The story was not totally insane- a little outlandish, but not incredibly insane. At this point, something like magic wasn't much of a farce; the Avengers existed, didn't they? They were practically built on magic. Emma had been apprehensive while Mr. Gold explained their situation, as her heart beat was deliberate, not too fast but not too slow either.

"So this man Neal," Matt said, "is the father of Miss Swan's son and your own son?" Mr. Gold nodded- there was a slight change in air pressure, a small whistle in his ear.

"Yes," Mr. Gold said. Matt had decidedly not gotten up from his position on the floor, seeing as there was no use if he did. He didn't know the office space very well yet, so to try and walk around like he owned the place would hilariously fail. He was aware that it had gotten dark out, judging by the chill that had settled in- how long had Karena and Foggy been gone? Matt shrugged; he didn't really care what they did with themselves at this point.

There was a slight creak- the woman down the block had gone back to pleasuring herself. A hiss, and he knew that a cat was fighting for an old piece of fish against a raccoon. The sound of crickets was somehow deafening, and Matt sighed.

"Is everything okay?" he heard Emma ask, her voice filled with concern.

"Too many noises…" Matt replied, coughing into his fist, "Now, you think he's here? In Hell's Kitchen?" Before Emma could nod or even say anything, the door swung open, and Matt swiftly dodged getting clipped on the chin with the heavy wood door.

Foggy and Karen. He heard the same wisps of hair being pushed back, the same fidgeting fingers against leather. His associate and secretary waltzed in, Foggy ready to break him a new one, as his heartbeat was racing a mile a minute. Karen's not so much. In fact, it was a little difficult to place where she was with his ears bombarded by Foggy's accusations.

"Can you believe that this absolute whackjob is in the paper again?! Again, for chrissakes!" Matt heard the slam of a newspaper, the tiniest crinkles made when Foggy's fingers rubbed against the paper itself. The kid seemed cute when he was angry, from what Matt could tell.

But he knew who Foggy was talking about.

"The Devil Of Hell's Kitchen….?" he heard Emma read aloud, "Who is that?"

"We don't know," Foggy said, "but we've had many clientele asking us to find him- and weren't you guys supposed to leave, like-" Foggy checked his watch "- five hours ago?"

"And it takes you five hours to buy a cane?" Matt admonished, "My butt's fallen asleep sitting here all day." He heard Karen's patient laugh as he felt her grip his arm; dainty hand that shook a little when concentrating. She had had barbecued chicken for dinner, the smell of it lingering on her fingers. A faint layer of lavender soap was atop it, trying to prove that she had cleaned and washed her hands.

"Why are you sitting on the floor then?" Karen asked, Matt shuffling forward as she guided him back to his chair. Her movements were somewhat jerky and stiff; with her heartbeat and breath hitching at just the right moments he knew she didn't want to bump him into a wall. He slid easily onto the metal seat, adjusting his tie (the knot had become loose during his squabble with Mr. Gold.)

"Got lazy," Matt said simply, "So, what did you and your friend here have in mind, Miss Swan?" He knew Emma was surprised the conversation had shifted to her, the smallest of movements as she squirmed in her chair, the sudden spike of her heart, then the petering out as she calmed down. Foggy was currently trying to fix his cuff links, as they had gone off center on his jacket.

"Oh, uh," Emma said, "Well, we want to find Neal, as you know from our story-"

Matt nodded. Neal, the guy everyone seemed to want to be. From what they had told him, he was pretty popular with the ladies, being seen last with his fiancee Tamara and again with some witch named Zelena.

Of course, that was totally not weird.

He could detect Foggy's fingers rubbing at the ink on the newspaper- no doubt he was trying to read the article about that "whacko": as he liked to call him. Matt preferred the term vigilante, but hey, he couldn't persuade people to use certain terms now could he? By now it was nightfall- he couldn't see any dust dancing by the windows nor hear the chirp of birds- now they were crickets. Down the block, the woman had quieted down, the cats across the road precariously balancing on the edges of fences and garbage cans. The raccoon had decidedly gone home.

"Are you still reading that article?" Karen asked Foggy with disbelief, snatching the paper from him.

"Hey! I wasn't done with that!" Foggy cried, trying to snatch it back. Matt knew he would be unable to- Karen was wearing heels, and presumably had longer arms than his associate.

"Alright dearie, well, if we're down here, I think it's time we find somewhere to stay- Henry is still downstairs, you know-"

Emma groaned, a noise that wasn't as loud as Matt first though it to be- he heard it rumble in her belly more than her throat as she replied, "Why did we even bring Henry? He's too young to be doing this sort of thing-"

Henry was her son- Emma's son, Matt realized. If he strained a bit, he could hear him talking to some book in his lap, the toes of his sneakers banging against the linoleum floor as she swung his legs idly off the edge of the wooden park bench in the lobby.

What the book was for, he couldn't tell. And it was hard to place- was he holding it? Was it sitting in his lap? He could smell the faed leathery musk from up here, hear how his small nails picked at the fraying gold edging. It was an old, old book, Matt could discern that much. And it was clouded by some sort of… fog, some sort of filter he couldn't get through.

Leaning forward in his chair, he asked, "Miss Swan is it alright if I get a closer look at that book your son is reading downstairs?"

There was a pause- Emma was contemplating ehr answer, her heartbeat having risen slightly.

"How did you know my son was reading a book?" she asked warily, raising an eyebrow that he couldn't see.

"The leather smells like it's very old- presumably from the Middle Ages. It's got traces of dirt pounded into it, leaving that weird smell grass gets when wet. Is this correct?" Matt tried, smirking at his clients. Now it was Mr. Gold's turn to speak up.

"We're on the second floor of this building," he stated with that annoying voice of his, "and you mean to tell me you can spell a book from two floors up?"

"He does it all the time, man," Foggy interjected, "It's kind of his thing- isn't that right, Karen?"

Karen nodded quickly, plastering a smile on her face. No doubt Matt knew she was slightly weirded out by this. A blind man being able to smell things through floors? Come on, that's pretty far-fetched!

"Yeah- once he told me he could smell my perfume from two blocks away when I came late to work," she confirmed, "Granted it's a little weird, but that's life, right?" Matt smiled fondly, pondering the moment. That morning Karen's alarm clock hadn't gone off- he could tell by the way she was running, her heels scratching small notches in the pavement as she ran.

"I remember you put it on because you forgot to apply deodorant," Matt chuckled to himself, and Karen discreetly put her nose to her arms, sniffing experimentally.

"Well, I did this morning, so no worries there," she pouted, then, "Foggy, how about we go get dinner? I'm famished!" Her stomach growled loudly as if to testify, her face turning red.

"Alright- should we go to Signora's apartment again? Her cooking was pretty good."

"No, her apartment is still under reconstruction, remember?"

"Right, right- what about shawarma?"

Footsteps, the rustle of coats. They were at the door, Karen fidgeting with her purse again- how many goddamn times was she going to do that? Matt could never hear anything but the deterioration of leather, it was sickening to his ears.

"Go, have your shawarma," Matt flicked his hands at them, sending them off, "and tell Mr. Stark if he needs a lawyer for reparations to his tower he knows where to find me!"

He was answered by the slam of a door- either they had ignored his request or were going to be obedient little friends like they normally were. I guess that's what happens when you run a law firm with your two best friends, huh? Matt thought to himself, the heat in the room having descended upon their departure. Of course, Mr. Stark was going to ignore his offer and try do reparations to Avengers Tower himself: illegally and without a permit.

Tony Stark, Matt decided, was always going ot be a pain in the ass, no matter what. The man was a child, and that would never change.

"I'm sorry, did you say Stark?" Emma asked, "As in Iron man Stark?"

Matt nodded, "Yup. If your fairy tale characters are real, then so are your kid's comic books. Which they have yet to release in Braille, I'm afraid, so I can only settle for the really crappy descriptions from Karen and Foggy."

Emma grinned, the squeak of her skin stretching in Matt's ears, "Does that include sound-effects and voice overs?"

"The whole shebang, I'm afraid," Matt agreed. Emma had a beautiful smile from the sound of it. Did she smile often? There was a bang as Mr. Gold smacked his cane against the leg of the table.

"Can we go now?" he whined, "I'm not as young as I once was, and my legs are starting to ache."

"Yeah," Emma slumped her shoulders, "Henry is probably getting tired of reading the story of Peter Pan over and over again, huh?" Matt thought he could detect Mr. Gold's muscles contract at the name "Peter Pan."

Strange.

Ignoring it, Matt grabbed his new cane- Foggy had thankfully left it leaning against the wall behind him. The metal was smooth and cold against his skin,and he could tell the leather strap was freshly made and molded, the strong smell of wax tickling his nostrils- was leather even made from wax? He made a mental note to have Foggy or Karen look it up later. Sighing, he said, "Well, I wish I could help you, but I'm not sure if there's anything I could really do…."

"What do you mean?!" Emma suddenly blurted, "We came to you for help, didn't we?!"

Matt grinned. He loved spinning these little traps. Heaving another sigh, he clasped both his hands around his cane, nonchalantly swinging it to and fro in front of him, making it look like he was going to leave, go home.

"I don't know," he shrugged, "this seems like such a big ordeal- magic, swordfights- not to mention that fantastically confusing family tree. Who else are you related to? Dumbo?"

He was greeted by silence, their heartbeats having skyrocketed. They would experience a heart attack at any moment, he was sure of it. But he ha to wait. It was all part of his ploy. Foggy and Karen sometimes never let him out of their sight, despite the fact that they know he can fend for himself out there in the big bad world.

Matt was hoping he could get these people to help him see more of the world aside from Hell's Kitchen; no pun intended of course. Surely they- along with Claire's help- could hold down the fort for at least a weekend.

He would have to give them one of his many phone numbers, however, if he were allowed to go with this Miss Swan and Mr. Gold. And that could pose an issue.

Oh well. Guess they'll have to deal with it then.

"Okay first of all-" Emma began, her throat itching like fire in Matt's ears, the crackles booming against his skull like fireworks.

"Emma," Mr. Gold soothed her, "the man is blind. And he has a point." Matt rolled his eyes, despite the fact that he was wearing sunglasses.

Another silence greeted them, and Matt took all his power to manage getting out, "Alright, well, it's late, and my apartment is very empty. I should probably be going-"

"Wait-"

"-and it was very nice to meet you. I hope to see you both in Hell's Kitchen soon if you need anything, you know where to find me." Matt declared, his cane tapping its way to the door. At least, he thought it was. Having been so used to hearing the sft striking of the carpet and floor, it surprised him to find that he was unable to budge.

But then there was that same old filter. Like the one that clouded the little boy's book.

"You're using magic, aren't you?" Matt teased, placing it together like a puzzle. He knew they were going to reveal themselves at one point, even if they had already told him their ridiculous story. A stutter, and Mr. Gold released the spell, allowing Matt to move freely once more.

"You're more perceptive than I thought," Mr. Gold complimented, and Matt had to agree, considering what he had pulled earlier on in their visit.

"And you're more of an idiot than I thought," he laughed, his mouth stretching across his face to reveal a perfect smile.

A clap of Mr. Gold's hands sent Matt's senses into a tizzy, his brain unable to process the loud noise created. It made the man harder to place- was he sitting with Emma, who was still at the table? Or was he standing by the door? Or (considering his use of magic) had he simply disappeared?

"That's not fair, playing with a guy like that," Matt pouted jokingly, "I'm blind! Have some pity!" Finally he was able to tell where the man was- next to Emma, who still hadn't moved from her spot. He liked when his clients sat still- it made it easier for him to read them. Right now, Emma had calmed down, but not by much, He could sense that she was still nervous, with the way her nails scratched away at the enamel on her teeth. Her son downstairs, however, was still reading his book, checking his watch as the hands ticked along with the clock on the wall of the lobby.

"Well, what is fair, dearie?" Mr. Gold scoffed, "You gonna help us or not?"

Matt pondered the request. Both of them wanted this Neal guy back, that was evident. Especially considering he was the kid's dad, and the kid was none the wiser as to why they were here in Hell's Kitchen in the first place.

Wait, scratch that. The kid knew full well why they were here, heck he planned the whole trip. Matt gave him a nod of approval and sent a thought the boy's way, You're smart kid. Scraping his cane against the carpet, he leaned his cheek against his shoulder.

"So," he asked, "When are we leaving?"

"What makes you think you're coming with us?" Mr. Gold sputtered, "Besides, we just got here, Bae-"

"That's what we're calling him now?" Matt interrupted, "'Bae'?"

"-could be anywhere in this goddamned shit hole-"

WHACK!

With the flick of his wrist, Matt had silenced the man by smashing his cane into the wall. Pity, really; it was a new office, and he liked it, he did. But that goddamn creaking and whining was just getting to be too damned much.

"And that is precisely why you need me, no?" Matt suggested, twirling his cane in his fingers. "You two don't know a lick of Hell's Kitchen. You'd be lost within minutes, admit it. A young woman and her old geezer, traipsing around like they own the place…." Matt heaved a sigh, "Makes me laugh, to be quite honest." Silence met his words, and he knew he had proven his point.

"So," he repeated, "When do we leave? Because standing around like a bunch of assholes won't do your Neal-"

"Bae," Mr. Gold said through clenched teeth.

"...It won't do your Bae very much good, now will it?" Matt corrected himself, not wanting to banter with the man any longer. With a grand flourish of his arm, he swung his cane in front of him to lead them out and down to the lobby.

He was curious to see what was just so goddamn special about that book that fogged his senses,making it unable to detect.