Okay, here is the promised part two! I know a lot of you mentioned how you expected things to get crazy soon, and while that's true of some upcoming chapters, just remember that this one was originally the second half of the last chapter, which had a lot of action at the beginning. You guys know I can only handle writing so much action at a time, so this one is more of a buildup chapter than an action packed one, but I think you'll enjoy it all the same!

Thanks so much for sticking around during the long break during Chapters 33 and 34—hopefully these two chapters so close to each other helps make up for it! And thank you all for being such good people and always reaching out with kind and reassuring words. The Daredevil community is truly amazing.

I hope you enjoy the chapter!


Sarah's return to work after her rescue mission with Matt was, to put it briefly…torturous.

Not in the literal sense, luckily. She had been partly expecting the literal kind of torture when she stepped into Orion, so she was both relieved and unsettled to find that Jason was nowhere to be seen—and that no one seemed to know where he was.

By just past eleven that day, Sarah already wanted to go home. Not only because her muscles were aching, and her head was pounding, and her eyelids kept wanting to close from a lack of sleep—but also because she'd had to answer the same handful of questions over and over again since she got there.

"Jason isn't in his office?" He sure isn't.

"Have you heard from him?" Nope.

"Wasn't he supposed to be back today?" Yes, but he's not.

"Do you know when he'll be back?" No, I don't.

"I have a meeting scheduled with him." Not anymore.

Different variations on the same conversation had happened at least fifty-three times, and she was ready to scream. She wished her desk was anywhere other than outside Jason's office, where she had to continuously tell people that he wasn't here, he wasn't answering emails or phone calls, and she had no way to get in touch with him. Several people seemed suspicious of her answer, as though maybe she had a magic mirror to contact him and was simply refusing to use it.

To be fair, it was odd that Jason hadn't returned from his trip to Chicago—if that was even where he'd really gone. If anything, Sarah had thought he'd come back earlier after McDermott's body was found, or at least once he found out his hired goons had lost their hostage. But there had been no word from him, to her or anyone else at the company. The silence was ominous.

His absence did have one upside: it gave Sarah the chance to do something she'd been meaning to do for a while. She gathered some innocuous files up on her desk—just invoices for office supplies that needed to be approved, things she would often take home to work on—and opened the bottom drawer of her desk, surreptitiously collecting the folder with the surveillance photos of Mrs. McDermott's and placing it under the other files. Then she slipped them both in her purse to take home. There was too great a chance of the photos being discovered at Orion, but at home she could burn them or shred them.

A woman who worked somewhere on the second floor approached her desk, and Sarah sighed, setting her bag aside as she prepared to answer the same question for the fifty-fourth time.


A few nights later, a massive thunderstorm rolled into Hell's Kitchen just as Matt and Sarah started their training session at the boxing gym. The rain had just started coming down as they arrived, and by the time they got warmed up and began it was fully pouring outside, and the sound of thunder grew closer and louder.

Inside, the two of them had other things to focus on besides the storm. The strange quiet at Sarah's work didn't sit any better with Matt than it had with her. The idea of not knowing Jason's whereabouts was concerning to him, to say the least. Matt had checked out the area around 59th where Sarah had mentioned dropping him off once, but there was no sign of Jason currently living there.

"So, no one knows where he is?" Matt asked, using his forearm to block Sarah's foot from making contact with his hip.

He heard Sarah's ponytail swish as she shook her head. "He's MIA for now, which is really creeping me out. But it does seem like you were right."

Matt cocked his head. Lightning whizzed through the sky above them; even from inside, Matt could feel it light up the outside air with electricity.

"About?"

"That guy not blowing my cover," she said, stepping back into position to try kicking him again. "If he had, I'm pretty sure I'd be dead, so…I guess he really did leave town like you told him to."

He felt twinge of guilt in his stomach. Of course the man Matt had threatened hadn't identified Sarah, but it wasn't because of any intimidation on Matt's part. That had been all Stick—always willing to blow straight past the ethical lines that Matt drew for the sake of his own sanity.

But despite how incredibly pissed he'd been—and still was—at Stick's interference, there was a part of him that couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had his old mentor not gone behind his back. What if his threats hadn't worked, and Sarah had suffered the consequences?

Matt rolled his shoulders, pushing the thoughts away.

"Keep your feet shoulder width," he reminded her instead of acknowledging what she'd said. Lying to her about what had really happened didn't feel great, but neither did the idea of telling her someone was dead because they knew too much about her. The safest middle ground seemed to be avoiding the topic altogether.

If she noticed his avoidance, she didn't say anything. But he wouldn't have been surprised to find that she didn't notice; she'd been more fixated on her training than usual tonight, and he was fairly certain he knew why. She'd gotten a small taste of what holding her own in a fight felt like, and it had sparked something in her.

Matt couldn't quite describe the change in her tonight, but it was certainly noticeable, and highly distracting. There was a restless energy blistering around her that he hadn't seen her bring into the ring before, and she seemed more intent than usual on getting the steps and moves right.

"Maybe he's dead," she said suddenly. As if on cue, another boom of thunder sounded ominously.

Matt froze. "What?"

"Jason. Maybe he got hit by a train in Chicago, and he's just…not coming back," she speculated.

Relief swept through him. "Right. Maybe."

They'd spent the first half of the night on new maneuvers, especially on incorporating more kicks into Sarah's collection of moves. Her legs were much stronger than her arms, and Matt wanted to make sure they took advantage of that. But for the second half, Matt insisted on going back through some of the moves Sarah was already familiar with; specifically the ones she had used during her fight at the lockdown facility.

Matt had just caught her by the wrist and lightly twisted her arm behind her, careful not to exert too much pressure. This should be an easy one for her; she'd done well the other night using it against an actual opponent.

Sarah did the first half of her counter perfectly; she moved into him instead of away from him, weakening his hold on her so that she could move her arm.

Matt braced himself for the next step, which should have been her sending a swift elbow to his ribs. But to his confusion, Sarah hesitated, then went the opposite way, trying to twist out of the hold instead.

It was the wrong move. Partially because it caused her to twist her shoulder into a more painful hold than he would have put her in, but mostly because it set her dangerously off balance.

Pressing his lips into a grim line, Matt caught her ankle with a sweep of his foot, knocking her to the floor. He knew she hated when he did that, but it was necessary. She was small and light; she wouldn't be winning many fights based on strength. She'd have to rely on speed and balance, and getting pinned down would put her at a huge disadvantage, so learning to stay on her feet was one of the most important things he could help her with.

As an added benefit, it acted as a solid deterrent for pulling bizarre moves like the one she'd just tried.

Sarah slowly sat up with a groan, but didn't say anything. She sat there for a moment, regaining the breath that had been knocked out of her.

Matt narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. They'd done that move a dozen times before. She absolutely knew how to counter it, so why hadn't she?

"What was that?" he demanded.

"Um…painful?" Sarah guessed, panting.

"You know how to counter that move. I was open. Why didn't you hit me?"

"I…forgot the move," she said with a shrug, and he didn't need to hear her heartbeat skip to pick up on the lie. What he wasn't sure about was why she was lying.

"You forgot?" he said, his eyebrows shooting up doubtfully.

"Mhm."

"Okay," he said casually. "So let's practice it a few more times, then."

"Uh…no, that's fine," she said with a vague wave of her hand.

"Sarah."

She sighed and struggled to her feet.

"I just…don't feel okay about hitting you where you're already hurt," she said reluctantly.

Matt blinked as it finally occurred to him that she was avoiding his injured ribs. He exhaled in frustration.

"That's not how this works," he told her.

"It's how it works for me," she countered. "Your ribs are hurt. Probably broken. You shouldn't even be training me right now."

"But I am training you. This isn't the time for you to play nice."

"I'll be nice to you whenever I like, thank you very much," she said. "Besides, you said when we started all this that I get to choose where the limits are."

"Yeah, limits for you. Not for me," he said in exasperation.

Sarah shrugged, her hair brushing against her shoulders. "You're the lawyer. Maybe you should have set more specific terms."

"You're serious?" Matt said. He wanted to be more annoyed with her for insisting on putting a few injured ribs ahead of important training, but it was difficult.

"Well…yeah. If you want someone to bash your ribs in so badly, go find a mob boss somewhere. I don't think I can do it," she said. Then, seeming to remember she was still within reach, she quickly added, "But, um, I remember the move in theory. So…you don't have to floor me again."

She rolled her shoulder tentatively. Matt would bet it was going to be sore later, and there was no point in pushing her further tonight. They'd been at it for a while, anyway.

"Alright," he relented. "Let's call it a night."

Sarah nodded. "Okay, yeah. Good idea."

Matt jumped down from the ring, then pulled the ropes up and held a hand up for Sarah to take as she followed.

"Also, please don't actually go find any mob bosses," she added, squeezing his hand before letting go. "They're probably scary."

Matt grinned. "Usually."

When they exited the gym, the pouring rain was still coming down. Matt didn't particularly mind that part, but he wasn't fond of the lightning he could sense cracking above him every minute or so, followed every time by a loud boom of thunder. It was disorienting, and kept him from going out to patrol when he wanted to.

Fogwell's Gym had an ancient plastic awning above the front entrance, just big enough for them to be both out of the rain and barely avoiding the various leaks above them.

"Great, all the subway stops near me will be flooded again," Sarah grumbled at the sight of the downpour. "Maybe that's the next organization we should infiltrate."

"What, the MTA?"

"Yeah," she said with a bit too much enthusiasm. "You want to make life better for New Yorkers? Go break some kneecaps until they fix the trains."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Sarah looked at the rain for a moment longer before turning to him. "We could just wait here for a cab to pass by and make a run for it."

There was no telling how long it would take for that to happen; the number of cabs on the streets seemed to mysteriously decrease by half whenever it rained.

"Yeah," he agreed, offering her a smile. "I'm not in a rush."

Another loud clap of thunder sounded above them.

"I guess you're staying in tonight?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah. No sense in going out in a storm like this if I don't have to. It would only mess me up."

"Besides, who knows what kind of freaky abilities you'd develop if you got hit by lightning," Sarah teased him.

He laughed as he leaned against the building.

"Let's not find out," he said. "Anyway, I have enough work to do at home tonight. This is as good an excuse as any to finally get it done."

"You're stressing about your court case?" she asked. Matt shrugged noncommittally. "It's in like two days, right?"

"Thanks for the reminder."

"Sorry. Are you ready?"

Matt let out a deep exhale.

"I'm not as prepared as I'd like to be," he admitted. "Usually with a case like this, Foggy and I would split the work. I'd do the opening, he'd do the closing. We'd work together on cross-examination questions."

"He won't help you?" she asked.

Foggy might have helped if Matt had asked, but he hadn't. He'd considered it, and even picked up the phone more than once, but in the end the idea of working the case with the tense coldness of their fight looming over them seemed less appealing than just struggling through it alone.

"Foggy has a meeting with a new client of ours that day," Matt said. That much was true, at least. "A business owner who's been targeted by some insurance scammers."

Sarah made an unimpressed humming noise.

"He could have rescheduled," she said under her breath.

"It's not his fault," Matt said. He wasn't just talking about the court case. For whatever reason, Sarah was of the opinion that the fallout between Matt and Foggy hadn't been entirely Matt's fault, and he still couldn't quite understand why. "I just haven't been working on it as much as I should have."

There was a pause where he heard the catch of her teeth against her lip as she looked away.

"Because you've been spending all your time helping me," she said quietly.

She wasn't wrong. A lot his time lately had been taken up by the entire mess with McDermott's body and Rob and his son. But it wasn't as though he could sit at home and do paperwork and leave Sarah to fend for herself, contrary to what he was sure she was thinking right now.

"No," he said firmly. "I've just…been busy in general."

Sarah sighed, and he could tell she didn't believe him.

"Can I help?" she asked. "Running through questions or something?"

"Are you especially interested in abstract torts?"

"Uh…yes I am," she said unconvincingly. Matt raised his eyebrows. "I mean…I'm sure I will be. Once you tell me what a tort is."

Matt laughed at that, but shook his head. It was sweet of her to offer, but he couldn't imagine she really wanted to spend her time going over legal documents with him.

"It's a pretty boring subject," he said. "Just a lot of tedious details that need to be gone over again and again, and then once more to be safe."

"Sounds perfect," she said brightly. "Let me help. Please."

"You really want to?"

"Yes."

Her voice and heartbeat were steady.

Matt tilted his head, considering it. It was hard to turn down her company, and he was tempted by the idea of getting his work done while also spending time with Sarah in a non-life-threatening capacity.

"I'd owe you dinner for helping me out," he said finally.

"What? No, I'm helping you because you used up all your study time helping me!" she protested.

Matt shrugged. "It's a deal breaker. No dinner, no torts."

It actually was a deal breaker, in a way. Since Sarah had stopped drinking she seemed to have started eating a little more—presumably because the lack of alcohol had freed up some extra money for groceries. But he still heard her stomach growl more often than he'd like, and he tried to take what chances he could to make sure she was getting food without her catching on to it.

"Alright. Deal," she said resignedly, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "You provide dinner, and I'll help you with running through your questions about…abstract torts."

"Good," Matt said. He jerked his chin towards the boxing gym doors. "I can't justify kicking your ass in there if you're starving. It'd be an unfair advantage."

Sarah laughed.

"Right, yes. That would be the unfair advantage," she said. "You know, I—"

She seemed to change her mind midway through her sentence, closing her mouth and shaking her head.

"You what?"

"Nothing," she said with a faint laugh. "I just never seem to be able to guess right with you."

Matt raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

"Well…I had kind of assumed that you'd kick my ass a little less now that we—um…" she trailed off with a vague wave of her hands. "And on the way over here I was trying to figure out how to convince you not to go easy on me. But that didn't end up being a problem."

She pointedly rubbed her shoulder at that, but Matt was still preoccupied with her previous point.

"Now that we what?" Matt asked, tilting his head innocently. "Have we been doing something different lately?"

Sarah wasn't playing along, much to his amusement.

"You're an asshole," she informed him, but she was laughing.

"Oh, you mean now that you keep kissing me," he said, as though he hadn't heard her.

"I keep—?" Sarah repeated indignantly.

"By my count," he said, greatly enjoying the rise in temperature around her face that told him she was blushing. He briefly wondered what she looked like with her skin flushed and her hair tousled from sparring. "But for the record, no. It doesn't change anything in there."

That wasn't strictly true. It certainly changed the level of effort took for Matt to keep his concentration on the training and not on any other thoughts.

"Huh. Well, if it doesn't cut me any slack then I guess I don't see any reason to keep doing it," she said innocently.

The smug grin dropped from his face.

"Well—let's not get hasty," he said quickly.

Sarah laughed, and as she did Matt heard the sound of a car turning the corner towards them. The smell of cheap plastic upholstery and stale body odor identified it as a taxi. Sarah noticed it, too.

"There's a cab coming," she said. "I'll see if I can catch his attention."

She stepped closer to the edge of the awning and started to raise her arm to flag the driver down. But as she did, the thought of getting in that dirty cab and leaving their safe and dry awning seemed much less appealing, and the idea of staying there with her a while longer much more appealing.

Before he could rethink it, Matt caught her hand and spun her back towards him, then kissed her deeply.

Sarah made a faint noise of surprise, but it was only a second before she kissed him back with equal enthusiasm. He brought his hands to cup the sides of her face, and the restlessness that had been crackling around her all night flared to life under his fingertips.

Of course, out of the million times that a New York cab had failed to notice someone frantically flagging them down, this particular driver had somehow caught Sarah's half-wave. The cab pulled up to the curb and honked.

Matt and Sarah broke apart reluctantly. He could feel her uneven breath skating across his skin.

"Wait for the next one?" he whispered.

Sarah was nodding before he even finished the question.

"Yeah," she said. He could hear a smile in her voice.

Matt waved the cab driver on.

"Sorry," he called out in the cab's direction, but it didn't carry through the rain. The driver hit the horn once more in annoyance before pulling away from the curb.

Sarah's laughter was cut off by Matt's lips on hers once more.

He grasped the strap of her gym bag and tugged it off her shoulder, letting it land on the ground with a thud, then slowly backed her up until she was pressed against the wall. Her hand twisted into the collar of his t-shirt and pulled him closer until there was no space between them.

Most people could at least slightly feel the change in the air during a big thunderstorm, but for Matt it was almost like a different world. Everything around him become more highly charged, electricity buzzing around molecules of moisture hanging thick and heavy in the air. Metal grew hotter, steam rose up from the pavement, and buildings seemed taller as the sound of thunder echoed off them.

Sarah was no exception to that changing energy. The storm combined with whatever energy had already been buzzing around her all night, and he wished she could see herself the way he could right now: how beautiful and alive she was with sparks of electricity surging across her skin and lighting up the air around her.

Matt toyed with the hem of her tank top, brushing against the small sliver of skin between her shirt and her waistband. He felt her inhale at the light touch, and she arched her back to press closer against him. He gladly obliged her, kissing her deeply as he flattened a hand against the bare skin at the small of her back to pull her forward. He could feel her heartbeat everywhere—pulsing wildly in her chest, her throat, low in her stomach.

His attention was torn away by the thin layer of sweat that covered her skin, lending a saltiness to her usual scent to form something entirely distracting that he very much wanted to explore further. He kissed down her jaw until he reached her throat, where her breathing hitched at the contact, her fingers tightening against his skin. He noted the skip in her heartbeat, similar to the way it sounded when she was nervous, but not quite.

He had wondered before if her throat would be an area she'd want left alone, so it had surprised him last time to find that she very much seemed to like it. But it made sense in a way; she had a history of letting him into the most vulnerable fragments of herself, giving him access to the parts of her he could most easily hurt. And if she liked him kissing her throat, he couldn't disagree—the pulse there radiated heat, making the scent of her skin stronger and her nerves wonderfully reactive.

Matt prized each hitched breath and elevated heartbeat he got out of her, and he would have been content to stay there forever, dedicating himself to the task of finding new and sensitive areas to explore, letting the world around them shrink and still. But that was the problem with her promising him that she was going to keep him around—even as the rational part of his mind told him to take things slow, his heart latched onto her words and took off running with them. He knew he'd have to rein that in at some point; but that point wasn't right now.

At least five cabs passed by the two of them, but neither of them were keeping count.


A few days later, Sarah's dirty laundry had piled up to the point where she was finally forced to drag it all to the laundromat. She'd put off doing it for long enough that her choice of clean clothing to wear consisted of a ratty pair of sweatpants and a garishly bright green St. Patrick's Day t-shirt she'd found in the back of her closet.

Normally she brought her clothes to Lauren's apartment and used her much nicer machines rather than scrounge around in her couch for quarters, but Lauren's mother was in town for the weekend and Sarah honestly just didn't think she could deal with her at the moment.

Apparently Lauren felt the same way, because she had very eagerly offered to come keep Sarah company at the laundromat. She'd shown up with Noah, who mostly stayed fast asleep in his baby carrier. His mellow disposition definitely seemed to have come more from his father than his mother, who was currently perched on top of a washing machine, complaining.

"...and Kelsey liked the mural I painted for Noah's room so much that she asked if I would do one for her nursery, since her baby's due in a few months," Lauren was explaining. She handed Sarah a few shirts from the basket next to her. "She said she wanted a fairytale theme, so I was thinking: sweet, I can draw some witches, some poison apples, maybe some dragons."

Sarah threw the shirts in the machine. "I'm guessing that's not what she wanted?"

"No. She said dragons would scare the baby, like kids just pop out into the world with a fear of dragons," Lauren said, spreading her hands in exasperation. "Apparently by fairytale she really just means princess-themed. Castles, knights in shining armor, tiaras. Boring."

"I'm sure you'll find a way to make it more interesting."

"Or at least more realistic. Like a painting of a nice castle with a princess on one wall, and then the other walls just have hordes of starving peasants plotting rebellion."

"I think she would really like that," Sarah agreed. "You should go for it."

"Maybe I will," Lauren said. She gingerly held up a light blue shirt by the very corners, displaying a dark stain near the hem. "Is this blood?"

Sarah squinted at the shirt, trying to remember when she'd worn it. She shook her head. "Soy sauce."

Lauren gave her a look of relief before tossing the shirt to her.

"I guess I should just be happy to be painting anything these days. It feels like ever since Noah was born I never get any time to work on anything," Lauren said. She peered down at the sleeping baby in question. "I love you, but you take up a lot of time, my friend."

"You'll have time to do some commissions again soon. Kids get easier at like...what...four...?" Sarah hazarded.

"Yes. Children are notoriously easy to raise between age four and eighteen."

"You're the expert."

"I guess painting nurseries just wasn't what I had in mind back when I was doing art showcases in school. Or even doing showcases a year ago. Remember when I really thought I'd become an internationally renowned artist someday?" Lauren asked wistfully.

"And I thought I'd be playing Carnegie Hall," Sarah said with a wry smile. "Maybe we should have aimed lower."

"Maybe. Now you're a super spy and I'm...every one of my cousins that I hated growing up," Lauren surmised. "I should just throw in the towel and start a mommy blog."

Sarah knew it was a joke, but beneath that Lauren sounded genuinely bummed. In fact, it seemed like lately the punchlines of most of Lauren's jokes were just about not particularly liking motherhood. And if Sarah knew anything about her best friend it was that the more she forced herself to joke about something, the more it was really bothering her. It also hadn't escaped Sarah that this was one of the few times Lauren had actually brought Noah with her instead of leaving him with Greg or Cecilia or her mother. Sarah didn't know a whole lot about connecting with babies, but it seemed like maybe Lauren was struggling to do so.

"Is everything...okay?" Sarah asked tentatively. "I mean, are things good with...Greg and Noah and...everyone?"

"Yeah, of course," she said. "I mean, constantly having Cecilia around isn't the greatest, but it's nice to have someone to help with the baby while Greg's at work, I guess."

Sarah could agree that Cecilia wasn't the greatest, but that also wasn't necessarily what she'd asked about. She gave her friend a worried look.

"Lauren—" she began.

"Hey, I talked to Allison the other day," Lauren said abruptly.

It was as obvious an attempt as any to change the subject, but Sarah had pulled the same move on Lauren enough times that she figured she owed it to her to let it pass without comment. But it was a subject she made a note to bring up later—maybe when they weren't in the middle of a laundromat.

"How is she?" Sarah said, playing along.

"She's good. She's really excited that you're playing for the fundraiser."

Sarah's chest tightened anxiously at the mention of the event, and she focused her attention on digging some loose change out of the pockets of the jeans she was about to throw in the washer.

"That's great," she said.

Lauren gave her a strange look.

"Why do you make that weird face every time I bring up the party?" Lauren asked. "I thought you were happy about getting to play."

"I am," Sarah said quickly. And it was true; she was happy, somewhere deep underneath the crushing anxiety. "But—but happy in that way where, like, you feel like you'll maybe throw up?"

"Sure."

"There's just going to be a lot of people who I haven't seen since my life took a turn for the crazy, you know? And the few people I have seen recently got to witness me make a total fool of myself at your baby shower, so…it just kind of feels like everyone will be waiting for me to fail again."

"That's not true. I mean, yeah, there are going to be a lot of the people from my baby shower there. Allison and I run in a lot of the same circles. But no one thinks you're going to fail. This is your chance to show them all you're still an amazing pianist and not a weird drug addict like ev—um," Lauren fumbled the end of her sentence awkwardly, but Sarah knew what she had been about to say.

"Like everyone thinks I am?" she guessed.

Lauren winced and nodded.

Thanks, Cecilia. She truly was the master of the rumor mill. But Sarah couldn't really blame people for believing her; she had dropped off the face of the earth and then resurfaced with no money, no career, and various injuries, all with little to no explanation.

"Sorry," Lauren said. Then she brightened. "But even if you were a drug addict, you could totally pull it off. It's like a tortured musician thing."

"Weird, but supportive," Sarah acknowledged. "I'm just glad you and Greg will be there so I'll have at least two people who won't look at me like I'm crazy."

"I will only look at you with love and adoration," Lauren assured her.

"Thanks."

"But I guess that means you're not bringing a date?"

Sarah blinked. "…what?"

"A date," Lauren repeated. "It's a formal event. And it's not a masquerade ball, so...your main option is out."

Sarah hadn't even considered the idea of bringing a date. She doubted Matt would ever agree to go, and even if he did, she couldn't bring him. Matthew Murdock (and Foggy Nelson, for that matter) wasn't exactly a popular name around Orion since putting Fisk away. Eating at a run down diner with him or kissing him at a boxing gym was one thing, but bringing him as her date to a huge public event, where there would be cameras to document it and anyone from Orion might see? That was a little something different.

"He's not my main option. I know other guys I could bring," Sarah lied.

Lauren held up another shirt with a dark stain across the front.

"Soy sauce?" she asked with a hopeful look.

Sarah wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Blood."

"Fantastic," she said, dropping the shirt immediately.

"Not my blood," Sarah tried helpfully.

"That barely helps," Lauren said. "Who are all these other guys you could bring?"

"You know—people," she said vaguely. "Or I could just go alone. I'm the entertainment, not a guest."

"You'll only be entertaining for part of the time," Lauren pointed out. "And Allison seems to be under the impression that you're bringing someone, so you should let her know if you're not. You know how she gets about her RSVPs."

Sarah made a face. "Does that mean she's going to try to stick me at a singles table?"

"She might. But, hey, you'll be in good company. Cecilia doesn't have a date either."

"I'm sorry, Cecilia? She's going to be there?"

"Her and Allison weirdly kind of hit it off at my baby shower," Lauren said with a roll of her eyes. "Of course, you can avoid sitting with her if you let me set you up with someone…"

Sarah deflected Lauren's eager eyebrow raise with a firm shake of her head.

"After the disaster that was Todd? I don't think so."

"I didn't know he would turn out to be an asshole!" Lauren protested.

"Exactly. Your judgment is suspect."

"My judgment? You're going around—" Lauren stopped herself, holding up a hand and closing her eyes. Sarah could tell she was biting back a comment about the last guy Sarah had been kissing. "My taste in men is impeccable."

"I'd rather have Mrs. Benedict set me up," Sarah shot back. She opened the lid of the next washing machine to throw in her sheets and towels.

Lauren looked scandalized by the suggestion.

"Wow, okay. Enjoy dating someone whose favorite show is Columbo. I don't know anyone who fits your new type, anyway."

Sarah lifted her eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. "My new type?"

"You know. Hot, unfriendly, wanted by the police," Lauren said. "What's happening with you two, anyway? Since the big dramatic rooftop kiss?"

Sarah paused, not sure how to answer. She knew Lauren was probably expecting some kind of concrete explanation of where she and Matt stood, but she honestly didn't know. One night they were making out on his kitchen counter like teenagers, and the next she was kissing him on her fire escape hours after he'd broken someone's bones for hurting her. That wasn't a level of relationship that a BuzzFeed quiz could help her figure out, and the idea of trying to describe it in a way that Lauren would understand and accept sounded exhausting.

"…nothing's happening," she said without thinking.

Lauren blinked at her in surprise.

"Really?"

To be honest, Sarah was surprised, too. She hadn't planned on lying about it to Lauren, but the words just came tumbling off her tongue before she could stop it.

"Really," Sarah said. She felt a knot of guilt form in her stomach. This is why everyone always thinks you're a liar, she reprimanded herself. Because you are. "We, um…we both decided it was a mistake to try to introduce something like that into the picture. The kiss was—it was just a fluke."

Regardless of whether Sarah had wanted to hide the truth about her and Matt, the unmistakable flash of relief in Lauren's eyes told her she'd made the right call. Despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise, Lauren still didn't trust Daredevil to get involved her best friend. And as much as Sarah appreciated Lauren's attempts at being supportive—at times inappropriately so—she couldn't keep putting her best friend through the tug-of-war between wanting her to be safe and wanting her to be happy. So for now, this was easier.

"Huh," Lauren said. Her brow creased. "I really thought you guys were going to give it a shot. When he answered his phone the other night and you were with him—"

"I'm usually with him at night. That's when he's…you know, out and about."

"Out and about?" Lauren repeated. "He's breaking people's faces, not going to the grocery store."

"Well, regardless of what he's doing, we're not together."

"Wait. So, you're not getting hot and heavy with you-know-who but you still won't let me set you up with someone?"

"That's correct."

Sarah slotted a few quarters into the machine and pressed start, then sat down on one of the three metal folding chairs that hadn't been stolen from the place.

"Okay, we have forty minutes," she said, pulling out her phone. "Does this place have WiFi? My dad has a bunch of stuff he wants to get rid of before he moves out of the apartment, and I want to see if Goodwill can come pick it up or if I have to try to fit it all in his car."

Lauren sobered at the mention of Sarah's father. The two of them had always gotten along well.

"How is he?"

Sarah chewed her lip.

"He's…about the same. For a while, it was like things were coming and going, but now it seems like it's more permanent. He still has some good days where he's with it, you know? But...they're way outnumbered by the bad days now," Sarah said.

"I'm sorry," Lauren said with a sympathetic frown.

"But the place he'll be living has a really good therapy program specifically for things like this," Sarah added. "So...hopefully that will help. Everything's all set to move him in next week."

"And you're dealing with that okay?"

"Yeah," Sarah said. She fidgeted with her phone, flipping it over and over and watching the fluorescent ceiling lights reflect off the black screen. "I mean, it's…it's not something I ever pictured myself having to do this early. You're supposed to be older when you have to do stuff like this for your parents. With a husband and kids of your own, you know? Kids who grew up knowing their grandfather. Not just…me. Alone," Sarah said. Then she drew in a shaky breath, realizing she was going down an emotional spiral in the middle of a laundromat. "Uh, but yeah. I'm dealing with it great."

"You know I'll go with you if you want. So will Greg," Lauren told her.

Sarah was still struggling to decide if she wanted her friends there for something like that, or if she just wanted to be alone. She supposed she still had a few more days to figure it out.

"I know." Sarah said. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, I—I need to go over there soon and make sure I know where all of his important stuff is. His will, the deed to his car, things like that."

"Do you think you'll try to call your mom to let her know what's going on?" Lauren asked, eyeing Sarah warily like she always did when one of them had to bring up the subject.

Sarah paused.

"I'm not sure yet. It's not like she ever replied to the messages I left telling her he was sick to begin with, so..." she shrugged. "That might not even be her number anymore, for all I know."

"It couldn't hurt to try," Lauren pointed out hesitantly.

Sarah wasn't so sure. No matter what her mom might do when Sarah called—not answer, answer but not care, show up in Hell's Kitchen out of nowhere and totally mess with Mitch's grasp on reality—someone would get hurt. Definitely Sarah, and possibly her father too, which wasn't a risk she wanted to take.

"It might," Sarah said.

Lauren was watching her with concern.

"Yeah," she agreed quietly. "It might."


After Sarah's laundry was done, Lauren accompanied her back to her apartment to drop it off before they went out to eat. Lauren had offered to buy dinner under the condition that Sarah change out of her sweatpants and loud t-shirt.

"I can't believe you wore that in public," Lauren said as they took the elevator down from her apartment back to the lobby. "My mom would die if she'd seen you."

"Hey you're the one who gave me that shirt," Sarah said idly.

Her thoughts were less on the conversation she was having, and more on the work day that was waiting for her tomorrow. It seemed like her anxiety encroached further and further into her hours outside of work these days. While in the past she always got a feeling of dread upon waking up in the morning, now the trepidation settled into her chest starting the night before. She really didn't want to spend another day anxiously waiting to hear from Jason.

"Had I known you'd still be wearing it three years later maybe I wouldn't have," Lauren argued. "And St. Patrick's Day was months ago."

"That's true. But what ab—"

The elevator doors slid open and Sarah bit back a startled gasp when she nearly ran face first into Jason, who was standing in front of her as though he'd been summoned into existence by her fretting thoughts.

Jason spread his hands with a wide, smile that came no where near his eyes.

"Sarah Corrigan. Just the girl I was coming to see," Jason said. His eyes slid over to Lauren. "A friend of yours?"

Lauren's eyes were wide at the sight of Jason's scarred face—and Sarah couldn't blame her. Even after seeing it day after day, the thin white scars were still a jarring contrast against his otherwise tan skin in the same way his too-white teeth and tie were.

"No," Sarah said. Thankfully, her voice didn't shake. "Just…making small talk in the elevator."

"I see. And a baby!" he observed. Sarah's stomach dropped. "What's his name?"

"Noah," Lauren said in a tight voice.

"Noah," Jason repeated. "A fine name. If I recall correctly, it means…repose? Comfort, rest." He leaned down to get a closer look at the sleeping infant. "And he certainly looks rested. He must feel very safe and secure with his mother."

Lauren's grip on the stroller's handles tightened as Jason looked up at her. There was a tense pause before he straightened up again, stepping out of her way.

"Well, don't let me keep you," he said to Lauren, sweeping his arm towards the front door.

Lauren stepped off the elevator first, giving Jason a wide berth as she pushed the stroller around him. She looked back at Sarah with concern and alarm written across her face. They made eye contact for only a moment before Lauren left the lobby, getting both her and Noah out of away from Jason. It was at least one small relief for Sarah, who had no idea why her boss was popping up unexpectedly at her apartment building.

"Come with me," he said simply, turning on his heel and striding towards the front door.

Sarah followed reluctantly. They turned left out of the doors where Lauren had turned right, and Sarah saw a sleek black sedan waiting for them. She recognized it right away as one of the town cars Jason preferred to travel in. Her heart started racing even faster. Where were they going?

Jason got into the car, settling onto one of the wide leather seats in the back. She took a seat across from him so they were facing each other.

"How was the office while I was gone?" Jason asked conversationally.

"Uh…it was fine," Sarah said. "You were gone a little longer than we'd expected."

His expression darkened. "Yes, I had some…unexpected complications while I was gone. I needed some extra time to deal with them."

What did that mean? Had he tracked down the people he'd hired to hold them responsible for not getting the job done? Had he found the man who had seen her face? Matt had been so certain he'd had left town, but what if he hadn't?

"Is it anything you need my help with?" she asked as steadily as she could manage.

"No. It's not a company matter," Jason said. He looked out the window, his expression still stormy.

Sarah glanced down at her phone, which was on the seat next to her. She wanted to text Matt to let him know Jason was bringing her somewhere, but if he noticed her texting it seemed likely he would ask to see her phone. Besides, Matt might not even get the text in time. His trial had started late in the afternoon, and it was probably still going on.

"However, there is something I need your assistance with. You might be aware that Aaron McDermott's body turned up recently."

Sarah swallowed and nodded. "I saw it on the news."

"Yes, it turns out our warehouse contact wasn't as trustworthy as we thought," Jason said. Sarah was suddenly hit with the awful possibility that maybe it was Rob and Tyler who hadn't left town like they were supposed to, and that maybe she and Jason were on their way to them right now. But that didn't seem to be what Jason had in mind. "And unfortunately, his mother has been drawing quite a lot of attention to his death."

"She has?" Sarah said faintly.

"Yes. The press loves a good cop killer story, and she's been more than willing to talk to them. Lots of talk about department cover ups, organized crime, etcetera. Mostly true, but not anything we can have her going around gabbing about. She simply needs to learn the art of silence," he said with a flourish of his hand. "I think we can help her with that."

"Help—help her how? What are you going to do to her?"

"Oh, I won't be doing anything. You will," Jason said. At her alarmed look, he held up a hand. "Calm down. You won't have to hurt the woman. We're under enough scrutiny from the NYPD as it is; making a dead officer's mother disappear would only make things worse. But you are going to be the one to convince her to stop making such a racket about her son's death."

"Me?" Sarah said with a blink. "Uh—why? I mean, don't you have people who are…scarier to do that?"

"Of course I do. But my gut says fear isn't the right direction to go with this one. This situation calls for a…softer touch," he said, looking out the window once more.

"Meaning…what?"

"As you might recall, James Wesley used to be in charge of these things," Jason reminded her. The image of Wesley showing up at her door late one evening so long ago flashed through her mind. "But as you also might recall, he's no longer with the company."

That seemed like a strange way to say 'mysteriously murdered'. The image of Wesley was replaced by that of Karen Page, her eyes traumatized and guilt-stricken as she clutched a graphic photograph of a dead man.

"Right."

"But Wesley's specialty was offering people tempting deals while being very clear about the less attractive alternatives. He was wonderful at that. He was charming, but intimidating. Politely threatening," Jason said. His gaze came back to rest on her. "You're not."

"…oh." Sarah wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that.

"You are by far our most…harmless-looking employee. Innocuous. You don't give off the same air of criminality that some of our other associates do. No one would look at you and think you've ever done anything like get rid of a dead body. Or help cover up for a murder. Arrange a weapons trade. Transported all sorts of things all over town: drugs, dirty money, weapons."

Sarah closed her eyes as he listed off all of the things she'd done since getting trapped at Orion, all of the 'errands' he and Ronan had sent her on with containers she never looked in and car trunks she never unlocked.

"You've done all of those things, but you still manage to come across like a normal, boring secretary," he said. "And that will work perfectly for gaining Mrs. McDermott's trust."

"Her trust?" Sarah said, opening her eyes again.

"Well, if you're going to be offering her a significant amount of money to stop talking about her son's death, you're going to need her to trust you at least a little."

Jason tossed a small, brown envelope at her; it was heavy when she caught it.

"Five thousand up front should be enough to convince her that we're serious."

Sarah blinked. "We're giving her five thousand dollars to stop talking to reporters?"

"Reporters, cops, private investigators. Anyone who wants to look into things," Jason said. "Now that her main source of income is gone, five extra grand a month will seem like an awfully tempting deal. Or at least, it will once you convince her of it."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"You'll have to," he said calmly. "I've been having suspicions about my employees, and I'm going to start needing them to prove their loyalty. Even you."

Is that what he had been doing while he was gone? Devising all sorts of schemes to test his employees' loyalty? Looking into everyone's backgrounds?

"Me?" she asked. "What suspicions about me?"

"Well, if the suspicions aren't true, you don't need to worry about them. Right?"

"...sure. I guess."

She hadn't noticed the car come to a stop on a fairly quiet street lined with old brownstones until Jason nodded towards the door.

"This is your stop," he said, indicating the home they'd stopped in front of.

"Y-you don't think I should take some time to…prepare? Like, figure out what to say to her?"

"A practiced speech won't seem genuine enough. Simply tell her we're concerned about her safety, and we're willing to pay her to be more careful about the attention she's drawing to herself. For her own good, of course. She'll understand."

Sarah stared at him for a second before swallowing and nodding. She got out of the car, which pulled away and out of sight.

Her thoughts were racing as she walked up to the front door of the small brownstone. How was she supposed to do this? She couldn't really convince this woman to take money from murderers and keep quiet about her own son's murder. She knew better than anyone what it was like to get trapped in Orion's web; she could never do that to another person. Could she tell her to run? To leave town and never contact anyone here again? That seemed equally cruel, in a way.

Lost in her thoughts, she automatically raised her hand, about to knock on the front door when she noticed it was already ajar.

The ominous sight made her stomach drop. It was possible Mrs. McDermott had accidentally left her front door open, but something was making the hair stand up on the back of Sarah's neck. Something was wrong. She wanted to turn and leave, but that wasn't an option. So she nervously gripped her phone in one hand and her pepper spray in the other as she quietly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The interior of Mrs. McDermott's house was clean, but cluttered. Porcelain figurines and collectors plates covered every shelf and table, all carefully dusted and set atop lace doilies. Every inch of wall space was taken up by framed photos that Sarah didn't look at, not wanting to see Aaron McDermott's eyes looking back at her. The wood paneling and floral upholstery looked like they hadn't been updated since the seventies. But most of all it was quiet; no voices, no TV or radio, no one moving around. She was grateful for the garish orange carpet that muffled the sound of her own careful footsteps as she slowly moved down the hallway.

Sarah passed by an empty living room, then an equally empty bathroom and dining room before she came to the kitchen, where she swore loudly upon seeing Mrs. McDermott on the other side of the room, sprawled out on the linoleum floor with something sticking straight up out of her chest. For a horrible second, Sarah thought she'd been stabbed to death.

"Oh, my god," Sarah exclaimed, rushing forward. She dropped to her knees beside Mrs. McDermott. Now that she was closer to her, she realized two things. One, the woman wasn't as still as she had originally looked; she appeared to be having some kind of seizure. Her limbs were stiff as her muscles contracted and shook, her eyelids fluttering as her eyes rolled back in her head.

Two, the object sticking out of her chest wasn't a knife. It was a long, thin dart that Sarah recognized right away as the same kind she'd killed Ronan with. The same kind that had nearly killed the teenage girl Ronan had kidnapped, and the same kind that was sitting in her closet.

Something foamy and white was beginning to leak out of the corner of the woman's tightly clamped mouth, much to Sarah's alarm.

"Shit," she whispered, frantically trying to remember any kind of first aid for seizures—if that was even what she was having. All she could remember was to flip the person on their side so they didn't choke.

Sarah grabbed hold of Mrs. McDermott's shoulder and felt blood there; it looked like she had fallen onto some shards of a broken wine glass she'd dropped. Hastily sweeping the pieces of glass aside, she turned her onto her side. She quickly wiped the blood off on her shirt and fumbled in her pocket for her phone to call an ambulance before she realized using her phone was a bad idea. She looked up, spotting Mrs. McDermott's cordless landline phone on the counter.

She clambered to her feet and grabbed the phone, then dialed 911 with shaking hands.

A woman's voice answered immediately.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I—there's—a—a woman, she's having a seizure, I think," Sarah stammered.

"Okay, where are you?"

"Her house," she answered without thinking.

"Right, and what's the address?"

"It's—" Sarah's mind went blank. What was the address of this house? Her eyes landed on a pile of bills on the counter and she grabbed a few, checking the address. "Uh—I—I'm at 517, uh, West—West 56th. It's a brownstone."

"Okay, we're going to send some paramedics over," the woman assured her as Sarah dropped back to her knees next to Mrs. McDermott. "Is she still seizing?"

"Yes," Sarah said. "C-can I do something to help her? I turned her on her side. Is that…is that right? Sh-should I turn her back?"

"No, that's fine. You can leave her on her side. Does she have a history of seizures?"

Sarah stared at the convulsing Mrs. McDermott, whose breathing was becoming shorter and wetter sounding, a noise that was horribly reminiscent of the sounds her son had made in his dying moments. Sarah had already watched him die; she couldn't do it again now.

"I don't know," she breathed out. "Can I do anything else to help?"

"No. There's nothing you can do to help her. At least not right now. It's best to just wait for the paramedics to get there."

Sarah closed her eyes for a brief moment. Through the harsh fog of panic, she realized with some clarity that she needed to leave. She couldn't be here when the paramedics got here, when the police arrived. There's nothing you can do to help her. She unsteadily got to her feet and carefully set the phone on the counter. She didn't bother to hang up, as though the emergency operator's calm voice could somehow help stabilize the situation.

Her hands were shaking badly as she grabbed her bag from where she'd dropped it on the ground. She tried not to look at Mrs. McDermott as she did so. There's nothing you can do to help her. Even so, she hesitated for a moment, debating if she should wait until she heard sirens before leaving through the back door.

She never even heard the footsteps coming down the hallway until they were already in the kitchen.

"Don't move!" someone ordered. Sarah whipped her head around and was met with the sight of a man standing in the doorway, aiming a gun at her. Behind him was a stocky woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She was also holding a gun, but it was pointed at the ground as she craned her head around the room like she was checking for other people.

"NYPD," the man barked. "Put your hands up where I can see them."

Shit. She slowly put her hands up in the air, staring at the two of them in panic.

"Step over there," he said, jerking his head towards the corner of the kitchen opposite Mrs. McDermott. Over his shoulder, he addressed his partner. "Check on her."

The woman knelt next to Mrs. McDermott and pressed two fingers to her throat.

"She's got a pulse, but it's weak."

"I—I called an ambulance," Sarah said, barely above a whisper.

But she had just called an ambulance. Barely two minutes before they showed up. Something felt wrong. They'd gotten here too fast. Way too fast. She had only just called 911, how had they responded so quickly? Why weren't they in uniform?

"I didn't ask you to talk," the male cop told her sternly. She barely heard him, too distracted by the trying to find any sign of these two being actual cops.

"How…how did you get here so fast?"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" the cop asked. He turned back to his partner. "You want to check the rest of the house?"

"Got it," the female cop said, before swiftly exiting the room. Sarah wasn't thrilled to be alone with an angry man pointing a gun at her, but that seemed to be something that happened to her lately. Why did he only have a gun? Where was his badge, or radio, or whatever else cops carried? Anyone could point a gun and say they were the police.

"Where's your badge?" she asked nervously.

"You should be less concerned with the badge and more concerned with the gun," he said. He pulled a pair of handcuffs out of the front pocket of his sweatshirt. "Turn around."

Her eyes went wide at the sight of the handcuffs. She suddenly couldn't stop picturing herself being cuffed and led away by these two, and no one ever finding her again.

"Why?"

"Because you're under arrest," he snapped, taking a step towards her.

Sarah automatically took a step back from him, and the cop's frown deepened.

"Under arrest for what?" she asked. Her voice was getting higher in panic.

"Suspicion of attempted murder. Now turn around."

"What? No, I—I just found her this way," Sarah insisted. "I didn't hurt her."

"You're under arrest," he repeated, still pointing the gun directly at her face. "Don't resist."

"I'm not resisting. I'll go with you. J-just show me your badge first," she said.

"Don't have to."

Sarah hesitated. Just then, the other cop came back into the kitchen, her own gun still drawn.

"House is clear," she said. The sound of sirens pulled up outside.

Sarah's eyes flicked to the other cop for just a second, and the next thing she knew the one in front of her grabbed her arm roughly and yanked her around so her back was to him. The thought of fighting back briefly crossed her mind, but there didn't seem to be any upside to it. Either they really were cops, and she'd get in more trouble, or they were hired criminals and would shoot her in the head if she moved.

So she stayed still, hissing through her teeth as the man pulled both of her arms behind her painfully and closed the handcuffs around them.

"We'll add resisting arrest to the charges, then."

She vaguely registered that she was being read her rights as she heard people coming down the hallway.

Paramedics flooded the kitchen, and Sarah felt like she was watching everything happen from very far away. They surrounded Mrs. McDermott so she couldn't see her. But she did see several cops—real, identifiable cops in uniform with badges—enter the room. The man holding her cuffed wrists behind her back spoke to them with authority.

"Velasquez, pull the squad car around," he told one of them. "Gordon, make sure no one touches anything until someone can photograph it. Especially that wine glass."

Both cops nodded and did what he said. Sarah closed her eyes as she realized that yes, he really was a cop, and yes, she'd just made a big mistake.

She tried telling herself it was a good thing they'd turned out to be cops and not some kind of hitmen, but as she was put into the back of a cop car with emergency vehicle lights strobing all around her, it felt difficult to see any of this as a positive. Had Jason set her up, or had one of McDermott's many other enemies done this, and her being there was a coincidence?

And of course—of course—she'd managed to get arrested while Matt was unreachable, because wasn't that was her luck?

As she watched the ambulance take Mrs. McDermott away, she could only hope the other half of Nelson and Murdock was still willing to take her calls.