he doesn't wake up…

She shivered recalling what it was like to be in that hospital. The nightmares of it still haunted her. She'd gotten pneumonia whilst in the ICU; she'd been so weak she thought she might drop dead one night. Or someone will smother me to death. Riley had made enemies being a cop, and being that vulnerable frightened her to her very core.


Foggy

He couldn't believe it himself. Matthew Murdock AKA the Daredevil was actually in a hospital, getting treated. He'd gotten an x-ray, a hospital gown, hospital food, all the normal hospital things,injured people did when they electively sought the full spectrum of medical aid the great city of New York could provide.

He could sing hallelujah to the heavens if he didn't feel like there was a boulder sitting on his chest. It had been several days now since his friend sustained the gunshot injury. But after the maddening news he heard at the precinct beforehand; he wasn't sure whether he should yell at Matt or just punch him in the face. Probably both.

He knocked on the ward door, not like he needed too though, "hey."

Matt was on the bed, thigh swathed in thick bandages, glumly staring off into space. "Hey," he replied, tersely. "I'm starting to regret agreeing to this."

Foggy walked into the room, hands in pockets; "you're safe, routinely checked on by a handful of medical professionals from different fields." He shrugged, "I have to say, I couldn't be happier."

He could tell Matt was starting to get fed-up with being static for so long, he has no right to be fed up, though. That's my thing.

"What about the detective?" Asked Matt.

"Hasn't been here since her brother was discharged, there's nothing to worry about." Foggy said, "Karen wants to stop by at some point, by the way."

Matt pressed his lips together, unhappy.

"C'mon, you know there was nothing I could do to stop her," Foggy pointed out sensibly. It was Matt's reaction to Karen wanting to drop by, that made him an inch from totally snapping like a twig. He was just so sick of it. So sick of the lies, sick of feeling his stomach hit the floor when he thought about what would happen if Matt was dead. How all of their lives could crumble to piece because of one mishap.

"I know," said Matt, stiffly. He tilted his head down, forehead wrinkled as he caught onto something; "What is it?" He asked him after listening to his heart beat or whatever his weird super senses was picking up from Foggy.

There was no way he could hold it in any longer. He was going to burst out any moment then. Foggy sighed through his teeth, his face darkening with frustration; "I was at the station just now, talking to Brett... he says Daredevil stopped a mugging last night."

Matt grimaced, knowing that he couldn't lie himself out of this one, not anymore.

Foggy snickered, but his tone was as arid as a desert; "Yeah I don't know how I feel about that."

Matt shut his eyes, shaking his head; "Look you-"

"You promised," he cut him off brusquely. He wanted to reach out and shake some sense into Matt, but he kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"I didn't promise anything."

"You were shot," he almost yelled out, saying every word to it's own beat as if he had to spell it out for Matt like he was a 5 year old. "Shot, you are in no condition to be out there stopping petty thieves. Especially this soon!"

"They drew knives on her, she was barely seventeen," Matt shot back with fervour. "You can't ask me to ignore that; someone crying out for help, you just can't," he said through barred teeth.

"Karen thinks you're in a fight club, or an alcoholic, she comes up with the craziest scenarios. The bruises, the busted lips, you simply can't hide them anymore. You need to tell her!"

"Everything in its own time," he hissed.

Foggy ran his hand through his hair in frustration; "I hate covering for you," he said, fingers clawing into the air.

"I know you do."

"We couldn't help Thomas Knight at the hearing."

Matt sighed deeply, calming himself; "I know."

"Which means you won't stop working with her."

"She's an asset."

Foggy sat down in the visitors chair, hands clasped together, that crushing feeling of dread sitting on his chest. "If you're caught, what happens to the firm?"

Matt rolled his eyes; "I'm not going to get caught-"

"Just answer the fucking question," he snapped. Foggy guessed what he would say already, but he needed to hear it from Matt's mouth, to validate it, to make it stick with him. "No more if's, no more deflecting, just tell me... what happens?"

"You and Karen carry on without me," he replied without even taking a few minutes, hell, a few seconds to really think about it.

"Oh, just like that? We carry on," he flicked his hand through the air at how flimsy and full of bullshit that conclusion was.

"And when you're caught-that's when you want Karen to find out?"

"That's all I can say, Foggy. You try to-," Matt stopped, unable to hear it out loud himself. "You just keep going." Foggy knew that Matt knew he was hurting him. But they needed to talk this through, even if it killed both of them.

"You mean you want us to just move on? Well, it's not that simple," said Foggy. "You'd go to jail, I would lose my license, at best." He wanted Matt to see it from his point of view. Foggy was upset, yet infuriated at the same time, "how can you just tell me to carry on? Like it's so easy to do that? When all of us could lose everything?"

Matt's voice was thick; "I'm sorry."

He shook his head in utter disbelief, he and Karen deserved more than that; "another apology...that's not enough." Foggy stood up.

Matt tried to say something, he was struggling to find the right words, it didn't matter anyway. Foggy was done listening to him.

"Maybe it's good that you won't be around for the next few weeks," Foggy said, as ice cold as a glacier. He headed towards the door, too nauseated to even look at Matt anymore.

"It'll give us some practice for when you're really gone."