A/N: Thanks so much for your interest in this, especially for the reviews. Good or bad, they help motivate me and move things along. I truly hope you enjoy; I know I'm enjoying reading the great work in this fandom!

Chapter 2

The beeping roused him from fitful but dreamless sleep. Or maybe it was the sweet ocean filling his mouth, or the sandpaper of the industrially cleaned gown and sheets scraping across his skin if he moved a millimeter in any direction. God, that was worse than the pain in his leg. Except there really wasn't pain in his leg. Oh God. They'd cut off his leg. He struggled to sit. Iron-like hands stopped him and pushed him back against the concrete of the pillow beneath his head. He blinked, startled and disoriented but decidedly more clear-headed than he expected to be following surgery.

"Hold still." He knew the voice but didn't know it.

"Where am I?" he croaked through the salt desiccating his oral mucosa and thickening his tongue.

"Recovery."

The new nurse Claire sent. Right. "My leg doesn't hurt."

"Nerve block. You'll thank me later."

He needed more information. "I don't feel drugged."

"I just used some Propofol during the case and then the block. It will last for a few more hours, and then we can discuss what you want to do about the pain after that."

He inched up on his elbows. "You're staying?"

"No. You're going." He blinked again against the fire that was now encroaching at the periphery and then filling out his vision. "The least amount of time you're here the fewer questions to answer later."

Matt listened now, taking stock of the room. Two heartbeats. They could talk openly. "Foggy can't do this alone. And he has to go to the office at some time. We have clients."

"I know. We'll get you home, and I'll stay for a while. At least until Claire gets back. Then we can work out a schedule until you've figured out the mobility part."

"What did you tell them here about me?" Wherever 'here' was. "About the questions we don't want to answer, I mean."

"That you are a friend of Claire's who doesn't have health insurance and couldn't afford an ambulance and ER and all that stuff."

"And they didn't give me a Medicaid application or call adult protective services? I mean, I am blind, and it looks like I got the shit beat out of me."

"You did get the shit beat out of you. And by the looks of things, it's not an unusual occurrence." She didn't wait for him to respond to that before she kept going. "I told them you had your own business and didn't qualify for assistance. Jim knows about discretion. How do you think he keeps a place like this running?"

"VIPs?" He wasn't sure what type of surgery they did here, but plastic probably paid well.

"VRPs." Matt expression remained blank so she clarified. "Very rich people who don't want everybody else knowing their business. Maybe even some of the same ones you've cut down to size." She paused, then mused. "Hm. You two may actually be sort of in business together."

He hadn't regained quickness of thought to consider those implications. He started with the basics. "I don't know your name."

"Do you want to?"

"If you want to tell me. I know Claire must have shared some things with you." She snorted a laugh. Matt felt his heart rate speed up before he heard the increased frequency of beeping from the monitor attached to him by sticky electrodes. His face flushed with warmth, unnerved that his own move had just become his tell. "Okay, so a lot of things."

"Sorry. But yeah. We're close, and she does tend to recount her conquests."

"Now you tell me," he muttered, as he heard himself being relegated to Claire's 'conquest.'

"I'm Elizabeth." She placed her left hand in his right and he squeezed in lieu of a real handshake.

"Matthew, or Matt, but you know that."

"I know more about Matt than the other guy."

Matt sank back onto the rock they called a pillow here. "Seems he's out of commission for a while."

She shrugged as she stopped the drip infusing into the IV taped to the back of his right hand, thus decreasing the saline flooding his taste buds. "Maybe that's a good thing." He started to protest, but she kept talking. "For you, I mean. Maybe it'll give you some time to think things over going forward."

He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping he'd successfully hidden the painful wince at the pulling of the stitches on his left flank with that movement. "I don't need to think things over."

"Clearly. As running around in the dark beating on God knows what has been such a positive life choice for you."

He changed the subject. "You were calmer than Claire was the first time."

She shrugged. She clearly wasn't worried about visual cues. She and Claire had definitely talked. About him. "I had more warning. I knew to some extent what to expect. You didn't just plop yourself into my dumpster."

"It was more than that." Something else niggled in his mind regarding their earlier conversation. "You did the anesthesia." A more descriptive verb escaped him.

She busied herself with removing IV and applying a dressing to the back of his hand. "Someone had to. It seemed like the fewer folks we had in on this, the better."

He nodded. "You're not a nurse."

"No." She stood to check the pulse in his left foot once she'd finished with the hand. "And I'm afraid you'll be missing Claire when you realize how much of a nurse I'm not."

"Are you an anesthesiologist?" He couldn't imagine an anesthesiologist wielding a bedpan.

"No. I'm ER doctor. I work with Claire in the Emergency Department."

"Who's Jim?"

"Do you really need to know?"

Matt shrugged. "I guess not."

Elizabeth sighed. "He's an orthopedic surgeon. And my former fiancé."

"Left it on good terms then, did ya?"

"Not particularly."

Matt measured his next words carefully, the mirth in this exchange suddenly dispensed with. "Well, thanks for calling him."

Elizabeth nodded. They really didn't need to go there tonight. Or this morning. Or whatever time it was now. "Foggy should be back soon. We're jacking a wheelchair, a walker and some crutches and getting the hell out of Dodge."

Matt leaned forward again. "I'm good." Fire burned through his left flank again, stealing his breath and thus his ability to breathe through that wave of pain. He fell backwards onto the bed.

Elizabeth shook her head again. "There are no meds on board. It's not gonna be pretty."

"I'll live," he grunted.

"Yeah, I've figured that out about you by now."

"Can I have some water?"

She reached for the pitcher and cup beside his bed. She deployed the straw and held it for him. He sucked down about half of the water. She pulled the cup away. "Little sips."

"I'm parched."

"It'll come back up. Anesthesia is notorious for nausea. And I didn't give you any Zofran before the IV came out."

He didn't want to puke again, so he conceded. "Okay."

Before he had a chance for a second sip, Foggy burst through the door. He glanced expectantly at Elizabeth, who directed him to a fully conscious Matt.

"Hey, buddy. You doing okay?" Foggy inquired as he took the seat beside the bed Elizabeth had vacated a few moments earlier.

"Yeah, Foggy. I'm fine. Listen, I'm sorry." Foggy tried to silence him with a series of arm movements and shushing, but Matt was undeterred. "I should have listened earlier."

"Next time, maybe?" Foggy hoped. "You ready to get out of here?"

"How are we going to get into my place?"

"There's a service elevator we can use. I talked to your landlord just now. You've got a key and everything."

"Oh."

"I have your clothes, too. I know you can't stand that gown for very long."

"Thanks."

Elizabeth headed toward the door. "I'll give you guys a minute."

Foggy helped Matt sit up with only minimal agony this time. Once the zippered hoodie was wrapped around him, Matt collapsed back on the bed again. Foggy wielded the pants without Matt's help, tugging them over the hips with a dramatic "oof." He looked up at his best friend, nearly passed out on the bed despite, or maybe because of, the wardrobe gymnastics.

"Thanks, Foggy," Matt murmured, his eyes blinking into sleep.

"Not yet, buddy. We have to get out of here. The blue bloods are on their way in for fat sucking or whatever. We gotta exit. Stage whichever is closer to your place. Right, maybe?" He pulled Matt back into a sitting position and carefully pivoted his legs off of the bed, glancing up to watch Matt's face as he did so.

Matt kept his eyes low, embarrassed almost. "It's all still numb. It's not hurting me, but I can't help you."

Foggy placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Let me then, okay?" Matt paused for what felt like a week before he finally nodded, almost imperceptibly, but Foggy would take it. He moved close, and Matt wrapped his arms around Foggy's neck so the bigger man could move him into the waiting wheelchair. As he stood behind to grab the handles, Foggy leaned down against Matt's dark head as he placed the dark glasses in his friend's outstretched hand. "Let's get you home now."

TBC