This takes us right up to the beginning of S2. This chapter constitutes the 5th "save," as well as a subtle +1 at the end.

Thank you to everyone for reading this and for your kind comments. I hope you enjoyed it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Daredevil or any of the characters in this story. Everything belongs to Marvel; I just bring these guys into my headspace every once in a while.

"So, whaddya think. Should I ask for her number?"

Matt lifts his head quickly, the question taking him by surprise. He quickly tries to piece together some sort of cohesive context for Foggy's question based on the few words he remembers from the past three minutes: Barista. Cute smile. Writes "Franklin" instead of "Foggy" on his cup. Smells like cardamom and poppy seeds and-

You're projecting, Murdock.

"Yes," Matt says, taking a sip of his beer. He can tell from Foggy's silence that he's taken too long to answer. Quickly, he nods again and adds, "Definitely."

Foggy snorts and takes a drink. "Good save," he mutters sarcastically.

Matt sighs. This is the first time he's been out with Foggy in weeks. He'd promised his friend that, for just one night, he'd be Matt Murdock and no one else. And dammit, he's been trying. But the jerk to his left-the one who smells like Newports and faux leather and some sort of horrible cologne-has not been making it easy.

The guy's been talking to-or, rather, at-a Josie's regular for the last ten minutes. Matt doesn't know her name, but he's heard her voice more than a few times, and he has a oddly distinct memory of her rushing in front of him to hold the door open once when his hands were full with his cane, an umbrella, and legal papers from whatever case he and Foggy had been working on at the time. In a city like this, kindness to strangers tends to stand out.

Matt grimaces as he realizes that her proclivity for kindness is probably what got her stuck talking to this man in the first place, and is almost certainly what's keeping her from telling him to shove off every time he makes a lewd comment about her dress or her legs or her chest. From her nervous laughter and her rapid heartbeat, Matt can tell that she's not enjoying his company. But despite this knowledge, hitting on someone is not a crime, so there's nothing Matt can do. Besides-he's just Matt Murdock tonight, and Matt Murdock, unlike his decidedly meddlesome alter-ego, doesn't get involved in other people's problems.

Matt shakes his head and offers Foggy a contrite smile. "I'm sorry. I'm listening, I promise."

Foggy sets his beer on the bar. "No way, dude. You can at least let me in on whatever action I'm missing."

"It's nothing," Matt says. But Foggy goes silent again, and Matt knows that he's not going to let this go. He exhales and leans in to speak more softly. "Fine. D'you see the guy sitting next to me?"

Foggy raises his head, and Matt rolls his eyes. If Foggy's going to be privy to Matt's secrets, he's going to have to teach him a little subtlety.

"Who, Drakkar?" Foggy asks. Matt raises his eyebrow. Foggy snorts. "Dude, you don't have to have superpowers or whatever to smell that guy from across the room. He smells exactly like my high school gym during prom."

Matt grunts. "They're not superpowers," he protests, shaking his head. Foggy snorts again. "Whatever. To the point: Drakkar-you seen him in here before?"

"No," Foggy says. "Why? What's up?"

Matt listens to the conversation going on next to him. Nothing has changed. The man is still taking every opportunity to try and-metaphorically at least-insert himself into her pants; the woman is still responding halfheartedly, but making no other effort to leave the conversation. No one is doing anything strictly wrong. Even a masked vigilante would have to let this one pass.

"It's nothing," Matt sighs. "Really."

He can almost feel Foggy weighing his words, wondering if he can-or should-believe them. Finally, Foggy sets his empty bottle on the bar and stands up. "Good. Because I'm going to take a piss, and when I get back, I expect to have a fresh beer and your full attention." Foggy grabs Matt's shoulders and squeezes. "I have needs, Murdock. Base, primal needs that can only be met in the arms of a beautiful woman-preferably one who comes with the promise of free caffeine and pastries. And with your help, my friend, I think we just might be able to make it happen."

"All right, all right," Matt laughs, batting Foggy's arms away. "Understood."

Foggy punches Matt's shoulder lightly and then turns and heads for the bathroom. As he walks away, Matt raises his hand to signal Josie for a second round. He waits until her hears her I got you, Murdock from across the bar to put his arm down; less than two minutes later, he hears the heavy thud of two cheap beers being set on the bar in front of him. He thanks Josie and takes a drink. And then, slowly, he shuts down.

That's as good a term for it as anything: shutting down. Matt doesn't do it often, one because it takes a fair amount of energy, and two because it makes him incredibly vulnerable. But just like he can ramp his senses up to hear a heartbeat three blocks away or smell Karen carrying coffee up the stairs in the morning, he can also force himself to concentrate on turning these senses off, or shutting them down. It's different from the meditation he does to heal himself after injury-there's no energizing or rejuvenating element to it. It's just being quiet, being still.

… And in tonight's case, it's also staying out of trouble. The best chance he has for not confronting the guy sitting next to him-Drakkar-is if he doesn't have to listen to all of the ridiculously offensive things coming out of his mouth. And the only way he can do that is if he can't hear. At all. When Foggy comes back, he'll suggest that they move further away. Preferably to another bar entirely.

Except that before Matt senses Foggy's return, he feels a sharp elbow in his side, breaking his concentration. Instantly he hears all of the sounds of the bar at once-the water dripping into the drain beneath the sink, someone rubbing the tip of a cue against chalk, the empty soap dispenser whirring uselessly in the bathroom. And above it all, the sound of a woman's voice.

"Hey, let me go."

Drakkar laughs and elbows Matt in the side again as he pulls the woman back to him. She stumbles forward, and Matt feels the man shift so that she's pulled between his legs.

Matt grits his teeth. I'm Matt Murdock tonight, I'm Matt Murdock tonight, I'm Matt Murdock tonight he chants to himself, even as his fingers clench around the drink in his hand.

"C'mon, sweetheart. We're having fun, aren't we?"

The woman twists in his arms, but the man tightens his grip and laughs lazily, almost as though he's enjoying the struggle.

"Please, just let me go," she begs, the panic rising in her voice.

Matt growls. Screw Matt Murdock.

He swivels in his seat and grabs the man's arm. "Hey, man. Why don't you leave her alone?"

Surprised by Matt's interference, the man temporarily relaxes his grip on the woman's waist. Seizing her opportunity, the woman staggers out from between his legs and weaves her way toward the bar's exit. Matt exhales in relief as he hears the door shut behind her.

Drakkar makes no effort to follow her. Instead, he turns his attention to Matt. "What the fuck?" he snarls, ripping his arm free of Matt's grasp.

Matt weighs his options. He can't fight this man-not here, at least. So he can either diffuse the situation, or he can prepare himself to take a beating. Not liking the second option much, Matt leans back in his chair and slowly, deliberately raises his hands to the sides of his face, palms out, drawing as much attention as possible to his eyes.

"Look, I don't want any trouble," Matt says. For added emphasis, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Drakkar's heart is beating quickly, angrily. Still, he hesitates as he studies Matt's face. After a minute, Matt lifts the corner of his mouth into what he hopes is an innocent-looking smile.

It's the wrong move.

Drakkar stands and slams his half-full beer down on the bar. "If you didn't want trouble, then you shoulda kept your hands to your damn self," he says. "Get up."

Slowly, Matt complies, but is careful to fumble with his cane in the process. Again, Drakkar hesitates. As pissed as he is, Matt can tell he's not quite sure about the morality of hitting a blind guy.

Matt slouches to make himself look as small as possible. This seems to work. Drakkar's heartbeat slows, and Matt's nearly certain that if he can just keep the victim act up a little longer, he'll be in the clear.

Except that Matt's forgotten one critical piece of this delicately-feigned balancing act.

"Leave him alone, asshole."

Foggy.

Matt groans as Foggy steps in front of him. Matt had been concentrating so hard on staying calm that he'd neglected to listen for Foggy's return from the bathroom. And now Foggy is in exactly the wrong place at the wrong time-between Matt and the man who would already have broken Matt's jaw if it weren't for Matt's "disability."

"Don't do this, Foggy," Matt whispers, grabbing at his friend's arm. In the same instant, Drakkar's heart begins racing again and he takes a step forward.

"Who the hell are you?"

Foggy shakes his arm free and straightens up to his full height. "Never mind who I am. What matters is who you are."

Matt can tell from Foggy's voice that he's pissed-whether at Drakkar or at Matt, he's not so sure. Either way, Matt tries again to pull Foggy out of the line of fire, but again, his friend just shakes himself free.

Drakkar laughs lazily again. "Oh yeah, and why's that?"

Matt winces. The man's heartbeat is beating faster now, and the steely, arrogant edge has returned to his voice.

Seemingly oblivious to the danger he's in, Foggy clears his throat and sticks his hands in his pockets. It's a tell Matt knows well from the courtroom-it's what Foggy does right before he presents evidence that he's certain will win the case for him. When he speaks, his voice is clear, measured, almost mocking.

"Because you're the asshole who's about to hit a blind lawyer in a bar full of witnesses. You know what the punishment for assault in the second degree is, dude? Two years, minimum. But you know what? Why don't you go ahead and give it a shot. I'm feelin' pretty hot tonight-I bet we can convince a judge that you deserve the full seven. So whaddya think-you still liking your chances?"

The bar is growing quieter by the minute as more and more patrons pick up on the escalating tension. Above the ebbing noise, Matt hears Drakkar pick his beer up and swirl its contents. After a moment, he drains the bottle and then slams it back down. Please just leave, please just leave Matt thinks to himself, despite the mounting evidence that this is not how the night is going to end.

"You know what?" Drakkar sneers. "You're right."

Shit.

He lands the punch before either Matt or Foggy has time to react. Matt's senses scream as he hears the man's knuckles connect with Foggy's cheek and smells the blood pooling in Foggy's mouth from biting his tongue. Foggy stumbles backward around Matt with the force of the contact; in the same instant, Drakkar advances, readying his fist for another blow. But Matt is prepared to buy his friend some time. Affecting clumsiness, Matt kicks the stool he'd been sitting on into the attacker's path. It works better than he'd hoped: he'd meant to simply slow him down, but the man is tipsy enough that he trips and loses his balance on the chair's legs, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Matt takes advantage of the moment to turn to Foggy. "Get out of here," he hisses.

"Like hell," Foggy spits back as he attempts to weave unsteadily toward the man on the floor.

Matt hadn't been expecting this. He's never seen Foggy in a fight before; frankly, he didn't know the guy had it in him. But from the way Foggy is attempting to shoulder his way around Matt, he knows that his friend's not going to let this one go.

Matt wracks his brain trying to figure out how he can stop this fight without doing something he shouldn't be able to do. But before he can come up with an answer-and, fortunately, before either Foggy or Drakkar reach each other-a familiar figure rushes around the bar and plants itself firmly in Drakkar's path.

"Walk away, prick."

To punctuate her point, Josie shoves something hard against the man's chest. Matt's smelled the object many times before-years of stale beer and cigarettes caked on top of polyurethane and maplewood. In the same instant that Josie speaks, Foggy stops trying to push his way forward. In all the years they've been coming here, neither of them has ever been on the receiving end of Josie's baseball bat. It doesn't seem like Foggy is particularly anxious to break that streak tonight.

Drakkar, however, doesn't seem to understand how seriously Josie takes her "no bar fights" policy. He grunts and swats the bat away before trying to muscle his way past her. But Josie has dealt with this particular brand of asshole many, many times before. She sidesteps to her right and shoves her bat in his sternum, harder this time.

"Look," she says, her voice carrying loudly over the sudden stillness of the bar. "You've got two options here. One, you leave now. Two, you try to get past me again and you get a mouth full of broken teeth. Your choice."

Drakkar considers this for a minute, and Matt can smell his sweat and feel his heartbeat escalating as he weighs Josie's words. Finally, he takes a step backward and kicks his stool against the bar.

"Fuck you all," he mutters. He kicks his stool again and then turns and makes his way to the exit, being sure to ram his shoulder into anyone who happens to be in his way.

Matt tracks his footsteps until he's two blocks away. Once he's convinced he's not coming back, he turns to Foggy, who, incredibly, is laughing quietly to himself.

Matt exhales in a mixture of both frustration and relief. "What the hell is so funny?"

Foggy leans back against the bar. "It's nothing," he says through his laughter. "I was just thinking… this is pretty much how prom ended for me, too."

"That was… dumb," Foggy says as he takes a towel from Matt's hands. Matt had only been able to bargain for the towel-and the ice within it-once he and Foggy had cleaned up the mess they'd helped create and tipped Josie-generously-for her trouble. Even now, though, Matt can feel Josie eyeing them angrily from behind the bar. Despite their patronage over the last several years, Matt's not sure they'd still be welcome here if Foggy had actually managed to throw a punch.

Matt takes a seat and leans back in his chair, arms crossed. "Ya think?"

"Yeah well, you should see the other guy," Foggy quips, audibly wincing as he places the ice on his cheek. Matt scowls and lowers his chin to his chest. He's not in the mood for humor at the moment; not when he's still wracking his brain trying to figure out how he would have stopped his friend from getting pummeled if Josie hadn't intervened. Maybe he could disappear for a few weeks and then reemerge and tell everyone that he'd had an operation and that now he's only partially blind. At least then he'd be able to defend his friends when he's Matt Murdock, and not just when he's-

"No, no." Foggy groans. "Stop that. Now."

Matt sighs. "Stop what?"

Matt feels the air around his face swirl as Foggy waves his hand in front of it. "That, man. You're… you're brooding."

Matt shakes his head in frustration. "Well someone should be worrying about what could've happened back there, Foggy. What the hell were you thinking, anyway? I had it under control. The guy wasn't even going to hit me. He was going to walk away."

"Yeah? and how the hell was I supposed to know that, huh? I came out of the bathroom to see you squaring off with some jackass twice your size who looked like he'd been itching for a fight since the day he was born. What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and watch?"

"You could try trusting me, maybe," Matt hisses.

He knows it's the wrong thing to say the moment the words leave his mouth. Foggy knows it, too: he snorts and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

Matt sighs. The trust that he had earned through years of being the rational, reliable, uptight-but-good-natured best friend had all crumbled months ago during the sleepless night Foggy spent covered in Matt's blood. It's a long, steep hill back from that, and Matt is starting at the very bottom.

Which is all to say that appealing to his own trustworthiness is not the best way for Matt to win an argument with Foggy tonight.

Matt puts his elbows on the bar and cradles his head in his hands. "Look, I'm sorry," he offers. "It's just… you're not supposed to get hurt."

Foggy huffs. "What, like, ever?"

Yes, ever, Matt thinks, his inner voice pleading, urgent. Haven't you been listening? Don't you understand that that's what I've been trying to tell you all along?

Foggy sighs and reaches forward to grab his beer. He takes a long drink. Then another. Matt can tell he's trying to hide the hitch in his breath that signals he's about to speak.

Finally, Foggy removes the towel from his cheek, and places it on the bar. "Did I ever tell you I tried it once?" he asks, his voice slow, reluctant.

Matt rubs his forehead against his hands. "What? Trusting me?"

He hadn't meant for it to be a joke, but Foggy laughs, nonetheless, cutting through some of the tension. When Foggy speaks again, his voice is somewhat clearer. "No. Being blind."

Matt jerks his head up, completely unprepared for that response. "You what?"

Foggy laughs again and takes another drink. "Yeah, back in college. It was dumb. Really dumb. I just, like, tied a shirt or something over my eyes and walked around our room for a while..."

Matt is smiling now, despite himself. Even if he's never actually seen his friend, he can still imagine what it might look like for someone as perpetually clumsy as Foggy to be stumbling around the tiny space of a dorm room blindfolded.

"And?"

"And I tripped over my shoes or some shit and hit my head on my desk," Foggy mumbles, heat rising to his face with embarrassment "It bled pretty bad, actually."

"Oh my God, I remember that," Matt says, laughing incredulously. "You had to get stitches! I knew you didn't get that cut playing Ultimate Frisbee."

There had been so many things wrong about that lie-first and foremost that Foggy hadn't played any sports since little league, and Matt strongly suspected he hadn't decided to take up Ultimate Frisbee in the middle of January during their freshman year. The smell of blood on the corner of his desk had been a major giveaway. Nonetheless, Matt couldn't come up with any alternative explanation that made any sense, so he'd let it go at the time, and dutifully woken Foggy up at hour-long intervals throughout the night to ensure that he didn't have a concussion.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Foggy says, laughing along with Matt. "It was the best I could come up with at the time. If I'd known I was talking to a human lie detector, I might have tried to come up with something a little more compelling."

Foggy's words prick at still-healing wounds, and Matt's laughter dies. Listening for lies is something Matt trained himself to do out of necessity-out of self-defense-after his father died. But over the years, he's done his best to not listen for Foggy's lies; to not mistrust and second-guess everything he says. To some extent, it's worked. But heartbeats are like Tinnitus: Matt can hear them best when he's actively listening for them, or when the rest of the world is quiet. And Matt and Foggy spend so much time together that Matt can't always stop himself from listening to Foggy's heart-lies or no lies. It's just always there.

Matt opens his mouth to apologize-again-for the things he should have told Foggy years ago, but before he gets a word out, Foggy cuts him off.

"Anyway, that's not the point of all this. The point is, that ever since then, I guess I thought… you know… that that's how it was for you. I thought that that's what it was like to be you. When I told you that I felt sorry for you-that's why. I thought of you going through life like that-never knowing when one of your idiot roommate's misplaced shoes was going to send you to the hospital for stitches. And it just… sucked."

Matt exhales slowly. "That's not what it's like to be me, Foggy," he says, furrowing his brow. "That's not even what it's like to be blind."

Foggy laughs halfheartedly. "I know that. Now. But… even now that I know better, it's still hard to reconcile that experience with… well.. That," he says, applying pressure on Matt's shoulder so that Matt turns to face the opposite end of the bar.

Through the noise of the room-through the pool balls rolling over felt, and the beer sloshing in pint glasses, and the sucking sound of shoe soles tugging against the sticky floor-Matt singles out the sound of the television coming from the direction in which Foggy has turned him. It takes him all of two seconds to recognize the voice of the brunette reporter from the news, and another two seconds to realize she's reporting on him. From the sound of it, someone captured some cell phone footage of Matt stopping a robbery the other night. The fight hadn't been difficult-Matt walked away with a single bruise on his shin-but it had been three against one, so it had taken some time and skill.

And from Foggy's point of view, Matt had done it all while blind.

"Look," Foggy says as Matt turns away from the television, his voice suddenly tired, defeated. "I know you don't need me fighting your battles, Matt. I know you don't need me to save you. But… I've been looking out for you for so long that I guess… it's just a hard habit to break."

Matt closes his eyes and frowns. If he'd actually stopped to think about it at any point in the last ten years, he might have guessed that Foggy would have tried to put himself in his shoes. In retrospect, it certainly explains why he made a more concerted effort to at least keep Matt's side of the room clean after their first semester. But Matt hadn't thought about it, because he'd never needed to. Since their first meeting, Foggy had always acted disinterested in Matt's blindness-the same as he might have acted if Matt had had red hair or slightly-larger-than-average ears. And so, around Foggy at least, Matt stopped being "blind Matt Murdock" and just became Matt Murdock, the guy who could do or be anything he wanted to do or be because there was nothing holding him back-nothing making him any different from everyone else.

And yet, across all these years, he has never truly considered what it must be like for someone else-for someone who is not blind and who does not have amped-up senses, but who can understand, theoretically, what blindness is-to be a witness to Matt's world. Across all these years, he has never once stopped to consider what it must be like to be Matt Murdock's best friend. But in this moment, he thinks he's beginning to understand.

He understands that despite all his bravado, Matt Murdock sometimes misjudges the distance between a landing and the top of a staircase.

He understands that deep within Matt Murdock is a nine-year-old boy who misses his father terribly, and who still searches for him in everything he does; in everyone he saves.

He understands that Matt Murdock's blood sometimes flows from wounds that are impossibly deep, and that enough of his blood pooling on the floor means the same thing it would mean if it were anyone else's: fear, suffering, dying.

He understands that Matt Murdock's pain isn't a suit that he can take on and off at will, and that sometimes the guilt over all of the things that he cannot do and should have done coils around his body so tightly that he can't even find the strength to stand.

He understands that all of these are things that Matt Murdock is too proud, to stubborn, too blind to pay much attention to. And he understands that Matt Murdock is also a lucky sonuvabitch that somehow, despite all of this, stumbled into a friendship with someone who sees.

Matt can't quite trace the moment he knew there was a battle raging within him. He likes to think that it was Stick who created it, that he was just another kid until that crazy bastard came along and told him he was something else. But, in his more conscientious moments, he knows that some part of him knew long before Stick, long before the accident, and maybe even long before he first heard his grandmother talk about the Murdock Boys as though they'd been reared by Satan himself. His soul has always been at war with itself, one side fighting for what's good and one side fighting for what's right.

And, just as some part of him has always known about the struggle, he has also always known that, when it's all over, there will probably only be one victor. Until the night he heard the girl crying as her father slipped into her room, Matt Murdock had been winning. More recently, though, the other side-the devil-has been gaining ground. Tonight, more clearly than ever, he understands that just about the only thing keeping Matt Murdock in the fight anymore is the guy sitting next to him. The guy who keeps finding him when he's lost. The guy who keeps picking him up, dusting him off, and urging him back to the front. The guy who sees Matt Murdock even when Matt Murdock can no longer see himself behind the mask.

And now that guy-his only advocate; his only ally-is beginning to lose hope.

And Matt is terrified.

"You're right," he says, finally, his voice struggling to rip its way out of his throat. "That guy up there-the guy who puts on a suit and chases down criminals-he doesn't need you looking out for him. He doesn't need protection. If you try to fight his battles for him, you're just going to wind up getting hurt-or worse. And I don't want that for you. I don't want that for anyone."

Matt carefully removes his glasses and sets them on the bar. He can count on one hand the number of times he's wished he wasn't blind. The night he woke up in the hospital after the accident was the first; listening to his father win his final fight was the second; the first time he made Elektra laugh was the third. And this moment, here, with Foggy, is the fourth. He wants to be able to look his friend in the eyes-not just past them or over his shoulder-and make him truly understand what he is saying.

"You're also wrong, though. Because you know more about me than anyone. And that's not an accident, Fog. I need you looking out for me. I need to know you to have my back. I always have. And despite the sometimes insurmountable evidence to the contrary, I always will."

Matt doesn't realize how much he'd been anticipating Foggy's response until he doesn't get one. As Foggy sighs and reaches for his beer, the words Matt had expected to hear echo in the silence between them.

I know.

You don't have to worry about that.

I'll always be here.

Instead, what Foggy finally says is, "Buddy… I gotta be honest with you. It's getting harder and harder for me to tell the difference between the two of you."

Matt swallows as his beer churns in his stomach. In his head, a voice sneers, Fine. You tried. It didn't work. Let him go. But Matt can't accept that. He can't accept that now, in this moment, he has to give up on everything he has fought for-on everything Foggy has fought for. He can't accept that this is the moment in which Matt Murdock finally stays down.

Matt takes a drink to hide his trembling hands. Then, slowly, carefully, he reaches for his glasses and places them over his eyes.

"I'll make it easy for you tonight," he says, fighting to keep his voice even and light. "Tonight it's only me. And my full attention, as requested. I promise."

It's not much, but he hopes it's enough. Even if it just delays the inevitable-even if it just prolongs the bloody, angry war within him-Matt hopes it at least buys him more time. More time to figure out who he really wants to win. And, if necessary, more time to figure out how to say goodbye.

Foggy sighs again. Against his better judgment, Matt concentrates on his friend's heartbeat. To his relief, it's slow, steady. Seconds later, Foggy reaches out and touches his bottle to Matt's. When he speaks, there's a hint of a smile-a strained smile, but a smile nonetheless- in his voice.

"In that case, I think we're gonna need another round."

Matt closes his eyes and exhales. Deep within him, Matt Murdock stands, unsteadily, and claws his way back into the fight.