Hello! The bad times have arrived. We haven't had any angsty Matt POV for a little while, and that's always fun stuff to write, so I thought I'd throw some in for this chapter. You guys all seemed so happy that our two kids are starting to trust each other, but really, what's the fun in trust if it's never tested by horrible drama and pain?! Exactly.
Also, as you all remember, Britt Witt made some excellent fan art to which I posted the link on my profile. And now Misery's-Toll has also created two amazing fan art drawings! They're of the scene in Chapter 11 (The Storm) where Matt patches up Sarah, and it's lovely. The link to that is also on my profile! Just take the spaces out of either link to make them work. I don't think anything has ever made me happier than the fact that people like this story enough to make fan art for it!
"So," the sandy haired cop said as they waited for Matt and Foggy to arrive. "I was thinking that to help pass the time, I might tell you a little bit about what kind of jail time we're potentially looking at here. Not for you, necessarily. But just for, you know…whoever it turns out is responsible for these things."
Sarah narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. He made her very uneasy; she couldn't recall if he had even told her his name. Neither he nor his partner with the crooked nose, still stationed near the door, were wearing any sort of identifying name tag.
"You're not supposed to talk to me until my lawyers get here," she said quietly.
"I'm not supposed to ask you any questions," he corrected her. "And you're not supposed to tell me anything. But I can talk. And you can listen, or not listen. It's up to you."
She didn't say anything.
"So, what's up first? Kidnapping! That's a minimum of five years right there, even if you only helped. Maximum of twenty-five, depending on the judge you get. Then there's assault, since she got hit with that tranquilizer dart," he continued, ticking off each crime on his fingers. "That's, what, seven years? Now, helping a vigilante…that one's tricky. We don't really have a set sentence for that, since, well, not that many people are stupid enough to do it. But I'd be willing to bet it's a hefty one, wouldn't you?"
"I thought you weren't supposed to ask me anything," she retorted, trying to keep her voice steady despite the horrible way her stomach was twisting.
"Good point," he conceded. "I retract the question. Moving on: I thought you might find it interesting that this actually isn't the first case involving your company that I've had to look into in the past couple of months. I was also assigned to look into the death of one Brian Yates. Nasty way of dying, that was. He worked at your company. You might have known him."
Sarah started to open her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by a knock at the door. The crooked-nosed cop opened it and spoke briefly with another uniformed officer, who stepped aside to reveal Matt and Foggy. A wave of relief washed over her at the sight of the two of them.
"I sincerely hope you weren't talking to our client without her lawyers present, officer," Matt said coldly as they stepped into the room. He swept his white cane in front of him, using it to find the table.
Foggy set his briefcase down and shrugged, pulling out a chair to Sarah's right. "I don't know, I'm kind of hoping he was. When's the last time we got to press charges for improper detainment procedures? It sounds fun."
The cop leaned back in his chair, holding his hands up in mock defense and smirking at them. "Easy, guard dogs," he said. "I wasn't asking her anything. Just talking out loud to myself."
Matt hovered his hand around the chair to Sarah's left before finally finding it and pulling it out so he could take a seat. It was incredibly strange for Sarah to see him acting like that—like he didn't know exactly where every object in that room was.
The cop pointed between the two lawyers, looking amused. "Nelson and Murdock. Of course. That makes sense."
"How so?"
"You two were all mixed up with Fisk and Daredevil a few months back. Makes sense that you'd end up defending this one," he said, gesturing to Sarah, "and whatever involvement she has with the mask."
If Matt was at all unnerved by the mention of his alter ego, he didn't show it. His face was impassive, and his eyes were covered by the dark glasses that reflected the cop's pale face.
"I'm quite certain that Ms. Corrigan has no involvement with Daredevil or any other wanted persons. And I'm unaware that you have any proof otherwise."
"We have the word of whats-her-face," the cop said dismissively. "The chink girl."
Sarah's eyebrows flew up, and it was apparent she wasn't the only one surprised by his callous words.
"Wow. Vague racism," Foggy piped up. "And not even for the correct ethnic group. Always the quickest way to get people to cooperate with you."
"I could care less what ethnicity she is. All I care about is her story. She's an eyewitness."
"I'd hardly call her an eyewitness," Matt said derisively. "She gave a vague description of something she thinks she saw while heavily under the influence of some very strong tranquilizers. And I'd be willing to bet that she was under the influence of pain killers while giving that statement, as well."
"Not to mention that all of this is being passed along through an interpreter," Foggy added. "We'd love to get a glance at his credentials. Maybe get a second translator in there, just to make sure it's all being deciphered correctly."
"I'm sure that will all be looked into once we have enough evidence to bring this to court."
"So even you admit that you don't have any evidence to have warranted dragging our client down here and interrogating her?"
"Let's not be dramatic," the cop sneered. "No one dragged her down here. She came of her own free will, to answer a few questions. We're very appreciative of that. Especially given your family's sparkling reputation with the NYPD."
"I'm sorry," Foggy said. "Are vague character insinuations a verified police tactic now?"
"No one's trying to insinuate anything. I just mean, you know…you're Mitch Corrigan's daughter. That guy ended up in our drunk tank more times than I can count. And his criminal record…" The cop shook his head slowly and scanned over one of the papers in his folder. "Public drunkenness…participating in illegal gambling establishments…even a possession charge for marijuana back in the day. Do you think that it's hereditary? That inability to be a contributing member of society? Because if so, it looks like you've inherited it from both sides."
He held up another record, and she could barely make out the name Anna Corrigan at the top. It looked like he was going to go more into detail, but Matt interrupted him, clearly unhappy with the direction of the conversation.
"Are we here to talk about family trees, or to discuss why you're still questioning Ms. Corrigan with nowhere near enough evidence to arrest her?"
"No one said anything about arresting her."
"Then why is she here?"
"I told you. Just to answer a few questions. For instance, questions like this one," he said, turning to Sarah and lacing his fingers together. "Do you know what happens to people deemed mentally unfit when their caretakers get sent to prison?"
A brief silence fell over the room at the sudden redirection. Sarah felt her stomach grow heavy with trepidation.
"Excuse me?" she said slowly.
"People who cannot legally be expected to take care of themselves," the cop explained slowly, despite clearly knowing that Sarah hadn't been asking for elaboration. "Do you know what happens to them when the person who takes care of them goes off to prison? They're put in care of the state. And let me tell you, state care facilities? Not the best. Not by a long shot. Kind of dirty, not great food. Incredibly subpar medical staff, that's for sure. Really, not all that different from prison."
A strangely familiar crushing feeling began gathering in Sarah's chest with every word the cop spoke, like a hand was squeezing her lungs every time she tried to inhale.
"This isn't even the tiniest bit relevant to what you brought her here for—" Foggy started to argue.
"—my dad has never been declared mentally unfit," Sarah interrupted, not taking her eyes off of the sandy haired cop's.
He shrugged and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Doesn't mean he couldn't be."
The crushing feeling grew, accompanied by a sudden feeling of lightheadedness.
"Is that supposed to be a threat?" she demanded shakily.
"Sarah, don't say anything else," Matt said quietly.
She struggled to breathe in fully, and was dismayed to feel a slight tingling sensation in her arms and legs. Wasn't that a sign of something bad? Like a stroke. Or a heart attack. Do people usually have heart attacks in their twenties? she thought irrationally.
"We'd like a few minutes alone with our client, please," Matt said suddenly. Technically it was a request, but it was clear that he expected them to comply. The cop sitting at the table glanced over his shoulder at his partner, then turned to them and shrugged carelessly.
"Sure. If it'll make you feel better, go ahead. We'll be back in a bit."
As the door closed behind the two officers, Foggy immediately turned to Matt.
"Is it just me, or is this questioning session all over the place? They said they were going to ask her about the girl at Orion and they've barely even touched on the subject. Hell, they barely even brought up the whole Daredevil thing."
Sarah stayed silent, trying not to think about the constricting feeling in her lungs. Hearing how suspicious Foggy was of the whole situation didn't help. She balled her hands up, feeling her fingernails dig into her own already injured palms.
"Sarah?" Matt said. She didn't respond. Foggy didn't seem to notice.
"Something's up here, Matt," he continued. "Starting with whatever the hell this room is. I've never seen an interrogation room with no windows, no mirrors, and no cameras. What is this, the Gitmo of Hell's Kitchen?"
Sarah whipped her head around to look at him in alarm.
"Foggy—" Matt warned.
"Uh—I didn't mean Gitmo," Foggy corrected himself quickly, catching sight of the panicked look on Sarah's face. "Not—not Gitmo like with the—the torture, or—" he stuttered off, looking at Matt for help.
A strong dizzy sensation hit her, and she leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table and pressing her palms to her eyes as she waited for it to pass. But it didn't.
"Sarah?" she heard Matt's calm voice say somewhere near her ear. "What's happening?"
"I'm fine," she mumbled. "Just need a second."
Matt leaned back in his chair so that he could talk to Foggy behind her, speaking quickly and lowly.
"Foggy. Go find her some water," she heard Matt murmur to his partner. "Make sure the cops don't come in here. The last thing we need is for them to see her like this."
He probably hadn't intended for her to hear him, but his words made her chest tighten in panic even more. If the police saw her reacting like this, there would be no doubt in their minds that she was guilty. The sound of her heart racing was almost deafening even in her own ears; this must be what Matt felt like all the time.
She heard the door close behind Foggy, leaving her and Matt alone at the table. Then the sound of metal scraping the concrete floor as Matt turned his chair in her direction, causing her to look up. He reached around and grasped the side of her chair, then slowly rotated it around so that she was facing him, keeping her balanced on the chair with his other hand. He slid forward slightly in his seat, so that his knees were on either side of hers, and his hands were on the metal arm rests of her chair.
"Hey. Listen to me."
Sarah was too disoriented to be caught off guard by this sudden proximity, as she normally would be. Without thinking, she found herself reaching out and grabbing his forearm, digging her fingers into the fabric of his suit. If her nails were hurting him through the cloth, he showed no indication.
"Sarah. Breathe," he ordered, speaking very quietly but firmly. "You're alright."
She nodded frantically, but the command to breathe was easier said than done, especially when it felt like she could only expand her lungs halfway. Why couldn't she make this stop? She was in the middle of a police station interrogation room, for god's sake. This was the last place she needed to be having a panic attack.
"They're just trying to scare you because they don't have anything on you. Don't let them get in your head."
Too late. His words weren't helping, so instead she just tried to focus on the sound of his voice, that very specific cadence he had. Anything other than the sound of her own erratic heartbeat in her ears. Her whole body felt chilled, even though she knew somewhere in the back of her brain that the room wasn't actually cold. Despite that, her hands and feet began to feel slightly numb, like she had dunked them in ice water.
She closed her eyes as he continued speaking. She wasn't listening to what he was saying, but she thought maybe he was asking her something. His words were muffled by a rushing sound in her ears.
Sarah felt Matt lean away from her, and a few seconds later something warm and heavy was draped over her shoulders. Her eyes flew open and she looked down in bewilderment to see Matt's suit jacket wrapped around her. He was frowning, apparently alarmed by her violent shivering. She opened her mouth, intending to thank him, but what came out was entirely different.
"I still have your sweatshirt," she blurted out. She had no idea why she had to tell him that right now, of all times.
Matt's looked briefly confused, then his mouth quirked up slightly. "That's okay. I have others."
Sarah leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.
"They're going to arrest me," she said, her voice so muffled by her hands that no one without enhanced hearing could understand her. "They're going to send me to prison and they'll send my dad to old person prison and I'll never get to see him again and I can't breathe."
"That's not true," Matt countered firmly. "You and your dad will be fine. And you can breathe, you are breathing, you just need to slow down."
He was wrong. She couldn't breathe, there just wasn't enough air in the small, dirty room.
"I think—I think I want to leave," she said, sitting up suddenly. "Can I leave? Are they k-keeping me here?"
She moved to stand up, but Matt predicted her actions and quickly slid his hands off the chair to grab hold of her arms, keeping her in her chair. His grip wasn't very tight, but she didn't bother trying to break away.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Matt said immediately.
"Why not?" she said desperately. Some part of her brain, the reasonable part currently being drowned out by the panic in her veins, knew perfectly well why she couldn't leave, but for the life of her she couldn't remember why.
"Listen to me," Matt said, his voice low and calm. "They're not detaining you. You aren't under arrest. But if you go rushing out of here, you're going to look guilty no matter what. It will make things worse."
Of course. She knew that. And she knew that she knew that, but something deep in her chest still frantically wanted to be out of that tiny room. She tried to block it out.
"Right. I know," she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head violently. "I know that. I'm sorry. Shit."
"I'm not going to let you go to jail, Sarah," Matt said softly. "And I won't let them take your dad anywhere, either. Okay? We're good lawyers. Well, Foggy is. I'm decent."
She exhaled in a short laugh, still struggling to breathe normally. But the dizziness had faded, and the feeling was slowly returning to her limbs.
The door opened suddenly, and Sarah jumped. But it was just Foggy, carrying a bottle of water in his hand. He raised his eyebrows a fraction at the sight of the two of them, but made no comment on it.
"Sorry," he said as he handed the water bottle to Sarah. "This vending machine was broken so I had to go find one that worked. Are you…better now?"
Sarah nodded, embarrassed by how badly she had just freaked out. She was still shaky, and didn't feel like she could fully breathe in. But she didn't feel like she was dying, which was an improvement.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," she muttered, shrugging Matt's jacket off and handing it back to him. "I'm sorry. I can't really…" she trailed off, suddenly feeling extremely exhausted. "I'm sorry."
Matt wordlessly moved his chair back to its original position, and she followed suit.
"It's no big deal," Foggy said kindly, while Matt slipped his suit jacket back on. "I'm just glad you're calmed down now because they're probably going to come back in here in about—"
He was cut off by the timely re-entrance of the two police officers.
"—right this second," he finished, spinning on the spot to face the two cops. "Welcome back, officers."
They ignored his greeting. The cop who had been questioning Sarah looked past Foggy, letting his eyes fall on her.
"You're shaking a bit, there," he noted with a hint of a smirk. "Cold?"
Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but it was Foggy who spoke up quicker, smacking his hand down on the table indignantly and then pointing accusatorily at the two officers.
"I should say so! It is freezing in here, gentlemen! Are you purposely trying to make our client uncomfortable?"
The cops exchanged a confused look.
"It's like seventy five degrees in here," the crooked-nosed one said.
"Seventy three, maybe," Foggy countered. "At the most. And I think seventy eight is generally considered the acceptable setting for room temperature, so unless you'd like us to file a complaint with the department for neglect—"
"You've gotta be kidding me," the sandy-haired cop said doubtfully.
Foggy turned to Matt. "If we all get pneumonia from these sub-arctic temperatures, can we sue them, probably?"
"Most definitely," Matt responded casually.
"Christ, alright, alright. I'll go change the thermostat," the cop grumbled, holding his hands up. He rolled his eyes and yanked the door closed behind him. Just before it shut, Sarah swore she heard him mutter to himself about insufferable lawyers. Now they were left with the other cop, who so far hadn't spoken much.
Moving away from the door, he smiled at them sympathetically before taking a seat in the now empty chair.
"I apologize for my colleague," he said. "He's just had a long shift today. I'm Officer McDermott. You can call me Aaron, if you like."
Sarah was immediately suspicious that he introduced himself by his first name; the other cop hadn't even bothered to give any name. She could tell by the way Matt tensed slightly next to her that he had picked up on the difference, too. It felt oddly like a trap.
"Officer McDermott, do you mind telling me why you're partner decided to start harassing Ms. Corrigan over matters that have nothing to do with the subject he was supposed to be questioning her about?"
Matt's voice was surprisingly quiet, but authoritative. Like he expected the officer to lean in to listen to him, which Aaron did. There was a deadly calm to his voice that Sarah recognized, and had he been using that tone on her, she'd probably have been headed for the door. But seeing that intimidation aimed at someone else for once was oddly satisfying.
"I wouldn't say that it was completely irrelevant subject matter," Aaron said amiably. "But I understand that maybe it was upsetting. That definitely wasn't our intention. And I'm sorry about that."
He turned his attention to Sarah at the end of his sentence, apologizing directly to her. She didn't respond.
"In fact," he continued, starting to gather the papers and folders his partner had left on the table, "I don't see any reason to keep you here if you're uncomfortable. We appreciate you coming down and chatting with us."
Sarah exchanged a confused look with Foggy, thrown by the abrupt change.
"You guys have a great evening," Aaron said. And with that, he swiftly exited the room, leaving a dumbstruck Sarah and two similarly puzzled lawyers behind.
"What just happened?" she said finally.
"I have no idea, beyond the fact that was just about the most painfully obvious performance of 'Good Cop, Bad Cop' I've ever seen," Foggy said.
"I don't…get it," Sarah said slowly, looking from Matt to Foggy and back. "That's it? They—they said they were bringing me here to ask me questions and then they barely asked me any. And they bring up all of these things they want to arrest me for but they don't arrest me. I don't understand. What the hell is going on?"
The two lawyers gave her grim looks, which didn't help to make her feel any better.
"My guess is, whatever's going is possibly not strictly aboveboard…law-wise," Foggy told her. "Maybe something they haven't cleared with the higher-ups. Which could be a good thing! If they're being shady, it will undermine any case they try to bring against you."
"On the other hand, if they're not following police procedure, it makes them harder to predict," Matt added.
Neither guess was comforting. Sarah remained quiet, her mind racing, as Matt and Foggy led her out of the station.
The next night, shortly after six thirty, Sarah was just clearing off the table after dinner with her father. It had been a pleasant meal overall, despite the slight tension on Sarah's end as she tried not to comment on the condition of the house. Newspapers were stacked high on every surface, and the dishes clearly hadn't been done in a while. Dust was beginning to gather thickly on the television and bookshelves. Nothing disastrous, but enough of a decline to be noticeable.
"You're taking some of that casserole home with you, right?" Mitch asked as she set the dishes on the counter.
"Yeah, I'll take a little bit."
"Take all of it."
She shot him a suspicious look. "What, you don't like my casserole anymore?"
"I love your casserole. But I'd also love to see you eat a bit more. You're so thin."
"I'll take half," she conceded.
Sarah's phone buzzed with a new text message, and she was surprised to see that it was from Matt. I guess he really can text, she thought.
It was a short, simple message: Are you home?
No, she replied. I'm at my dad's. I'll be home later tonight. Why?
I'm working late at the office. Thought I'd stop by your place after to talk about a couple of things.
She was disrupted from their conversation by a small shattering noise. Looking up from the screen, she saw her dad standing by the counter, a bewildered look on his face and blood running down his hand. A broken glass lay in a puddle of water on the counter.
"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, shoving her phone into her pocket and hurrying over to the other side of the kitchen.
"I'm sorry—" Mitch stammered, looking around confusedly. "I—I didn't…I was just trying to set the glass down."
Sarah quickly grabbed his uninjured hand, leading him over to the kitchen sink. She turned the tap on and stuck her hand underneath to make sure it wasn't too hot.
"Here, dad, put your hand under here," she said, gesturing to the stream of water. He did.
"It didn't look like the counter was that close," he muttered in distress.
"I know. I know. It's alright." Sarah inspected the cut on his hand; it was long, running down his thumb, but it was shallow. "I think you'll be alright with a couple of Band-Aids."
"We can't really afford much more than that, can we?" he asked her jokingly as she reached under the counter for the small first-aid kit underneath.
She gave him a weak smile. You have no idea.
"No, we can't," she said.
"You said that cab service is paying for your medical bill for all the injuries you have, right?" he asked her worriedly. "Since it was their fault the driver got into a car accident while carrying a passenger?"
Sarah nodded tightly, hating the idea of telling her father even more lies. "Yep. They're—they're paying for everything."
"Good. That's irresponsible driving, that is," he said firmly. "I hope they let that cab driver go. I can't believe I didn't see it on the news. I watch every day, you know."
"Do you?" she asked idly while dabbing alcohol on the cut.
"I do. It helps me keep up with what day of the week it is. Did you have to get a lawyer to make them pay for your medical bills?"
"Um…yeah," she said distractedly, not really listening as she applied a small bandage.
"That seems expensive. Could you afford it alright?"
Sarah pursed her lips and shrugged, not wanting to continue the conversation with more lies.
"It's fine. It's not like money and legal problems are new for this family, right?"
Mitch looked at her sadly. "Yeah, they, uh…they never did send me a Father of the Year Award, did they?"
Sarah felt a sting of guilt. "No, Dad, that's not what I…" She sighed. "I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. I'm just—I'm really stressed out right now. I didn't mean it that way."
Her father reached out to touch her face, looking concerned. "Why are you always so stressed nowadays, honey? Is it work? Are you not getting hired for enough jobs?"
She shook her head. "No. No, work is fine. It's been…pretty uneventful, actually."
Surprisingly, it wasn't a lie. She had been in her new position for a week now, and she had yet to do much beyond what her old duties as Ronan's secretary had been. The only difference was that Jason occasionally sent her out on very tedious but oddly specific errands. Nothing illegal, or even immoral; just strangely detailed. Sometimes he requested that she make several stops—the printer, the coffee shop, the bank—in a particular order that forced her to zig-zag across town, despite the fact that there was a much more logical way for her to go. He'd ask to see the receipts afterwards, and she had caught him checking the time stamps to make sure she'd gone in the order he had specified.
The whole thing was oddly tense, given how mundane her new work was. She felt like she was being watched all the time, as though Jason were testing her ability to follow odd directions without complaining. It was unsettling, but it was nothing compared to the gnawing anxiety in her stomach as she imagined what would happen if Jason—or anyone at Orion—found out about the police bringing her in. She was certain it would only be a matter of time.
"Well, then what is it?"
Sarah snapped back to attention. "What?"
"What's stressing you out so badly?"
"Oh. Nothing, I just…" she trailed off, unable to think of anything.
"Have a lot on your mind?" Mitch finished for her helpfully. "I have the opposite problem."
"Dad," she chided gently, but she smiled faintly at him all the same. The smile faded when she let her gaze fall on his newly bandaged hand, similar to how her own had looked a few days prior. She did have a lot on her mind, and the rapid decline in her father's health was at the top of the list.
Remembering the conversation she had just been having over text, Sarah pulled her phone out to respond. She hadn't expected Matt to actually ever text her; wasn't he the one who had told her not to even use the number unless she had to? But things seemed to be changing, oddly enough. Whatever alliance they had formed was fragile and unorthodox one, but light-years better than where they used to be.
It was one less thing for her to worry about, at least.
A short while later, Sarah was back in her own apartment, squinting at the tiny text on the glowing screen of her laptop. She had a dozen tabs open in her browser: in-home nurses, care facilities, insurance estimates. She'd been sorting through all of it for about two hours, and none of it was proving to be helpful.
There was no denying that her father was getting worse and worse, and she didn't know how much longer he could safely live alone. The obvious solution was for her to move in and take care of him. But how long until he found out that she wasn't a pianist anymore? That she had taken on his debt, which he would never have wanted her to do? How long until he came across one of her nighttime meetings with the masked Devil of Hell's Kitchen? Or until Ronan caught up with her, or Jason sent people after her, and her father got caught in the crossfire?
Sarah groaned and put her head in her hands, pressing her palms to her itching eyes. Her head was pounding, and she hadn't gotten a good nights sleep in…who really knew how long? In a desperate grab for more caffeine, she had chosen to make coffee tonight instead of her usual tea, despite the fact that the drink often made her jittery and her coffee machine barely worked.
As though it could hear her negative thoughts, the coffee maker started making an odd spluttering noise. She warily approached the machine, waiting for it to explode and spray boiling water everywhere. Instead it just continued gurgling half-heartedly as a weak stream of watery looking liquid made its way into the pot. Sarah made a face and shook the machine slightly, hoping it would start working properly again. She whacked the top of it with her open palm, and the liquid changed to a color that more closely resembled coffee.
"Stupid machine," she grumbled. "You have one job to do."
Sarah jumped slightly as she heard a knock at the front door, then glanced at the clock: it was a quarter to eight. She'd almost forgotten that Matt had said he was coming over to talk about something to do with the entire police ordeal. Leaving the misbehaving coffee machine behind her, she made her way over to the door, glancing through the peep hole before she opened it.
Matt made a face as he stepped into the apartment and set his cane aside. "Why does it smell like burning plastic in here?"
"I'm making coffee," she explained tiredly. Matt gave her a confused look, but she didn't notice. "Do you want some?"
Matt looked doubtful. "Uh…no. Thank you."
She shrugged and made her way back over to the coffee maker. The pot was half-full of something that looked vaguely coffee-like, so she turned the malfunctioning machine off and poured the liquid into a mug.
"You were at your dad's place tonight?"
"Yeah," Sarah said, taking a sip of the coffee. It was hot and tasted awful. She made a face and set the mug down on the dining room table while she waited for it to cool down a bit (and perhaps magically taste better).
"Was everything normal?"
She knew Matt was referring to the possibility of there being hired men lurking around. But involuntarily her mind wandered to the decaying state of the house and the disturbingly rapid decline in her father's health, neither of which felt particularly normal. She looked down at her laptop screen, which still displayed several highly priced in-home nursing facilities that she would never be able to afford.
"…Sarah?"
"Yeah," she said abruptly, reaching out and closing the laptop lid firmly. "Everything was…fine."
Matt frowned and knitted his eyebrows together, clearly not believing her. She changed the subject before he could ask anything else.
"So, have you and Foggy figured anything out?" she asked. "About what's going on with the police?"
Matt waited a beat before answering, as thought debating whether to go along with the abrupt change of topic. "Kind of. I talked to a friend of mine. He's a sergeant at the precinct."
Sarah gave him an odd look. "You have a friend that's a cop?"
"Well, he's more Foggy's friend than mine. But we get along alright," Matt said. "Why?"
"I just…wouldn't have expected it is all," she said, then tilted her head thoughtfully. "A vigilante and a cop who are friends. It's like the Fox and the Hound, or something."
"The...cartoon animals," Matt clarified doubtfully.
"Yeah. But, like, if they were scarier. And also people," she tried to explain. Then she shook her head, closing her eyes pinching the bridge of her nose tiredly. Clearly, she really did need some sleep. "I have no idea why I'm still talking about this. I'm sorry. What did your cop friend say?"
She was fairly certain that Matt had been silently laughing at her, but when she looked back up at him his face was as serious as usual.
"Nothing very comforting, although it confirmed some of our suspicions. He has no idea what's going on. Said that he doesn't know of anything out of the ordinary about the two cops that interviewed you, but that the room they held you in is usually just where they hold any drunks who are too rowdy for the drunk tank. It's not meant as an interrogation room."
'Nothing very comforting' seemed like an understatement to her.
"So…what does that mean? Why'd they bring me down there and try to scare me, and then just…let us leave?"
"I'm not sure," Matt admitted. "I think Foggy was right when he said whatever they're doing is something they don't necessarily want their superiors knowing about."
"Is there…I mean, is there any chance they're working with Orion, somehow?" she asked uncertainly.
"It's always possible. I need to check them out and see if—"
Matt stopped speaking suddenly, turning his head in the direction of the hall. Sarah followed his gaze, straining her ears to pick up on whatever he was hearing. She couldn't.
"What's going on?" she asked worriedly.
He didn't answer right away, still concentrating on whatever was catching his attention. "Speak of the devil. One of the cops from earlier. Officer McDermott. He's coming up the stairs."
Sarah's eyes widened. "What? Why? Is he coming to arrest me?"
Matt paused, then shook his head. "I don't think so. He's not in uniform. Not even armed."
Sarah threw a nervous look at the front door, as though she, too, would be able to sense the approaching cop through it. She bit her lip as her mind raced. Why would he be coming here if not to arrest her, and not to attack her? Whatever he was here to do, he hadn't wanted to do it while in the police station, surrounded by lawyers.
"Go hide in the bedroom," she said suddenly, turning to Matt.
Matt raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "What?"
"There's got to be a reason he's here off-duty, at my apartment, where he thinks my lawyers aren't around. This is how we find out what's going on."
"Or this is how he tries to kill you."'
"You said yourself he's not armed," Sarah argued. "And if he was here to attack me, I doubt he's going to stop because my lawyer is around. You can't exactly go all vigilante on him while you're not in costume, can you?"
There were a few seconds of silence during which Matt was either thinking or listening to the cop coming closer; she wasn't sure which.
"I don't like it," he said finally.
"Me either. But whatever he's going to say, he's not going to say it in front of you. I need to talk to him if I'm ever going to find out what they're planning."
A loud knock came at the door. Sarah waited for a moment to see if Matt was going to listen to her. With a reluctant frown, he did, disappearing into her darkened bedroom and closing the door behind him.
Sarah nervously opened the front door, where the officer from earlier—the one who had introduced himself as Aaron—smiled brightly in greeting.
"Hi."
"…hi," she said hesitantly.
He seemed to pick up on her suspicion. "I know you're probably surprised to see me here. And I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I just wanted to come in and talk to you for a minute, if that's alright. Off the record."
The situation was so obviously suspect, and had Matt not been in the next room she would have shut the door without another word. But he was, and her curiosity was killing her, so Sarah nodded in agreement, then stepped aside to allow him into the apartment.
"I'm sure you can guess why I'm here," Aaron said once the door was closed behind him.
Sarah shook her head. "No. Not…not really."
"I wanted to talk to you again. About the vigilante."
"I told you guys that I don't know anything about him. I've never even met him," she said. Not true. He's standing in my bedroom right now.
"I understand that. No accusations here. I just want to talk. Maybe let you in on a few things you might not know about him. Can we sit?" Aaron asked, gesturing towards the dining room table.
Sarah shrugged. "Uh…sure, I guess."
They settled into chairs on opposite sides of the small table.
"First of all, I need be honest with you. I'm not one hundred percent unbiased on this," Aaron confessed.
Sarah licked her lips nervously. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. I've had my own run-ins with this guy. Not pleasant ones. You know, my nose didn't always look like this," he said, pointing at his crooked nose with a wry grin. "Got my nose broken in two places, just for doing my job and trying to bring him in one night. My partner got a nasty concussion from that same scuffle; he's lucky he didn't have brain damage, the way Daredevil slammed him into the ground."
Sarah bit back a frown. Matt hadn't mentioned that he'd ever gotten into an altercation with one of the cops interviewing her. Was he hiding it from her, or had he just brawled with so many of them that he didn't recall?
"Your partner seemed fine when he was talking to me yesterday," Sarah said.
Aaron shook his head. "He's not my partner. I'm just assigned to him until my regular partner gets the okay from our medical department to get back on active duty." He leaned closer, as though he was telling her a secret. "You know, some people think that Daredevil only goes after crooked cops. At least, that's how the media painted it after Fisk's guys got caught. But really, he'll go after just about anyone that gets in his way. And as much as you might not want to admit it, if you are mixed up with him…at some point that will include you."
"I'm sure that's true," Sarah said, keeping her voice carefully even. "But I can't think of any reason why he'd ever be mixed up with me. I'm just a secretary."
"Right, of course not," Aaron said quickly, adopting a mollifying tone. "But hypothetically, if you had ever run into him…maybe he's convinced you that he's just trying to help. Trying to do the right thing. But he's not. If he were, he would be a cop. Or a firefighter, or a soldier. Real heroes. Not cowards running around in masks. No matter what he's told you, this man is dangerous. Unstable. Violent."
Sarah couldn't imagine considering Matt of all people a coward, but she also couldn't argue with the last part. He was dangerous, unstable, and violent.
"I know," she said automatically.
Aaron seemed encouraged by her agreement, despite the fact that it didn't divulge anything. Her heart sank, and he leaned forward in his chair almost excitedly.
"If you did have something to tell us…you wouldn't be charged with anything. Any good lawyer would be able to get you a plea bargain in exchange for turning in Daredevil. Who are those ones you have? Nelson and Murdock? They could get you off easy on a case like this."
Somehow Sarah didn't think Matt and Foggy would be much help as her defense lawyers if she were to go to court against Daredevil. Aaron seemed to interpret her doubtful frown as misgivings over her representation.
"Or, I mean, hell, you wouldn't even really need a lawyer. The DA would be that grateful for the information. And if it did go to trial, any judge would understand. If this vigilante threatened you, if he's hurting you…no one can blame you for doing what he says."
"He's not doing any of those things, because I've never met him," she repeated.
"Listen, the bruises that you have? I see injuries like that on women all the time. I know what they mean. You don't get them from a car accident. You get them from someone bigger than you, and angrier than you."
Images of Ronan flashed into her mind, and she swallowed hard.
"Or you get them from a car accident."
"And what borough did you say that car accident happened in again?"
Sarah's stomach twisted. Clearly he was going to check the police records to see if she really had been in a crash.
"I didn't. It was across the bridge," she lied. "In Newark."
She hoped that a fake car accident in a different state would be more difficult to check up on, and from the slightly disappointed look on Aaron's face she assumed she was correct.
Shaking his head, he set a folder down on the table in front of him. She hadn't noticed him holding it before.
"Right. Okay, I think maybe you should take a look at some of these photos. Is that okay?"
Sarah gave a half shrug and Aaron flipped the folder over to show a photo of a man with gauze wrapped around his head who was hooked up to several IVs.
"This guy here? In the hospital bed? He got thrown off a roof by Daredevil. When they brought him into the hospital, he'd been stabbed right here," he said, and tapped his forehead just below his eyebrow. "That's a major nerve. You don't generally hit that by accident. You find it on purpose, when you're trying to make someone suffer."
Sarah tried to keep her face expressionless as she looked down at the photo. Of course, she'd already known about Matt throwing that Russian off the roof. She also knew that the man was involved in a child-trafficking ring. But that didn't meant that the physical evidence of what Matt had done to him didn't make her feel slightly nauseous.
Aaron put another photo down on the table. It was another man in a hospital bed, with both of his arms in casts and several vivid bruises on his face. One eye was swollen shut.
"This one? He said Daredevil broke his left arm and hand in four different places. Then he moved on to the other one. Broke it twice before the guy finally told him whatever it was he wanted to know. He did this just for information."
Sarah grimaced at the photo, forcing herself to keep looking even though she desperately wanted to avert her eyes. But she didn't want to look suspicious, so instead she just looked at the picture and reminded herself that whoever the man was, he had to be someone awful for Matt to have done that to him. He had to be.
Aaron seemed disappointed that the photos weren't having a greater effect on her. He had no idea that her heart was racing and her palms were sweating. He rifled through the photos until he came to one near the back, throwing it down on the table.
"I know you heard about this last one. It's still a topic of debate in the news over who did it: Fisk or Daredevil. But I gotta say, the fact that they found a black mask near the body is pretty damning."
Sarah knew what the photo would be before she saw it. But much like driving past a gruesome car crash, it was difficult not to look. As soon as she did let her gaze fall to the photo, she wished she hadn't. She closed her eyes so she didn't have to look at the bloody, headless body in the picture. It occurred to her briefly that it clearly wasn't a police scene photo like the others, and she wondered how he'd even gotten it.
"Anatoly Ranskahov. Did you know that his head wasn't actually cut off, like the news said? It was smashed to bits. Literally just crushed into nothing with some sort of blunt object. Now, by all accounts, Wilson Fisk is a bad guy, but he's also an awkward loner. Good at planning evil deeds, but nothing anyone has said about him has ever indicated that he'd personally be capable of doing something like this. So I guess the question is, can you think of anyone else who's shown that kind of blind rage, and the physical strength to follow through with it?"
Sarah could think of someone. He was currently standing in her bedroom, listening to this whole conversation. She knew—she was almost certain—that Matt hadn't killed that man. But the lingering, tiny possibility of it made her stomach turn even more.
Aaron watched her closely, waiting for her to—what? Come clean about everything? He closed the folder—to her relief—before leaning forward and speaking earnestly.
"That masked maniac has hurt every person who's gotten in the way of something he wanted. Tortured them, put them in comas. I know that right now it might seem like he's on your side, but the moment that you come between him and his grand goals, the moment he stops seeing you as a friend and starts seeing you as a threat…what do you think will happen to you, Sarah?"
There was a moment's silence as, to her horror, her brain began considering the different possibilities that answered his question.
"I'm—I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head to clear the disturbing thoughts away. "If I could help you, I would. I just…I'm not involved in this. I never was."
Aaron nodded slowly, then sighed and reached inside his jacket. For a split second, Sarah thought maybe he was reaching for his gun, but instead he pulled out a thick envelope and placed it on the table between them, sliding it towards her.
She looked down at it, but didn't pick it up. "What is this?"
"This is the last card I have left to play. It's not strictly condoned by the department, but…sometimes when you're dealing with someone who circumvents the law, you have to take similar action." There was a new shine in Aaron's eyes as he continued speaking, a sort of total confidence that whatever was in that envelope would be the ticket to getting her to talk. "Daredevil has royally pissed off several very influential individuals and organizations in Hell's Kitchen with the damage he's been doing. A few of them have pitched in to offer a very handsome reward for anyone who can provide information that leads to his capture."
Sarah blinked in surprise as she looked from the envelope to Aaron, still not reaching for it.
He nodded his head toward the packet encouragingly. "Go on. Take a look."
She hoped he didn't notice the slight shake in her hands as she slowly picked up the envelope and lifted the flap. There were two thick stack of bills inside, with a band around each of them that clearly marked them as $10,000 each. She looked back up at him speechlessly.
"Now, obviously that's not the entire reward," Aaron hastened, as though twenty grand was a sum that she would scoff at. "That's more of a…motivation. For you to take a day or two, search your memory for any information that might help us. The amount of the actual reward is written on the back of the envelope."
Sarah flipped the envelope over and exhaled sharply at the number written on it. The $20,000 inside the envelope was a small fraction of what was actually being offered. Holy shit.
"The rest would be in cash as well, if that's a concern."
Sarah tore her eyes away from the zeros on the paper and looked back up at Aaron. He had a small, smug smile on his face, like he was certain he had finally convinced her.
"I…" she trailed off, still slightly in shock from the speech he had given her earlier, now amplified by the large sum of money in her hand. "I, um…I don't—"
"Just think about it," he interrupted her, suddenly standing. He clearly wanted to exit the apartment before she could turn down the offer. He withdrew a business card from his jacket pocket, setting it down carefully on the table. "Take the rest of the weekend to mull it over, huh? How about you give me a call or stop by my office by…Monday night?"
He held his hand out for her to shake, and she reluctantly stood up. When she took his hand, he gave her an oddly sympathetic smile.
"You seem like a nice girl who knows how to do the right thing," he said. "I hope to see you in the station because you're collecting your reward on Monday night. Not because you're in handcuffs."
It was painfully clear from his words that those were the only two options.
Sarah stood there in shock as the door closed behind the officer. She looked down at the envelope in her hand, which held the easy ticket out of every problem she had. The figure written on that envelope was big. Enough money for her and her father to completely disappear from Orion's radar, and start a new life somewhere. Somewhere with a job she didn't hate, and no violent coworkers watching her all the time. It could easily buy the highest quality medical care available for her father, plus some.
For a moment, she let her gaze wander around the apartment: the laptop full of confusing and unhelpful medical websites; the stack of overdue utility and medical bills on her counter; the first aid kit that was never meant to be for more than papercuts; the folder full of photos she wished she hadn't seen. And finally: the white and red cane leaning against the wall in the corner, which brought her back to reality.
The floorboard creaked near her bedroom, and she slowly turned to see Matt standing in the doorway, an unreadable look on his face. Her stomach dropped.
Aaron's words returned, unwelcome, to echo in Sarah's head as she and Matt stood silently on opposite ends of the room:
"…the moment that you come between him and something he wants, the moment he stops seeing you as a friend and starts seeing you as a threat…what do you think will happen to you?"
As Sarah and Aaron talked in the living room, Matt remained just out of sight in the bedroom, and the ringing in his ears was getting louder with every word the officer spoke. The cop methodically went through each of the reasons for Sarah to turn Matt in: how dangerous he was, how many crimes he'd committed and people he had hurt. And the worst part was, he was incredibly convincing.
Their voices floated in from the living room, sounding clear as day to him.
"…this man is dangerous. Unstable. Violent."
"I know."
Her heartbeat didn't skip. That was the moment Matt realized how quickly everything was about to come crashing down around him.
He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. When he'd walked her home the other night they had been amiable, even friendly. She'd made him laugh more than once with her quiet, odd sense of humor. But this—this entire situation—was a harsh reminder that they weren't friends. She was just someone he had frightened into working with him, and any temporary easiness between the two of them wasn't enough for her to put her safety and freedom on the line for him. Why would it be?
Whoever had come up with this plan—and Matt sincerely doubted that it was the two cops themselves—was smart, and methodical. Step one had been to scare Sarah into thinking she and her father were both two seconds from being locked up. Step two was to bring up every condemnation that could be leveled against Matt, including a few things that he could tell had deeply unnerved her. And finally, step three had been to offer money—a large amount, he would guess, based on her reaction to it—in exchange for simply giving the police his name. She had every reason in the world to do it.
If Sarah's rapid heartbeat as the cop closed the front door behind him was any indication, she was thinking the same. It only got faster when he stepped out of the bedroom door and into the living room. It took about two seconds of being in the same room with Sarah for it to become obvious that things had changed from the easy camaraderie they'd had earlier. The tension between them now was as bad at it had ever been.
"I guess now we know what he didn't want to say in front of your lawyers," Matt said, unable to keep his mouth from curling bitterly.
"Matt, I…I don't…" she began nervously before trailing off.
Matt slowly moved his way through the room until he was standing on the other side of the dining room table from her. He rested both hands on back of the chair in front of him, drumming his fingers agitatedly. She tensed, and he could sense her watching him closely as she clutched the envelope of money in her hand. Just how much money were they offering her, anyway? The way she had reacted made it seem like it was a lot. What was the price for turning him in?
"How much money is it?" he asked her very softly.
Something about the question—or maybe the tone of his voice—seemed to alarm Sarah, and she didn't answer him. He raised his eyebrows slowly.
"Do you not understand the question?"
"I—I just feel like that's not going to be very helpful as far as, um…keeping calm goes," she stuttered nervously.
She was probably right.
Matt circled around the table towards where she stood with the money, and she quickly started to back away.
"Matt—"
He caught her wrist before she could move out of his reach. Sarah's breathing hitched and she tried to pull away, but he kept a tight hold on her. He held his other hand out expectantly for the envelope.
"Let me see it," he said lowly.
Unsteadily, Sarah handed it to him, and he let go of her wrist. She immediately retreated another few feet, silently watching him as he examined the package.
Concentrating, he ran his fingers over the figure written on the outside of the envelope and was taken aback by just how large the sum was. Frowning, he repeated the action, running his fingers over the ink slower in case he had read the numbers wrong. But they remained the same. Opening the envelope, he thumbed through the two thick stacks of bills inside; they felt like hundreds, and there were a lot of them. Whoever wanted him turned in was willing to invest a lot of money into making sure it happened.
Matt ran his tongue over his lower lip in agitation, remembering the way her heart had flipped when she'd opened the envelope.
"You're thinking of taking it," he said simply.
"I never said that," she argued weakly, but the slight skip in her heartbeat gave her away. She might not have made up her mind, but at the very least she was considering it.
Matt rubbed his mouth and threw the envelope back down. He turned away from Sarah, leaning forward and resting both hands on the table while he took a deep breath to calm himself.
"Can you honestly tell me that you aren't thinking about doing it?" he asked her suddenly. "Turning me in? Can you in all truthfulness tell me, right now, that part of you isn't considering it?"
He sensed her hesitating. She remained silent.
A strong combination of hopelessness, panic, and anger suddenly surged through him, and he lashed out, seizing the mug that was sitting on the table next to his hand and hurling it at the wall, where it exploded into tiny shards.
From behind him, he heard Sarah jump at the loud shattering noise and swear anxiously under her breath.
"Matt, stop it," she said shakily. "I'm not—I didn't—"
"You didn't what, Sarah?" he snapped. "Didn't buy into what he just told you? Didn't already decide what side you're taking?"
"It's not just what he told me, Matt, it's what he showed me. Those photos-" Sarah's voice caught, and she started to backtrack "T-this just happened two seconds ago, I haven't had a chance to even process...I mean, y-you can't just assume what's going to happen—"
She was speaking in half-truths, dancing around the subject in an obvious attempt to keep him calm. He tilted his head, letting out a short, mirthless laugh.
"I think it's pretty clear what's going to happen," he told her. "It should have been clear from the beginning."
Matt had meant that he thought it was clear she was going to turn him in, but as soon as he said the words he could tell by her reaction that she had interpreted it as a threat. He could sense her tense up, knew she was going to try to slip by him before she even moved. Sure enough, she tried to skirt around him, moving surprisingly fast.
Reacting instinctively, Matt quickly sidestepped and caught her loosely around the waist with one arm. Sarah stumbled as he easily maneuvered her backwards a few feet until he had her lightly pressed against the wall. He was careful to avoid exerting any pressure where she was still badly bruised, especially around the cut on her lower back. He kept one hand splayed across her stomach, barely using any force, but keeping her pinned in place all the same. His other hand loosely caught her wrist again, pulling her hand away from where she had flattened it against his chest in a vain attempt to keep him from coming closer, and trapping it against the wall a few inches from her head.
Any more than that wasn't really necessary; he knew full well what effect he was having on her just from what he was already doing, and he was surprised at how uncomfortable it made him. Sarah's heart was thudding so loudly that he could feel it beating throughout her whole body. He'd forgotten how light she was, how small her wrists and waist felt under his hands.
"Matt…" she said anxiously, a pleading tone in her voice. "Don't do this."
He felt a sharp twist of guilt at the sound of her heart racing fearfully in the way that it used to when they first met. He knew part of it was that she'd already been on edge the whole night, even before that cop showed up at her apartment. But part of it was still a lingering fear that he was dangerous, that he was going to hurt her. Definitely not helped by her chat with Officer McDermott earlier. And probably only worsened by the pain that Ronan had so recently inflicted on her. Taking advantage of that fear unsettled him more than he would have expected.
But he didn't have much of a choice, did he? This was it: the big thing Matt had been dreading since the day Sarah found out who he was. Now wasn't the time to be concerned with how she was feeling, not when he had people he cared about to protect.
Matt gripped her wrist tighter, readying himself to exert whatever intimidation and violence it took to keep everything from falling apart.
But the seconds ticked by, and he remained frozen.
There were a lot of questionable things that Matt was capable of. But as he pinned Sarah against the wall, listening to her uneven breathing and racing heartbeat, he was forced to accept the fact that this, apparently, was no longer one of them.
He let go of her abruptly, throwing her slightly off balance as he took a step back and turned away, running a hand through his hair. That was it. The only leverage he had to use against her, and he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Matt swore loudly as he slammed his hand down on the table. Sarah tensed at the outburst, very clearly put on edge by his conflicting actions. She didn't move as he caught his breath, determined to salvage at least part of this mess. He turned back to her, purposefully ignoring the way she shrank back slightly against the wall.
"I…I know you want me to leave," he said quietly, still breathing heavily. "And I will. But I need you to listen to me first, Sarah. Just for two minutes."
A long pause followed his words.
"Or what?" she asked, barely above a whisper at first and then more forcefully, her heart thudding apprehensively as bitterness slipped into her voice. "Are you going to bounce me off the walls, Matt? What happens if I don't listen to you?"
Matt worked his jaw, frustrated by her timing. Of all the times for her to irrationally stand up to him, did she have to pick right now? When he desperately needed her to just listen to what he was saying?
"Nothing," he said finally. "Nothing happens."
She gave a short laugh of disbelief, jittery and nervous sounding. Of course she didn't believe that; why would she? Between what Officer McDermott had told her and the fact that he'd just put his hands on her—again—she was two steps away from panicking. There was no way she was going to listen to him like this.
Matt strode over to the couch, where Sarah had left her purse, and reached inside the bag. He found her stun gun immediately and withdrew it from the purse. Sarah's breathing quickened in alarm at the sight of him holding the weapon.
"What—what are you…what are you doing?" she stammered as she edged further into the corner, away from him.
Did she really think he was going to use it on her? Sarah was half his size; he couldn't think of any situation in which he'd need to resort to using an actual weapon to subdue her.
Matt raised his eyebrows and held the small stun gun up, showing her that his finger was off the switch.
"Catch," he said, then tossed it to her.
Sarah fumbled a bit as she caught it, clearly taken by surprise.
"Now you're armed," he said quietly. "So will you please calm down and listen to me?"
She looked down at the stun gun, and although he couldn't see the expression on her face, he was sure it was a distrustful one; they both knew that if it came down to it, a stun gun wouldn't be much help. Despite the questionable usefulness of the weapon he'd given her, the symbolism of the gesture seemed to do the trick, and she reluctantly nodded.
"Alright."
Matt slowly made his way back across the room, stopping a decent distance away from Sarah. She gripped the stun gun so tightly that he'd be willing to bet her knuckles were turning white.
"I know that you have a lot of reasons to turn me in," he began. "And not a whole lot of reasons not to. I know there's not much I can say to change your mind. But whatever you decide to do, just—please…let me know if I need to get my friends out of town."
"…what?" Sarah sounded completely thrown.
"I've broken the law. A lot. I—I know that. I've hurt a lot of people, including you. And…if you decide to turn me in, I'll stick around and deal with the consequences. I won't come after you. But…but you've met Foggy. And Claire. And they've helped you. They're good people, Sarah, you know that. They haven't done anything wrong, and they don't deserve—" Matt's words caught in his throat and he paused for a few seconds before continuing. "They don't deserve the things that will happen to them if I get arrested."
"And what about me?" she asked in small voice. "And my father? Do we deserve what's going to happen to us when I get arrested?"
"No," he said immediately, shaking his head. "No. That won't happen."
"How do you know that?" she demanded desperately. "You heard those cops. They're dying to throw me in prison and lock my dad away in some shitty facility if I don't cooperate with them."
"We won't let them do that," Matt said adamantly. "All the things they're saying they'll do, they—they're bluffing. Just, trust me—"
"Trust you?" she interrupted him incredulously. "I can't even trust you t-to be in the same room as me without flying off the handle. But you want me to trust you with my whole future? Just like that?"
Matt winced at the truth behind her words. "I know it doesn't make any sense to trust me, but…I'll keep you and your dad out of trouble, I promise."
"You can't promise that," Sarah whispered. "You're a lawyer, not a magician."
Matt instinctively clenched his fists in frustration and Sarah noticed immediately, her heartbeat spiking as she gripped her stun gun tighter. He was losing her. He took a step back, giving her more space and holding his hands open in what he hoped was a non-threatening way.
"Listen. You want to take that money and get your dad out of town, I…I can't really blame you. Officer McDermott made a good case for it. But the things I've done are on me. Not on my friends. He gave you til Monday night. If you make that choice, just give me a phone call, a—a text message. Something. You can do it from the lobby of the precinct if you want to, just…give me that heads up. Please." Matt was unable to keep the pleading tone out of his voice, and he hated it.
Matt listened to Sarah's breathing and the rustle of her hair as she looked from him to the table, where he knew she was probably staring at the photos the cop had left there. She looked back at him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she nodded tightly.
A tiny flash of relief ran through him. At the very least, she was going to give him a heads up if she made that call, so that he could ensure that the blame landed on him and only him—not on any of the people he cared about.
Secure in that small respite, he grabbed his cane from the corner and left her apartment without a word.
As he reached the stairwell at the end of the hall, he heard her lock the door behind him—all three locks—securing the deadbolt with a loud, final sounding click.