Murdock doesn't have a dog.

In hindsight, it was probably wrong of Peter to hope that he did. Moreover, Peter shouldn't have assumed that he needed one in the first place. He can all but see MJ's pursed lips and hear her caustic voice as she tsks and says, Wow, Peter. How did you think blind people with dog allergies got around?

After all, Murdock never seemed uncertain about where they were on the walk to his apartment, and Peter's pretty sure that Murdock had ended up doing much more guiding than he had. Besides, if he did have a seeing-eye dog, he most likely would've been using it the whole time. All things considered, Peter really shouldn't be as disappointed as he is when Murdock opens his apartment door and no lab or golden retriever runs up to greet them.

Instead, he's met with a short hallway that opens up to a living room, lit only by the light that spills in through the tinted window panes that bathe the room in a yellow glow. A couch and two armchairs with a coffee table between them sit in the center of the room, the only notable items before his gaze shifts to the small kitchen against the wall. The counter looks to be made up of cheap OSB wood and what appears to be a stone countertop, an assortment of jars and bottles on top containing spices and other kitchen implements that neither he nor May would know what to do with.

The thought almost forms that Murdock doesn't have much in the way of decorations before Peter mentally kicks himself. All the same, the minimalist design, high ceiling, blank walls, and the type of door that partially closes off the bedroom makes him think of a warehouse more than a home.

"You can take a look around, if you want," Murdock says. He stops in the entryway to take off his satchel and fold up his cane, the movement smooth and practiced as he disassembles it all while seemingly staring ahead instead of down at his hands. He rests it on a small table before turning down the hallway, reaching out to brush his knuckles against the wall as he walks to meet Peter at the edge of the living room. His gait is a complete departure from how it was outside, as if all of the uncertainty and hesitation in his steps vanish the second he enters his home. Honestly, it's kind of fascinating.

The notion also makes Peter feel more like an intruder than anything else.

"I'll have to stock up a bit first, but you're welcome to anything you find in the kitchen." Murdock halts a few feet away, pursing his lips into a considering frown before giving a tiny nod and continuing. "As far as sleeping arrangements go, I'll make up the bedroom for you and take the couch. You can-"

"No no, that's- I'll be fine on the couch, Mr. Murdock," Peter interrupts, putting on an assured smile before remembering who it's for.

Murdock just shakes his head. "You can't see it now, but there's a billboard across the street that I'm told really lights this place up at night. I'm taking the couch."

Before Peter can come up with a counter-argument or even decide if it's worth it, a loud, robotic "Karen, Karen, Karen-" comes from a smartphone on the coffee table. Peter finds himself grateful that Murdock can't see his undignified jump.

Murdock clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth before striding over and reaching for the phone, his thumb hovering above the screen as he turns to Peter with a raised brow. "Mind if I—?"

Peter remembers not to shrug this time. "Sure."

Murdock swipes across the screen and brings the phone to his ear, automatically facing away from Peter and stepping a few paces back. "Hey."

"Hey, are you okay?" Karen rushes out. It's almost the same worried tone she had asked Mr. Castle in.

"I'm fine. It was just a talk, Karen," Murdock assures, as if there had been a very real possibility that Mr. Castle would do anything to a blind lawyer that he asked to meet with.

Then there's Karen. Is she Nelson or Page? Peter quickly comes to the decision that Karen Page has a much better ring to it, and come to think of it, actually sounds kind of familiar. The Karen in question lets out what Peter thinks is a small sigh of relief before continuing with, "About what? For Frank to call the office directly-"

"Yeah, I- I can't talk about this over the phone."

Peter narrows his eyes. Over the phone. But that implies-

"Okay, so when are you coming back?"

Murdock's tongue flicks between his lips, his head tilting in Peter's direction. "Can you guys manage if I take the rest of the day off?"

There's a beat of silence before Karen responds. "Look, we both know Frank wouldn't have called if he thought he could handle whatever it is himself. If it's that serious, I want to know what's going on before you put on your-"

"Karen- Karen," Murdock's quick to cut her off. "I'll come in and explain everything tomorrow. I just- Just let me get some more answers first."

Peter swallows. That sounds an awful lot like another round of questioning, and just the mere prospect of that is all it takes to weigh him down. Murdock already has his school, his age, his name—what more could he want? The only thing Mr. Castle couldn't have told him is what happened to his parents, but the last thing Peter wants are the extra pity points he'd get if Murdock knew that they died in a plane crash. Everything Murdock says to him already feels calculated enough, like he's worried that Peter's going to break down into the fetal position if he chooses the wrong words.

The pauses between his replies to Karen are much shorter, much more conversational, and Peter almost wishes that he was talking to her instead. He'd barely exchanged any words with her when he was trying to contact David, but at least she talked to him like he wasn't made of glass.

"Okay," Karen relents after a long moment. "If you need anything-"

"I got it," Murdock says with a small, actually genuine smile. "Thanks, Karen."

The second he ends the call, the name clicks into place. "Karen Page? Isn't she- That's that reporter lady, right? You're gonna tell my identity to a reporter?"

"Former reporter," Murdock quickly corrects. "You've heard of her?" he asks, like that's the most important issue Peter brought up.

"Daredevil articles, remember?" Peter all but snaps. "But you can't tell her. Is she even a lawyer? Does she have attorney-client privilege? I-"

Murdock holds up his hands with his palms open as if he's trying to pacify a frightened animal. His tone matches the gesture when he speaks. "You can trust her," he says slowly. "No, she doesn't have attorney-client privilege. But she's been with us since the beginning, and the last thing she'd do is publish an exposé on you, I promise."

Peter fails to hold back a huff. Tell Murdock your identity, you can trust him. Tell Karen your identity, you can trust her. And on and on until he might as well just pull a Tony Stark and announce it at a press conference and it wouldn't make a difference. At least Gargan would have nothing on him then. Peter crosses his arms and shakes his head, facing away from Murdock for a moment before turning back to him. "You promised that unless you have my explicit permission, it stays in this room."

This time, Peter decides to count the seconds during the anticipated pause before Murdock's reply. "Finding a solution that works best for you will go much faster if I'm not the only one looking for it."

"You promised."

That'd be enough for Mr. Castle, but Peter has no idea if that even matters to Murdock in the slightest, or if it was just something said in the moment in an attempt to pry out his identity. Murdock draws in a deep breath, shifting his head until his sunglasses are angled in a way that gives the illusion of eye contact. One, two, three, four…

He raises his hands again, this time accompanying the gesture with a tiny step back. "Okay. You're right, I did."

Peter braces himself for the but, yet it doesn't come. Murdock just stuffs his phone in the inside pocket of his blazer and turns to the kitchen, his mouth twisting into a small frown as he stops by the table in front of the counter. His head is tilted in Peter's direction and his brow is furrowed like he actually cares. Like he really expects Peter to believe that he's just a good Samaritan, that he's letting Peter eat his food and sleep in his bed in addition to risking his life for him out of the kindness of his soul. And he's supposed to buy that Mr. Castle's lawyer is just nice enough to take him in?

Mr. Castle never bothered with pretense or fake smiles. When he was pissed he didn't try to pass off as otherwise, and he didn't try to cover up the few glimpses Peter caught of him happy. When Peter asked him a question, he could expect an answer that's not tailored to who's hearing it. Mr. Castle never attempted to draw attention away from the fact that he's the Punisher and he never pretended that he isn't anything more.

"So what," Peter starts, hating the shake in his voice, "you're just… really nice?"

Murdock's frown grows deeper. When he shifts to the side, Peter doesn't miss how he's blocking off the roof access door. "Excuse me?"

"That's why you're doing this, right?" Peter steps closer, taking note of how Murdock straightens in response. "I mean, I'm not paying you. I know you and Mr. Castle aren't friends. And you- you didn't agree right away, so it's not that you owe him something. It's not that you work for Gargan, or the police, or- or-"

It's only now Peter realizes how easy reading Mr. Castle had become. Murdock's face is an impassive mask, leaving him lost as to if any of the accusations are landing. Even after the usual amount of time for a calculated reply passes, Murdock doesn't say a word. Foreboding builds in Peter's chest, heavy and suffocating and making the high-ceilinged room feel like a cage. A quick web to bind Murdock's feet to the ground would free up the roof access door, and the front door is an option if-

Before Peter can come to a decision, Murdock turns to the living room and abandons his stance without breaking his silence. He leaves the path to the door wide open, almost as if he couldn't care less what Peter was planning to do. He just lowers himself on the couch and folds his hands in his lap, facing the chair across from him. When Murdock finally speaks, he doesn't even pretend to look over at him.

"Sit."

Murdock doesn't make it sound like a request. You're gonna go with Murdock, you're gonna do what he says, and he's gonna help you fix this. Peter takes a slow breath and shifts his weight from foot to foot. Slowly, he stalks around the couch and stops in front of the chair, wavering for a moment before taking a seat on the edge of the cushion.

Murdock leans forward and presses his mouth into a thin line. He laces his fingers together and taps his thumbs, something akin to hesitation in the deep breath he takes through his nose. Before Peter can decide what he's playing at, Murdock reaches for his sunglasses and pulls them off, holding them in a loose grip in his hand. Murdock's eyes look… surprisingly normal. Which he probably shouldn't be surprised by. What were you expecting, Peter? MJ would challenge with an unwavering gaze.

"My dad was a boxer," he begins, shifting his glasses to his opposite hand. "He was supposed to throw a fight, and when he didn't, it pissed off the wrong people." When Murdock pauses, Peter has a pretty good idea where his story is going. "I was ten when I heard a gunshot and found his body in an alley. I understand that might sound a bit familiar."

Oh.

"I spent the rest of my childhood in Saint Agnes'. Peter, I don't want that for you."

Peter replays Murdock's words in his mind, his stomach going cold with a realization as the anger drains out of him. Murdock wouldn't have known it was his father's body right away. He'd either have to feel for something familiar or wait for someone to confirm it, and Peter can't decide which is worse. Peter drops his gaze and curls his hand around the sleeve of Mr. Castle's jacket before running it down his face. When had he started assuming the worst of people? What would May think? "Sorry, sir," he mumbles. "I shouldn't have… sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Murdock returns his glasses to his face and pushes himself up, clearing his throat. "I'm making a grocery run. Shouldn't be long. You want anything?"

The subject change is almost jarring, and Peter has to take a moment before he shakes his head. "Thanks, but I'm- I'm good. Do…" He trails off, scanning the room as he stands to meet Murdock. There's a closed laptop on top of a red desk in the corner and a bookshelf against the wall, but he doubts that there would be any not in Braille. Beyond that… "Do you have anything to do?"

Murdock's lips part and his eyebrows raise the slightest amount. He falters before reaching in his pocket and pulling out his smartphone and hesitates a second longer before holding it out. "Put in your burner number. Don't make any purchases."

On one hand, Peter can't help but feel like a little kid being given their parent's phone in order to be kept quiet and entertained. On the other hand, he hasn't had a glimpse of the internet in days. Has anyone taken note of Spider-Man's disappearance? He's taken longer breaks than a few days, but he's rarely pushed it beyond three. And unlike vigilantes like Mr. Castle or Daredevil, he usually does his work out in public and in the light of day. If people aren't seeing him, they won't as easily write it off. More importantly, what are people making of Peter Parker's disappearance? What will his Instagram or Snapchat inbox look like?

Peter's breath catches in his throat. Ned's most definitely messaged him. He could video call Ned, right now, and talk with his friend-

Then again, just logging into his social media could send out his location. Unless you disable it and install a VPN. The idea of seeing a familiar face, to someone who knows May, someone who understands almost shoves every opposing thought out of his mind. Almost.

The more he knows, the more danger he's in.

"Peter? Something wrong?"

"Nothing," Peter mutters, but when he reaches for the phone, Murdock pulls his hand back. Peter lets out a soft sigh. "I just thought about calling my friend. But that'd be putting him in danger, so-" He cuts himself off with a shrug that he fails to make nonchalant.

Instead of agreeing or taking away the phone altogether, Murdock just lets out a contemplative hum. "Ned, right? The one who knows you're Spider-Man?"

"Uh, yeah. He's… basically my best friend."

Murdock sniffs and runs his hand over his mouth, something flashing over his face too quickly for Peter to make out. "If you can contact him without getting tracked, I think he'd appreciate hearing from you," he finally says, holding out the phone again. "I don't see a problem with it as long as you don't mention where you are or who you're with."

Whether that's lawyer advice, friendship advice, or a horrible blindness pun, Peter can only guess. He carefully accepts the phone and folds it over in his hands, mumbling out a "Thanks."

Murdock gives him a nod and turns back to the hallway, pausing for a brief moment before walking out of sight. The creaking of the door comes soon after, leaving Peter alone in the middle of the apartment.

The phone in his palm suddenly gets a lot heavier.

The worst thing about Snapchat is definitely the Seen notification.

Peter had managed to download it after spending way too long figuring out how to disable the accessibility features that must've helped Murdock, careful to memorize his steps to ensure that he could reverse it later. Ned's name sits bolded at the top of Snapchat's messages list, the letters staring back at him like a challenge. But it's MJ's bolded name below it that draws his eye. She never uses Snapchat. She's expressed her distaste of streaks to Peter more than once and he's never been able to figure out why she had it in the first place. Curiosity and anxiety swirl together in his chest, forcing him to plant his thumbs at the phone's side to keep himself from tapping it. Has she asked Ned about him? Is she worried?

Peter falls back on the couch and presses his palm against his forehead. How would Ned react to seeing him? Would he ask about May? He couldn't tell Murdock—he can't even say it—how's he supposed to tell Ned that May is-

Peter sets the phone down on the coffee table and squeezes his eyes shut. This is far from the scariest thing he's done in the past week. But the second he clicks Ned's name, there's no going back. If Ned sees that he viewed his messages but didn't respond… Peter takes a deep breath. He hovers his thumb over the name, quickly pressing on the screen before he can change his mind.

Ned: [did u get my texts?]
 Yesterday, 9:45 AM

Ned: [dude, where r u]
 Yesterday, 10:23 AM

Ned: [Peter, I'm really starting to freak out rn.]
 Yesterday, 3:52 PM

Ned: [I'm at ur apartment but no ones home]
 Yesterday, 3:53 PM

Ned: [look if you don't reply soon I'm going to assume you're in big trouble]
 Yesterday, 3:53 PM

Ned: [I just came over again and there's still no one here. I don't know what to do and Mays gone too. I'm gonna go to the police and tell them that ur missing]
 Yesterday, 10:07 PM

Ned: [that peter parker's missing, not sm]
 Today, 6:01 AM

Ned: [pls respond]
Today, 6:01 AM

Peter doesn't realize how much faster his breathing had gotten until he finishes the final message. Steeling himself, he presses the video call button and tries to ignore the hammering in his chest.

It stops halfway through the second ring. The image is still black, but he can hear the audio as clear as day.

"Peter? Peter, hey, are you there?!"

Everything brewing inside him screeches to a halt. When Peter speaks, it almost feels like it's someone else saying it. "Hi, Ned."

The video loads. Ned's holding the phone in front of his face and pacing around in his room, his eyebrows knit tight with worry and his mouth agape. "Oh God, Peter. Are you okay? Where are you?"

A cocktail of emotions storms inside him, bringing a smile to his face and a lump in his throat, giving him no idea what to make of the blurry film in front of his eyes that he has to blink away. Ned looks just like he had at the beginning of the week, back when they'd been talking about pooling their money to get the Lego Millennium Falcon and if they could get Ned on the same frequency as Karen in the Spider Suit. Peter angles the phone to better show his face and gives Ned a series of tiny nods. "Yeah, I'm- I'm okay. It's just- It's so good to see you."

"Are you in trouble?" Ned rushes out. "Are there bad guys after you? Is that what you meant by 'don't walk down any dark alleys?' Who are you-"

"Wait, wait," Peter interrupts, his heart jumping in his chest. "Did you- You got my letter?"

Ned nods vigorously. "It was just- just sitting outside my door when I left for school today. I ripped it up and threw it away after I read it, but- Peter. You've got to tell me what's going on, dude. You've never—er, once—missed school for Spider-Man, and- and what do you mean by May's not-"

Peter's face must do something at her name, because almost instantly, Ned goes quiet.

"Oh God," Ned breathes. "Peter…"

Peter's only seen that expression on Ned's face once before, about a year ago. Seeing it again is just- He sets the phone down on the table and runs the jacket's sleeve over his eyes, sniffling and swallowing to keep everything from spilling out. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, mustering up the strength to return to the phone.

Ned's breathing is shaky when Peter looks back at the screen. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Peter wets his lips and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. "No," he manages, hating how it sounds like a whimper.

"Okay," Ned mutters. "That's- That's okay. I- um. Are you- Are you safe?"

Peter nods.

"Is this one of those- those if I know too much, I'm in danger kinda situations?"

Peter nods again.

"Right. Uh- The person you're staying with—what did you mean 'he's good at this stuff?' What's going on?"

Come on, Peter. "Um, one of the guys Toomes was selling to on the ferry—Mac Gargan—he found out who I am. He set up a- There was this warehouse collapse, and May- she-" Peter turns away when his throat closes up on him, shutting his eyes in an effort to compose himself. "I got pretty banged up. And- And Mr. Ca- Frank Castle was there, so I've been with him." He rushes through the last sentence.

Ned just blinks and furrows his brow at first, but a second later, his eyes grow wide and Peter can see the blood draining from his face. "Holy shit," he gawks. "You escaped the Punisher?"

Ned's words don't process right away. "W-What?"

"Did you fight him?" Ned blurts, then immediately clamps his hand over his mouth. "Sorry, if that's too- If you don't want to talk about-"

"No, I didn't- I guess we fought a little. But I didn't- I didn't escape him."

"Wait." Ned's eyes narrow, then gapes before he hisses out, "You're still with him?! Or…" he frowns, tucking back his chin, "he's the person who's 'good at this stuff?'"

An answer dies in the back of Peter's throat.

Ned shifts the angle of his phone as he sits back on his bed. "So- So the Punisher- You just… went with him?"

"No, no," Peter interrupts, trying to rein back the frustration creeping into his tone. "Ned—the building was- it was coming down, and May- He basically dragged me out of there. He saved my life, Ned."

Ned glances down, his eyes shifting from side to side as his jaw clenched, as if he was trying to hold himself back from speaking.

"He has a Guy in the Chair too," Peter says, hating the concern he can see building in Ned's face. "His code name's Micro. He's pretty nice. He was an NSA analyst, so he's like, level ninety Guy in the Chair. He knows how to access prison records, police records…" He trails off when Ned's expression doesn't change.

"Did he hurt you?" Ned asks quietly. "The Punisher?"

Something twists in Peter's chest. It had hurt when Mr. Castle had tackled him to the ground and twisted his arm behind his back to prevent him from leaving, but Peter's more than aware of how bad that answer sounds, as well as the justification that was probably for the best in the long run. "He's not a bad guy, Ned. He's just-"

Peter cuts himself off, but Ned picks up on it anyway. "If you were about to say 'misunderstood-'"

"I mean he's not-" Peter breaks off, floundering for the right words. "He's not all he's made out to be."

Ned draws in a slow breath, resolve replacing the reluctance that's etched into his face. "Remember Intro to Psych? Those fifteen minutes we spent on Stockholm Syndrome?"

Peter's mouth drops open. "I don't have Stockholm Syndrome," he scoffs. When Ned takes a breath, he's quick to follow it up with, "I know that's what someone with Stockholm Syndrome would say."

"Okay, but he took you to a secondary location," Ned points out gently, like Peter's the one who's not following. "He hurt you, and he's the Punisher-"

"He risked his life for me three separate times," Peter almost snaps, feeling his heart drop in his chest when Ned flinches. "Look—I kicked him in the face pretty hard, so we're pretty much even. And he never threatened me. I mean, yeah, he's scary, but I'm not- I wasn't afraid of him. And he-" Peter cuts himself off. And he let me cry in his arms and told me May's death isn't my fault. He talked to me about his daughter, his daughter that he lost- "He taught me how to disarm. He wouldn't do that if he was planning to shoot me."

Ned looks away, tilting his chin closer to his chest.

"I'm not saying he's like, a hero or anything," Peter persists. "I'm not- I'm not trying to excuse anything he's done. But he's not just some- some psycho. And he wouldn't have delivered the letter if he was trying to manipulate me or something. I wouldn't have known if he threw it away. I didn't even know he remembered to-"

Ned's head snaps up. "You told the Punisher where I live?"

"Ned," Peter almost groans.

Ned inhales slowly through his nose. "Okay, okay. But are you sure-"

"The first thing he did after he stitched me up was give me a phone and tell me to call my parents so they could come get me. He didn't know, but why would he-"

"Okay, yeah, that's not what a kidnapper would do," Ned concedes. "But he's still killed a ton of people. Hey—are you with him now?"

"No," Peter mutters, unsure if he hates or appreciates the look of relief that crosses Ned's face.

"So if you see him again, you'd web him up for the police, right?"

Peter doesn't respond.

"… Peter?"

"I don't approve of what he does," Peter says firmly. "If I saw him hurting people, then I'd- I'd stop him."

Ned swallows, a tight line forming between his eyebrows. It's not a challenge, but Peter thinks he would've preferred that. It's doubt, quiet and unyielding, and honestly, Peter doesn't know if his foundation is strong enough to combat it.

"Hey, c-could you email me copies of the lessons and assignments we have to do?" he asks weakly. There's no way Ned would fall for the subject change, but if the soft sigh he gives is any indication, he's at least going to let it slide. "I don't want to fall behind."

"Yeah, I got you covered. And if you ever want to talk—about anything—or if you need me to be your Guy in the Chair, whatever…"

Gratitude swells in Peter's chest, rising until it's burning behind his eyes. "Thanks, Ned. I'm- This isn't my phone. Message me your number so I can put it in my burner. The guy I'm staying with now is basically the total opposite of Mr. Castle as far as occupations and getting into fights go, so."

Ned perks up a little at that. "Spider Sense verdict?"

"Clean," Peter asserts. He takes a breath to continue, but the sound of a key rattling in a doorknob cuts him off before he gets the chance. He pushes himself off the couch and to his feet, peering down the hallway with his hand not gripping the phone poised at his web-shooter. When a red-tipped cane is the first to poke through the door, Peter drops his arm and turns his focus back to Ned. "It's him. I gotta go."

"I'll message you." With that, the screen goes black.

Peter stuffs the phone in his pocket and turns to the entryway, replaying Ned's words in his mind. Guy in the Chair. It hadn't been necessary when Peter had Karen, and the only time Ned ever really got to be the Guy in the Chair was homecoming night. Though Murdock never explicitly said it, Peter's under the impression that their arrangement could last anytime between a week and a month.

How many people do you save in a month, huh?

He can't abandon Spider-Man for a whole month. And the more Spider-Man's disappearance aligns with Peter Parker's, the more his identity is at risk. Maybe if he could get Ned to bring him his homemade suit and figure out how to set up a commlink- Then again, if any of Gargan's men spot him swinging around, they'd know he's not with Mr. Castle.

The click of the front door snaps Peter out of his thoughts. Murdock's standing in the entryway, three grocery bags in one hand and one more and his cane in the other. "I can take those," Peter offers automatically.

Murdock raises his eyebrows, almost as if he's caught off guard. "Uh, sure. Just set them on the counter."

Peter takes the bags and sets off for the kitchen. Maybe he's thinking about this the wrong way. After all, he's not restricted to weekends and afternoons anymore, and he's fairly certain that there's more crime to stop at night anyway. If it's Spider-Man that Gargan wants, then he'd be looking for webs and wall-crawlers. If Peter refrains from that, he'd still be left with his Spider Sense and super strength, which isn't half bad. However, starting vigilante activities, at night in Hell's Kitchen, probably isn't the smartest play he has.

Unless… "Hey, have you s- er, heard anything about Daredevil lately?"

Murdock pauses at the edge of the living room, resting his hands on his hips and cocking his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, is he- you know, Daredevilling? I know there's been at least one six-month period when nobody saw him, and he's taken other shorter breaks. Do you know if he's active?" Peter asks, vying for a casual tone as he places the bags on the counter.

For a moment, Murdock doesn't move. "Why do you ask?"

Peter's starting to wish he'd just googled it.

A small sigh escapes Murdock's lips. "Okay. Let's play this out." He turns away from Peter and starts to stroll around the furniture, yet something about his pace seems almost deliberate. "You decide to go out there and put on a mask. Everyone after you thinks you're with Frank, so the first night goes smoothly. Maybe the second one too. But if you keep it up, it's only a matter of time before someone pieces it together. You're a beacon for dangerous people, Peter."

A retort dies in the back of Peter's throat. As much as he hates to admit it, the holes in Murdock's logic are hard to find. Still, Spider-Man's not supposed to sit around and keep his head down when people could be shouting for help, when there are car crashes to stop and when there are thieves who might- Peter shakes his head and draws in a deep breath, focusing on keeping his voice level. "Whenever I take a day off, people get hurt."

Something passes across Murdock's face, an expression so brief that it's gone before Peter can make it out. "And the kind of people Gargan sends won't stop at hurting you."

Peter bites back his lip, pressing his mouth into a thin line. He doesn't know what he expects to come from arguing with someone who argues for a living. Murdock's not wrong. Gargan couldn't care less about innocent people in his crossfire—and he'd been more than eager to abandon the bodies of the men who worked with him back at the parking garage. He'd kidnapped children to draw Peter out before, and Peter would prefer not to see how much farther he's willing to go.

So if he only has one smooth night, then he has to make it count.