Matt is busy floating in his not self-imposed darkness when the door slams open, or rather, crashes open.
He winces, lifting his heavy eyelids but only managing to do so partway. He tries to lift his head too but is unable to do so. It lolls backwards, resting on the back of the chair and straining his neck. His wrists and ankles are still tied. Nothing really aches too much. Everything's just too far away.
"What now?" he asks, annoyed, but it comes out slurred. Huh. Maybe he's even more hurt than he had thought. Despite that, he kinda wants to return to the inky darkness. At least it had been smooth, and peaceful. Is he making sense right now? He might not be. He actually feels kinda drunk.
"Let's go. We don't have much time," a voice says. It's not Fisk's, but it is familiar. Matt can't place it.
Hands scrabble at his wrists. "No," he says, trying to move away, but then the cuffs snap. What is going on? His ankles are freed next, and he just sits there, blinking slowly up at what he assumes to be the ceiling. Well, it could be the sky. He wants to see the sky. He hasn't seen it in so long. The stars and the sun and the moon and the clouds and the trees and the city buildings and Foggy's face and—
Oh.
He decides not to think about it.
"Come on," the voice hisses, grabbing his right arm.
The appendage lights up in pain. He bites back a scream. "Stop. Stop stop stop," he says, voice raw. The person immediately lets go, and Matt lets out a shaky breath. He can't give his opening statement with a sore throat. He's letting Foggy down, he can't jeopardize the case, everyone's worked so hard, and he...missed the trial.
Right.
He wants to go home.
"Lemme go," he says to the person holding him hostage. "Please."
"Well, that's the idea," she says. "I'm getting you out of here." Matt furrows his brows. Why would Fisk let him go?
"Come on, Murdock. Where are you not hurt?" She grabs onto his other arm and hauls him up to standing. His feet scramble for balance and suddenly he's leaning against someone much slimmer and shorter than Fisk.
His brain feels like fog, but he's pretty sure...
"Jess?" he asks as they begin to walk somewhere. Home, hopefully.
"The one and only," Jessica Jones says. "Nice to see you alive."
Matt snorts. "Dunno about that. Can't see."
"And back with the blind jokes. You'll be fine, Matt."
Matt frowns, coughs. Blood dribbles down his chin. "Will I be?"
Jessica curses, and immediately swings him up into her arms so that his head is leant against her shoulder. Matt groans, trying to process everything but failing.
"Where's everyone?" he asks. The last time he'd tried to escape...
"Knocked them out on the way over," Jessica says breezily. She's running, or maybe flying, it feels like. He wants to breathe in the fresh air.
"Foggy and Karen?" he asks. Please let them be okay, he prays absently.
"They're safe," Jessica confirms. "It's just you who's hurt."
"Hmm," Matt says. "Really?"
"Really."
"I'm hurt?"
"Uh...yeah, you're pretty hurt. You should see yourself right now."
Matt smiles a ghost of a smile. "Can't really...see myself right now, or ever."
"Walked right into that one, didn't I?" Jessica says, but fondness curls at the edges of her words.
Matt briefly wonders what world he's entered if he can call Jessica Jones, asshole extraordinaire, fond. He feels almost like he's dreaming, or floating, that too. He just feels so unconnected to his body, to everything. He sighs, eyes having fluttered shut sometime ago. And despite Jessica's arms around him, he still feels...insecure, unsafe, like he's one step away from falling. "Don't let me fall?" he asks quietly, maybe too quiet for her to hear. At least give me a soft landing, he thinks. Fisk had been very determined not to give him one at all.
"I won't," Jessica promises, holding him more tightly. "Don't let go."
It doesn't feel like he's holding onto much of anything at all. "I'm holding on," he says anyways. "I'll always hold on." But consciousness slips through his fingers and the darkness returns.