Hi, friends! Tomorrow is the big day! I'm sure you guys all saw the third and final trailer they just released, plus the Daredevil/Punisher Featurette. A lot of you have been asking if I'll be incorporating any elements of Season 2 into this story. I don't have any current plans to do so, but we'll see once I watch it. My fingers are triple crossed that the entire season isn't taken up by all of the mystic ninja stuff they keep putting in the trailers, because I really love how Daredevil deals with the more realistic kind of crime that most major cities face, as opposed to vast armies with magical powers. There is very little chance any of that will be making appearance in this story. The characters of Elektra and the Punisher, though, maybe.

This chapter is a bit shorter than the last few, and noticeably more light-hearted. Partially because I was on a time-crunch to get this last chapter out before taking a brief break from the story (only a few weeks) and partially because the last few chapters have been very heavy, and I wanted to leave you guys on a lighter note before Season 2 begins and hits us all with a bunch of actual canon angst. So this chapter is mostly various short scenes of different characters chatting with each other, which to be honest is kind of my favorite thing to write. We'll get back to the plot-heavy stuff next time!

Chapter Twenty: Preparing

The first thing Sarah's mind registered as she woke up was that her sheets felt significantly softer than usual.

Not thinking much of it, she lazily stretched out under the covers with a low whine, keeping her eyes closed as she wondered how much more time she had before her phone's alarm clock went off. She ran a hand through her tangled hair before finally opening her eyes—where she was met with the jarring sight of an unfamiliar ceiling.

Sarah sat up with a jolt before her still half-asleep mind caught up with where she was. She squinted at the nightstand, where she could see a Bible and a small white pyramid that, according to its label, was a talking alarm clock. Between that and the sheets, there was little question as to whose bedroom she was in. She groaned and leaned her head against her knees as she realized that—on top of having an embarrassing breakdown—she must have fallen asleep at Matt's place last night. Actually, she corrected herself, she had fallen asleep on Matt's couch. So how was it that she had woken up in his bed?

She checked the time on her cell phone, which had been placed on the nightstand next to her; it was still early, which gave her plenty of time to go home for a shower and change of clothes before work. She slipped out from between the covers, automatically smoothing them down again behind her before quietly padding over to the bedroom door and peering out into the living room.

Her eyes immediately landed on a familiar vigilante stretched out on the couch. He had a blanket thrown over him and his arm was curled under the pillow he was using. Sarah shook her head ruefully at the sight; she could never quite call when he would do something as oddly old-fashioned as ensuring he took the couch instead of her.

She began to quietly make her way over to where her shoes were sitting near the arm chair, but her attempts at stealth were interrupted by the loud, harsh ringtone of her morning alarm. It went off for a few long seconds before she managed to fumble with the lock screen and turn the alarm off.

"Your ringtone is horrible," came a low, scratchy voice from the direction of the couch.

Sarah jumped, glancing over at Matt guiltily. He was still stretched out on his back, but his unfocused eyes were open and directed up at the ceiling.

"I sleep right through all of the quieter ones," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sorry I woke you up."

"It's alright. I had to get up soon anyway," he said, sounding deeply unenthusiastic about the prospect.

"You don't sound very happy about it."

"M'not much of a morning person," he mumbled, sitting up with a low groan. Sarah cracked a small smile at the sight of his hair sticking up in odd directions.

"That's weird. It's not like you stay out every night until the crack of dawn or anything," she pointed out lightly as she slipped her shoes on.

Matt's chuckle was still gravelly from sleep. "No arguments here."

She couldn't help but think that sleeping on the couch surely couldn't have helped make the early morning wake-up more bearable. "I didn't…mean to fall asleep here last night. I was just going to close my eyes for a minute while you were on the phone with Foggy. You could have woken me up."

"Why would I do that?" Matt asked with a yawn.

Sarah caught sight her bag sitting under the side table next to the couch, and skirted around the coffee table to grab it. As she leaned down to pick up the bag, Matt shifted a little to sit up straighter, though his legs remained stretched out across the couch. The blanket slipped away from his upper body, and a barely perceptible wince crossed his face as he reached for the sweatshirt that was slung over the top of the couch. As he zipped the sweatshirt up, a dark, painful looking bruise covering the skin of his torso caught Sarah's eye. It looked to be brand new from the vivid coloring, and it was large, spreading across his sternum and out of view behind his partially-zipped sweatshirt.

"Did you go out last night?" she asked, caught off guard by the sight.

"For a bit. I was going to stay in, but it was still early, and there was a weapons shipment coming in that I wanted to intercept. Gun runners aren't, ah…the most agreeable bunch."

"Who would have guessed," Sarah muttered as she lowered herself onto the edge of the couch next to him and automatically reached out to brush the edge of his sweatshirt aside to get a better look. Up close she could see that the area was raised and swollen.

"Christ, Matt," she said softly.

Matt was very still as she traced the edge of the massive bruise in concern, almost as though he were caught off guard by the contact. Sarah was careful to keep her fingers from brushing against the actual inflamed skin, which she assumed was probably painful to the touch. After a few moments, he seemed to snap out of the stillness. He reached up and loosely caught her hand, curling his fingers around hers and gently guiding her hand away from the bruised area and back down to the couch.

"It's fine," he reassured her softly with an unconcerned half-shrug. "It's healing."

Sarah frowned at the practiced nonchalance in his voice; it reminded her of the not-quite-genuine smile he'd given the waitress the night before.

"Has anyone ever told you that your Daredevil outfit could stand to be a little…sturdier?"

The question elicited a rueful chuckle from Matt. "A few people, actually. I'm working on it. The person I had hoped to get an upgrade from went underground for a bit until everything with Fisk is officially done, but…I've heard rumors that he might be coming back to town soon."

As she glanced up from the bruise on his chest to look at his face, she caught sight of another, smaller bruise near the top of his forehead, as dark as the other one but just barely visible beneath his hairline.

"Did you take a hit to the head, too?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. Sarah opened her mouth, but before she could say anything he raised his eyebrows in warning. "I swear if you ask me about the continents, I'm going to toss you off the roof."

She let out a surprised laugh at the threat, which between the grouchy tone and his disheveled appearance was far from intimidating.

"Really not a morning person," she noted, eliciting another quiet chuckle from the vigilante. "I'll remember that for future reference. I was just going to ask if your brain is still all in one piece."

"As much as it's ever been," he said before slowly sitting up fully and putting his feet on the ground, uncurling his fingers from where they had still been hooked with hers. "I'll be better after coffee. You have time for me to make you some?"

Sarah glanced down at the time on her phone as Matt stood up; it was still early. "Coffee would be very helpful."

She let her gaze wander around the apartment while Matt messed with the coffee maker, trying to keep her thoughts from drifting to the previous night's events too often. After a few minutes, he returned to the living room with two mugs in his hands, offering one to her.

"Thanks," she murmured as she accepted the drink.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," Matt said as he lowered himself down to sit on the couch next to her.

"Right," Sarah said as she recalled the last of their conversation the night before. He had said they had more to talk about, but then she'd fallen asleep. "What's up?"

Matt was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts before he began speaking, which Sarah was slowly beginning to suspect was some sort of ingrained lawyer habit, as it almost always proceeded an attempt to convince her of something.

"You mentioned on the phone last night that you didn't want to go home."

That was true. But now, in the daylight, with the sounds of the city waking up around them, that fear seemed irrational and childish.

"Oh, yeah," she said, then shook her head as she tried to explain without sounding like a head-case. "I was just being...I don't know. I mean, I have like, a million locks on my door, and it's not like either of those guys actually managed to get through them. Sometimes I just get weird about being alone, I guess."

The silence that followed her ramble made her instantly self-conscious, though she couldn't tell from Matt's expression if he was listening to her heartbeat or if he was simply considering what she had said.

"If you don't want to be alone…you know that you can stay here. With me," he said, his tone hesitant but surprisingly genuine. "I don't think it will be long before we manage to track Ronan down, but until that happens…I can't say that I like the idea of you being alone in your apartment any more than you do."

Sarah's mouth fell open slightly before she abruptly shut it. An offer to come stay with him had been the last thing she had been expecting. And to be honest, it was a fairly tempting offer. As explosive and unpredictable as Matt could be, there was no doubt in her mind that he was completely on her side now, temper problems and all. And while barely-contained violence wasn't a trait she had particularly sought out in her friends in the past, it was a strangely comforting one now that she found herself constantly encountering violent people who were decidedly not on her side. But at the same time, she couldn't let Ronan be the one to dictate whether or not she could stay in her own home. And Matt had an entire city that needed looking after; she didn't want to distract him from that.

"Matt…" she began, and from the way his expression closed off slightly she could see that he knew what her answer was going to be. "I don't…I don't think I can do that."

"I...can't blame you if you don't feel comfortable staying with me," he said. "But I did promise you that I would keep you safe. And you'd definitely be safer staying here than at your place."

"It has nothing to do with whether or not I feel comfortable, Matt. I know your apartment is safer than mine is right now."

"Then stay here," he said simply. "Where I can protect you."

She shook her head, looking down at the coffee in her hand. "And what about the rest of the time? When I'm coming and going from work, or stopping at the grocery store? Or going to visit my dad, or—or hanging out with Lauren? Or anything else that involves being in public? I can't let Ronan set the terms for where I go or what I do, Matt. And…running away from my own apartment is the first step towards doing that."

Sarah had gotten much better at reading Matt's face, but for the life of her she could figure out what he was thinking as he sat facing her with his brow furrowed, as though he were contemplating something.

"No response," she pointed out, brushing her hair out of her face tiredly. "You think I'm being dumb."

"That's not the word I was thinking of," he said simply, offering no further explanation for his frustratingly vague statement, as usual.

"You...don't look thrilled, though."

Matt was clearly struggling to resist taking his usual route of bossing her around, which she appreciated, though she wasn't sure how long it would last. "I'm not. But...at the end of the day, it's your choice, not mine. The offer stays on the table, though. If you change your mind."

She gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Matt."

He just nodded, still looking dissatisfied with her decision. It occurred to Sarah that now might be a good time to bring up a question she had been meaning to ask him since last night.

"If you're that worried about me being safe, I was thinking that maybe...soon you could start showing me some of the self-defense you were talking about? Like…this weekend soon, maybe?"

"I was thinking the same thing. You sure you don't want to wait until your foot heals?"

Sarah shrugged. "For all I know, by the time my foot heals, there will be something else. I'd like to go ahead and start learning, if only so I…I can feel like I'm actually doing something. Not just having panic attacks and avoiding phone calls."

"This weekend, then," he agreed.

"Not in the morning, though," she suggested with a grin. "Maybe some time of day when you're less grouchy."

Matt gave her a dirty look as he plucked the empty coffee mug from her hands and stood up. "Don't you have a job to get to?"

Sarah checked the time on her phone again. "Ooh, actually, yes. It's later than I thought."

She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then lingered for a moment at the divider between Matt's front hall and his living room. Matt was in the kitchen, setting the dirty dishes in his sink. He looked up when she spoke again.

"Hey, um..." Sarah suddenly had a number of things she wanted to say to him. She wanted to make sure he knew that he appreciated his offer, and that she was sorry that he gave up his bed for her last night even though he was injured. And she wanted to tell him just how much he had helped her the night before, and how much the idea of learning to defend herself was going to help her get through the rest of the week. But it was just too many things to express, and she couldn't find the right words. "Nevermind. I'll see you later, okay?"

Matt frowned at her strange behavior, but didn't address it. "Yeah. Be careful."

As Sarah hurried down the stairwell and out of the building, she didn't notice a familiar shaggy-haired blond man in a business suit a few feet down the sidewalk, blending in with the rest of the morning commuters on his way to surprise his law partner with bagels. But if the almost comical look of surprise and exasperation on his face was any indication, he had most definitely noticed her.

A few minutes later, Matt picked up on the sound of a familiar set of footsteps ascending the stairwell towards his apartment, and he internally groaned at Foggy's horrible sense of timing. Matt's apartment was on Foggy's way to work, and he occasionally dropped by before work to bring breakfast. But on this particular day, Matt wished hadn't. There was so little time between Sarah leaving and Foggy arriving that there was no way they didn't cross paths as she left his apartment building, clearly wearing clothes from the day before.

Sure enough, when Matt opened the door he was immediately greeted by a wave of palpable exasperation from his friend.

"Hi, Foggy," Matt casually greeted the man as he went ahead and entered the apartment. "What are you doing here so early?"

"I had a coupon for the bagel place," he said, tossing the bag on the kitchen counter before turning to face his friend. "You know, when I said you needed to get laid, sleeping with Sarah was so not what I had in mind."

Matt let out a groan at his friend's deadpan tone. "Foggy, I'm not—"

"Nope, let me get this out, because I totally saw this one coming," Foggy insisted.

"You…did?" Matt said doubtfully, holding off on correcting him until Foggy elaborated on what that meant.

"You bet your black-pajama-clad ass I did," he said. Matt was unfortunately familiar with the mixture of amusement and frustration that colored his friend's voice; it was a tone that he'd heard many times after getting involved with the wrong girl. "You always try to keep your hook ups under the radar, but this time there were definite signs. The two of you cozying up in the police station when she got arrested, for example."

Matt raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "What, when she was having a panic attack? What was I supposed to do, let her hyperventilate right in the interrogation room?"

"Of course not. I'm just saying, Mr. Radson was freaking out last week when he got arrested for breaking and entering, and I didn't see you scooting your chair all close to him and wrapping him up in your jacket," Foggy pointed out, reaching into the bag and fishing out a bagel.

"Mr. Radson is a six-foot-five construction worker, Foggy; I don't think my jacket would fit around him."

"Irrelevant. Exhibit number two—"

"—are we in court right now?—"

"—exhibit number two: that day I went to visit her after she got hurt and she answered the door wearing your Columbia sweatshirt."

"I—she what?" Matt said, faltering for a second before shaking his head and continuing. "Borrowing a sweatshirt because your clothing is covered in blood is not a sign of romance, Foggy. In fact, I think it might be the opposite."

"Yeah, but snuggling up in it after the fact? Questionable. Number three—"

Foggy was coming close to making just a bit too much sense, and Matt finally decided that it was time to cut him off.

"Nothing happened, Foggy," he said firmly. "She fell asleep here, and I slept on the couch."

There was a short silence during which he could tell Foggy was eying him suspiciously, trying to ascertain if he was lying.

"You're sure?"

"Pretty positive," Matt said dryly. "I'm blind, but I think I would have noticed that."

"Oh. Well…that's probably good," Foggy said, sounding relieved. "Because I really like Sarah, but that would be...kind of messed up, to be honest. I mean, good on you two for moving past how you used to be, but still. The only person you could date who would make your life more complicated than her would maybe be Wilson Fisk himself."

Matt was more than aware that, given their history and the precarious power balance between the two of them, anything beyond friendship with Sarah was out of the question—so he wasn't sure why hearing it coming from Foggy was strangely painful.

"Well, you have nothing to worry about," Matt said, keeping his expression carefully neutral as he leaned around the other man to grab a bagel from the bag. "Sarah is just a friend. She just stayed here last night because she was afraid. And she didn't want to be alone."

Foggy faltered slightly, picking up on the seriousness that had crept into his friend's tone. Matt had told him only in very vague terms what was going on with Ronan. Sarah could sometimes be painfully tight-lipped about her personal life, and as a private person himself, Matt assumed that she wouldn't want him sharing every detail of the Ronan ordeal with Foggy. She barely seemed comfortable with the idea of him knowing. But he'd told Foggy enough that he understood the gravity of the situation, and he could hear concern replace the teasing in Foggy's voice when he next spoke.

"What happened?"

"We ran into Ronan," Matt said darkly. "It didn't go great."

"You didn't pulverize that guy?"

"Unfortunately, no. I was…dressed down," he said carefully, making a split-second decision to not mention the fact that they had been out to dinner in a non-spying capacity. Foggy didn't seem to notice. "I'll be more prepared next time he shows up."

"And what if…you're not around next time he pops up?"

Matt worked his jaw unhappily. "I might not be. That's why I'm going to start teaching her a few techniques so that she can defend herself better."

"Really?" Foggy asked. "I'm kind of surprised she would go for that. I always got kind of a…passive vibe from her."

"She's pretty adept at hitting people with household objects, so…I'm just hoping to channel that into something a little more structured." Matt set his mostly uneaten bagel down—whoever had baked it had been wearing a lot of strong smelling lotion, and the taste was still stuck to the bread. It had coated his mouth after the first couple of bites. "So, did you come here solely with the purpose of eating bagels and interrogating me about Sarah?"

"Sadly, no. I actually came to talk about money," Foggy said. "We really need to go over some of our client's bills when we get to the office and figure out which ones we can actually, you know…ask for some payment soon. As much as I like the idea of us being the go-to-do-gooder lawyers of Hell's Kitchen…our finances are not looking great. Maybe we shouldn't be so eager to embrace the whole 'pay-us-when-you-can' reputation."

Matt sighed deeply. "Yeah, I've…I've been thinking about that, too. That one kind of got away from us, didn't it? We'll look through the cases and figure it out."

"Good plan. Now go get dressed, you look like a bum. Did you not get your beauty sleep last night?"

Foggy loitered around the living room while Matt got dressed for work, then he grabbed the bag of bagels and followed the other lawyer out the front door.

"So…training sessions, huh?" Foggy said as they came to the bottom of the stairwell.

"Basic self-defense lessons," Matt protested.

"I don't know…kind of sounds like an excuse to get all sweaty and handsy, in my opinion." Clearly he hadn't been entirely successful in convincing Foggy that there was nothing between him and Sarah.

"You know, I'm not the shameless deviant you try to paint me as, Foggy."

"I'm just saying, it seems suspicious. I mean, you've never offered to train me."

"I'd gladly show you how to take a punch right now," Matt said lightly as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"You couldn't handle these fisticuffs of fury, Murdock."

"I believe it," Matt said with a laugh before reaching his hand out to take the crook of Foggy's arm, which was already extended, as always.

Later that day, a shadow fell over Sarah's desk, and she looked up to see Jason looking down at her thoughtfully.

"Have I ever told you that I'm a bit of onomastician?" he said.

Sarah stared at him. "Um…I'm sorry, you're a what?"

"An onomastician," Jason repeated, enunciating the syllables more clearly. "One who studies the origins of names."

"Oh. No, I don't—I don't think you ever mentioned that," she said uncertainly. The topic was a bit left-field even for Jason, who seemed to be in a notably good mood today.

"It's a fascinating subject. Do you know the history behind your own name, Sarah?" he asked, and when she silently shook her head he continued. "It means 'Princess.' Isn't that interesting? But if you look back a little bit further, it originally came from the Biblical name 'Sarai', which meant 'quarrelsome'. Supposedly, God changed it once she and her husband were given a new purpose in life."

"I…didn't know that," Sarah said slowly, not sure what he wanted her to get out of this particular bit of trivia.

"Quarrelsome has inherently negative connotations, wouldn't you say? So to be given the opportunity to transcend from 'disagreeable' to 'royalty' is a pretty big step up. That's an amazing transformation."

And in this scenario, God is…you? Sarah wondered, completely lost on the point of his lecture. She didn't have the opportunity to ask for clarification, however, as they were interrupted by his phone loudly buzzing. Jason quickly read whatever text had just come through and sighed dramatically.

"Never off the clock, huh?" he asked her amiably. Sometimes she wondered if he just stocked up on phrases he had heard on television, because there was such a strange and jarring difference between his canned responses to certain situations and his unsettling intensity over seemingly meaningless trivia.

"Right, of course," she said, trying to sound enthusiastic, though she estimated that she was failing miserably.

"Listen, I haven't forgotten that I promised you we would finish that conversation we were having yesterday. Monday, we're going out to lunch on the company's tab, alright? There's someone I want you to meet who might join us if they're free."

If Sarah had been thrown by the name conversation, she was twice as confused by this new invitation. But she just smiled blandly at Jason, wondering if her own fake expression looked anything like the fixed grin he always wore on his face.

"Sounds…great. Thanks, Jason."

As Jason disappeared into the stairwell, Sarah immediately let the false smile fall from her face. Whoever Jason wanted her to meet at lunch, she was nearly positive they weren't going to be anyone who would make her life any easier.

"We've been here for half an hour, and so far we've gotten twice as many toys as we have supplies for your baby shower."

It was Saturday morning, and Sarah and Lauren were wandering around the aisles of a large Babies R' Us in Union Square. They had come with the intention of picking out decorations and paper supplies for the shower, but Lauren had quickly gotten derailed looking at stuffed animals and teething rings.

"Yeah, but this little octopus makes different sounds for each tentacle," Lauren said, pressing various parts of the small toy to make it light up and play music.

"Fine, we'll get the octopus because it's reasonably adorable," Sarah conceded. "And then we need to find…" she glanced down at the list in her hand. "Paper plates, napkins, streamers…basically everything on the list, actually."

"We'll get to it, don't worry."

"Aren't I supposed to be the one buying this stuff, anyway? I think planning the shower usually entails paying for the decorations and whatnot."

"Normally, but I have expensive tastes, Sarah," Lauren said as she tossed the tiny octopus in the cart. "I want the fanciest paper plates that Babies R' Us offers, and it wouldn't be fair for me to expect you to pay for that. Besides, you did all the planning. This is the easy part."

Sarah had a sneaking suspicion it had less to do with 'expensive tastes' and more to do with her recent exposure to Sarah's truly dire financial status. As much as it rubbed her the wrong way to let Lauren pay for part of her own baby shower—Sarah had insisted on still paying for the food and drinks, and of course finding a location—she had to admit that it would have been very difficult to find room in her budget for a party right now.

They strolled down the aisle in silence for a while, looking through baby items to add to the already expansive collection Lauren had stocked away for her unborn daughter.

"I think you should buy a gun," Lauren said, seemingly out of nowhere.

Sarah threw her a strange look. "Um…I don't think they sell those here."

"Not right now. I mean in general. Given some of the things going on that we talked about earlier," Lauren said meaningfully. "Maybe you should have a gun in the house, considering the James Bond twist your life has taken lately."

The topic they had discussed earlier had, of course, been Ronan. Sarah had filled Lauren in on the two men that came to her apartment, and while she couldn't exactly tell Lauren the specifics of her run-in with Ronan, she had given her a heads up that he had surprised her in public once, and that it was possible he might do it again. It was part of the reason they had agreed to meet at this particular store, which was outside of Ronan's usual lurking perimeter. And Sarah had been extra careful to take an extremely convoluted way getting there, just in case.

"I'm not buying a gun, Lauren." Sarah shook her head, wondering if her friend had officially lost it.

"Why not? You can keep it under your bed, and then next time someone crazy shows up at your door, you can—you know—greet 'em with an ole 747," Lauren said, making finger guns and aiming them at a nearby mobile that was dangling tiny pastel ducklings.

"A 747 is an airplane."

"Oh. Well, to be fair, being greeted with an airplane would also be intimidating. Maybe more so than a gun."

"That's true. If a 747 goes on sale and you can manage to fit one in my apartment, I'll take it. But I'm not buying a gun."

Lauren exhaled dramatically in exasperation. "So, what, you're just relying on luck and staplers to stay alive?"

"No," Sarah protested, though she had to admit Lauren wasn't actually that far off from the truth. "First of all, it's not like there's a crazy army of people trying to hurt me or anything. There's one guy, and he's not very good at it."

"You literally told me that he has the cops working for him, Sarah. Don't try to downplay this," Lauren said threateningly, emphasizing her words by gesturing with the large stuffed giraffe she had picked up to inspect. Sarah reached out and plucked it from her hand before she could knock anything over.

"I said he has a couple of cops working with him, not the entire force," Sarah argued, then looked down at the giraffe in her hand. "This is cute," she noted, throwing it into the cart. "And anyway, I'm—I'm working on the whole defense thing, kind of."

"How? Are you taking a class? I tried about a million times to get you to take a kickboxing class with me, and you always said no."

"You only wanted to take that class because you thought it would get you into bed with the instructor," Sarah shot back.

"A plan that totally worked, I might add," Lauren said, holding her hand up for a high five, which Sarah begrudgingly had to return—the kickboxing instructor had been insanely hot. "So, are you taking a class? Are you trying to sleep with your instructor?" she asked excitedly.

"No," Sarah said quickly, not wanting to put that idea into Lauren's head. "No, no. Definitely not. My plan is more along the lines of just trying not to get my head knocked off. So, no."

Lauren raised her eyebrows at Sarah's answer.

"That's a lot of 'no's. Who's teaching y—" her words cut off abruptly as she let her mouth fall open. "Daredevil?" Lauren exclaimed, a bit too loudly for Sarah's liking.

Sarah immediately elbowed her friend in the arm, glancing around the immediate area before sending her a dirty look. "Can you keep your voice down?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lauren said, looking around the empty aisle. The store had only been open for about an hour, and there were very few people there yet. "Who do you think is listening? The baby?"

"She could be. She has ears by now, right?"

"She's due in like two weeks, Sarah. I hope she has ears. And don't change the subject," Lauren said, before lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "Are you seriously telling me that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen is teaching you some of his tricks?"

"I'm not learning his tricks," Sarah protested. "He's not a magician. He's just showing me some basic self-defense. Like, punching bags and stuff, I don't know."

"That is crazy. Who even are you?" Lauren asked in wonder. "I remember when you wouldn't even go zip lining with me because you thought it sounded too scary, and now you're going to go all Million Dollar Baby with someone who's pretty widely considered to be one of the most dangerous people in Hell's Kitchen."

"He's not…I mean, he is. Dangerous." Sarah sighed and tried to figure out her wording. "But not to me."

Anymore, she added mentally.

"Well, apparently, if he's dropping down on rooftops saving you from psychos. You know, if I hadn't seen him in your apartment with my own eyes, I would absolutely not believe any of this."

"Good. That's a good thing. Let's hope everyone else thinks it's unbelievable too," Sarah said. "Anyway. I'm not totally sold on the idea that I'll actually be able to do any of the stuff he wants to show me, but...I figure it's worth a try."

"Well, maybe you'll have fun with it."

"Fun?"

"Yeah, fun," Lauren repeated. "You might remember the concept. Is that a thing you guys ever do in the middle of all this high-intensity spying? Have fun?"

Sarah tilted her head as she thought about it. She genuinely liked spending time with Matt—at least, when there wasn't a ton of blood involved—and he made her laugh pretty often, but she wasn't sure fun was the right word. Fun was reserved for things like riding roller coasters or swimming in the ocean; not for whatever strange feeling of peace she sometimes found with the vigilante. The closest they had come to fun would probably have been that night at the diner, and even that had ended in a decidedly not fun way.

"I…wouldn't describe him as fun, I don't think," Sarah said slowly. "He's more kind of...broody? Like if a Radiohead song became a person."

"Well," Lauren said in wheedling tone that Sarah recognized well, and which immediately made her suspicious. "If you think maybe you could use some fun back in your life—and, let's be honest, you definitely could—Greg has been talking about this guy he works with who just broke up with his girlfriend, and he's looking to be set up with beautiful single women. And I thought to myself, who is the beautiful-est, single-est woman I know?"

"Neither of those are words, and you have to be kidding me. I'm not going out on a date with anyone right now," Sarah said incredulously.

"Why not?" Lauren grabbed a stack of sparkly pink paper plates and threw them in the cart. "It's something normal people do, and you keep talking about wanting your life to be normal again."

"Why not? Really? I currently have a stalker, as you might remember from our conversation all of two minutes ago."

"Well, that's true," Lauren said. "But from the sound of it, you and Leonard there are close to finding him and getting him put in prison. And then you have no reason not to go out on a few dates."

Sarah didn't mention the fact that if Matt were to run into Ronan, it would much more likely end in an extended hospital stay than a prison sentence for the latter.

"Yeah, because my current work situation isn't dangerous or anything, either," she said.

"You can't just put your whole life on hold because of your job, Sarah," Lauren said,more serious now. "A little casual dating might be good for you. To give you more to look forward to than going to work every day and hanging out with my pregnant ass."

Sarah chewed her lip as she considered it. "Ugh. I'll think about it. But right now the possibility of the answer being no is about…ninety percent."

Lauren beamed at her. "I've seen you change your mind on crazier things before."

When Matt knocked on her front door later that night, Sarah was still getting ready. They were supposed to have their first training session today, but she had inadvertently stayed out with Lauren longer than intended, and upon returning home she had found that she couldn't remember where she'd put her workout clothes during her organizing spree. She had finally procured some yoga pants that she hadn't worn in a year or two, along with an old tank top, which she was currently changing into.

"Hold on," she called out.

Tugging the tank top down as she crossed the living room, Sarah made sure to peer through the peep hole in the door to make sure it was actually Matt on the other side. Sure enough, through the distorted glass she could make out the sight of the tall blind man, wearing sweatpants and a slightly ratty sleeveless shirt, his white cane in one hand and a gym bag in the other.

She undid the multiple locks on the door and opened it. "Hey. Come in. I'm, um…almost ready."

This was true, save for the fact that she had no idea where her sneakers were. She knew they were somewhere in her bedroom, but beyond that it was a bit of a lost cause. She heard Matt leaning his cane against the wall and setting his gym bag on the floor before he followed her into her room.

"Lose something?"

"Um…everything, it seems like," she muttered, biting her thumb nail and rotating slowly in a circle as she looked around the room. "I organized my apartment and now I don't know where anything is."

Her eyes landed on the top shelf of her closet. It seemed like the next likely choice.
Stretching up onto her tip-toes, Sarah grasped for the shoes but couldn't quite reach the back of the shelf where she was sure she'd pushed them. She let out a frustrated huff and stretched her arm up farther.

"You want some help?" Matt offered from the other side of the room, where he was lazily leaning against the door frame. She could hear in his voice that he was laughing at her even before she glanced over her shoulder for confirmation.

"No," she said stubbornly. On the floor of her closet there was a plastic bin full of old books she hadn't had space for on her bookshelf, and she hopped up onto it cautiously, making sure it was sturdy. The flimsy plastic lid made an groaning noise of protest, but didn't crack.

Sarah balanced precariously on it as she used the extra height to rummage around on the top shelf of her closet, coming across lots of old sweaters, music books, a well-used tuning kit, extra light bulbs, a few pairs of flip flops—but no sneakers. She huffed in annoyance and shifted her weight so that she could reach further down the shelf. The movement made the plastic bin creak ominously.

"That doesn't seem especially stable."

"It's fine," she insisted.

"If you fall and hurt yourself, that doesn't mean you get out of coming to the boxing gym with me," he said dryly.

She glared at him, but it wasn't as satisfying knowing that he couldn't see it. Instead, she settled for chucking a flip flop at his head. To her dismay, he ducked a few inches to the left, dodging it easily. She shook her head at the smirk on his face before turning back to the task at hand.

After another minute of rummaging through the junk that lived at the top of her closet, Sarah finally spotted her worn out sneakers sitting on top of a folded sweater. She reached out and grabbed them, accidentally pulling the sweater away with them. There was a quiet clattering noise as an object rolled out from under where the sweater had been: it was the tranquilizer dart she had stolen the night of the kidnapping at Orion. She'd almost forgotten it was there.

"What's up?" Matt asked when she stilled. Sarah moved the sweater over so that it was covering the dart gun once more.

"Nothing," she said distractedly. "Found my sneakers."

She hopped down from the bin and slipped one of the sneakers on. The other one took a minute longer to put on, as she had to be careful of the bandage and stitches that still adorned her foot. Tying her hair up into a ponytail, she grabbed her bag and turned to Matt, who was still leaning against the wall.

"Okay. So, where are we going to do this?"

Fogwell's Boxing Gym was old and kind of smelled like Sarah's high school gymnasium. The walls were lined with yellowing posters advertising boxing matches from years ago, and the entire place had a decidedly old-fashioned feel to it. From the moment Matt stepped foot inside, he looked like he belonged there, and Sarah wondered how long he had been coming here after hours, like the two of them were doing tonight.

Matt had given her a quick run down of the proper stance for the punch he was showing her, demonstrating on the bag a few times before stepping aside and letting her practice it herself. Unfortunately, it seemed like she would be needing a lot of practice.

For the dozenth time that night, Sarah swung her right fist out and hit the bag as hard as she could, and it swung a couple of inches, just as it had the last couple of times she tried. Matt shook his head, unsatisfied with either her efforts or the results-she wasn't sure which.

"You're push-punching, and you need to be snap-punching," Matt said after about twenty minutes of practice.

"What does that even mean?" she said, throwing a frustrated look at him where he stood next to the bag.

"The difference between someone being able to hit you back easily or not. It's a pretty good bet that whoever you're trying to hit is going to be bigger than you," Matt said. "So your goal should be to hit them with as much force as you can without lingering. You want to snap your hand back into your territory and out of theirs."

That made sense in theory, but she still wasn't sure how she was supposed to apply it to what she was doing.

"Here," he said, stepping closer to the bag and nodding at her to step back away from it. "Watch the difference, and listen for the noise. This is a push-punch." He punched the bag, creating a loud thudding noise as his fist made a deep indent on the surface of the bag before he drew his hand away. The bag swung wildly on its rope and he brought it back to a stationary position. "This is a snap-punch." There was a loud smack as he hit the bag quickly and powerfully, causing it to jump but not swing before snapping his hand back into position.

"Wait, so you don't want the bag to swing?" Sarah clarified. "Because I've seen boxing movies, and the bag is always swinging all over the place."

"If you're just practicing to keep in shape, or to vent some steam, sure," Matt said, and Sarah couldn't help but think that he probably came here to vent steam pretty often. "For technique purposes, no. If you're hitting the bag as though it's an opponent, you want it to stay still. If the person you're hitting is moving in the same direction as the blow, they're not absorbing as much of the damage."

Sarah nodded, trying to keep this information in her head along with all of the other tips and instructions he had given her since they'd left the apartment. She had assumed this was something he took seriously-he fought people every night, after all-but she hadn't realized he would take training her so seriously.

"Okay," she said with a nod, and he stepped away from the bag so she could take his spot. She stepped forward, and he shook his head.

"Stay far enough away from the bag so that you can't make contact unless you rotate your whole body into the punch. Then you won't forget to do it."

"I don't really...get what you mean by that," she said hesitantly. "The whole rotating my body thing. Won't that throw me off balance?"

Matt shook his head again. "I get what you're asking, but if you do it right it should have the opposite effect. Your alignment is a little off, though."

Sarah wanted to ask what exactly was supposed to be aligned, but she was pretty sure he had already told her and she had just forgotten.

"Right," she said, readjusting her stance into what she thought was possibly a better one. She glanced up at Matt, who just tilted his head.

"Now your feet are wrong."

She exhaled and closed her eyes, feeling stupid that she couldn't even get the standing part of fighting right-how was she supposed to get the actual hitting people part right?

"I know it's a lot to keep track of," Matt said quietly, and she opened her eyes to look over at him. "You'll get the hang of it."

"We'll see," she muttered doubtfully. "I feel like I'm trying to keep it all straight in my head and I'm forgetting all of it."

Matt seemed to consider this for a few moments. "You're right. It's easier to learn it if you don't think about it so much. We'll try it a different way." He circled around until he was standing right behind her. "Go ahead and get into the stance you think is right. Don't overthink it."

Slightly thrown off by the fact that she couldn't see him, she arranged herself into what she hoped was something close to the correct stance.

Matt reached out and put a hand on each of her arms, moving them just slightly until they were in the desired position.

"Your arms are mostly in the right place, just keep your elbows more like this," he said, then let his hands drop away. "Make sure you're keeping your left hand up in front of your face if you're striking with your right hand."

Sarah nodded. "Okay."

"Alright? Keep them where I just put them. You want your feet to be shoulder width apart, not just wide set," he said, gently kicking her feet a few inches farther apart. "Where you position your feet is almost more important that what you do with your hands. They keep your balance, and a lot of the power for your right hook is going to come from turning on your right foot."

She jumped just slightly as she felt his one of his hands on her right shoulder and the other on her left hip. "When you punch, your whole body should turn into it. Your shoulder should move like this," he said, pushing her shoulder far forward. "And your hip like this." He pushed back against her left hip, causing most of her weight to shift onto her right foot. Surprisingly, he was right-she didn't feel like she would lose balance.

"If you're moving your shoulder forward, you don't need to extend your arm so much. Overextending just tires you out and puts you into their territory," he said, sliding his hand from her shoulder down to her forearm, where he bent her arm out to a much smaller angle than she had been before returning it to its original stance. "Try not to go farther than that."

Matt stepped back, leaving her just as overwhelmed as she had felt a few minutes prior, though this time not so much by information. Sarah hoped he wouldn't call her out on the way her pulse had quickened slightly from his proximity-whether from nerves or something else, she wasn't sure.

"Alright. Try again."

Sarah took a deep breath and hit the bag, putting her weight on her right foot and turning her body with the punch. The bag jumped just slightly, but didn't swing. When she glanced over at Matt, he was grinning.

"Good. Go again."

About forty-five minutes later, Matt put his hand out to steady the bag in place and jerked his head towards the raised boxing ring in the center of the room.

"Alright. Ready to try out some things you can use with a real person?"

"What—now? Already?" she panted. She had only just started to get the hang of hitting the bag.

"Yeah. We'll do more with the punching bag next time. Right now, I want to make sure you know how to get away from an attacker more than I care about making you an attacker."

"Oh," she said, feeling slightly nervous again. "I was kind of thinking I would just be deal with, um...inanimate objects for a while."

"The bag is to help you get better at technique and strength, but the majority of the time you'll be sparring with me," he explained. "Learning to hit properly is important, but for someone your size and height, it's pretty likely that whoever you're fighting will be stronger than you. So it's more important to know where on their body you should hit them to do the most damage. That is, in the event that you can't simply get away from them, which is what I want to show you how to do right now."

Matt grabbed the ropes surrounding the old boxing ring, using them as leverage to swing himself up onto the platform. Then he turned back to Sarah expectantly.

"Come on."

"You know, maybe I'll just…stick with the bag for a while?" she suggested.

"Get in the ring, Sarah."

"I like the punching bag," she insisted half-heartedly, already aware that she was losing the argument. "I know that when I hit it, it isn't going to hit me back."

"Neither am I," he said, then thought about it for a second. "Not at this point, at least."

His words were less than comforting, and Sarah gave him a skeptical look. He pulled the ropes up with one hand for her to duck under them, extending the other hand down for her to take.

"Trust me."

Sarah heaved a deep sigh, shaking her head as she placed her hand in his. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

Matt grinned at her, that rare flash of a full smile, before easily pulling her up and into the ring.

I didn't even leave you guys with a cliffhanger, unless you count waiting for the second half of their training session. The drama and angst will return, but I figured we'd all have enough on our plates with how dark Season 2 looks. Enjoy your binge watching, friends! (PS: Kindly refrain from mentioning any major Season 2 spoilers in your reviews for this chapter and the next one, in case anyone is reading the reviews who hasn't finished the season yet.)