"Be careful," Jessica says, handing him a folder. She's unusually grim. Matt wonders if it's the rain outside or the case getting to them all.
"What is it?" Matt asks her, spreading a hand over the folder's cover. He doesn't dare open it. He's not afraid to, just...cautious. It feels like a bomb waiting to explode.
"The last piece to your puzzle," Jessica says, which doesn't help at all. "The last thing you need for the case." This makes more sense. Even though Jessica has now worked with them on multiple cases, she does not need to specify which one.
"Are you sure?" Matt asks her anyways.
She scoffs. "Do you really need to ask?"
"Thank you," he says. "Hope you're getting better at throwing punches." He's been teaching her. He might not be able to see but he damn well knows how to throw a good punch.
"Sure," she says noncommittally. "Be careful," she repeats. The evidence in this folder will help them take down Fisk once and for all (in court at the very least). It'll put a target on their backs, not that there isn't one already.
"We'll be careful," he tells her. "We'll try."
Foggy and Karen do not celebrate with him when they hear the news and see the latest piece of evidence. They will not jinx it. They'll celebrate when it's all over, if it ever will be.
(Matt doesn't know it yet, but Fisk will haunt them for a very long time.)
They file the paperwork, gather the few witnesses they have, talk with Fisk's lawyers, and set a court date. They prepare and prepare for what they've been planning for months. They act and they don't stop, won't stop until the deed is done.
They have a job to do. Right now, this case consumes the vast majority of Matt's life.
Father Lantom tells him that this is maybe a bad thing, that the stress is getting to Matt, that he should probably take a little break. After all, even God rested on the seventh day of creation. "I'll rest when it's finished," Matt tells him, determined. "God only rested after the Creation was done."
Lantom ultimately concedes, agreeing that Fisk must be put in prison for what he's done. He's just worried for him. "Don't be," Matt tells him, though his conviction has weakened. "I'll be safe. I'll be careful."
Matt is going over his opening statement while walking back to his apartment the evening before the trial, making sure to take a different route than usual and stay near groups of people, when he hears the footsteps behind him.
Unlike with the groups he's passed, all bantering or celebrating or teasing one another, these footsteps are loud, harsh. The people they belong to are not trying to hide.
Or maybe that's just Matt's paranoia.
Nevertheless, he walks faster to catch up to the group of college students in front of him. When he bumps into one of them, he apologizes profusely and rattles off the address of Nelson and Murdock, asking them if they could please direct him towards the place.
They are kind, these college students, not drunk or looking to party. They take one look at his cane, or so Matt assumes, before offering to walk him there themselves. It's nighttime, they say, it's not safe out here alone. They do not say that it's unsafe for a blind man in particular to be out at this time of night, and for that Matt is utterly grateful. He almost regrets bringing them into this.
They take only a few steps before the sound of a gun cocking causes all of them to stop. A few of them gasp, the others tensing up. Matt does not need to see the gun to know it is there. He has heard the sound it makes in his dreams, has imagined his father falling to the ground with a hole in his head and red everywhere, everywhere.
He does not need to imagine it now.
"Run along if you wanna keep your lives," the man holding the gun says. The others do, trying to drag Matt along with them. "The blind one stays," the man says.
They hesitate, hands still wrapped protectively around Matt's shoulders, his arms. They do not want to leave him, Matt realizes. He never expected this of them. He doesn't want them to get hurt. "Go," he says, quietly, and they do. After all, what else can they do?
Hopefully, they'll call the police once they're out of sight. Matt has a feeling he's not gonna get out of this unharmed.
But the students, they had hesitated at first. They'd wanted to save Matt. That is enough. There's still so much good in this world; he must remember this.
"What do you want?" he asks. "I'm sure we could come to an arrangement." Somehow, he doubts that.
"Mr. Fisk would like you to reconsider your stance for his trial tomorrow," another man says, from behind him. Matt whirls around just enough so that his back is not to any of them.
"You can tell him that Nelson and Murdock will not be reconsidering our stance for the trial," Matt says. "Fisk and his lawyers can argue his case in court tomorrow." Truthfully, Matt wants to tell him to stuff it where the sun doesn't shine, but it probably wouldn't be good to say that to the guy holding a gun.
"Mr. Fisk would highly suggest that you reconsider," a third man says, from directly in front of him. Matt steps back a little, expecting a wall, only to knock into a fourth man. Really, how many guys do they need to intimidate a blind lawyer? Matt would be flattered by the attention if he wasn't, well, in danger.
"I reiterate," Matt grits out, "that we will not be reconsidering." Good will come out of this; he must remember.
"If you insist," the fourth man says. Really, had they rehearsed this or something? Everyone gets a line? "Mr. Fisk sends his regards."
Matt is prepared for them to leave right then and there. He is prepared to continue home and immediately call Foggy and Karen to check if they're okay, then call Jessica to check if she's okay, then have a panic attack once he's finally alone.
He is not at all prepared for the sharp pain of a jab at his back, and-
And-
And suddenly he's jerking, falling to the ground, his muscles spasming uncontrollably. He tries to gasp, but can't seem to get a full breath in. His teeth clack and his head knocks against the ground as he twitches on his side. A taser. He's never imagined a taser before. He never had to. His dad wasn't killed by one.
It smells like copper, but a burning metallic copper, not like the blood pooling in his mouth from his bitten tongue. He's never felt this helpless in a long time. (He must remember.) He can't speak, can't throw a punch, can't totally accidentally trip an asshole with his foot or his cane, can't-
He-
Blacks out.
Fortunately, I have never been electrocuted. Unfortunately, this meant that I went through like 20 different fanfics from various fandoms trying to figure out how to describe being tased or electrocuted by looking at how other writers described it. In the process, I learned that 'Darcy Lewis's Taser' is indeed a tag on AO3, and have decided not to question it.