He was late. Again. If Foggy hadn't called him when he did, Matt would probably still be sleeping (he wished Foggy really hadn't called him. The abusive father who was under a restraining order breaking in and stealing his son from school had taken until nearly four a.m. to be resolved. Even Daredevil and lawyers needed more than a handful of hours of sleep to be awake enough to handle an entire day of work.

Matt suppressed another yawn and resolved to stop by the new(ish) café which had opened up in their neighbourhood six months ago. It was on the way to the office and he had meant to stop by earlier, but it just somehow had never quite happened between rushing in late and court appointments, trying to get a hold of good quality coffee (or at least better than they could make at the office), was difficult.

The sound of the bell when he opened the door to the coffee shop was jarring and Matt winced at the echoing noise, grumbling under his breath. He tapped out with his stick in front of him, trying to use his senses to map out the new building efficiently when his eyes landed on the barista currently finishing up with the customer in front of him. Matt was still only a step inside the café and the counter was several steps in front of him.

He didn't hesitate. With unusual alacrity, at least for his day persona, he turned around and left promptly, ignoring the happy voice behind him facing out in her greeting of him. He could still hear her, as he walked away, muttering about not having enough accommodations for blind or deaf people and why hadn't that occurred to them before.

Matt's steps were rushed, fumbling, stumbling over potholes and steps he usually would have noticed, rushing to the office. By the time he arrived, out of breath, the door slamming into the wall when he used too much force to open it, alerting both Karen and Foggy to his dishevelled, frantic appearance.

Hands sweaty, stick fallen uselessly on the ground, Matt reached for Foggy like a drunk person, unsure, hands tightening around his friend's collar pulling him closer, eyes wide and panic and elation clamouring for attention inside him.

"Matt! What the-"

"I've been drugged," the blind man interrupted. He was certain of it – not the how or when; he hadn't had breakfast yet and the abusive father had relinquished his son to the Daredevil on sight rather than face him, - a frustrating prospect considering Matt had to track the man through half of New York only to end up right back where he started without even being able to take his frustrations out on the man. Surely any drugs would take effect faster, right?

"Have I got a fever?"

Or maybe that. Maybe he was really unwell – he didn't feel like it, but maybe that, too, was false, his senses scrambled. Karen touched his forehead while Foggy put his mug aside – a splash of chocolate in the coffee, his nose informed him, as he strained to stop himself from recoiling from the close proximity of his friends. Foggy had beans on toast for dinner yesterday and then had drinks at Josie's, clearly, the smoke and alcohol lingering scents on his body. The shirt was the same one he wore on Monday and although well hidden underneath his jacket, it still held the same stain from the Chinese takeout they'd had together for lunch while working through. It hadn't been washed. There was scruff around his neck still, either no shave or a rough one, the bristles scraping against the shirt's collar with every movement of Foggy's neck. The water from the mug – freshly washed before being put in use this morning – was still dripping off the mug. There; another one landed on the floor. No dishwashing liquid when he cleaned, just a rinse, the sharp lemony scent missing in the air. The cleaner still hadn't dusted the lampshades. Karen was again wearing a tight blouse and skirt, the fabric brushing against her skin with every movement, against her bra and panties, and Matt could hear it. He could smell the double dose of perfume she put on this morning, could smell the lingering sexual arousal and fresh scent of her shampoo and shower gel which told him that Karen had likely masturbated in the shower before coming into work today. He could smell on her breath her toothpaste brand and the oatmeal she'd had for breakfast with fresh fruit – defrosted raspberries and apple.

Matt's senses therefore didn't appear to be affected. So how?

"Who drugged you?" Karen asked, her voice high pitched, concerned, her hand resting softly on his upper arm.

"What were you drugged with," Foggy corrected the question sharply, and Matt could smell the rising adrenaline, could hear Foggy clench his hand, needing to help, to take action. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"I-" Matt paused. Did he? He didn't know. "I don't know," the blind lawyer finally confessed, hesitantly. He could feel the way both exchanged a look over his shoulder and barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He may be blind but he wasn't that blind.

"I am experiencing…" Ah, how to phrase this right. Well… "visual hallucinations."

He could practically hear Foggy's frown.

"Hallucinations? Boy, those must be some good drugs," Foggy's body was relaxing more, fists unclenching, clearly not taking the matter seriously.

Matt exhaled sharply.

"Foggy," he said curtly and felt the other man snap to attention at the tone of his voice, "I am blind. And I am seeing visual hallucinations."

"You can see?" Karen's voice was reedy, her hands starting to sweat, palms flattening over her clothes as if to create a good impression.

This time, Matt didn't hold back, ripping his glasses off and throwing them carelessly to the side, hearing them ping against his walking stack before falling to the ground beside it. He rolled his eyes.

"No," he corrected impatiently, "I am still blind." He gestured artlessly to his eyes to demonstrate his point, but turned away from her to Foggy, his friend, a man he trusted to understand, to help him, especially when he was floundering.

"What did you see, then?"

Well, that was the question, wasn't it. Because Matt hadn't seen the blue sky or green grass, not the stars, not the grey tarmac or cars rushing by.

"You know that café, the new one?"

"Marauders Den?" Karen asked, finally having stopped with her fidgeting, and Matt barely stopped himself from cutting her down again about his lack of sight, remembering the soft, gentle, warm voice who had said "Welcome to the Marauder's Den" just as he had turned around and walked away.

"Yes," he affirmed, "that one." With that confirmation he turned back to where Foggy was in front of him, leaving Karen at his right, knowing he should treat her better but she was new and he trusted Foggy as he did so few in his life.

"I … there was a girl – a woman – behind the counter." Even just the recall upset him and Matt found his hands shaking as he reached out and held himself up on the corner of the desk before finally just allowing his body to sink into the chair they had put aside for waiting clients. He could still feel the adrenaline rushing through him, his own heartbeat, could feel the sweat gathering at his brow and in his hand, the shock setting in and his palms growing colder. He was feeling faint but he could recall every minuscule detail of the woman he had seen, the first person he had lain eyes on in two decades through senses other than smell, touch or hearing.

Foggy stayed quiet but knelt down beside him, hand supportively on his knees.

Matt was still baffled by the hallucination; if he were to imagine the perfect woman, she would have likely looked different – more curvy, less thin and taller for one. And yet he had not seen a more perfect being in his entire life. Her eyes alone were vibrant enough he would find the grass in Central Park fading into grey by comparison. And there had not been a single tinge of red on her – around her, yes – the surroundings, the other people, but she was carved out of black darkness, as if nothing dared exist around her – or touch her.

"I – she was lightly tanned, as if fresh from summer," it was midwinter now, "she had scars on her hand, right here," he tapped the back of his right hand gently, "like someone carved into her. Words, I think, but I could only see part of it at my angle – it said 'I mu' and 'tell'. Her hair was black and messy – not quite straight, not quite curls. In a pony tail with a red hairband. Her uniform was black with a logo where her collarbone is with a wolf, dog and stag in golden colours. The apron was off-white colour and had remnants of the dough and cocoa as well splashes of syrup, milk and coffee on it. She had the greenest eyes I've ever seen behind round black-framed glasses. There were tiny freckles of her cheekbones," Matt continued, ignoring the glances his friends gave each other with the ease of practice as he recalled a face he'd only seen for a second and yet memorised instantly.

"Like tiny constellations. Her nose was small but tipped upwards slightly. It's been broken before. Her mouth is small but curved perfectly," for kissing, his inner voice said, and Matt barely stopped himself from saying it out loud, "white perfectly straight teeth, and two small gold studs in her ears. She's got another scar here," Matt continued, tapping the edge of his neck, "it likely continues underneath her shirt."

She'd worn long sleeves, so there wasn't must else he could say about her, hidden as she was behind the counter.

"She was about five foot four in height. Too thin – her cheekbones were too stark and her wrists too thin." Still, likely around a B-cup in breast size, but he didn't add that.

A small pause.

"I think that's everything."

"I- really, Matt? Really? That's everything?" Foggy snorted. "I don't think I could describe my Mum in that much detail, never mind some random barista."

"That's what I'm telling you, Foggy! I can't see. I don't know if we have blue sky or clouds," although he could definitely tell by the smell in the air that aside from the smog, there was definitely rain coming in about an hour or two, more likely snow given the cold temperatures. "I don't know what colour your eyes are or Karen's. I don't know what colour this desk or this chair," he tapped them for emphasis.

"But I could see her. It has to be a hallucination!"

"Can blind people have visual hallucinations?" Foggy asked, surprised, and Matt scoffed.

"How would I know? All I'm saying is I had one."

"Well, is she here now?"

Matt frowned.

"Why would she be here now? She's probably back at the café, still serving customers. I can't imagine her shift ending this early."

Foggy sighed as if Matt was the one hard of understanding, both of them ignoring Karen's tentative clearing of her throat.

"Because a hallucination would be where you can see her, wouldn't she?"

And Matt frowned because, well, that was a good point.

"I- No, she isn't here," he finally confirms after a quick glance around.

"That's probably because she actually is at the Marauder's Den," Karen says softly, interrupting Foggy before he could say anything.

"What do you mean?" Foggy asks, "Are you saying you think it's a real person?" He sounds almost mocking and Karen flushes – Matt can tell be her blood pumping and the heat emanating from her face, but he can't tell if it's from anger or embarrassment.

"No," she says sharply, and there it is – anger, clearly, at being spoken down to. Fair enough, Matt concedes, although he wonders where she is going with this.

"I know she is," Karen asserts and both Matt and Foggy pause momentarily as reality tries to reassert itself.

But… she can't be real. Matt can't see. He's come to terms with it over the last two decades, even if he does mourn it, even if he hates looking at the world like he's in hell already, flames everywhere. But seeing one person among a million, the only thing, the only person, he can see, that makes no sense.

"Her name's Meissa. She works in alternating shifts morning and afternoons. I've seen her a few times at the café and she looks just like you described her."

There's a bit of jealousy in her tone, which Matt proceeds to ignore. If you pretend it isn't there, you don't have to acknowledge or address it, he's sure. And Foggy is interested in Karen and he has no intention of rocking the boat or causing Karen to leave.

But, more importantly, if Karen has seen her that means she's a real person.

"She smelt like honeysuckle, flour and sweets," Matt admits. It wasn't just a visual hallucination – a full talking, scented, see-able hallucination. He hadn't wanted to include it, because if he could perceive her with more than just his eyes, it would make her more real – which she apparently was. Matt tried, and failed, for the umpteenth time in a row to wrap his head around there being one person in the world, at least as far as he knew, that he could see. It wasn't like his ability had gradually returned, before or after he sighted her, it was like she was just the one person plopped fully-formed into his world. Should he be trying to find another blind person, drag them into the shop and see if they, too, could see her?

Matt sighed again and sank his head down into his hands. Sometime between the time Foggy woke him up by calling his phone and his arrival in the office, the world had ceased to make sense.

Foggy was standing up now, walking around assertively.

"Alright, we have no cases, the office is closed for today. We're going to investigate the Marauder's Den and this Meissa."

"WHAT?" Karen asked sharply and Matt echoed her weakly, hands grasping for the desk beside him as he levered himself up, looking in Foggy's direction.

"Yes," his friend confirmed, cheer in his voice and a bounce in his step, laughter ringing in his voice. If there was anyone in the world he could see, Matt really wished it was Foggy, his best friend for years and years now, not some – albeit pretty – stranger in a coffeeshop. He heard Foggy throw his coffee down the drain and pass Karen her jacket. He heard Karen's raised hearbeat, her hands pausing and hesitant as she put her coat on and then Foggy pressed his walking stick into Matt's right hand and put the glasses back on his face. Matt grumbled and straightened the glasses but obediently led the way out of the office, Karen and Foggy a step behind him.

He had to admit, he was curious now if it was a one-off or if he would still be able to see her and if there was anyone else or anything else he could see.

Tracing back the route he took from this morning went much smoother, now that he relied on his senses again, using the regular tapping noise to explain how he noticed irregularities in the pavement, how he evaded the people passing him by and he only hesitated a moment at the doorstep before entering the café again, his friends so close behind him that Foggy bumped into him slightly as he entered.

So Matt entered, stumbling slightly, and his eyes were once again fastened onto the person? Hallucination? Behind the counter. The one he could still (again?) see.

"Welcome to- Oh, you're back. I'm afraid we have ordered several menus in braille but they are still on order. In the meantime, I would be happy to read the menu out to you- I mean, if your friends aren't already doing that," the woman was flustered, Matt could tell, the more her babbling continued. No- more than he could tell, he could see the blush colouring her cheeks, the faint rose colour at the top of her cheekbones darkening steadily the more she rambled on. It was cute. It was endearing. He wanted to see more – he wanted to see everything.

There was a slight dimple, visible as her lips tugged upward slightly when she realised all three people in front of her were focussed entirely on her. Adorable, Matt thought, and wondered if that was because he could see it or if it would be the same if he could only feel it. When his girlfriends – or one-night-stands had allowed him to feel their faces, they had kept still mostly, but one or two had had dimples. Had they looked like this? So mischievous, so happy?

"Sorry, let me start again. Welcome to the Marauder's Den. My name is Meissa and I will be your barista for today. Please feel free to choose from the menu or I would be happy to read the menu out to you or make suggestions."

He needed to know more, hear her more, look at her more without disconcerting her. For once Matt was glad the dark glasses hid his eyes so she would not see them unerringly focused on her in the way a blind person was unlikely to stare.

"If it's no bother, then could you please read the menu out to me?" Matt found himself asking, his friends patiently waiting behind him – or not so patiently, as he could hear them fidgeting, but they were out of the morning rush and there was time and with the office closed, Matt would not be rushed. Not in this. He wanted to savour every moment, every second, where even if he saw nothing else, he could see.

He watched her lips move and shape around each letter, saw her self-consciousness in the way she clasped her right hand around her left, as if to still it, to stop errant movement, in the way the blush was still high on her cheeks. He noted how tense her shoulders were and wished she would relax – he could feel it, hear it, but he wanted to see what she would look like, relaxed. What would she look like with her hair flowing openly? Would it fall straighter under its own weight or curl more, defiant of gravity?

The words had passed him by completely and he only realised she stopped when Foggy not-so-subtly elbowed him in the ribs and Matt jumped slightly.

"I- sorry, I mean, what would you recommend? Do you have a special? I'll have the special," Matt quickly said, voice strained, as he tried to compensate for the faux-pas where she could obviously tell he hadn't been listening to a single word she said. One of his main senses, and he had forgone it entirely, too focused on the way her chest rose with every breath she took, the way her clothes shifted and darkened as the sunlight and clouds changed the shadows darkening her outfit.

It- She was so fascinating. Matt had no doubt that any person would be this fascinating if they were the only thing one could see, but he still could not tear his eyes away from her. He watched as Foggy said something – probably a jab at Matt for his inattention – watched the way her nose crinkled slightly when she laughed and watched her hands and body move as she operated first the till then the machinery. He couldn't see the mugs or machines, but he could see her deftly moving between them, her hands gripping and releasing, fastening and adjusting and he wanted to stay here for the rest of the day, just staring, but Foggy could obviously tell and disapproved, pulling him towards the seats and away from the counter – from her.

"C'mmon Matt, it's not like she's going to poison them. Let's have a seat."

Matt followed unwillingly but he knew that standing and staring was beyond creepy and he had no intention of alienating the one person he could see.

Karen let out an excited noise the moment they sat down, heartbeat rapid and blood rushing, her hands fidgeting as she leaned over the table to whisper to them.

"Soulmates, it's like you're soulmates!"

Foggy and Matt scoffed simultaneously.

They'd had to accept aliens and superpowers into their worldview, but soulmates? That was just nonsense.

Karen, obviously displeased by their easy dismissal, leant back on the bench she was seated on. "Well then, if you're so sure, why don't you explain how a blind guy can see one girl in the whole world," her tone was derisive as if they were the ones coming up with nonsensical romantic fairytales to explain a very real phenomenon. But both Matt and Foggy floundered with their end of the deal – how do you explain something so inexplicable? The chemicals had blinded Matt. His pupils didn't react to light. He should not be receiving signals to see her – nothing for his brain to turn upside down or interpret. Except that he obviously could see one person.

"We don't know that she's the only one in the world," Matt defended weakly and even Foggy laughed at that. Fair.

Before they could continue, he watched as Meissa came out from behind the counter and towards them with a tray with three drinks and several pastries.

"Thank you," Matt said, eyes still trained on her behind his glasses. He ignored the fact that his eyes hadn't left her one, not even at Karen's ridiculous assertion.

It felt like a miracle… Maybe he should be headed to church for confession soon, although he didn't doubt that the Father would tell him it was a miracle and to hold onto it (her).

"You're welcome," she said, granting him another bright smile as she finished dispensing the food and drinks on her plate to them. Matt presumed Foggy or Karen had paid at some point in the interim as his attention was rather singularly focussed at present.

And then she left to go behind the counter and tidy up and he followed her with his eyes, despite knowing that he really should stop staring before she started feeling uncomfortable.

"Maybe she's a demon here to present temptation?" Matt posed rhetorically, the words that the Murdock's had the devil inside them echoing in his mind as his thoughts had turned to church.

He could feel Foggy's surprise.

"So she's temptation for you, is she?" His tone was sly, teasing but Matt didn't engage as he usually did.

"I can see her," he shrugged as if that was enough explanation. It was – it should be, but he found himself continuing, nevertheless. "She's not ideal or perfect, but she is pretty and cute. And I want to see more – she's all I can see and I don't want to let her out of my sight."

Because out of her sight there was only hellfire around him. She was salvation and temptation, she was heaven and temptress, all in one.

"Yes, I get that, Matt," Foggy reassures him, tone serious, "but how can you see her?"

Matt shrugged, just as uncertain. Unfortunately getting – and paying for – a Doctor's appointment would be a while off yet as the meagre earnings they made had to be divided for three people and cover their rent and groceries along with the office's and office expenses. Quite some time, the way business was going.

Matt took a sip of his coffee, wondering faintly what the special he had ordered actually was only to be happily surprised at the cinnamon hot chocolate he held in his hand, with only the faintest hint of java for flavouring in the background and providing a slight wake-up kick without being overwhelming. Well, that was certainly not what he had expected – but somehow just perfect. Soothing and sugary enough after the lack of breakfast, his exertions as Daredevil yesterday and the shock he'd gone through earlier. It was calming and tasted like Christmas. He felt an unwitting smile pull at his lips as he watched Meissa take another couple's order, movements fluid and smile wide and welcoming.

He added perfect barista in his mental list of things he had discerned or knew about Meissa. As Daredevil he hated mysteries – it usually meant more injuries, more time spent and less victims to rescue and often more injured victims while he spent time tying to solve the mystery and find them. But this one? This one didn't seem so bad. He would enjoy unravelling Meissa inch by inch.