Hi, friends! Thanks for being so patient while I took a bit of time off to enjoy the holidays. The next chapter will be up quicker than this one was, don't worry.

A few thoughts on the Season 2 promotional pictures that were released recently: 1) Where is Sarah? Did they forget her? Are they saving her as a surprise? Is she standing behind Karen in that one photo, and we just can't see her? I don't understand. 2) Seeing more of the new suit reinforces my choice to keep the black outfit for this story by about ten thousand percent.

Sorry for the depressing tone of this chapter. It'll get better, I promise. Enjoy! (?)


Chapter Seventeen: Shifting

The two women stood in silence for what was probably only a few seconds, but felt like much longer, Sarah with her mouth hanging open and Lauren with the mask gripped tightly in her hand.

"Lauren. What…what are you doing here?" Sarah asked finally.

"Greg's dad is in the hospital," Lauren answered slowly, still appearing to be very much shell-shocked by the situation. "He had to catch a flight home tonight. I don't like staying in the apartment by myself. I called you, but…you didn't answer."

Sarah glanced at her cell phone, which still sat on her dining room table on silent mode, which she had forgotten to switch off after work.

Lauren was again looking uneasily at the blood on the windowsill, apparently unable to look away. "Is…is that your blood?"

Sarah looked at the blood and then at her stricken friend before snapping out of her daze. "No! No. It's not mine. I'm fine."

"Right. I'm guessing it belongs to the guy who just jumped out your bedroom window, then. Which, I might add, is on the fifth floor. Is he insane? He must be painted on sidewalk now."

Sarah's eyes widened slightly, and before she processed what she was doing, she found herself moving into the bedroom and over to the window. Unlike the one in the living room, this one didn't open onto a fire escape. The window was still open, and she leaned out and looked down, squinting into the dark alley below. There were several other fire escapes and scaffolding nearby. The light from the streetlamps was dim, but she didn't see any black-clad figures lying anywhere below.

She leaned back in, oddly relieved. She knew Matt wouldn't actually jump out of a window if there was no where for him to jump to, but he had seemed noticeably off his game tonight—she probably should have checked to see if he had another concussion. Sliding the window closed and locking it, she turned around to see that Lauren had trailed her into the room. The other woman lingered in the doorway, still looking stunned by the night's events, although Sarah could see it quickly fading into anger and alarm.

The situation didn't improve when Lauren's gaze fell across Sarah's desk, which was still littered in broken glass and bloody disinfecting wipes.

"Oh, good," she said faintly. "More blood. Have you always performed surgery out of your bedroom? What the hell is going on, Sarah?"

"It's…it's a long story," Sarah said pleadingly.

"Give me the Cliff Notes version?"

"Well…it's—we—I mean….um," Sarah stuttered to a stop.

Lauren stared at her. "Okay, less Cliff Note-y than that. I need more words. Nouns maybe. Or verbs."

But Sarah felt like she was frozen. She couldn't tell Lauren anything, not without putting her in danger. Especially not with Matt undoubtedly still lurking somewhere nearby, listening. Even if he wasn't, there was no way she could expose Lauren to the dangers of the world she found herself living in these days. But there was no way of brushing this off, giving the same half-answers she'd been giving for almost a year and then changing the subject.

"I—I know you probably have a lot of questions—"

"Yes, I have questions!" Lauren exclaimed. "How do you even know him? And since when? Why is he bleeding all over your apartment? Was he pulling his shirt back on when I walked in? What—what the hell is even going in your life right now?"

Sarah brought her hands to her mouth, shaking her head as she looked at her friend helplessly. "I'm so sorry. I can't tell you. It would put you in danger."

If it was possible for Lauren's eyes to go wider in disbelief, they did.

"You're joking." Lauren waited for her friend to respond, but Sarah remained silent. "Oh, my God. You're not joking. Sarah, this—this is serious stuff. You could get hurt, o-or killed, or arrested—or all three. That guy who just jumped out your window is Daredevil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. How does that sound like a safe person to be friends with?"

"It's not that simple. He's—he's not the bad guy, I swear. Just, please trust me—"

"Trust you?" Lauren repeated. "This whole last year, you've been hiding things from me. Ever since you quit your job. And now—now this?" Lauren flung the mask down on the table angrily.

"I know. I know, I'm so sorry. It wasn't safe to involve you in anything that's been going on. It's still not."

"What does that even mean? How does me knowing stuff put me in danger?"

"Knowing too much is what put me in danger. I just—I can't tell you about him. Or about any of it. I can't," Sarah repeated forcefully.

Lauren shook her head, laughing mirthlessly. "You've never stood up for yourself a goddamn day in your life, and the first time you actually decide to do it is to protect a vigilante?"

"I'm not just protecting him, I'm protecting you, too," Sarah snapped.

"From what? If he's not the bad guy, then what do you need to protect me from?"

Images of Ronan and Jason flashed through her mind. Sarah bit her tongue again, painfully aware of the fact that there were three people listening to this conversation, even if one of them wasn't in the room. She tried to find the words to calm her friend down, but her silence just hung in the air between them.

"Okay," Lauren said quietly. "Clearly there's no reason for me to be here, then. I'm going home."

As much as Sarah wanted to tell her not to go, there was no point in having her stay. There was nothing that Sarah could tell her that would make her understand without giving her information that was dangerous to know.

"Lauren…"

"If you decide that you actually feel like telling your best friend about the things going on in your life, come find me."

Lauren waited a beat for her to respond. Sarah just nodded tightly, blinking away the prickling sensation behind her eyes as Lauren walked out, slamming the front door behind her.

Sarah stood completely still for a minute in the silence of her apartment.

"Shit," she whispered, pushing her hair out of her face. She kicked the leg of the table next to her in frustration. "Shit."

A few moments later, she heard the familiar noise of Matt landing lightly on the fire escape. He was one of the very last people she wanted to talk to right now, and she briefly debated just going to her room, getting into bed, and ignoring his knock on the window. Instead, she reluctantly made her way over to the window to let him in and begin the argument that would undoubtedly ensue, quickly scanning the room along the way for anything fragile, just in case.

Once Matt was inside the apartment and the window was closed behind him, the two of them stood in silence for a few long moments.

"What's she going to do?"

Sarah hesitated before answering. She really didn't want a repeat of the last time Matt had overheard her talking to someone about him; especially since this time, it wouldn't just be her on his radar.

"Nothing."

Matt's jaw twitched and he threw her a doubtful look. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," Sarah repeated firmly. He still looked unconvinced, so she sighed and continued. "Lauren has been my friend for a long time. She's not going to do anything that she thinks would put me in more danger."

"How do you know she won't go to the police if she thinks that's what will keep you safe?"

"She knows how I feel about the police in this city. She doesn't trust them any more than I do. Besides, she's not the type to freak out about stuff like this. It's—it's just the surprise that's making her mad. No one likes being lied to," Sarah said. Matt just rubbed hand over his mouth angrily, pacing around the small area. "Did she…did she see your face? Could you tell?"

He shook his head. "I heard the door opening and thought it was you coming back. But I realized the heartbeat wasn't right before she came into the room. She just saw my back for a second as I was leaving."

Leaving seemed like an excessively casual way to describe jumping from a fifth-story window, but Sarah wasn't about to argue that at the moment.

Matt finally stopped pacing. "I need to go."

Relieved to be left alone, Sarah picked his mask up from the table to hand to him, but stopped as something occurred to her.

"Go…where?" she asked nervously.

"What?" Matt asked.

"What are you going to do?"

He tilted his head back and exhaled. "I need to make sure she doesn't go to the police."

Her eyes widened slightly, and she automatically took a step away from him, still holding his mask. "Make sure how?"

"I'm just going to listen in," he told her impatiently, holding his hand out again for the mask. "If she decides to call the police or involve other people, I need to know. She won't even know I'm there."

Sarah hesitated, but didn't move to give him the mask. Instead, she took another step back.

Matt slowly cocked his head. "Sarah…give me my mask."

She winced at the warning note in his tone and grasped the fabric in her hands tighter. "Just…okay. Say that you…you know, parkour over to her apartment, and she is on the phone with the police. Then what?"

Matt faltered slightly—apparently he hadn't yet given much thought to what his next step would be in that situation.

"Then at least we know. And we can be prepared for the police and probably some of your coworkers to suddenly show up at your doorstep."

"That's it?" Sarah asked skeptically, twisting the mask nervously in her fingers. "Y-you just let her call the police. No swooping down and—and threatening her, or whatever."

"No, I'm not going to drop down and interrogate a pregnant woman. But I also can't just take your word for it that she won't tell anyone what she saw. Now give me my mask."

She shook her head, taking a few more steps back. Matt matched her movements, keeping within a yard of her but not coming any closer.

"Sarah—"

"What if you change your mind when you get there? I know what you look like when you're angry. I've seen it kind of a lot. The heavy breathing, and the jaw twitch, and the—the hand thing," she said, gesturing towards the way his right hand unconsciously clenched and unclenched by his side. "If you're going to flip your shit, do it here. Do it with me. Not with Lauren."

As the words came out of her mouth, a small voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her for being stupid. Note To Self: Do not invite the dangerous vigilante to flip his shit on you.

"I'm angry because you won't give me my mask," he said pointedly, taking a step towards her. "Not one of your better plans, by the way."

"Not—not the best, maybe. Matt, I'm telling you, she's not going to talk to anyone," Sarah said pleadingly. "I trust her—"

"That's not good enough for me," he snapped. Then, taking a deep breath to calm himself, he said evenly, "I need my mask in order to leave. And I'd really like it if you didn't make me take it from you."

His tone was threatening, but his expression and posture just looked incredibly exhausted. Which was possibly why he hadn't already made a move to take the mask away from her.

There was a beat during which Sarah still clutched the black fabric, chewing the inside of her cheek anxiously. Finally, she held the mask out slowly for him to take. He took it and slipped it over his eyes immediately, then worked his black gloves back onto his hands before heading towards the window.

Sarah sank into one of the dining room chairs, feeling completely drained as she leaned forward and let her head fall into her hands. To be honest, she didn't really think Matt would hurt Lauren—she believed him when he said he would just be listening. But somehow it felt like she was failing to protect her friend anyway, after she had already failed her once tonight.

"Sarah."

She jumped slightly. The room had been so silent that she had assumed Matt had already gone, but when she looked up he was standing in front of the open window with his head turned back towards her.

"I'm not going to do anything to your friend. I promise."

Sarah was pretty sure Lauren wouldn't call herself Sarah's friend anymore—not after tonight, at least. But she just nodded numbly and let her head drop back down into her hands. The next time she looked up, he was gone.

A long time passed before she finally stood, walking towards the kitchen to find something that would clean the blood off her window.


A few hours later, Matt let himself into his apartment through the roof-top door. He leaned against the wall for a few moments, allowing himself to sink into the aches in his body before slowly descending the stairs.

For all of Sarah's concern about him following Lauren home, the results had been—thankfully—uneventful. It had taken him a few minutes to catch up to the cab she had taken, which was stuck at an intersection, trying to detour around some night-time construction. Her heartbeat had been erratic, and her breathing deep, as though she'd been trying to calm down. But she hadn't said anything while in the cab, and he'd stuck around listening for a while after she'd let herself into her apartment, waiting to see if she called the police. But all he'd heard was her crying herself to sleep.

Matt pulled his mask off and collapsed onto the couch, debating whether or not he felt like bothering to shower and mess with his bandages before going to sleep. He shifted slightly, then inhaled sharply as his bruised ribs protested the movement. It almost distracted him from the stinging pain that went down his neck and across his back. Sleep definitely sounded like the much more tempting option than moving around. But first he needed to deal with the nagging feeling in the back of his mind over how he'd left things with Sarah.

Obviously he'd been irritated—to say the least—when she had refused to hand his mask over. But, he had to admit to himself, it wasn't like he hadn't given her reason to be nervous about him being around her friend. He'd done his best to keep calm during their argument, but somehow it still felt like he had done wrong by her, again. The least he could do was let her know that nothing bad had happened between him and her friend.

Matt's normal, non-burner phone was still on the side table next to him, and he fumbled to unlock the screen, sliding his fingers across the well-memorized areas of the screen that would enable the phone's voice dictation.

"Text Sarah," he spoke clearly into the phone.

"Draft text to: Sarah. What would you like to send?"

"Lauren is fine…she didn't talk to anyone." He hesitated for a second, then added, "I'm sorry about earlier. I wasn't going to hurt either of you."

The phone took a second to catch up, then the automated voice read the text message back to him before asking, "Send Text?"

Matt fidgeted with the mask in his left hand, rubbing the fabric between his fingers as he debated. Finally, he shook his head.

"Discard text," he told the phone.

"Text discarded. Draft new message?"

Matt dictated the new text: "Your friend is fine. She didn't talk to anyone."

"Send Text?"

He sighed, before running a hand down his face and mumbling, "Yeah, I guess so."

There was a pause.

"Send text?" the phone repeated, somehow insistent even in its monotone.

Matt groaned and moved his hand away from his mouth.

"Yes," he said tiredly. "Send text."

"Text sent."

Matt had planned to move from the couch to the bed at some point, but found that he was too drained. Instead he just leaned his head back against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, already regretting the pain he knew he'd have in his neck in the morning.


Sarah was still awake when her phone buzzed with a new text message. She knew who it was immediately—no one else texted her this late. The text simply read: Your friend is fine. She didn't talk to anyone.

She rolled her eyes. Terse and to the point, as usual. But at least he had let her know. She closed the message without replying and went to bed, hoping to get at least a few hours of sleep before the morning came.

There was no such luck, and she found herself awake the entire night, tossing in her bed as she ran through a million scenarios for what she could do about Lauren. None of them worked—there was no scenario in which Lauren could know nothing and still remain her friend. But she couldn't know about Orion without knowing that Sarah was working with Matt, and there was no way Sarah could tell her anything about Matt without him finding out.

And so the next day she found herself with no more answers than the night before—only dark, tired rings under her eyes and a hopeless, empty feeling in her chest. She was currently stuck in traffic, struggling with a particularly stubborn gearshift. Jason had given her the number of a space in a public garage where she would find the car she was supposed to drive to a warehouse down by the river, failing to mention that the car was roughly a thousand years old, and that the gearshift had rusted so badly it barely worked. She had taken a look in the trunk to see what exactly she was transporting, but whatever it was had been locked away in an assortment of metal containers. She could feel it weighing the back tires down as she drove.

Sarah finally got to her destination and slowly stopped the car in front of the gate, leaning forward over the steering wheel and craning her neck so that she could peer up at the building. It looked like a typical warehouse, with old cars and scrap metal littering the area outside.

She rolled down her window and reached for the security box next to the gate, where she punched in the code that Jason had given her. With a clanking noise, the gate started to slide open, and she steered the car through. She glanced in her rearview mirror nervously as the gate slid shut again behind her, then pulled up to the building and shut the car off, fiddling with the pepper spray on her keys before she pulled them out of the ignition and opened the car door.

As her shoes crunched against the gravel, she finally caught sight of another person on the property, sitting at an old picnic table next to a car on cylinder blocks. The guy looked to be in his late teens—maybe a high school senior. He was idly toying with the short twists in his hair while reading a thick text book. Sarah craned her neck slightly to read the cover: AP Psychology. Definitely a high school student, then. She frowned. Why would someone so young be involved in anything to do with Orion?

When he looked up from his book and spotted her, his expression changed from neutral to one of distrust and—maybe she was imagining it—nervousness.

"Um, hi," she said with an awkward wave.

"Hang on," he said, closing the book and getting up from his chair. "I'll get my dad."

"Your…dad?"

"Yeah," he said coldly. "My family owns this place. Or, we did. Until you guys decided you wanted it."

Sarah didn't know what to say to that. She'd had no idea this warehouse even existed, much less what had gone down when Orion had taken it over. But she knew from experience that when the higher-ups at Orion wanted something, they didn't generally care about the people it originally belonged to.

"Dad!" the boy called into the open warehouse. "That lady from Orion is here."

A middle-aged man in jeans and a New York Knicks t-shirt came around the corner, wiping what looked like motor oil off of his hands. She could see what looked like an ornate cross tattooed across the dark skin of his right arm, partially visible underneath his sleeve.

"I guess you're Sarah," he said by way of greeting, eyeing her warily.

"Yeah," Sarah replied. "I just…came to drop off this stuff."

She looked back and forth from the man to his son. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting—more slimy guys in cheap suits, maybe—but definitely not two seemingly normal people who were looking at her like she was the slimy guy in a cheap suit.

"I know that. How long do we have to keep it here for?"

Sarah was caught off guard by the question. "Um…I don't know. Did no one talk to you about that?"

"No one talks to us about much of anything," the man said pointedly. "I think only you executive-types get to be in on any of that."

She blinked at being categorized as part of the 'you guys' of Orion. Her instinct was to protest being lumped in with the high profile criminals that ran the company, but she realized resignedly that to the outside observer, she was every bit as responsible for the things that happened at that company as Ronan or Jason was.

"I'm not really…one of those," Sarah mumbled.

The older man gave her a skeptical look. "That's not what I've been hearing."

Sarah furrowed her brow at him in confusion, but before she could ask anything else, he and his son disappeared outside to unload the mysterious cartons from her trunk. When they were done, they went back to what they had been doing without a word to her.

When Sarah got back to the office, she was annoyed to find that Jason wasn't even there, despite the fact that he had instructed her to report back to him immediately after dropping the mystery shipment off. She desperately wanted to go home early, but she also didn't want Jason to turn up at her place, wanting to know why she had never returned from her task.

She slipped her phone out of her pocket and dialed his cell number, using her other hand to gather up several folders that littered her desk. When he didn't answer, she left him a short voicemail saying that the delivery had gone fine, and that she was going to finish up the rest of her paperwork at home. Normally she would be more concerned about how he would respond, but today she found that she didn't have the energy for any more worries than the ones she already had.

As soon as she hung up from leaving the voicemail, her phone rang. The number that flashed up on the screen was a Hell's Kitchen area code, but it wasn't a number she recognized. She answered anyway.

"Hello?"

There was no sound on the other end. She frowned and pulled the phone away from her ear: the line was still going.

"Hello?" she repeated. Again, no one spoke.

Sarah rolled her eyes and hit the 'End' button. Probably an automated system.

Matt didn't show up that night. She figured he was probably still angry with her for the stunt she had pulled with his mask, so maybe it was better if he kept his distance for a couple of days anyway.

When she woke up the next morning, the hollow feeling in her chest had only grown worse, and she barely paid attention to her work that day. She checked her phone repeatedly for any calls or texts from Lauren, but all she found were two missed calls from the same number that had called her the day before. They hadn't left a voicemail.

She had just checked her phone for the tenth time that night—not particularly expecting to see Lauren's name actually come up on the screen—when she heard Matt's knock at the window. She let him in, then returned to the kitchen, where she was pouring bottled water into a pot on the stove so that she could make some pasta.

"You still don't have any water?"

"No," Sarah shook her head, then remembered her white lie from the other night. "Um…the maintenance isn't done yet, I guess. I've been showering at Mrs. Benedict's."

Matt's face—the lower half of it that was visible—was carefully blank. "Seems like a hassle."

It had been a hassle. Sarah had called countless phone numbers in an attempt to shift some of her debt around: utilities, medical bills, student loans, credit cards…it seemed like she couldn't pay one without falling behind on all of the others. Finally she had managed to postpone a couple of payment dates, which cleared up just enough money for her to pay her water fine and get her service reinstated—which was supposed to happen tomorrow morning, hopefully.

"It's fine," she muttered tiredly, stirring the pasta with a wooden spoon. "It doesn't really matter."

When she looked over at Matt, he was frowning at her words, though she wasn't sure why. She changed the subject by filling him in on the mysterious delivery she had made, including where the gate code and the location of the warehouse. She also mentioned the fact that the father seemed to know something she didn't about her role at Orion, which caught Matt's attention.

"What do you think that means?"

"I have no idea. But he seemed to know who I was. Like…people have been talking about me, or something."

"Doesn't sound like a good sign."

"No. You know, for a company I'm trying to get away from, it kind of seems like they just keep tightening their hold," Sarah said.

Matt didn't reply, and Sarah went back to the pasta on the stove, feeling even more hopeless than she had earlier. What was the point of getting away from Orion if she was just going back to a father who didn't remember her and friend who might never want to talk to her again? Was it even worth the trouble to try to leave?

"What's wrong?"

Sarah looked up from where she had been absentmindedly stirring the pasta around the pot as she'd gotten lost in her thoughts.

"What?"

Matt nodded his head in her direction and noted, "You're quiet."

She shrugged. "I'm quiet sometimes."

"Not like this."

Sarah just looked at him, not even knowing where she would start.

"Nothing important," she said simply. "Just thinking."

Matt looked unconvinced, but didn't push the subject. After a few seconds, he tilted his head.

"Your water is boiling over."

Sarah looked down at the stovetop and swore, grabbing the handle and shifting the pot away from the hot burner. In doing so, she accidentally splashed some of the boiling water onto the counter, where it got all over the notebook full of her notes on Lauren's baby shower, including the RSVPs she hadn't even opened yet.

"Shit."

She picked the soaking wet notebook up by the corner and flipped it open; the ink on all the pages was running so badly that it was unintelligible.

"What's that?" Matt asked from behind her.

"Stuff for Lauren's baby shower," she said quietly.

He paused. "You guys are talking again?"

Sarah pursed her lips, snapping the ruined notebook closed. It didn't even have anything incredibly important in it, but for some reason she couldn't help but feel upset.

"No. We aren't."

Sarah threw the notebook in the trash can. She swept her gaze over the now-burned pasta on the stove, the stack of bills she had been rifling through earlier, then back down to the trashcan.

"I'm…going to go to bed now," she decided.

Matt turned his head in her direction with a confused frown, thrown by the sudden shift in conversation. "What?"

But she was already to her room, and she closed the door behind her with a snap, locking the door before crawling into bed without bothering to change out of her clothes.


The next day, in a shocking turn of events, Matt Murdock was feeling guilty.

He was in his office, supposedly reading a Braille copy of a case that he and Foggy were hoping to use as precedent for one of their current clients. But he kept losing his train of thought halfway through, until eventually he gave up and let his let his fingers slip from the paper, leaning back in his chair and removing his glasses so he could rub his eyes.

It wasn't even that he felt what had happened with Sarah and Lauren was his fault—not entirely, at least. It had been clear from what he'd overheard that a blow out had been a long time coming. But the aftermath—that, he was struggling with. Sarah had seemed so incredibly tired the night before. Not in the same way she had after she'd been attacked—the sort of painful exhaustion that gnaws at your bones. A tiredness he was very familiar with. But this had been more like apathy, as though she just didn't care enough to exert any more energy. Another kind of tiredness he was familiar with.

Matt knew how badly it hurt to keep things from your best friend. And how lonely it felt to not be able to confide in them about something so central to your life. If there was anyone who needed someone to confide in, it was Sarah. He heard the way her heartbeat still ticked up whenever either of them mentioned Ronan's name, and the way she religiously kept all of the locks done on her doors and windows now. There was a jumpiness that still hung around her sometimes—an edge that had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with what Ronan had done to her. For as much as she openly talked about the stress of her job and taking care of her father, she never talked about what had happened with Ronan. And for someone who rambled as much as she did, that was notable.

Not that he expected her to confide in him, of all people. But it hadn't really occurred to him that she didn't have anyone she was talking to. From what he had gathered, Lauren was her only close friend, and in all likelihood their friendship had probably just ended due to the secrets Sarah had to keep. He had experienced that particular brand of pain with Foggy, and he couldn't imagine what he would have done had they not been able to reconcile.

"Matt? Are you okay?"

Matt jerked himself out of his thoughts when he registered a familiar voice from the other side of the room. He didn't know how he had missed Karen getting up from her desk and coming to the doorway, even while deep in thought.

"Sorry, Karen," he replied, quickly slipping his sunglasses back on. "I'm fine. What did you need?"

Karen paused before replying. "I was…saying that since we don't have any appointments left today, I might go out and get us some lunch. There's a noodle place a few blocks over that someone recommended to me. Do you want some?"

"No, I'm…not hungry. Thanks," he said distractedly. "Actually, I…I think I might take off. I have some things to take care of today."

It was a lie—sometimes Matt felt like every other word he said to Karen was a lie. By this point, he was so deep in deceit with Karen that there he doubted she would ever be able to move past the truth if he revealed it. The thought didn't help to dull the guilt that was gnawing at his chest.

Karen's skirt swished against her legs as she moved around the desk until she was standing next to him, leaning against the desk drawers.

"Are you sure you're alright, Matt?" she asked softly, and he could hear the worry clearly in her voice.

She was clearly trying to help, but in a strange way she was making it worse, because Matt didn't deserve her concern.. Karen was one of the few bright spots in his life, and he was damaging their friendship every day with the secrets he kept from her. Secrets that he was now forcing someone else to keep, and as a result had cost that person her own best friend.

"I'm fine, Karen," he said evenly, forcing a smile. "Just tired. I think I might be coming down with something."

He could tell she didn't believe him, but thankfully she didn't call him out on it. Instead, she adopted a light, slightly teasing tone. "I thought Foggy said you never admit when you're sick."

Matt had learned quickly that despite her initial unassuming demeanor, when Karen got something between her teeth, she didn't like to let go. Had they had this conversation six months ago, she might have pushed him for more information, determined to get him to open up. But now that she was holding onto her own secrets, she didn't seem to have the will to dig for his anymore.

"Foggy exaggerates," Matt replied, mirroring her light tone. "Is he here?"

He wasn't. Matt couldn't hear his heartbeat from his office.

"No, he went down to the precinct to talk to Brett about some of the warrants we were talking about earlier."

Matt nodded, then stood and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair. "Can you let him know I left for the day?"

"Sure," Karen said uncertainly. He could feel her watching him closely. "I hope you feel better. Try dissolving a zinc tablet under your tongue. It's what my grandmother always had me do."

"That sounds like it tastes awful."

"It did, actually," Karen said with a laugh. "But it usually helped."

A grin flickered across Matt's face. "I might check it out. Thanks, Karen."

Matt had intended to go home, but instead he found himself following the familiar path from his office to the church. Father Lantom was outside, bidding goodbye to an elderly parishioner. Matt could tell by the telltale signs in the priest's body language that he had noticed Matt's presence, so he quietly took a seat on the bench down the sidewalk and waited for him to be done.

A few minutes later, he felt Father Lantom sit down next to him on the bench, facing forward with both hands clasped between his knees.

"You look tired," the priest noted by way of greeting.

"I wouldn't know."

"Fair point. I'm going to guess you came to talk about the young woman you mentioned a while back," Father Lantom said.

"How'd you know?"

"You seem especially conflicted," Father Lantom said knowingly. "It's an effect certain women always seem to have."

Matt raised his eyebrows at the older man's comment, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. "Yeah?"

The father simply chuckled. "I wasn't born a priest, Matthew."

Matt laughed. "No, I guess not."

After a few moments, Father Lantom grew sober again. "Are you still concerned about the measures you're willing to take to ensure this woman keeps your secret?"

"No. I think we've finally moved past that by this point. I hope so, at least," Matt amended. "But now her keeping my secret has turned into a different problem."

"How so?"

He exhaled deeply. "It's affecting her life. In a bad way. In ways I never would have predicted. And I…I think maybe I can help fix what's happened. But it would require…putting a lot of trust into her."

"Well…do you trust her?"

"You make it sound so simple."

"I'd say it is simple," Father Lantom retorted. "You can make it complicated, but when it comes down to it you know if you trust a person or not."

The priest was right, as usual.

"Yes. I do trust her."

"That wasn't too complicated."

Matt laughed shortly. "Yeah, well…turns out that constant, life-threatening danger makes it easier to learn to trust someone."

"I see. A side effect of being in that lion's den together, as it were."

Matt's grin faded as he recalled the conversation the older man was referencing. Was he really about to put so much faith into someone that he had very recently not trusted at all?

"You know, in the news, sometimes they call me the Man Without Fear," Matt said neutrally. He wasn't a particularly big fan of the title.

"I've heard that description, yes," Father Lantom replied. Matt wondered how much the priest paid attention to mentions of his alter-ego in the press.

"The people who coined that name…they think jumping off buildings makes you fearless. But it's not true. Sometimes…sometimes it feels like all I do is fear," Matt admitted.

"Fear doesn't necessarily have to be a hindrance, Matthew. It can be difficult to get stronger without it." Father Lantom was quiet for a long moment, then he asked, "Have you ever heard of the Litany Against Fear?"

Matt searched his memory for any recognition of the prayer, but to no avail.

"No, I don't think so."

"I will face my fear," the Father began quoting, his voice calm and even as always. "I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

Matt paused, not recognizing the passage. "Is that a Catholic prayer?"

The priest shook his head, and there was a slightly mischievous tone to his voice when he responded. "It's from an old science fiction series I used to read."

Matt must have looked surprised, because Father Lantom chuckled.

"It wasn't on the approved reading list in Divinity School, if that's what you're wondering. But I've always suspected that perhaps God put bits of his wisdom into more books than just the Bible. I suppose that's why they'll probably never make me a bishop."

"If you were a bishop I'd have no one to confess to."

"Not to mention I'd probably have to leave the espresso machine here. It technically belongs to the church," the father noted lightly, before again growing serious. "What is it that you're so afraid of, precisely?"

Matt weighed the question before answering. "That I'll make the wrong choice. And my friends will be the ones to pay for it. They could get hurt."

"It sounds like you have a friend that's hurting right now," Father Lantom pointed out. "And that maybe you could do something about it."

Matt didn't reply, and the two of them sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before the priest spoke up again.

"For what it's worth, I don't think that you've earned your nickname from jumping off buildings."

"No?"

"No. It seems to me that they call you that name because you choose to help people even if it means putting yourself at risk. That's the very core of who you are. Don't lose sight of that."

In truth, Matt had already made his decision several minutes ago. Possibly even before he came to the church. But he found comfort anyway in the words of the man sitting next to him, and he would find himself replaying them in his head from that point until the next time he spoke to Sarah.


It was Friday afternoon, and Sarah was standing in the middle of a crowded coffee shop, waiting to pick up the green tea she had just ordered. She'd just come from one of the offices for her water company, where she had complained that her water still hadn't been turned on. They had promised her it'd be on by Monday at the very latest, due to the weekend, and she had begrudgingly accepted.

Sarah felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She glanced at the screen, half expecting to see the mysterious silent caller's number. Instead, Matt Murdock's name flashed up on the screen. She hit the answer button.

"Hey," she said, trying not to bump into any of the people around her as she shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other.

"Are you home?"

"No. I'm about to head there now, though," she replied.

"Mind if I come by for a minute?"

Sarah had actually been hoping to go home and curl up under her covers from now until Monday morning. But delaying her big weekend plans by a little bit wouldn't hurt, she supposed.

"Um, sure, I guess. For what?"

"Just to talk to you about a couple of things." He gave no indication of what he wanted to talk about, and she rolled her eyes. The call reminded her suspiciously of the one he had made before springing Claire's surprise visit on her, only this time she didn't have any injuries for him to be acting cagey about.

The cranky barista behind the counter—whose nametag identified him as 'Leonard—" tapped his finger on the pastry case to get her attention, then pointed at the 'No Cell Phones' sign above the register. Sarah gave him an apologetic look and held her finger up.

'Sorry,' she mouthed. After all, it wasn't like she was currently ordering.

"When can I come by?" Matt asked.

She looked out the window at the sidewalk, which was still swarming with people making their way home from work. The subway was undoubtedly worse; it would take forever for her to get home. "I'm only about two blocks away from your place. Do you just want to meet there?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

Leonard the barista gave her another significant look and cleared his throat loudly.

"Okay, good, I—yes, okay, sorry, Leonard," she snapped.

"What?"

"Not you," she said into the phone. "I'll be there in a little bit."

A short while later, she knocked on Matt's front door with her green tea in hand. He let her in, not saying much as she followed him into the living room. She took note of his oddly edgy demeanor and hesitantly sat on the arm of the couch, tracking his movements as he paced around the room.

"So…what's going on?" she asked after a few moments.

Matt came to a halt in front of her and leaned back against the counter. Sarah frowned as she noticed him restlessly drumming his fingers against the surface.

"I wanted to talk to you. About Lauren," he said finally.

Sarah tensed slightly, her fingers tightening around the styrofoam cup in her hand.

"Matt…" she began tiredly. "Can we please not do this again? I know Lauren. Even if she's mad at me, she's not going to tell anyone about what she saw, I swear—"

"I'm not…" Matt shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "That's not what I'm talking about."

She cocked her head, eying him uncertainly. "What are you talking about, then?"

Matt's dark glasses obscured the view of his eyes, making it difficult to read his expression, but by his silence he appeared to be carefully considering whatever he was about to say.

"You and Foggy have spoken a few times now. Has he ever told you what happened when he found out about…what I do?"

Sarah blinked, not expecting the shift in topic. She tried to recall if the subject had ever come up the few times they had spoken. "No…I don't think so. I'd guess that it didn't go well?"

Matt laughed sharply, shaking his head. "That's an understatement. It almost ended our friendship, not to mention our business. I thought he'd never speak to me again. All because I kept a huge secret from him that I never should have. And that's difficult to come back from."

"This is really making me feel better," Sarah muttered, trying to ignore the way her heart fell at his words. She already knew that there was no chance of keeping Lauren in her life while hiding so much from her, but it wasn't particularly helpful to hear out loud. "Thank you."

"I'm not trying to make you feel better," he replied bluntly.

"So, what, you invited me here to make me feel worse? Mission accomplished. Should I leave?"

Matt ignored her. "How long have you been friends with Lauren?"

He was jumping around subjects again, and Sarah had no idea what point he was trying to make. She sighed and answered anyway. "I don't know, going on…nine years now?"

"You trust her."

"Yes," Sarah said immediately.

"But you haven't told her anything about what's been going on," he noted. "Why not?"

Sarah just stared at him in disbelief. "I don't know. It's not like there's a scary guy in a mask always hanging around making sure I don't talk about him."

"I don't mean about me." Matt was back to pacing the small area near where she sat. "You'd been working at Orion for months before you met me, dealing with Ronan and barely having any money, and who knows what else. But from what I heard the other night, you haven't told her about any of that."

"I don't…what is this? Are you cross-examining me, or something?" she asked him, a slight note of defensiveness creeping into her tone. "I'm a bad friend. I get it."

"No, you're not. You've been trying to protect her. From Orion, and Ronan, and the police. And from me," he added quietly, and Sarah looked down at her hands. "But I'm telling you from experience…if you keep doing that, you're going to lose her."

Even though Sarah already knew it was true, the words hit her hard.

"Why are you bringing this up?" she asked.

"Because I think you should tell her about what's been going on."

Sarah shook her head. "I've already gone over it a million times in my head, Matt. There's no way to tell her about what's been going on at Orion without mentioning the fact that I'm working with you."

"I know," Matt said. "You should tell her anyway."

There was a long pause.

"I…what?" Sarah asked dumbly.

"I don't mean you should tell her who I am," Matt clarified. "Alright? I don't need any more people to be in on that secret. But…that doesn't mean you can't tell her anything. Especially since she already knows that you have some connection to me."

Sarah was still trying to process what he was saying. This was not where she had been expecting the conversation to go. How was in possible that Matt Murdock—the man who, from the moment they met, had spent half of his time threatening her to never talk about anything to do with him, ever—was telling her to be honest with Lauren?

"You're…you're serious?" she asked him cautiously. "Not even a week ago you had me pinned against the wall on the off-chance that I might sell your identity out for a bribe."

"And you gave me a second chance anyway," he said. "Even though I probably didn't deserve it. Even though it was a risk."

Sarah looked down. She knew that Matt felt guilty about the way he reacted that night, but sometimes she wondered whether he'd feel differently if he knew just how close she had come to taking the bribe.

"Regardless, you had some pretty strong feelings about me not telling anyone about you. Like…ever. And now you're telling me to go tell Lauren all about it?"

"I'm not telling you to do anything. I'm just saying that if you're not telling her because you want to protect her…this is one less thing for you to protect her from. If you think the risk from Orion is still too great and you don't want to tell her, that's up to you. But…don't push your friend away because you're afraid of what I'll do."

Sarah was still struggling with the idea of Matt giving her the go-ahead to tell Lauren about him. While half of her brain was still trying to comprehend it, the logical part of her brain started asking questions.

"How am I supposed to tell her what's going on without telling her who you are?"

Matt seemed to have anticipated her question. "For the first few weeks that I knew Claire, she didn't know my name, or who I really am. Just my face. She used to call me Mike. It's not far-fetched that you and I might have a similar arrangement."

Sarah considered it. He had a valid point. But it was a dangerously thin line to walk, and they both knew it. It put Sarah just one misstep away from telling his secret.

"How…how am I supposed to keep her safe? What if someone from Orion finds out that she knows what I do there?"

"She already knows enough to get her into trouble. Besides, if they decide that they think she knows something, it won't matter if she actually does."

Again, Matt had a point. She still couldn't wrap her head around the fact that he was the one convincing her to tell Lauren the truth—or, the partial truth, at least.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked him intently.

He shrugged. "From a practical point of view…keeping someone in the dark when they know they're being kept in the dark is never a good way to ensure they keep a secret."

"That's not the reason," she countered immediately. Matt sighed, obviously reluctant to discuss his reasoning. He took his time before answering, and Sarah watched him closely, tracing the lid of her green tea until he finally spoke.

"The night that Ronan hurt you," Matt said carefully, and Sarah's fingers tightened involuntarily around her drink again. "When you first came home, you asked me how much of your life you would have to give away to all this."

"I remember," she said quietly.

"I think about that night a lot. But that part in particular."

"What does it have to do with Lauren?"

"It was a good question. You've given away a lot. You shouldn't have to give up your best friend, too. I almost lost Foggy because I was keeping secrets from him. I…I know how much harder it makes it just to get through the day."

Sarah looked down at the drink in her hand. She didn't want the conversation to wander too far in the direction of that night.

"So, if I go talk to her, are you going to be…hanging off a scaffolding somewhere, listening in?"

A small smile flashed across his face at her description before disappearing. "I thought about it, but…no. I won't be around. Just you two."

Sarah nodded silently. Her gaze flicked over to where he was still drumming his fingers on the counter, and as she finally took a good look at him—the tension in his posture, the exhaustion in his face and the restless fidgeting—the realization hit her that he wasn't agitated in his usual short-fused bomb way. He was nervous. But for whatever reason, he was giving her the green light anyway. Sarah was touched by the amount of faith he was putting in her so that she could salvage her friendship with Lauren. It was a side of him that she never would have guessed he had when they first met. She wanted to say something to him about it, but she wasn't sure what.

"If you're going to go, you should go before it gets dark," he said, moving on before she could come up with anything to say.

Sarah glanced out the window, where the light was indeed starting to fade. She still hadn't figured out how he always knew that.

"Yeah," she agreed faintly. "Um…good idea."

She stood up from her perch on the arm rest, intending to go grab her purse from where she had left it near the door.

"Sarah." Matt caught her arm lightly as she turned to leave. "Just…be careful. Please. This—this isn't just my own life that we're talking about. You know that, right?"

"I know," she said softly.

He nodded, keeping his face carefully neutral as he waited for her to leave, but she lingered for a second.

Impulsively, she stood on the tips of her toes and hugged him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. She only held the embrace for a few seconds—not even enough time for him to register what she was doing, much less respond—before pulling away and grabbing her purse. She looked back just in time to catch a quick glimpse of the surprised look on his face before she left his apartment.


When she got to Lauren's, Sarah let herself in with her spare key. She figured if Lauren could do it, she could too—and besides, she was slightly worried Lauren wouldn't answer if she saw that it was Sarah on the other side of the door.

Sarah glanced down the hall before turning to head into the kitchen, where she could see the overhead light was on. She started to call out to her friend.

"Laur—Jesus!" Sarah exclaimed as she came around the corner to find Lauren holding up some sort of brightly colored kitchen tool up as a weapon. Her exclamation caused the other woman to scream as well before she recognized Sarah.

"Oh, my God," Lauren breathed out, setting down the object that she had been clutching in her hand. "You scared the literal Holy Ghost out of me."

"Sorry. I didn't—what even is this?" Sarah asked, tilting her head as she picked up the item.

Lauren leaned back against the doorway, catching her breath with one hand resting on her round stomach while the other still covered her heart. "I don't know. I think it's supposed to slice pineapples. I came in here to get some water when I heard the front door open."

"Lauren, why wouldn't you grab a knife if you think someone is in your house?"

"Because I already baby-proofed the kitchen in an attempt to be proactive, but now I can't figure out how to open the knife drawer, and—" Lauren caught herself, shaking her head and switching back to the topic at hand. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Well…I came to talk to you," Sarah said, suddenly feeling very nervous now that the time to tell her had actually come. "About everything that's been going on."

"You mean your super-secret vigilante life?" Lauren asked resentfully.

"I'm not a vigilante, I just—" Sarah began to protest, before stopping herself and taking a deep breath. "Yes. That."

Lauren just looked at her for a long moment, apparently tempted to reject the offer, but Sarah was fairly certain her friend's curiosity would win out in the end.

"Alright," Lauren agreed reluctantly. "Come on."

Sarah followed her down the hallway and into what used to be the guest room, and had now been transformed into a nursery. Several different swatches of material were laid out on a card table, where Lauren had apparently been trying to pick one out to match the room. Sarah swept her gaze over the walls, which had been painted an ocean blue, with various colorful sea creatures floating around. She recognized Lauren's style immediately in the paintings.

"It looks great," she said softly, still studying the walls.

"It's looked like that for a few months now. But I guess you wouldn't have seen it."

Sarah winced guiltily. This was not going to be an easy conversation. But it had to be done. "I know I haven't been around much. But…if you'll listen to me, I'll tell you why."

"I'd guess it's because you're too busy running around working for the Devil of Hell's Kitchen," Lauren said sarcastically.

"I'm not working for him," Sarah snapped. "He's not my boss. I'm helping him. Or—or he's helping me. I don't really know which one it is anymore. We're…working together."

"Working together?" Lauren repeated dumbly. "You make it sound like you've been assigned to the same PowerPoint presentation. He's a vigilante, Sarah!"

"I noticed," Sarah hissed.

Suddenly, Lauren's eyes widened as she seemed to register something. "Oh, my God. You work with him."

"I…yeah, that's…what I just said," Sarah faltered uncertainly.

"When you came home that night with all the bruises and the cuts, you said it was from someone you work with. Did he do that to you?" Lauren whispered, looking horrified.

Sarah shook her head immediately. "No. No, that wasn't him. He's the one helping me with that whole thing."

"What whole thing? Who hurt you? Was it actually a coworker? What happened to them?"

"I'll get to that, I promise. But…it's going to make more sense if I start at the beginning. Okay? No interruptions."

Lauren slowly lowered herself down onto the small futon near the window. "Okay. No interruptions."


"—you stapled his face?" Lauren interrupted for what must have been the twentieth time since Sarah began her explanation half an hour ago.

"Stop interrupting while I'm trying to tell you everything."

"Sorry." Lauren's anger had seemed to fade slightly as she became completely engrossed in the explanation Sarah was giving her.

She had left out certain parts, of course: concealing the fact that she knew Matt's actual identity ended up eliminating a lot of the more antagonistic aspects of their partnership, beginning with the real way they had met. The story sounded odd to her without the inclusion of who Daredevil actually was, but Lauren didn't seem to notice. In fact—much to Sarah's relief—most of her questions were about Sarah herself and not the vigilante.

"And that's when the police showed up and took you away?" Lauren asked when Sarah mentioned that her involvement in some of Orion's failed schemes had caught the eye of the police.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "How did you know about that?"

Now it was Lauren's turn to look guilty.

"I heard about it," she said vaguely, tucking a piece of blonde hair behind her ear.

"From…who?"

Lauren gave her an exasperated look. "Who do you think? Who eavesdrops on literally everything that happens in your apartment building?"

It took a second for Sarah to realize who she was talking about. "You've had Mrs. Benedict spying on me?"

"Okay, to be fair, she was already spying on you anyway. It's what she does. And she was just really…eager to share what she had learned with me."

"How long have you guys been doing this?"

"Since the night you came home looking like you just broke up with Chris Brown and then wouldn't tell me anything about it. I ran into her on the way out of the building the next morning, and we were both worried about you, and she just said that she'd…keep me updated," Lauren said with a guilty wince and a shrug.

Sarah should have known that Lauren wasn't going to drop the topic as easily as she had seemed to that night. "And what did she tell you?"

"Um, a whole bunch of weird shit. I thought maybe she was just losing it for a while. She said the cops showed up at your door and you left with them, and I kept thinking, 'That's just not possible. Sarah would never not tell me about that.' But…well."

Sarah looked away guiltily, but the fact that Lauren had been hiding something too made her feel better in an odd way. "What else did she say?"

"That she's heard you coming and going at really weird hours. And loud arguing coming from your apartment, and—and things shattering. But she couldn't actually make out what you were saying. She does have a hearing aid, after all. And she said that sometimes, after the arguments, she wouldn't hear anyone leave the apartment, so she figured it was someone you were dating, and they were sleeping there. But I guess if you're arguing with someone who regularly jumps out the window—"

"We don't really argue that much. Anymore," Sarah said.

"Then she said something about how you're dating a dentist? And I thought, 'That's weird, why would Sarah ever date a dentist? Dentists are boring as hell—'"

"—What? I'm not dating a dentist—" Sarah stopped as she remembered the dentist she had made up to get Mrs. B's attention off of the Columbia sweatshirt she had been wearing. She hoped Mrs. B would never mention the sweatshirt or the school to Lauren.

"—and then she showed me all of these crazy articles about dentists who, like, lose their minds and murder all of their patients while they're under anesthesia and save their teeth as trophies, and so I thought maybe you were dating some crazy violent dentist, and I didn't know why you wouldn't tell me—"

"There's no dentist," Sarah interrupted her. "I was just trying to get Mrs. B to stop asking about my love life. Because obviously, she is way too interested in what I do with my time."

"She's just worried about you. She said you even had to hire some lawyers to deal with the stuff with the police."

Sarah's heart flipped at the mention of her lawyers, but she realized with a rush of relief that Lauren hadn't made the connection. Why would she? If one were to guess the daytime job of a vigilante, a lawyer was probably near the bottom of the list. The two were just too contradictory.

"They're Mrs. Benedict's lawyers, actually," Sarah said. "They've just been giving me some free legal advice because I'm her neighbor. I can't really afford to hire a lawyer."

"Do you want to hire one? I will absolutely hire you a lawyer if you think it will help."

"No, Lauren—"

"I'm serious. Have you seen all of the bullshit we have in our kitchen? If we can afford to a pineapple slicer and a—a strawberry corer, and, like, an asparagus peeler or whatever, then we can afford to lend you the money for a lawyer or whatever else you need."

"I don't need a loan," Sarah protested. "I just need you to be on my side for this. Because right now I have exactly one person on my side, and he's not as good at late night girl talk as you are."

"Well...yeah, of course I'm on your side. Who else's side am I going to be on? The crazy rapist and the—the guy who—correct me if I'm wrong—kind of sounds like he might be a robot? Jesus. I'm on your side, I just…" Lauren trailed off, shaking her head. "It's just a lot. Way more than I expected. How could you not tell me about any of this?"

"I don't know. I…I didn't want that world to collide with…all of this," Sarah said, gesturing at the ocean paintings on the wall. "You're married now. You're about to have a little girl. You're actually doing all of the stuff that people are supposed to do, and I'm spending my days shoving confidential paperwork in my purse and stitching up vigilantes. It's dangerous, and super against the law—"

"Who cares about the law?" Lauren exclaimed. "I care about you being safe."

"This is how I'll be safe. There's no chance of me getting away from Orion on my own, Lauren. I was dying there. I know this is all kind of crazy, but…at least I'm doing something to try to get my old life back. And I have help."

Lauren was quiet for a minute.

"Okay, listen, I have to bring this up. It's kind of my job. I get that Daredevil helps people. And believe me, the all-black pajamas look is hot beyond all belief, but…the guy's dangerous."

"Yes," Sarah agreed firmly.

"And violent."

"Excessively."

"Probably at least a little mental."

"Probably."

"And you trust him?"

"I do." As Sarah said the words, she was thrown by how much she actually meant it. She caught sight of Lauren's skeptical look and continued, "It's as weird to me as it is to you, believe me. But…it is what it is. And you said yourself, he went out the window when he saw you. If he was really as bad as some of the newspapers around here say, that could have gone a completely different way," Sarah pointed out.

Lauren exhaled deeply as she stared up at the colorful paintings on the walls, apparently contemplating everything Sarah had just told her. Sarah fidgeted with the fabric laid out on the card table while she waited for Lauren to process everything.

"What do you call him?" Lauren asked finally, breaking the silence.

"What?"

"Well, you can't call him Daredevil all the time, right? That'd be…weird."

Sarah blinked. She hadn't prepared for that particular question, and she found herself blurting out the first name that came to mind. "I, um, I call him…Leonard."

"Leonard?" Lauren repeated. "Wow."

"Yeah…wow," Sarah said, wishing she had been able to think of a name besides that of the rude barista from earlier. Two seconds too late, she remembered that Claire had referred to him as the much more normal 'Mike'.

"Why?"

"Um, it's just…what he wanted to go by."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Nothing, I just thought his name would be something…sexier. Or scarier, at least. Like…Damon. Or Spike. Lestat."

Sarah squinted at the blonde. "You're just naming famous vampires."

Lauren gave her a knowing look as she nodded. "Exactly."

They remained sitting on the futon for a long time, discussing all of the craziness that had been going on in Sarah's life for the past year—or, almost all of the craziness. Despite the fact that she was still keeping the secret of who Matt was, telling Lauren everything else made Sarah feel impossibly lighter. The empty sensation that had been gnawing at her chest for the past few days was finally gone.

Of course, she had forgotten that when Lauren got interested in something, she got very interested. It was almost midnight, and her friend was still spouting off questions and opinions.

"It's so late," Sarah complained. "Can I answer more questions in the morning?"

"Fine," Lauren agreed reluctantly. "But we should probably start by talking about how you actually have him saved in your phone as the devil Emoji. Really?"

"I know, I know."

The phone in question was still in Sarah's purse, where she had again forgotten to take it off of silent.

It wasn't until later, when Sarah had already gotten comfortable under the blankets next to Lauren—who was snoring loudly, something she had unfortunately picked up midway through her second trimester—that she thought to text Matt and tell him things had gone alright. Though she was sure that if he was worried about it, he was probably currently taking it out on a group of criminals somewhere.

Her heart dropped when she looked at the bright screen in the darkness.

Missed Call.

Missed Call.

Missed Call.

Picture Message

Text Message

All were from the same local number that had been ghost calling her. Hesitantly, she opened the photo message first. Her phone was a few years out of date, so the photo took a few seconds to load fully. It took her a few more seconds to register what she was looking at: it was a photo of her living room, taken from the angle of the outside hallway. Whoever had taken it was standing in her open front door.

Her heart pounded as she brought up the accompanying text message: Where is Sarah spending her nights?

Sarah stared at the screen in horror for a long time. Then, with a quick glance over at her sleeping friend, she slipped out of bed to call Matt.


More than a few of you have been eagerly waiting for Protective!Matt to show up in this story and spread some violence around, so I'd just like to give those people a heads up that they might particularly enjoy some upcoming events.