Court is where Matt has full control. He knows his words, and he knows his arguments. He has a law degree and he's going to use it. He knows how to punch holes in a witness's statement. He knows how to put the opposing side at ease before utterly obliterating their argument.
He's blind. He knows that. People underestimate him, but he won't let them, he can't. This is what he's been fighting for.
He has his cane, but that is not the weapon he uses. He wields his words instead.
So yes, he knows when a jury has been hooked onto his argument, and when the judge is this close to reigning him in. He knows how to plow through objections like paper, but most of all, he knows how to supplement Foggy's words with his own, their arguments weaving a shield around their clients, who all deserve a second chance, especially if they didn't do anything wrong at all.
Karen always gushes about them in court, framing it as a performance, a spectacle. Matt tries not to turn red at the attention, but it's a near thing. Truthfully, he doesn't care much about the presentation part of the job. He knows how many steps there are between the judge's bench and the witness stand, the defendant's table and the jury box, and that is enough. It has to be.
He knows this place. This is his territory, and he's going to defend it.
Now to the case at hand: Tammy Ramirez, a 17-year-old framed for several murders and drug possession and distribution on top of that. On a previous day, they maintained her innocence. Today, they are trying to sue the real culprit, her father. (Matt stayed up late the night before, going over the case again and again, thinking again and again, How could you do that to your own kid? What kind of dad are you? How could you even think of doing that?)
It's not going too well. That's okay. Matt has words built up inside of him, ready to be shot out at a moment's notice, but he keeps his mouth shut for now as the other side interviews the guy who definitely did it and was definitely coached beforehand on what to say.
Damn it.
But they have time. It'll be their turn soon.
Tammy's shaking to his left, so he reaches a hand out to find and squeeze her own. "It's okay," he hears Foggy whisper from her other side. "It'll be over soon." Matt hopes it holds true.
After they had put away Fisk in a prison that isn't a prison, they began to get a steady flow of clients and, fortunately, income. This is one of the many cases they've taken. But this one seems to matter more than most.
"NO!" Mr. Ramirez screams from the witness stand, causing Matt to jump, Tammy to stiffen up, and Karen to gasp. He doesn't know how Foggy reacted, but he assumes his friend did in about the same way. Shit. Matt should've been paying attention more. He has no idea what led up to this outburst.
He'll figure it out, though.
He listens as Mr. Ramirez's lawyers, as well as the judge and some officers, try to deescalate the situation, and...oh, there's another guy somewhere behind them who'd been watching the trial. They're yelling at each other. Another gang member? Drug dealer? What is happening? Why is everyone screaming?
Before he knows it, Matt is standing up, standing protectively in front of Tammy. He raises his hands and says, loudly, "Why don't we all calm down and settle this peacefully? How about—"
The bang is so deafening in his ears that he almost doesn't register it at first, but yes, it is the sound he registers first. Not the pain in his chest close to his left shoulder. Not the burgeoning smell of copper filling his nostrils. But the sound.
(Hands warm and red with what he knows to be blood, but he doesn't want to admit it. If he doesn't see it then it doesn't have to be real. Tracing his dad's bruised face in a dark and cold alleyway on a dark and lonely night. All the while thinking Dad, Dad, Dad! Wake up, wake up! Please! Don't leave me! Why won't you wake up?)
Tammy is- Tammy's screaming, is she okay? Foggy? Karen? What?
"Oh," he says, pressing a hand to his chest, his knees finally buckling as he falls backwards and is caught by a pair of strong, familiar arms, as well as a pair of smaller, shaking ones. "Are you okay?" he gasps out, grasping onto one of her hands. He doesn't know if he's getting blood on it or not, hopes not, can't know.
"I'm fine," she says, nearly sobbing. "You're the one who got shot!"
"Take off your jacket, Foggy," Karen hisses from somewhere above him. (When did he get to lying on the ground?) She presses onto his chest, causing him to wince. "Come on! We need to put pressure on it and keep him warm and try to stop the bleeding!"
"Right, right," Foggy says breathlessly, shuffling around until warm fabric is draped over Matt.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, furrowing his brows even as his eyes want to fall shut. So hard to keep open. Pain lashes at him in waves.
"Of course you're asking about anyone but yourself," Foggy says with a strangled laugh.
"Shut up, or you'll be next!" the shooter says from...somewhere.
People are talking to him, trying to get him to stand down, but all Matt focuses on is the small hand in his own and Foggy's hushed voice, saying over and over, "You'll be okay, you'll be okay."
Matt can't help but think that even the sanctity of court has been taken from him.
