The red thread

by Lazydaily

matt and Read red strings. For TTS

5. Chapter 5

Things had become—in no uncertain terms—a raging dumpster fire. It was a fire that you at first attempted to contain on your own, mostly by repeatedly leaving calls for Matt over the weekend. These efforts met with about as much success as you'd have had fighting an actual dumpster fire with nothing but your wits and maybe a questionable towel you'd found in a nearby alley.

The question of just why you were so desperate to fix this wasn't one you allowed yourself to consider. You'd had incidents like this in the past: people who'd left your life when they discovered some piece of you they didn't like. And unless they were useful, their abandonment of you had filled you with a grim satisfaction. One less person meant one less thread that might go red. This whole deal with Matt, though, refused to leave your mind, dragging like a heavy chain behind you as the days dragged on. Had you been honest with yourself, you'd have been forced to admit that this was about far more than requiring his legal expertise. Lawyers were a dime a dozen in New York. Swing a dead cat and one would sue you on charges of, well, attempted assault with a dead cat, after which another lawyer would appear, ready to defend you.

But you didn't want another lawyer. What you wanted was Matt.

You were determined to solve this issue alone, as was your way, but whether fortunately or unfortunately, that plan changed when Foggy called you the Monday after the fight in your office.

"So I'm guessing something serious happened," he said quickly after the usual greetings. Concern radiated from his tone, gentle but pointed. "Matt called me this morning and said he couldn't do our meeting with you today. I had to talk the guy down from us dropping you as a client entirely. Something about 'fundamental differences?'"

Shit.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, pacing inside of your office as you held the phone to your ear. In the chaos, you'd forgotten that you'd previously scheduled a meeting with them both to go over a few new legal contracts. Those contracts included the one you'd planned to give to Matt last time you spoke. You'd also intended to show Foggy Mr. Winter's offer of retainer. "It's… complicated."

"Well, fortunately for you, I'm a lawyer and untangling complications is my specialty, as is dealing with our dear Matthew. So hit me."

How the hell were you supposed to even begin to explain the problem? It wasn't like you could tell Foggy that Matt had sniffed out Mr. Winter from fourteen floors away, or about Matt's habit of breaking noses and wrenching arms from sockets in his spare time. Simply redirecting Foggy to Matt would lead nowhere since Matt didn't seem interested in talking. Getting answers from him when he was feeling uncooperative would be like pulling teeth. You were pretty sure all you'd get from him was a bloody grin thrown your way and a taunt asking for more, or maybe a Catholicism joke. This was, you had a feeling, a time to be a bit... selective with the truth.

"He… didn't approve of one of my clients," you said slowly, words trickling out one by one. You were aware of how incredibly fine a line you were walking, and a misstep now could slice you to the bone, without a chance to recover. Despite your disastrous falling out with Matt, you'd never risk jeopardizing his secret, ever. But you also couldn't risk breaking your contract. It left you in a frustrating balancing act, managing his secrets and yours, while also trying to speak coherently. Every word needed to be carefully weighed and considered before you released it into the air. "It's a client I'm currently legally bound not to discuss, outside a very specific set of circumstances that our disagreement did not meet."

"You stonewalled him, didn't you?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I mean—"

"No, no! It's fine, I get it. Lawyer. Um… did you show him the cont—"

"I tried, but…" You scrubbed a hand through your hair, feeling the familiar frustration well up all over again. You growled to yourself, resisting the urge to chuck your phone. You'd replayed the scene in your head dozens of times since it had happened, looking for a way you could have averted this, and now you were circling it again. "He didn't want to hear it. He kind of said we were done and then he left, so..."

"Ok, so, hey! I can fix this, totally fixable. Just, you know." He let out a nervous laugh. "Did he at least quote Thurgood Marshall?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. "Is that important?"

"Well, it would be a good sign. He usually does that if he's planning on coming around, or if he just needs to blow off a little steam."

"Sadly, no quotes," you said glumly. Foggy swore, and you made your way back to your desk to hunt down some aspirin for your growing headache. "Look, I don't want to cause problems, so if it would better, I can just find a new law fi—"

"NO!" Foggy shouted, so loudly and suddenly you yanked the phone away from your ear and nearly dropped the bottle of aspirin you'd just picked up. You hesitantly brought the phone back to year, returning mid-stream to Foggy's frantic rambling. "—no no, it's fine! Please don't leave, I can fix this, ok? Just give me a chance to talk to the guy."

"If you think it'll work, ok. But he seemed pretty set," you said as you popped the lid on the bottle and tapped out two aspirin. God, you could already tell this was going to be a long week.

"You'd be amazed at what I can convince him to do. He should be here soon, I'll get back to you in a bit. Just don't go running off to anyone else in the meantime. They won't give you anywhere near the dedication we at Nelson and Murdock can provide."

-x-

"You really think cornering him is a good idea?" Karen asked skeptically, glancing at Foggy where he stood with his arms crossed in their office, waiting for Matt to show. He shifted a foot on the squeaky board below him and carefully adjusted two steps forward. He couldn't risk an annoying squeak from the floor throwing him off during the coming battle.

And also he was pretty sure that the squeak was due to rot, or maybe termites, big ugly New York ones the size of small dogs, and they couldn't afford to fix it if his foot busted a hole in the floor.

"He's a squirrely little bastard when he feels like it," Foggy said, nodding his head sagely. "If you don't pin him down immediately, you'll end up talking about something else entirely. Trust me."

"Whatever you say, boss." She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender and went back to her laptop. She was having nothing to do with this. Let them duke it out. "I'll take your word for it."

The tap tap of the approaching cane had them both jumping as Matt opened the door. He paused there—perhaps sensing Foggy lying in wait like an irritated, lawyerly panther—before he cautiously entered with shuffling steps. Foggy waited politely as Matt set his cane beside the door and finally turned to face Foggy.

The silence stretched out like a lazy cat in the sun, taking its time as both of them attempted to outlast the other. Karen's eyes darted back and forth between them as the old clock on the wall slowly ticked along. Matt seemed annoyingly calm, hands in his pockets as he stood unruffled and peaceful. Eventually, Foggy lobbed his opening sentence, starting the match. "So I talked to our most profitable client."

"I wasn't aware he'd come back," Matt said innocently. Which was ridiculous, Foggy thought, because if there was one thing Matthew Murdock was not , it was innocent. He'd convinced Foggy to abandon the promise of a cushy office and designer bagels, and that was nothing but dastardly evil, as was stealing Foggy's yogurt two years ago, which Foggy had not forgotten. "And anyway, I thought we'd agreed it was just the one case from him."

Foggy threw his hands up towards the aging ceiling and scowled. "You and I both know I'm not talking about him! Why would you tell Jane you couldn't work for her anymore just because she had a questionable client?!"

"Is that what she said?" Matt asked smoothly, his words lilted and absent any tone that might give him away. Even his face remained studiously blank, as flat as stone. Bastard. He'd gone and pulled up his lawyer face. Well that was just fine, because Foggy had watched Matt develop that lawyer face. He would not be intimidated.

"She told me enough: that you didn't like a client and she couldn't talk about it because she was legally bound not to. Did you even look at the contract?"

Matt shook his head, putting his hands on his hips as his facade cracked just a little and… Foggy frowned. Well, hell if this didn't really seem to be bothering the guy. That was unexpected.

"I didn't need to see it," Matt said firmly. "Foggy, she wouldn't tell me anything about… this guy."

"Because she can't Matt. You're a lawyer, you know—"

"What I know is that she's hiding something." He worked his jaw, shifting in agitation. "Her client, he was…"

"What? A criminal? A dictator? A puppy kicker?" Foggy took a step closer, huffed to alert Matt to his presence, and proceeded to poke him in the chest for emphasis. "I don't know if you know this, Matt, but some of the people we work with are pretty shady. Are we taking cases for money or not? What happened to making decisions together?"

"I just don't think she's the right client for me, ok?" Matt said stubbornly. "Just trust me, Foggy."

Foggy stabbed a finger at the fluorescent lights buzzing away in the ceiling. "Do you see these lights, Matt?"

There was an awkward pause. Matt's brows rose, one corner of his mouth twitching.

"Not reall—"

Foggy repeated the gesture and amended his statement. "Do you hear these lights?"

"I can't hear light, Foggy."

Pop! went one of the tubes, a corner of the office abruptly dimming.

Silence.

Foggy slowly turned to Karen. "Karen, was that one of our lights?"

She winced. "Yup. It, uh, it burned out."

"Fog—" started Matt.

"If you would be so kind, Karen, please check the box next to your desk and tell me if we have any left," Foggy said steadily. "Please speak clearly so that everyone present can hear you."

Karen reached over and dug through one of the long cardboard boxes beside her desk before clearing her throat. "No more lights, sorry. And we probably, uh, won't be able to replace it until… Tuesday I think?"

Foggy spun back to Matt and stared before gritting out, "Did you hear that, Matt? No. More. Lights!"

"We can make do with what we have." Matt shuffled in the direction of his office, holding out a hand and bumping into Foggy before he side-stepped. "I'm sure you'll do fine on your own if you're still determined to take her case."

"I will make you fix this, Murdock!" Foggy bellowed at Matt's retreating back. "You may have to work in the dark but I refuse to, do you hear me? I like to eat, Matt!"

The door shut quietly behind Matt and Foggy sighed, turning to Karen.

She blinked at him, raising her brows. "So did that go the way you expected, or…?"

"About as good as it realistically could have, honestly," Foggy said, entirely unperturbed. He was in a war, and this exchange was naught but the opening battle. "The guy's stubborn, what can I say? I'll think of… something."

"Any plans on where to start?"

"Yeah. Step one? Research. Go ahead and bring me Ms. Hind's file, I need to do some digging." He turned for his own office, his stride determined. "I'm gonna call her back, too. We'll need to talk after I get some info."

-x-

At your insistence, you did not meet at your office. And with Nelson and Murdock's office ruled out, the two of you instead met in the middle. Here inside a quiet hole-in-the-wall diner, there was little chance of you being overheard by people whose names may or may not have been 'Matt-slash-the-man-in-black'. You'd brought along a blank copy of the relevant contract, which Foggy had spent the last forty minutes going over.

"Jesus," he muttered for the third time, circling a few more lines with his pen as you waved off the waitress. You were on your third cup of coffee and didn't need more.

"That bad, huh?"

"Bad for you, maybe, but for your client? It's great." He groaned, rolling his neck and stretching his back until his spine popped. "This is the Great Wall of contracts. Kudos to the lawyer that wrote it."

"Lawyers, plural," you corrected, taking a sip from your warm mug. You'd lost your appetite after Foggy's phone call earlier. "Every time I move, I get a new lawyer to look it over for flaws. This is the seventh version I think so it's pretty ironclad by design. I'd love to talk to you and Matt about this client, but..." You held up one hand in a helpless gesture. If lie detectors weren't a thing, you'd consider just breaking the contract and spilling, but sadly they were, and that left you with few options.

"Yeah, no, it's…" He blew out a sigh and shook his head as he lightly slapped the stack of paper. "I'm going to need to take this with me so I can really dig through it. But as of now, without your client or their staff committing a crime in front of you?"

"I can't reveal anything without breaking it, yeah, and you can't tell me how much trouble I'm in." You stared despondently down at your half-filled mug. You weren't sure what you'd been expecting from this meeting. You'd worked hard for years to ensure this contract was hard to crack, and yet a tiny part of you had still hoped Foggy would sit down and find a hole large enough for you to safely squeeze through without shredding yourself to ribbons.

Yeah, and then Matt will ride in on a unicorn and we'll gallop off into the sunset.

"Do you really think the client's as bad as Matt seems to think?" Foggy said carefully, his selection of words precise as his brow furrowed. "Are you in danger at all? Saying yes or no wouldn't break the contract as long as you don't get specific and you speak generally."

You shrugged one shoulder, aiming for casual and missing the mark entirely. Your nervousness about the whole matter was too present, too visible in the tension that accompanied the movement. "The client Matt's concerned about could be bad, I can't really say. He probably is. As for me, being in danger? I have… reason to believe that breaking the contract would go badly for me if current or previous clients found out." That was putting it mildly. You'd worked with some dangerous people in your past. There were only two reasons you'd been allowed to walk away knowing what you did. The first reason was that stack of paper in front of Foggy. The second was your reputation: a reputation that you had never broken a contract, even with a gun—literal and metaphorical—to your head. Even when you were dragged into court. Were it to get out you'd broken your word, though? You wouldn't last two days. If Mr. Winter didn't kill you, the others would.

"Then I'll find you a loophole," Foggy said kindly. "You're not alone, ok? I'll figure something out. And I'll keep working on Matt. He'll come around. Between the two of us, we'll crack this."

Your mind helpfully supplied a memory of Matt's face, the betrayed clenching of his jaw, the sharp thud of his hands as he slammed them on your desk. You closed your eyes with a sigh. Spending time with him, working with him, maybe it had all been a mistake. This was looking more and more like a trap you'd stumbled into. What was I thinking ? You'd thought that…

That what? That we'd be friends? That I could ever connect with someone like him? Someone good, someone warm and… It was a cruel joke, was what it was: the universe allowing your paths to intersect only to yank the rug from under you the second you fell prey to desiring something more than just a string of passing acquaintances.

"Hey, don't worry. Ok?" Foggy, ever sympathetic, patted your hand. "I've known Matt for years. He likes to believe in redemption. It's a Catholic thing."

"So you do think I did something wrong?" you asked quietly, picking at a chip in your coffee mug with your thumbnail. The thought had certainly occurred to you. You wouldn't pretend it hadn't. Were it regarding anyone else, Matt would have been your sounding board, your compass. With you and him not on speaking terms, you'd been left to muddle through your insecurities on your own until now.

Foggy held up his hands. "I mean, as a lawyer, I can say you did the right thing. You followed the contract to the letter. But I don't think Matt's thinking like a lawyer right now, if it makes you feel any better. As an average guy… Eh." He pushed the contract aside and went back to his plate of fries, popping one into his mouth. "I don't know enough and you can't tell me enough for context. But what I think doesn't matter. It's a question of if Matt thinks you did something wrong, even if you didn't. As far as he's concerned right now, your money is dirty."

"Not really fair of him."

"Maybe not," Foggy agreed easily, surprising you. "And he'll realize that, but he has to sit down first. And I'm not against playing up the redemption angle if it gets him into a chair and in front of this contract. He does that, and I think you'll get the guy feelin' pretty sheepish. Especially if he hears you say you're in danger if you break the contract. Trust me. After that, he can help me find a loophole and we can figure out how much trouble this guy is for you. It'll go a lot faster with the both of us working on it."

You propped your chin up in your hand and considered Foggy as he ate a few more fries. "So do you have a plan to get him to read it?"

"I'm kind of making this up as I go." He frowned, pushing a soggy, crumpled fry away from the crispier ones. "I may need to trick him. Be devious, you know."

Your brows climbed. "And how is that going to work?" Even without his super senses, you were fairly certain Matt could sniff out a plot a mile away. He was dangerously intelligent when he wasn't leaping before he looked, and he knew Foggy well. He'd be suspicious and wary of any shenanigans. You didn't even have a guarantee he wasn't listening right now.

Hopefully if he was, he'd heard the honesty in your voice.

"What, you think tying him down and forcing him to listen to us read the contract won't work?" Foggy waved a fry at you. "Cause I'm feeling that plan. I like that plan! You should, too. You're the supervillain here."

He was drawing you out of your foul mood and damned if it wasn't working. You chuckled, taking the fry he offered you. "Better make sure to take his cane, too. You never know what dastardly escape tools he's hiding inside it."

"Oooh, that's true. Good thinking. Now, I gotta ask…" He pointed a new fry at you as you lifted your mug to your lips again. "Is there anything else you can tell me that's not covered here that might help sway him your way, make him more sympathetic? Like, say, the fact that you might be," he lowered his voice, "enhanced?"

You spat out your coffee, and Foggy helpfully handed you a napkin. You wiped your mouth, stalling for time. Right, game plan. Confusion was usually a good start, which was fine since you were feeling a bit baffled anyway. Fittingly, you widened your eyes and let the appropriate level of disbelief creep into your tone. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't need to hide it," he said earnestly, and you weren't sure if he was simply assuming or if your act had just fallen flat as roadkill. "I know what you're thinking. 'How does that young, handsome, clever lawyer know these things?' Well, I may not have special powers, but clients like James talk, and I've poked around. Supposedly you can find whatever or whoever someone's lost, like a human bloodhound. Or that's the rumour anyway."

Right. Plan B: selective truth time.

"First," you ticked the list off on your fingers, "you should be the last person to listen to rumours since you know how unreliable people are. Two: were it true, I would prefer the term 'psychic' over 'enhanced', since it's less likely to get me killed. And three: what the hell does it matter if I am or not?"

It was as close to an admission as you were willing to get: not quite a denial, but not quite a confirmation either. It was normally enough to satisfy questioners. He clearly recognized the play if his smug look was any indication.

"It matters because I need every advantage I can get if I'm going to get Matt back in your corner. I'm playing to win here," he told you. "Look, if you're… you know… then it only helps your case. One more reason you're afraid to break your contract and draw any attention to yourself, am I right?"

Yes. Fuck.

"What do you want me to say here?" you muttered. "That I have super strength? Speed? I don't."

"But you're not denying you have something."

"It's not that simple."

"Psychic-ness rarely is. Details, my all-seeing friend! I want them, no matter how weird."

Well, you were already in over your head and drowning at this point. What could a few more inches of water do? You'd chosen the 'psychic' title for a reason, just in case you ever had to give an explanation; plenty of people claimed to have 'the Gift' and you'd been happy to make use of those claims. People weren't exactly known for being friendly when they heard words like, 'enhanced' or 'mutant.'

Matt already knew about your abilities, but… maybe Foggy could use that knowledge in a way you couldn't.

When you finished—having given Foggy a very carefully edited description of your abilities and the vague implication your past may or may not have involved some bad people that you very much could not discuss—he leaned back with a thoughtful frown as you fidgeted with your mug and waited for his response.

"So you could find a beloved dog if I lost it," he said slowly.

You nodded.

"My favorite chair?"

You shrugged.

"But not my least hated pen."

You shook your head.

"My long-lost uncle Felix?"

"I mean, if you care about hi—"

"But like, if I pulled out a toy from my childhood right now and hid it behind my back, could you tell which hand I had it in?"

"Do you regularly make a habit of carrying your prized childhood possessions with you, or…?" He waited in eager anticipation and you sighed. "Yes. Yes I could, if your hands were far enough apart."

He grinned at you. "Well, it may not be super speed or laser eyes, but I'm pretty sure it's the most useful ability I've heard about yet."

You blinked owlishly at him, stunned at his easy acceptance. "Really?"

"Are you kidding? Do you know how much shit I've lost? Let Captain America handle the bad guys, but when someone steals my lunch, I know exactly who to call."

"That's not really how it wor—"

"And," he leaned forward and grabbed you by the shoulder, his voice abruptly swerving from humorous to solemn and respectful, "not only is your secret safe with me, but I'm also pretty sure I can use this to help Matt to see the light if you'll let me.

'If you'll let me.'

As if you had a choice. As if you could resist this opportunity to maybe, just maybe, allow yourself a few more snatches of time with Matt before…

You blew out a heavy breath and reluctantly nodded your head.

At that Foggy began to pack the contract away into his bag as the waitress came with the check. You slipped her the cash for both your bills while Foggy was distracted and she was gone before he zipped the bag shut and looked up. "So the current plan: if I can get him somewhere he can't rabbit, pin him down long enough, I can get him to read it. It would help if you were there."

You shook your head immediately, leaning back and crossing your arms. "Uh-uh, you kidding? He doesn't want to hear a word I say."

"Come on. Witness accounts are very compelling, you'll have him eating out of the palm of your hand!"

"He didn't when this first happened," you reminded him, dropping your eyes. "I could barely get a word out."

"Except he's had time to cool down now, so he's more likely to let you talk. All you have to do is tell him what you told me. It will help a lot." You hesitated and he leaned in. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I really think this is the way to go. Matt's a good guy, he wants to help people. He'll want to help you, too. He just needs to know why he should."

-x-

As much as you'd have loved to sit around waiting for Foggy to fix things, your work couldn't wait.

"Missing kid case today, so you're on a timer," Maya said, tossing the manila folder onto your desk. You opened it to scan through it as you rose, slipping on your jacket.

Missing kid cases, while rare for you, always came across your desk marked as urgent, and not just because people were usually willing to pay anything for their kids to be found. The good news was unless the kids had been kidnapped, they were almost always close to home; they couldn't move as fast as adults. They were a bit like cats or dogs, in that way. They had a tendency to stay in their own neighborhood where they were familiar with their surroundings.

"Any indications of kidnapping?" you asked, glancing out the window. It wasn't dark yet but it soon would be, and night always made things more dangerous—even a lone kid who'd left of their own volition could be snatched up after dusk. They were a target too tempting for some to resist.

Maya shook her head. "None reported. Seems more like Eva just ran off. Mother says she's been missing her dad and talking about going off to see him in Nebraska."

"Let me guess. He's not interested?"

"Correct." Maya sighed and began to walk with you as you headed out of your office. There wasn't a whole lot of time and you needed to move quickly. "According to Ms. Gonzales, he's run off with a new family. She hasn't quite told the kid the whole story, which makes sense. Kid's only seven. But that also means the kid doesn't know why she can't just pop over to Dad's new home and be welcomed in."

"God, I hate family drama," you muttered. "This shit's way too complicated."

"I hear that," Daniel said sympathetically as you passed him. "Good luck finding her."

You saluted him before mashing the elevator button. "Anything else about her I need to know?"

"Cops are searching, in addition to you, so keep an eye on your phone for texts. Girl is seven. 'Bout three-foot-nine. Skinny. Brown curly hair cut shoulder length, brown eyes. Was in jeans, panda sneakers, and a blue t-shirt this morning," Maya told you. "Name, address, and photo in the file. Mother will give you a teddy bear when you get there you can use to track her. Already paid in full, asked for 'the psychic' specifically, so, you know… don't fuck this up. Just find her and bring her back."

You nodded, stepping into the elevator as it arrived. "Cab?"

"Already called you an uber. Good luck, Jane."

-x-

Teddy bear in hand, you started close to the home and began your hunt.

It was an upper-middle-class neighborhood, one full of doctors and mid-earning lawyers and marketers who hadn't quite reached the top of their fields yet but were well on their way. Brownstone apartments and townhomes sat picturesquely on spotless streets. The sidewalks were busy but not overly crowded, especially on an evening as hot as this. Only the determined were out for a jog after work or reluctantly marching along behind dogs connected via leashes and thick red threads. Even with the mid-summer heat, people seemed comfortable, familiar with each other. You had a feeling the kid would have been recognized on this street—the neighbors were too friendly and curious. Which meant she would have left as quickly as possible.

The blue thread connecting the small stuffed panda bear to seven-year-old Eva Gonzales was strong. The only reason she hadn't taken it with her was because her mother hadn't quite finished the repairs to a small hole in one worn black paw. That was good news for you. You wound the blue thread carefully around one finger so you could keep your hands and the bear in your pocket as you walked, your shirt already sticking to your skin from sweat and humidity. All you'd have to do was follow the tension on the line.

There'd been a multitude of strings inside the Gonzales home, including the bold red line connecting the mother to her missing daughter. It was a warm and happy place, now shadowed with grief and fear, tainted by the presence of the cop cars out front. The poor woman had been in tears, absolutely miserable and wracked with guilt as she handed you the bear. You'd wanted to tell her… something, anything to comfort her. But there'd been no time, and so all you'd been able to come up with was, "I'll do my best to find her."

You strummed at the thread on your finger as you followed it down the street, turning left and right as needed, walking quickly despite the sweat that dripped down your face. Your pace was quicker than usual, and you'd be exhausted before the night was through, but in this case, it was called for, so you continued to push yourself to a pace just short of a jog.

You wondered if Matt was struggling with the heat tonight, too, up on the roofs he usually wandered. You could see it in your mind: warm dark fabric clinging tighter than ever to lean skin, hair soaked with sweat as droplets slid free from his mask to roll down his neck while he perched on a ledge, listening carefully to the sounds of the city. He'd never seemed bothered by the heat before.

You were getting sidetracked. You shook the thoughts of him away, tightening your fingers on the bear in your pocket as you forced the distractions down, letting them sink below the surface.

Breathe.

Focus only on what's relevant.

Every now and then you'd get a little thrum down the string, determination and a bit of sadness leaking through the thread in pulses. Poor kid.

You'd read her file on the way over, and it was… unpleasant. The father had originally left on an extended "business trip" that was, in reality, the culmination of a years-long online affair with another woman. That business trip had since become a permanent trip.

God, what a winner this guy had been. There were some days you'd have done anything to get back to the people you'd been forced to leave behind. And here this fucker just… abandoned them for some tail. You'd love to punch his goddamn teeth in, but that was neither here nor there.

Seconds, minutes, hours ticked by without notice. Dinnertime came and went and still you sweated and walked, reeling in the thread with utter determination. Foggy had called you a bloodhound and he wasn't entirely wrong; there was… a zone, a headspace you got into on some of your cases, some twisted version of tunnel-vision you'd learned early on during your less pleasant experiments. When you were on the trail of something or someone that needed to be found fast, even after all these years it was instinctive to allow distractions to drift away, even thoughts of Matt. There was no hunger, no heat, no tiredness: only the hunt, the threads, and the target.

All else was irrelevant.

Distantly, as if you were underwater, you took note of your cell ringing. It was probably a spam caller, your phone trilling its standard 'don't know you' ring. You switched it to silent and continued.

Dusk deepened to the gloom of night, the wash of darkness broken into pieces by car lights, pools of amber brightness cast by street lights, and the glittering streams of threads that lay in your path. The air cooled from hellish to simply roasting.

Only the hunt. Only the threads. Only the target.

"You must push away everything else, subject," the Man in the White Coat once said. "Erase all distractions. Only the goal matters. All else is irrelevant."

The kid hadn't been caught yet. You were connected via the sparkling blue thread wrapped around your finger, and with that connection came a vague sense of her emotional state. Nothing other than her position had changed since you started hunting her. The good news was she'd stopped moving, and she was close.

Then you came around the corner… and there she was.

You weren't sure how many blocks away from her home you were now or how many neighborhoods you'd passed. She'd gone far enough to find a quiet, unmonitored bus stop. Smart. She'd known the farther from home she was, the higher her chance of success.

You got a closer look at her as you moved up the street towards her. She'd changed her clothes since leaving home, now wearing a purple tank top and black shoes that must have come from the little green panda backpack on her back. She'd tugged on a cap, too, that hid her hair.

Very smart indeed.

She kicked her feet back and forth, at ease as she waited for her bus. There was no one else around for once, and so you slowed to a stroll, taking that last moment to shake off the lingering haze you'd floated through for the past hour or so. Casually and without any excess eye contact, you walked up and sat beside her, closing off your third eye as you did so. The world blinked back into darkness for a moment, and as you waited for your physical eyes to adjust, you said mildly, "Where are you off to?"

"Ome-a-ha, Nebraska," Eva said, watching cars pass. "My dad lives there. I'm going to go visit."

"I see. Long way for a little girl."

"I'm seven," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I'm not a baby."

"I'm sorry," you said solemnly, wiping some of the sweat off your forehead and leaning back against the bench. "My mistake."

"It's ok, I guess."

"Thank you." You stretched your legs out and glanced at her. "How's your mom feel about it?"

Eva shrugged, but she stared down at the ground, maybe, just maybe a little guilty. "She'll be fine once I get there and let her know I'm ok."

"She's probably worried about you."

Eva turned to squint suspiciously up at you. Her eyes darted around you, and then—

She bolted.

You swore, leaping to your feet and taking off after her, your feet striking hard against the hot pavement. You were glad you'd worn sneakers today.

She was a lightning-fast little thing, you thought with a groan, and you were tired and overheated. While your legs were longer, your strides able to cover more ground, she turned more sharply and dove under and through openings you had no chance of squeezing through. Unless you wanted to bulldoze your way through hedges like a goddamn elephant, you had to go around. Your only saving grace was that she was even less interested in attracting attention than you were, and so she refused to call out for help.

Your phone buzzed again. You barely noticed, almost all of your focus on running down Eva.

The two of you raced through yards and scrambled over fences, past gates and barking dogs. Every time you began to gain ground and close in on her, she'd dive through an opening too small for you, and you wasted valuable time going around. God, you hoped no one decided to call the cops on you for trying to chase down this kid.

"Eva, wait!" you shouted, "I'm here to help!"

Holy shit, she was like a fucking gazelle.

She kept running, and didn't stop until—blocks away, fuck kids and their boundless energy—you cornered her in a backyard: one with a small in-ground pool, poorly watered grass, and fenced in by the most beautifully un-scaleable brick wall you'd ever seen in your life. You briefly considered leaning over to press your lips to the red stone in thanks. Instead, you wheezed and tried to catch your breath as she bared her teeth at you. With the gate on the far side of the pool, and the pool at your back, she'd have to go past you to get out.

Gotcha.

"Leave me alone!"

"Just," you puffed, "just wait, ok? I'm not here to hurt you."

"Not letting me go is against the law, I saw it on TV. You're a bad guy!"

"Come on, kid," you groaned in exasperation. "I'm just here to help."

"You're here to take me back to my mom!"

"And why is that so bad?"

"I don't want to go back. I want to see my dad!"

You held up your hands as you sucked in more air. God, you were soaked in sweat to the point that even your jeans were sticking. Maybe you'd throw yourself into that pool when you were done, just drop your clothes and phone and dive right in. "Look, can we just... I won't grab you, ok? I just want to talk to you."

"Fine," she snapped, crossing her arms, not nearly as tired as you were. "What do you want?"

"Your mom is really scared for you, ok? And she just wants you back home, so you both can talk about your dad, alright?"

"I've talked to her about it, and she won't let me go see him," Eva said, dropping her hands and clenching them, and sniffling just a little. "So I'm going to go and tell dad to come home. He can work from home!"

"Look, Eva—" Your phone buzzed again and you growled in frustration as you yanked it from your pocket. Whatever fucking spam caller was calling, you just—

Four missed calls, one new voicemail from an 'Unknown Caller'. But it wasn't unknown. You knew that number. It was the number you'd refused to save to your phone, just in case, but had dutifully memorized regardless.

Matt.

A new text notification rolled across the screen.

Message from unknown number: it's me. I need your help. Please answer.

Fuck, oh god, no, not now.

It rang in your hands again, the same number and your stomach dropped so fast you flinched, hands jerking with the motion. Was he injured? Or maybe... maybe he wanted to… to talk? Was this your chance?

It didn't matter. He needed your help.

You glanced up at Eva, speaking as fast as you could. "Eva, this is, this is really important, I just need to take this, ok? Let me tell him I'm busy, and I can—"

And as you glanced back down at your phone in distraction, she saw her chance and made a move to dart past you. You shot a hand out to snag her backpack, fumbling your phone as you did.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, and shoved you hard. It wasn't enough to knock you over, but it did push you back.

Your backward step hit nothing but air.

The chlorinated water rushed up around you, cool and sudden as you fell in, taking the kid with you. It was so cold compared to the heat of the air that you almost gasped with it, the sharp bite of the temperature change such a harsh shock to your system that it momentarily stunned you. You sank under the water, floating in the illumination from the pool lights as the bubbles cleared.

Your phone drifted past you, dropping down to rest on the bottom of the pool with its screen facing up. The screen continued to glow at first, almost mockingly. The words 'Incoming Call' flashed once before it flickered and went dark.

You picked it up with numb fingers, and swam to the surface where Eva was already dog-paddling for the edge. You grabbed her by the back of the shirt and helped her out of the pool before levering yourself up and out as well.

And you kneeled there a moment, dripping wet, miserable as you pressed a few buttons on your phone. You'd allowed yourself a brief hope the phone was alive, but… there was nothing.

"Please don't cry."

What?

"I'm sorry," Eva said quietly. "Please don't be sad. I'll go back, ok?"

"It's not that," and, shit, you really were crying, weren't you? Just a little, but… it had been a long week and you'd lost maybe your only shot at reconnecting with Matt, and you were scared that maybe Mr. Winter really was bad and you were tired and hungry and just… You rubbed at your eyes, swiping the tears away. "I just… I really needed to talk to him."

She tugged you over to a pair of lawn chairs and you both sat. You tugged your shoes off and emptied them of water, dribbling it out onto the browned, crunchy grass.

"Kind of like how I wanted to see my dad?"

"You could say that." You gave a wobbly laugh and then sighed as you replaced your shoes. You needed to focus on the here and now; there was nothing else you could do. And, maybe her situation and yours were sort of similar in a way from her perspective. This could help. "See, me and him, my friend, we… we haven't talked in a bit. And it made me sad. So, I get how you feel about wanting to talking to your dad."

"I just don't understand why he won't talk to me or come home," she said, staring down at her feet. She mimicked you and kicked her shoes off to dump out the water.

"Sometimes, for whatever reason, we don't get to talk. Maybe my friend just won't talk, like your dad, or maybe we don't get to talk because our phones die." You held it up and waggled what was now, for all intents and purposes, nothing but a useless brick. "And it sucks, right?"

"Yeah."

"But that's where people like your mom come in. Or another friend of mine who's talking to this friend I'm not talking to. They can help us figure out what's going on. And whether it's the right time to talk."

"She doesn't tell me everything."

"Maybe not," you agreed. "But she's doing it cause she loves you, and she's really really sad at home right now."

"I told her not to worry," Eva sniffled. "I left a note and everything, just like they do on TV."

"Sometimes people worry though, no matter what we do. We gotta talk to them, kiddo. So what do you think—we get you home and into some dry clothes, and you talk to your mom about your dad?"

She nodded solemnly and stood up. "Ok, but only if you talk to your friend."

"It's a deal."

You didn't make it two steps outside the yard before a cop car with flashing lights squealed to a stop on the street. The officer inside leapt out, hands on his weapon because, well, yeah, this kinda looked bad.

"Hello there, officer!" you shouted, throwing your empty hands up into the air. "I think I've got someone you guys have been looking for?"

-x-

Small child? Returned.

Wet clothes? Changed.

Phone? Still dead.

You shoved it into the Ziploc bag of dry rice on the counter and then turned around to frantically dig in a kitchen drawer for one of your backup burners.

The thought of Matt potentially being hurt gnawed at you. He'd rarely left your thoughts since you'd gotten his text, constant panicked whispers of Matt, Matt, Matt called, he needs help playing on repeat inside your head. Your nerves had helpfully provided a list of all the terrifying reasons he might have called, and that had only served to ratchet up the barely-stifled shroud of panic you'd been operating under since reading the text. It had said he needed your help. How bad was it that he'd finally broken his silence? And worse, by the time you'd gotten done with Eva, her family, and the cops, hours had passed since his call.

You hesitated before quickly dialing his burner number.

"Why didn't you save the number with a special ringtone," you scolded yourself, rapping a fist against your forehead in frustration. "You didn't even have to give the contact a name, you fucking—"

It rang, and rang, and rang.

Nothing.

You tried his lawyer phone next, with the same results.

Then, with a sinking feeling, you tried your own message service.

"You have … THREE … voicemails," the robotic voice intoned. "First voicemail."

And then… there was Matt's voice, that warm, rich sound you hadn't wanted to admit you missed. You leaned your elbows against the counter and listened.

"Hi, I… it's me. Look, I know I haven't been the best… A friend of mine was grabbed, and I was hoping that… that you could help find her. I just…" He blew out a shaky breath, and you could almost see him, pacing and frantic. His voice carried an urgency you rarely heard. Then his voice softened to a plea. "Please call me back."

Your breath hitched, the desperation in it a sucker punch that shook you. You had to resist the urge to pick up your keys and head over. Instead, you waited and let the messages play out.

"End of voicemail. Next new voicemail."

"It's me again. I don't know if you're busy, or-or…" He stuttered, faltering briefly before forcing himself to continue. The argument between you loomed over you, ever-present as you listened, and maybe it had felt the same to him. "Or maybe you just don't want to talk to me, but you always have this phone with you and… please, I can't find her. I know we haven't talked, and that's on me, ok? I was an ass." He began to talk faster, trying to beat the timer before the message cut him off. There was noise in the background, car horns and traffic. He was out somewhere, searching. "And I know you're probably mad at me and don't want anything to do with me and you're right, I deserve it, but I wouldn't be calling if I thought there was another way. They're going to—" He faltered again and your heart broke for him, at the fear inherent in his voice. "Please, just… help me with this. I'm asking as… as a friend."

"End of voicemail. Next new voicemail."

This time, his voice was cool and precise, and whatever vulnerability you'd heard in the previous two messages was gone. Now, there was only steel, unyielding and steady.

"Nevermind. I found her."

You leaned against your kitchen counter and dropped your head with a groan. God, what must he think? He'd reached out for help and by all appearances, you'd just ignored him, abandoned him, left him and his friend to rot. He had to know, right? Had to know you wouldn't…

You called him again on his burner, and this time, you waited for the beep and left a message. "Hey, D," you said weakly, making your way into the living area and sinking into the couch. "I'm sorry, I was working and then my phone got wet so I couldn't answer, and you wouldn't believe… I just got your messages. I hope your friend is ok. And I hope… I hope we can still talk. Call me?"

Your phone remained silent for the rest of the night.