Blair Sandburg rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He stretched his arms up over his head and pulled against the headboard behind him without ever opening his eyes. Blair felt every muscle lengthen and joint pop as his weary body slowly started to greet the day. Man, that felt good, he thought. Maybe I need to start doing more yoga...Blair immediately winced at the idea and the corresponding image it brought to his mind. Great, his thoughts continued with a groan, now I'm starting to sound like my mother. Blair opened his eyes, squinting and blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright light streaming in through the still-curtainless windows. He checked his bedside clock, surprised by the numbers he saw. Ten hours of sleep, Blair recognized, doing the math. So then why do I feel like crap?

The acrid smell of burnt coffee wafted into the room. Blair panicked, instinctively fearing the worst. He forced his protesting muscles to a standing position as quickly as he could. Clad only in his boxers, he padded into the kitchen to find that his roommate, Sentinel and best friend, Jim Ellison, was similarly dressed, slowly sipping that awful-smelling coffee as he sat at the island, lost in his thoughts. Blair sighed with relief...but that relief was short-lived when he noticed that Jim pretty much looked like he felt.

"Morning, chief," Ellison greeted his roommate, never looking in Blair's direction as he spoke.

"Morning ended about two hours ago, Jim," Blair complained in response. He poured himself a cup of the bitter, think, coffee-like sludge that his roommate was drinking and choked down one swallow before his body refused to proceed any further.

Ellison smiled for the first time since both men had woken up. "You've never been a fan of long stakeouts."

Blair ignored the comment and picked up the coffee pot, using what little energy he could spare to conjure up a fresh batch of the much-needed liquid. Once he was able to find an unused coffee mug and pour himself a fresh cup, Blair allowed himself one small sigh of relief. "Jim, next time, just kill me at the end of the night. At least I'll wake up feeling better than this."

"Sure, chief," Ellison agreed, his mind clearly elsewhere.

His concerns renewed, Blair forced his partner to put down his coffee, converting the sludge in Ellison's mug to another fresh cup as the mug came to rest on the counter. "Okay, Jim, you hate that joke. You go ballistic on me every time I tell it. What's going on?"

Blair's concern seemed to shake Ellison out of his stupor. "Oh...sorry, chief. I just...I didn't sleep well last night, I guess."

"Want to tell me about it?"

Jim sighed and took a sip of the fresh coffee, taking the moment to gather his thoughts. "It's nothing. I had a weird dream is all."

A shot of nervous adrenaline inexplicably traveled down Blair's spine. "What was your dream about?"

"It was nothing, chief," Jim insisted.

Blair was decidedly skeptical of the way that his Sentinel was downplaying the dream. "No dead tigers?" Jim shook his head. "No apocalypse?"

Jim shook his head again. "All I was doing was watching a blind woman give a deposition in a murder case at the 12th. It's just..."

Blair swallowed hard as a wave of familiar recognition washed over him. "Just what, Jim?"

"In the dream, my sight wasn't working. I don't know how, or why, but everything looked like it was..."

"The surface of the sun?" asked Blair.

Jim tilted his head as Blair completed his thought for him. "Yeah..."

Blair pinched the bridge of his nose, wincing as he massaged the space between his eyes. "I think I might have had the same dream last night."

"Any idea what it means?" asked Jim.

Blair could only shrug. "Not a clue." He sipped at his coffee until an idea came to him. "Maybe it's trying to warn us that your sight might be in jeopardy and you should learn to compensate now..."

Jim groaned at the images Blair's comments came to mind. "I'm never going to get away from your tests, am I?"

Blair, for the first time that morning, smiled...before hiding the smile around the rim of his coffee mug. "Nope."

#

"Ms. Wong?"

Jennifer Wong looked up at the sound of the gentle voice that pierced the silence of the soundproofed room. "Yes?"

"My name is Matt Murdock, Ms. Wong," Matt continued, introducing himself. "This is my partner, Foggy Nelson. We're your attorneys."

Jennifer sighed with relief even as her heartbeat spiked. She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table. "Please," she begged, her voice dripping with desperation, "my husband...he's gone..."

"On that point," Foggy chimed in, playing 'devil's advocate'. "It seems you and the police are in agreement. But the police seem to believe that you've killed him."

Jennifer's face fell as she pulled her hands back and slumped with defeat. "You don't...believe me..."

Matt opened up his senses...and recognized the utterly desperate sincerity radiating from ever fiber of Jennifer's being. "No, I believe you, Ms. Wong," He countered simply.

Foggy turned to his partner, trying to read his best friend's body language. I wish I was half as good at reading him as he is at reading...well, everything, I guess, he thought. He sighed and followed his partner's lead, turning his attention back to their client. "Why don't you tell us about the past twenty-four hours?"

Jennifer turned her attention back to Foggy as if she, herself, were in a fog. "The past...twenty-four hours..."

Matt tilted his head to the side, his attention seemingly caught on something. "You don't remember, do you?"

Jennifer leaned back in her chair and sighed, obviously frustrated. "No," she admitted.

"What about before then?" asked Foggy. His frustration seemed to be matching that of his client. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Jennifer frowned, turning away from the two men. "Last thing...I remember..."

Matt sat on the edge of his chair, his attention entirely focused on Jennifer. "Ms. Wong, can you remember anything before you were left in this room?"

Jennifer turned her head toward Matt without facing him directly. She carefully considered the question, her face paling when she realized what the answer was. "No," she finally admitted quietly.

Matt jumped into action immediately, pounding on the door to get the attention of anyone he could attract from the bullpen. "OFFICERS!"

Foggy watched his partner's behavior in open-mouthed shock as an older black woman in a well-tailored suit answered Matt's call. "Is something wrong?"

"My client needs medical attention," Matt replied. "And crucial evidence will be lost if she's not seen within the hour."

The woman's voice held an air of authority. "I'll make sure it happens personally." She turned to the bullpen, and flagged down the familiar officer who was passing through the hallway. "LT!"

"Yes, sir?" LT asked, perking up at the call.

"Get these folks to the Medical Examiner's office at the 11th. I'll call ahead and let Doctor Morgan know you're coming."

"Yes, sir," LT agreed quickly.

Foggy was adding confusion to his shock. "The Medical Examiner's office?"

The woman sighed, in no mood to have her orders questioned by a goofy-looking junior lawyer. "Is your client's life in danger?"

Foggy looked to Matt, who shook his head as subtly as he dared. "No," Foggy replied.

"Then it will be three hours before anyone at Metro General would be willing to see your client, at which point it seems like your partner is pretty sure you'll lose whatever evidence you're looking for?"

Matt nodded. "We need a tox screen done. Immediately."

"Then I can promise you, the 11th is going to be your best chance to get one in the timeframe you're looking for," Gates insisted. "LT?"

LT nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Detective..." Foggy spoke up in protest.

The woman corrected him quickly. "*Captain* Victoria Gates. I'm in charge of this precinct, Mr..."

Foggy's bluster evaporated. "Nelson, ma'am," he stammered with nervous politeness. "Franklin Nelson."

Gates suppressed a chuckle at the name. "Mr. Nelson, we all know this case stinks. Now, I am going to do everything i can to help you get real justice for your client, but in order to make sure that happens, I need you to trust me. Are we clear on that?"

Foggy swallowed hard, struck by a sudden attack of nerves. "Yes...yes, ma'am," he stammered.

"Good," Gates declared. "LT!"

"On it, sir," LT agreed. "Let's go, people."

Gates watched Jennifer Wong leave with LT and her lawyers, only speaking up again after the elevator doors had closed. "ELLIS!" she called.

Tory stumbled out of a nearby conference room. "Captain?"

"How's it going on that facial recognition I asked for?" asked Gates.

"Still working on it," Tory replied. "As far as I can tell, he's clean."

"Keep looking," Gates told her. The captain's voice grew quiet as her words became more for herself than for others. "There's something going on with that man. And I need to know what the hell that 'something' is."

#

Foggy spoke up the minute the three of them were settled in the back of the patrol car. "Okay, Matt. What's going on here? Really?"

"Our new client was drugged. Really."

"So why the big rush?" Foggy argued. "Why are we headed to some ME's office instead of a hospital? Wouldn't it take several hours, if not days for the drugs to work their way out of her system?"

Matt shook his head. "The concentrations aren't that strong."

Foggy's eyes widened. "They're not?"

Matt shook his head again, pointing to his nose for clarification. "And I don't think they needed to be, under the circumstances."

Foggy frowned, clearly confused by the certainty of Matt's declaration. "Circumstances?"

"I suspect Ms. Wong has non-24. And has probably had it for a while."

"What the hell is non-24?"

"A sleep disorder," Matt explained. "It happens a lot to the blind."

Foggy mouthed a silent "oh". "So do you...?"

"You have to be 'totally' blind, Foggy," Matt replied, not wanting to go further in open company.

Foggy, for his part, filled in the unspoken gap and moved on. "So what does does non-24 do to you, exactly?"

"Well, light and darkness are usually how our bodies know when to stay up and when to sleep. If all you see is darkness, it can mess with that cycle."

Foggy caught on quickly. "So if this isn't treated..."

"Think about the worst all-nighter we ever pulled in law school. And multiply that times a hundred."

"Wow," Foggy mouthed in amazement. He then added that piece of information to the razor-thin pile of information they had about their new case. "Wait...if you gave me half a beer after one of those all nighters I'd have been on the floor. So if Ms. Wong was drugged, even a little bit..."

Matt nodded. "I don't think there's any chance she was in good enough shape for those confessions to be legit."

"So she's being framed for this," said Foggy.

"That's my theory," Matt agreed.

"By who?" asked Foggy. "Fisk is still in Rikers, awating trial. You don't think..."

Matt shook his head. "No, I don't think it's Fisk."

"Then who?!" Foggy exclaimed.

Matt nudged his head in LT's direction. "I have some...ideas," he replied, hoping Foggy got the implied message.

LT, for his part, ended the conversation by pulling into the parking space and shut off the engine. "We're here." The remaining walk to the morgue was spent in silence, save for the irrhythmic tapping of Matt and Jennifer's canes.