It was a few days before Matt got back to Sarah about the notebook she had given him. When he knocked on her window that night, she didn't bother opening it. Instead she just called out that it was unlocked, and he immediately slid it open and pulled himself inside. She watched him from her couch, where she was curled up with a cup of tea, sorting through her (many) overdue bills.

"You really shouldn't leave your window unlocked," he said by way of greeting.

"To be fair, I don't think anyone other than you would try to climb that fire escape," she told him. "I'm pretty sure it's held together with duct tape in some spots."

He ignored her comment. "I managed to figure out some of the writing in the notebook."

"Yeah?" she said, sitting up straighter. "Was there anything important in there?"

"Maybe. Yates was taking notes on Jason. Your new head of security. Looks like maybe he was trying to figure out who had hired him."

"Why would he care? Jason put him on his special task force, didn't he? Seems like he would've been happy with that."

Matt shook his head. "The thing is, I don't think he did put Yates on the task force. When I went to his apartment that night, he knew about the group, but he said he wasn't in it. I don't think he was lying."

Sarah frowned. "So what was he talking to Ronan about in his office for so long, then?"

"I don't know. Looks like maybe Ronan is someone I should pay a visit to soon."

"Good idea," she said a little too enthusiastically, and the corner of Matt's mouth twitched slightly. "Because…I'm sure he'll have information," she amended. And he's a creepy jerk.

"Did you ever find out Jason's address?"

Sarah shook her head. "He never showed up in the system. But HR doesn't always update that stuff very quickly. I don't even know his last name, actually."

"Let me know as soon as you find out. He's the highest link in the organization we have right now."

"Okay," Sarah said. "I, um…I haven't really come across anything helpful in the last few days. Sorry. But Ronan mentioned that he'd be meeting up with the other guys on the task force soon, so…I guess that's still a thing."

"Got any names?"

"Not yet. Sometime in the next couple of days, I think."

"Alright," he said, then hesitated. "Does the name Benny Florence mean anything to you?"

Sarah thought about it for a few seconds. "Benny Florence…yeah. Yeah. He, uh, he used to be like an enforcer for Fisk. He's a psycho. If Fisk wanted to strong arm a cop who wasn't cooperating, he'd send Benny after the cop's wife and kids. Just to send a message. I think he got locked up when Fisk did, though. Why?"

"I could read his name in the notebook, but I couldn't make out the context. Maybe I'll have to check it out. Know of any of his associates?"

"No," Sarah said slowly. "I can try and find out?"

Matt shook his head. "I'll look into it. You just focus on figuring out who's on the group of people trying to track me down. Alright?"

Sarah nodded. "Alright."

"Anything else?"

She chewed her nail, debating whether she should bring up the ticket. She shook her head. He started towards the window and she changed her mind.

"Matt?"

He turned, cocking his head expectantly.

"Um…I went to the court house yesterday, after work. They, uh…they told me that you argued my dad's ticket down for us," she said hesitantly. It was technically a statement, but her tone was questioning.

Matt regarded her for a few seconds before answering. "Yeah. It was, uh, stuck to the back of one of the papers you gave me. Probably got mixed together in your bag."

No wonder I couldn't find it. "Oh. Um, well, not to sound ungrateful or anything, but…"

"You want to know why I helped you."

She nodded slowly. "Yeah."

He was quiet for a long time, and she might have thought that he wasn't going to respond at all if not for the fact that he also wasn't leaving.

"You…have a lot on your shoulders right now," Matt said finally. "I know some of that is because of me. Plus…I figured with half a paycheck, you probably didn't have a lot of extra money to spend on a lawyer."

"I had no money to spend on a lawyer. Or paying off the ticket. I don't really know what I would've…anyway. I just…wanted to say thank you. Taking care of the ticket when you didn't have to, it…it was kind of you," she said quietly.

He observed her silently for a moment, and she wished that she could see more than just the bottom half of his face. With the mask on, it was almost impossible to read his expression.

"You're welcome," he said finally. He slid the window open and climbed back out onto the fire escape, lingering there for a moment longer. "And lock your window."

When Sarah got to work the next day, she saw that Ronan wasn't in his office, which was never a good sign. She approached her desk and was surprised to find a note informing her that her presence was required in Jason's office as soon as possible. Her heart hammered as she reluctantly put her things down and made her way to the elevator. She tried to reassure herself that this could be a routine meeting; nothing to worry about. But even as she told herself that, she didn't truly believe it, and her doubts were reinforced when she entered the office and saw Ronan already sitting there, speaking with Jason in a low voice. They both stopped speaking when she came in the room.

"Ms. Corrigan. If you don't mind closing the door behind you before you take a seat?" Jason said. His usual overly-whitened smile was absent from his face. Sarah reluctantly pushed the door closed and lowered herself into the chair that he had indicated.

"I think maybe you already know why you're here?" Jason said.

Sarah shook her head slowly. "N-no. Sorry."

Jason nodded slowly. "I see. Well, I suppose there's no need for preamble. Let's just jump right in. About once a week, I go through the footage for some of our lower security cameras, just to make sure everything seems in order. And when I checked through the footage for the camera out back…well, I'm sure you know what I saw."

He turned his computer monitor so that it was facing her, and her stomach dropped when she saw what was on the screen. It was her, wearing the outfit she had been wearing last Monday, and she was standing in the back alley with the box of Yates' stuff. The angle of the shot was high; the camera must have been high up on the wall. She watched herself take the papers and notebook out of the box and shove them in her purse before throwing the box in the dumpster and exiting the frame.

"I have to tell you, Ms. Corrigan. This is…concerning. To say the least," he said.

She stared at the video footage on the screen, her mind racing. She hadn't even thought there were cameras in that alleyway. They weren't on the list of installations, and they definitely weren't listed in the system before. She desperately tried to think of an excuse for why she would possibly need to keep those papers. To her surprise, Ronan spoke before she could.

"Worried you'll ruin your reputation in the office?" Ronan drawled.

Sarah cast a confused look his way before she remembered his insinuations from the week before. His hints that she had been sleeping with Yates, and that was why she had been so upset about his death. At the time, she had thought he was just trying to get a rise out of her, but the strange mix of disgust and smugness on his face at the moment told a different story. It looked like he really did believe she had been having an affair with Yates before he died.

She stared at him. Ronan was clearly bringing up the subject because he thought it was something she wouldn't want Jason to know. He had no way of knowing that he was unintentionally providing her with a plausible excuse for her actions earlier. It wasn't one she was crazy about going along with, but it would direct Jason down a path that was far from the truth, at least.

"Care to elaborate, Ronan?" Jason said.

Ronan smirked. "Just wondering if something in that box had to do with a certain secretary's personal life."

Jason switched his piercing gaze from Ronan to Sarah, clearly gauging her reaction. She swallowed nervously, unsure if she would be able to convince him that what Ronan was hinting at was why she had actually taken those papers.

"Right. I—we—um. Brian and I. We were…close. Um…physically," she said awkwardly, hoping that her stuttering came across as nerves and not an indicator that she was lying.

Jason's eyebrows went up. "I'm sorry, are you saying that you and Mr. Yates were…intimate?"

She hesitated, and the nodded. "Yes. I, um…I know it's against company regulations. We weren't…together…for very long. But, um, I had written him some notes of the…personal sort," she said meaningfully, and Jason's eyebrows went up higher. "And I just thought maybe they'd be in those papers. I—I didn't want to throw them out."

Jason stared at her for a long time before his usual chilling smile crept back onto his face. "Well. I'm not Human Resources. How employees spend their time together outside of work is none of my business. But I am curious…Mr. Yates dealt with some fairly confidential information within the company. Unfortunately, if he talked to you about some of those things, that could be a breach of security. It might result in…paperwork."

Sarah's eyes widened slightly. Somehow, she didn't think 'paperwork' really meant paperwork.

"Oh, no," she said quickly, trying to keep her voice casual. "It wasn't—wasn't really that kind of…relationship. There wasn't a whole lot of…talking, you know?"

"I bet," Ronan said under his breath, and Sarah had to stop her lip from curling.

Jason hummed thoughtfully. "You know, I did think it was odd that he kept glancing at you the last time we all had a meeting."

Sarah nodded quickly. "Yeah, I was, uh, thinking of maybe breaking it off. The, you know, the stress of keeping it all a secret at work, it was, um…s-stressful. I think he was just…worried. That day."

Jason tapped his pen on the desk, smiling but clearly unconvinced that she knew as little as she claimed. "Well. Like I said, my job is not to concern myself with how you conduct yourself with other employees. Ronan is your supervisor, so I'll let him decide how to deal with that."

Sarah kept her eyes straight ahead, purposefully not looking at Ronan, but from the corner of her eye she could see his face break out in a sick smile.

"If you're not too busy these next few work days," Jason continued, "I'd love for you to stop by. We can chat about some of our…company standards for security. What's acceptable, what's not. Just a friendly chat, to make sure you and I are on the same page," he said cheerfully. His smile never seemed to reach his eyes.

"R-right. Um…just let me know when," she said nervously. "I'm really sorry if I caused any trouble. I just wasn't thinking straight after Ya—Brian. After what happened to Brian. I didn't think it would be a big deal if I kept a few of his things."

The perpetual wide smile didn't leave Jason's face. "No trouble at all, Ms. Corrigan. You and Ronan can go back to your work now."

Sarah exited the office quickly and made a beeline for the staircase. She was a few feet away when Ronan moved his body in between her and the door, forcing her to a stop.

"You know, I'm surprised at how quickly you gave it up," he said. At her shocked look he quickly added, "Your big secret, that is. I would've thought a girl like you would have a bit more shame about messing around with a coworker."

Her face grew hot, but she didn't know what she could say to defend herself that wouldn't blow her whole story. He grinned gleefully at her silence.

"Cat got your tongue? Guess there's not much you can say about a decision as poor as sleeping with Yates, of all people. But I get it. I know how women work. All hormones and emotions, gets your brain all out of sorts."

Unexpectedly, he lazily reached out and trailed his fingers down her arm, making her hair stand on end. She quickly yanked her arm away and took a step back.

"Don't…touch me," she said icily, meeting his beady eyes as evenly as she could.

Ronan didn't look offended or angry. Disturbingly, his smile widened at her words.

"How many men at this company have you played that game with before, Sarah?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she could hear her heart racing in her ears. "I'm serious, Ronan."

"I'm sure you are," he said mockingly, and with a last leer, he turned and headed towards the elevator.

Sarah stared at his retreating back, a sick feeling in her stomach. Playing along with his misconception about her and Yates had been her only option, and it had gotten her off of Jason's immediate radar—for the time being, at least. Who knew how their ominous meeting next week would go? But the lie had gotten her out of the immediate danger in that office. Now she had to wonder if it had caused more problems than it had solved.

Matt didn't stop by that night, which was unusual, but Sarah wasn't complaining. She still wasn't sure how she was going to explain to him that she had already almost gotten caught. None of it would give Jason reason to suspect any connection to Daredevil, but he was definitely suspicious of her. Yates must have known something before he died, and Jason was clearly trying to figure out if he had told her whatever it was. And that kind of scrutiny was not what she and Matt needed to add to an already stressful arrangement.

Around eleven, Sarah finally decided that Matt wasn't going to show up that night. Relieved, she slipped into her pajamas and got into bed, fairly confident that no knock would come at her window.

Her sleep came in short, restless intervals, interrupted by disturbing flashes of her coworkers and their heartless smiles. About an hour after she finally sank into real sleep, shortly past 2:30 am, the shrill ringing of her cell phone woke her up again.

It took one or two rings to rouse her from her sleep. She slapped her hand around on her nightstand before she found the phone, and squinted her eyes against the overly bright screen in the dark. The tiny devil Emoji grinned at her wickedly from the incoming call screen. She scowled. I really need to change that, she thought as she fumbled for the answer button.

"Hello?" she mumbled sleepily, unable to hide the grumpiness in her tone. Why on earth was Matt calling her this late?

"Is this Sarah?" said an unfamiliar male voice. Whoever it was sounded frantic and out of breath.

Sarah sat up straight as adrenaline quickly cut through her drowsiness. She didn't respond to the mystery person's question. Who could possibly be calling her from Matt's burner phone? No one else knew about her connection to Daredevil, as far as she knew. She debated hanging up.

"Hello?" the voice said desperately when she didn't answer.

"Who is this?" she asked, the suspicion in her voice partially masked by the rasp of sleep.

"This is Foggy—um, Foggy Nelson. I'm friends with Matt. I think—I think you know who I am, right? Just—listen, I don't have anyone else to call. Claire's out of town, and—and I need your help. Matt's really hurt."

Sarah sat in speechless confusion for several long seconds as her sleep deprived brain tried to catch up with his words. "I—what?"

"I know we've never met, and you and Matt aren't exactly best friends. But he is my best friend, and he's hurt. Badly. And I don't exactly have a lot of options for people I can call, here. Please, you have to come help," he implored desperately.

"What—what happened? Where are you?" she asked, clumsily trying to untangle her legs from the sheets while holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

"We're off of 45th, near the old textile factory. I don't really know what happened, but his legs are trapped under some kind of…collapsed scaffolding. It's not crushing them, but they're stuck. And it looks like someone slashed him really bad near his shoulder. He's bleeding through this stupid, knock-off Under Armour shirt he has on, and he's out cold. A-and I can't get him out from under this thing and back to his apartment on my own without being seen."

"Wha—so you want me to come help?" she asked incredulously. "Don't you have someone who—who's better equipped to help with something like this? Anyone else?"

"There's only one other person who knows his identity, and she can't come!" Foggy said, clearly frustrated. "Please. I wouldn't be calling you if I didn't have to. I'm scared he's going to bleed out under this thing and I can't exactly call an ambulance."

"I…yeah," she said finally, fumbling for the switch on her bedside lamp. "Okay. Factory on 45th. I'm coming now."

"Thank you! Hurry."

Sarah dropped her phone onto the bed and pressed the palms her hands to her eyes for a second, still not fully comprehending what was happening. After a few seconds, she stood and stumbled over to her dresser. Yanking one of the drawers open, she grabbed a hooded sweatshirt and threw it on over the cotton shorts and tank top she had worn to bed. She fumbled under her bed for the sneakers she knew were under there somewhere.

As she laced up the sneakers, her mind woke up enough to consider the option that this might be some sort of trap. She hesitated, but then uneasily dismissed the thought. Even if someone from Orion knew she was working with Daredevil, she didn't pose a big enough threat for anyone to go to all the trouble of luring her out of her apartment, when they could easily just break in. All the same, she grabbed her stun gun out of her nightstand.

She started towards the front door, then stopped and spun around. Hurrying back to her room, she grabbed her backpack from the floor of her closet, shoving the stun gun and a flashlight inside before darting into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit under her sink. It had only the most basic supplies, but she assumed (hoped) that Matt would have a more comprehensive kit, given his nighttime activities. Zipping up the backpack, she slipped her cell phone into her pocket and grabbed her keys from her nightstand, and then she was out the door.

The location Foggy had given Sarah was only a few blocks from her apartment, so luckily she was able to get there on foot, her mind racing with doubts and questions the entire way there. Was she really about to show up at a sketchy factory in the middle of the night to help someone who had constantly threatened her since they first met? The guy who had pinned her to a wall by her throat when they first met, and followed her to her dad's house—and who knows where else—without her knowledge?

But despite the long list of reasons not to help, she had to admit that things had been slightly better between the two of them lately. Almost bordering on semi-friendly at a few points. Despite sometimes seeming otherwise, Matt was human, and he didn't deserve to bleed to death under a giant piece of metal somewhere. She thought of the voice on the other end of her phone: Foggy, the smiling guy from that Facebook photo she had found before Matt had tracked her down for the first time. She thought of how completely frantic he had sounded at the thought of losing Matt. He didn't sound like he deserved to watch his best friend bleed out, either, she supposed.

By the time Sarah arrived at her destination, she was completely out of breath, and had a searing stitch in her side. I need to exercise more. Why do I even own these sneakers?

"Shit," she hissed, clutching her side and trying to catch her breath as she approached the darkened, boarded up factory. Circling around the side of the building, she saw the collapsed scaffolding several yards ahead, partially hidden in shadows.

Sarah resisted the urge to loudly whisper a 'Hello?' as she approached the dark area. She had a sudden vision of the girls in a horror movie who always ventured into shadowy areas in their pajamas, holding something completely useless as a weapon, and timidly calling out 'Who's there?' before the machete-wielding killer appeared. She looked down at her own sweatshirt-covered pajamas and the small can of pepper spray in her hand, and winced at the parallels. I am literally the dumb horror movie girl right now.

Keeping that uninspiring comparison in mind, Sarah kept her mouth shut and stuck close to the wall, staying in the shadows as she cautiously made her way over to where she hoped she would find Matt and his friend. She blindly bumped into something and jumped before squinting in the darkness and realizing it was just an old, rickety shopping cart full of empty cans and bottles.

When she finally got closer, she saw a vaguely familiar man with shaggy blonde hair kneeling over a figure lying on the ground, who sure enough was partially obscured by a large piece of the scaffolding. Sarah stepped out of the shadows next to the wall and cleared her throat awkwardly, not sure how to announce her presence. The blonde man looked up quickly at the sound. He seemed relieved to see her.

"Sarah?" he asked tentatively.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"I wasn't sure if you were going to come," he said.

"Neither was I," she said honestly. "You're, um, Foggy? Matt's friend?"

"That's me," he said as Sarah crouched down on the other side of the figure on the ground, who she could now clearly see was Matt in his masked costume. The vigilante was unconscious, and Foggy was using what looked like a sweatshirt to apply pressure to his upper chest and shoulder. "Best friend to someone who thinks he can just parkour his dumb ass around Hell's Kitchen and nothing like this will ever happen."

"How did you know he was here?"

"He called me; didn't pass out until a few minutes after I got here. Looks like he got into a pretty bad fight earlier, too. His legs are stuck under this thing. It doesn't look like the weight is actually on them, but the opening isn't big enough to slide him out without lifting it."

Sarah eyed the tangle of heavy-looking metal parts. "I—I don't know how much help I'm going to be able to offer as far as heavy lifting goes," she said doubtfully.

"You don't have to. It's heavy, but I can lift it on my own. I tried before. But I just—I can't keep it lifted and drag him out at the same time. I just need you to drag him out while I keep this thing off him. Okay?" Foggy said, looking at her hopefully.

"O-okay. Yeah," she said anxiously, crouching down next to the unconscious man. She hovered her hands over him, trying to figure out where she could get a grip without accidentally yanking on something broken or bleeding. Most of the left side of his shirt was wet with blood, but there were so many rips in his shirt that she couldn't pinpoint where the blood was coming from. She decided to avoid the area altogether, and finally settled on grabbing the upper part of his right arm, which appeared to be uninjured, and hoping that she wasn't making any of it worse.

"Ready?" Foggy said, glancing over at her from where he was getting ready to grab one of the metal bars attached to the slab.

Sarah looked down at Matt, seriously doubting her ability to move the much larger person. "Umm…yes?" she replied, trying to sound more confident in this plan than she was.

She crouched down over Matt, grabbing his arm and waiting. The metal groaned as Foggy slowly struggled to lift it up, and as soon as she saw it lift off Matt's legs, Sarah began trying to pull him out.

"Dammit, this is heavy as hell," Foggy complained, his voice strained with the effort of lifting the heavy piece of scaffolding. "Why does the strongest person here have to be unconscious?"

Sarah was barely listening to him as she struggled to pull the masked man out from the wreckage. She knew that muscle was heavy, and Matt had a lot of it, but good lord, he was hard to drag. The lack of safe, non-bleeding places to get a good grip on him didn't help the situation. Her fingers slipped several times as she inched his body out from under the scaffolding. Finally his feet were clear of the collapsed structure, and Foggy let go of the heavy weight.

"Shit," Foggy said breathlessly, bending over and putting his hands on his knees. "Okay. One part down. Now how are we supposed to get him back to his apartment?"

Sarah was also breathing heavily as she kneeled on the ground. Her hands were slick with blood from Matt's shirt, and she wiped them idly on her sweatshirt as she glanced around the area. In the past, stress and danger had always made her thoughts anxious and jumbled, so she was surprised to find that in this particular moment the adrenaline pumping through her veins somehow made her mind feel clearer.

"Hang on," she said, struggling back up to her feet. She backtracked a few yards in the shadows along the wall until she bumped into the shopping cart she had run into earlier, obscured from view of the scaffolding area. The wheels squeaked as she pulled it back over to where Foggy waited. He was finishing up tying the arms of the bloody sweatshirt around Matt's torso to keep the pressure applied more steadily, and he glanced up as she returned.

"A shopping cart?" he said doubtfully, standing and approaching the opposite side of the cart. "You want to wheel Matt through the streets like he's a bag of groceries?"

Sarah threw her hands up in exasperation. "I don't know! We can't carry him. Do you have a better idea?"

"Jesus. Well, we'll need something to cover him up, at least," he said, looking down into the cart. He yanked on the corner of some fabric that was sticking out from the recyclables, and after some tugging he produced a large, very dirty looking blanket, which he eyed skeptically. "This looks like it's full of diseases. It can't possibly be safe to put this on someone with open wounds."

Sarah shrugged helplessly. "I don't think we have a lot of other options. I mean, someone is definitely going to notice us pushing a full grown, heavily bleeding man through the streets in a shopping cart. And that's before they notice that he also happens to be the Devil of Hell's Kitchen."

"Point taken," he conceded. "Alright, let's just hurry up before whatever homeless person we're stealing this cart and blanket from comes back."

The two of them swiftly scooped the cans and bottles out of the cart, depositing them on the ground as quickly and quietly as they could, until the cart was empty. When they were done, they crouched down next to the unconscious vigilante, Sarah near his feet and Foggy near his much heavier torso, and slowly lifted him into the cart. He was much easier to lift with someone else helping, but it was still somewhat of a struggle.

Finally, Matt was awkwardly folded into the cart in a seated position, with his head leaning against the side. His odd positioning and lack of movement made him look dead, and Sarah could tell by the disturbed look on Foggy's face that he was thinking the same thing.

"Okay, let's, um…let's cover him up," she said. While Foggy grabbed the blanket, Sarah took a moment to glance down at her clothes; her sweatshirt was covered in dirt and smeared with blood, and her legs had several long scratches from the gravel and a few bits of metal she had been unable to avoid while dragging Matt.

"Sorry, buddy," Foggy said, wincing as he covered his friend with the blanket. It was dirty, but effective; it was impossible to tell that the odd shape under the blanket was a person and not just a pile of random items.

"How far away is his apartment?"

"Not too far. A few blocks that way," he said, pointing in the opposite direction of her own apartment.

They steadily made their way through the streets, Foggy pushing the undoubtedly heavy cart while Sarah hurried along next to him, helping guide the cart with one hand while clutching her bloodstained sweatshirt tighter around herself with the other. She glanced around nervously every few minutes. If for any reason a cop saw them, they were definitely screwed, because they looked incredibly out of place.

"We're lucky no one is around, because you are acting so suspicious right now," Foggy whispered at her pointedly. "Can you just—act normal?"

"Normal?" she retorted defensively. "I am helping push a passed out vigilante around Hell's Kitchen in a stolen shopping cart at three in the morning. With a stranger. In my pajamas. This is the least normal thing I have ever done."

"Alright, alright, fair point. But can you just stop looking around every other second like the FBI is going to drop down on us?"

"Sorry, sorry."

She was relieved when they turned the corner and Foggy pointed towards a building up ahead. The spring weather had steadily been getting warmer over the past month, but she had forgotten that the nights were still chilly, and she wished she had thrown on some sweatpants over her shorts.

"What floor is he on? Please say something low."

"No such luck. Top floor. Needed the roof access. But there's an elevator, and we shouldn't run into anyone else on there this late. If we do, at least it just looks like we stole a homeless person's cart full of recyclables from them. Which is not great," Foggy said, frowning. "But it's less illegal than what we're actually doing."

The warmth of the building's run down (and thankfully empty) lobby was welcome. Sarah and Foggy crowded into the elevator, one on either side of the shopping cart. They stood in the cramped space as the elevator ascended, both of them fully illuminated for the first time that night. She glanced over at Foggy to see him giving her an appraising look and shaking his head.

"I knew it," he said under his breath, presumably to himself.

"What?" Sarah asked, confused.

"Nothing. I was just right about something," he said. He threw a dirty look at the blanket-covered man in the shopping cart. "Murdock, you predictable son of a bitch."

Sarah squinted at him suspiciously, but she was too tired to figure out—or care about—what he meant.

Foggy took the blanket off Matt as soon as the door to the apartment was closed and locked behind them, then he guided the cart over towards the couch. Wordlessly, Sarah grabbed Matt's legs again while Foggy took his upper half, and they heaved him onto the couch. The masked man made a low groaning noise, but didn't wake up. Sarah felt slightly relieved to hear him make any noise at all; at least he was definitely alive.

Foggy was busy inserting another key into a padlock on a pair of metal double doors near the staircase. When he opened them, she saw a large trunk on the floor, which Foggy reached behind to procure a large duffle bag. She assumed that was Matt's first aid kit, and was relieved to see that it was much larger than the one she had in her backpack.

"Okay," Foggy said, dropping the bag next to the couch and kneeling next to Matt. He looked lost as to where to begin. "So…is there any chance that before you were a double agent secretary, you were something conveniently medical, like a nurse, or a…surgeon? EMT, maybe?" he asked hopefully.

"Um…I was a pianist."

"Wow. That is extremely unhelpful to this situation."

"Well, you know, this wasn't really one of my career goals," she said distractedly, as she searched through the bag for disinfectant wipes. She found a pack near the bottom and pulled out a few for herself and a couple for Foggy. "But I do know enough to know that we should probably use these before touching him, since we just touched a bunch of old beer cans and a homeless person's shopping cart."

"Fair enough," he said. After cleaning his hands, he reached for Matt's mask and gently peeled it up and off of his face. Sarah's eyes widened when she saw the amount of dried blood covering the upper half of his face. It looked like it had come from a cut just below his hairline.

"Jesus," Foggy breathed out shakily.

"I—I think maybe it looks worse than it is," Sarah said hesitantly. "Head wounds bleed a lot, right? Even if they're small. And it looks like it's stopped now."

Foggy nodded, but didn't look convinced. "Yeah. Yeah, good point. Okay, uh, we need to get his shirt off so we can get a look at his shoulder. Can you get his left side?"

Sarah stared at him wide-eyed for a second, then back down at Matt. "Um…right. Yeah." That won't be weird at all.

Getting the tight black shirt off proved to be something of a struggle, with Matt as dead weight. His right side went easily enough, but the left side—the injured side—was a slow process. He groaned lowly as the two of them slowly manipulated his arm through the sleeve, but he didn't wake up. Sarah's hands and forearms were smeared with blood by the time they got his shirt off, and Foggy's looked the same.

Sarah winced as she took in the sight. Matt had a long, messy looking gash extending from over his shoulder down to just below his collarbone on his left side. The bleeding had slowed to a near stop, but the opening was still wide and ragged.

"What the hell do you think even makes a cut like that?"

"Something serrated, maybe," she said, cringing and averting her eyes from the jagged wound.

"Do you know how to do stitches?" Foggy asked her hopefully.

"Me? No. Don't you? You're the one with a best friend who fights crime with his bare hands at night. This can't possibly be the first time he's needed them."

"Definitely not the first time," Foggy said, wincing. "But usually one of us calls Claire. And then she comes and does her nurse thing and fixes him up. But she's not answering her phone. I think she's out of town again."

"What, he doesn't he have like a—a backup nurse?"

Foggy looked at her. "A backup nurse? That's…actually…that does kind of sounds like something he would do," he admitted, shaking his head at his friend. "Have not just one hot nurse on call, but two. But he doesn't, as far as I know."

"Well, then what do you want to do?"

He looked down at the cut contemplatively. "I think we should just bandage it up as best we can, to make sure it doesn't start bleeding too much again. And then when he wakes up he can tell us what to do."

Sarah nodded and exhaled shakily. "Alright. Um…I guess we should try to clean him up before putting any bandages on?"

"Yeah. There's, uh, there's some washcloths in the bathroom. It's that way. If you can grab them and put some warm water and soap on them, I'm going to try to call Claire again and hope she answers. See if she has any advice."

Sarah stood and walked in the direction he had pointed. The bathroom, like most of the apartment, was fairly empty. Before touching anything, she quickly scrubbed as much of the blood off her hands as she could, studiously avoiding her own reflection in the mirror. She found the towels in a cabinet above the toilet, and grabbed two of the washcloths to run under the warm water flowing out of the faucet. She pumped some of the hand soap onto the towels, noting idly that it was unscented. Before leaving the room, she grabbed one of the larger towels from the cabinet as well, just in case.

She returned to the living room in time to see Foggy hanging up Matt's burner phone. He turned when she came in the room.

"Okay. Claire's out of town, like I thought, but she finally answered her phone," Foggy said. "I told her what was going on. He's not too pale or really cold, which she said is a good sign as far as blood loss goes. She also said that between the cut on his head and the fact that he's unconscious, he probably has a concussion. But he's had those before. It's the big gash that she said we should worry about. We might make it worse if we try to stitch it up without knowing what we're doing. She said Matt will probably be able to show me how to do it properly when he wakes up."

"Okay," she said slowly. "Okay, well, that's good, then. Right?"

"Yeah. It's good," he said, sounding relieved. "Thank God it's not any worse, because I don't know if you've noticed, but we don't know what the hell we're doing."

"I did notice that," she said tiredly, handing him one of the washcloths. "I'm sorry there was no one better you could call."

Foggy shrugged. "Hey, you showed up. I can't ask for much more than that from a total stranger. I'll start with the cut on his face, if you don't mind starting on the big one."

Sarah nodded, and watched as he slowly began wiping the dirt and blood off his friend's face. He did so very gently, tracing the washcloth over Matt's forehead with a tight, worried look on his face. She wondered how long the two of them had been friends.

Looking away from the oddly intimate sight, she perched on the arm of the couch and inspected Matt's shoulder. She wondered again what could have made a cut like that; it was long and jagged, snaking around his shoulder and down his chest. Slowly she began dabbing at blood around the wound, too nervous to actually get too close to the cut itself.

"Do you think he's going to be pissed that I know where he lives now?" Sarah asked quietly as she worked on the wound.

Foggy looked up at her. "I…hadn't really thought about that. I guess he never mentioned to you where his place was?"

She shook her head with a disbelieving laugh. "You really think he's going to tell me where he lives? I don't think he would trust me enough to tell me his middle name, much less his address."

Foggy looked like he was mentally kicking himself. "Well…it's too late now, I guess."

"You didn't know I'd never been here when you called me?"

"I don't really know much at all about, you know…whatever you guys do. Your whole espionage thing," Foggy elaborated, gesturing from her to Matt. "Mostly, I just imagine the two of you meeting in a café somewhere, but you're sitting back to back at different tables, wearing sunglasses and big hats."

Sarah laughed slightly despite herself. "Really? The man literally wears a masked costume, but the disguise you imagine him in is sunglasses and a big hat?"

"I'm sorry that I'm not as schooled in the art of spying and surveillance as the two of you apparently are," Foggy said defensively. "And anyway, he usually already has the sunglasses on, so it'd be easier."

"Fair enough," she said, shaking her head. "But that's…not really how it goes. It's more like him sometimes knocking on my window late at night, and then me telling him what I know. Which is usually boring stuff about paperwork. Sometimes there are threats. From his side, that is. Well, sometimes me, lately. And, um…then he leaves. That's about it."

"That's much less exciting. I'm going to continue imagining it the way I was," he informed her.

"That's fine. It would probably be more fun if it really happened that way," Sarah acknowledged. She fiddled with the washcloth in her hands. "So, he doesn't talk to you about…this whole thing?"

"A few times. When I've asked," Foggy conceded. "But…I'm still kind of getting used to the whole costumed, crime-fighting part of his life in general. I mean, it comes up, because sometimes he comes to work looking like he lost a fight with a pack of bears or something. And for a guy with a secret identity, Matt kind of sucks at lying, so I sometimes have to help him with his cover stories. But mostly we just talk about…you know, normal stuff. I think he likes to keep the two sides of his life pretty separate. I mean, I assume you guys don't spend a lot of time talking much about me either, right?"

"You? Christ, no. The one time I mentioned your name, he almost choked me to death. So, no…I don't really bring you up. Ever. Actually, he might murder me just for talking to you right now, I think," she said, frowning at the unconscious vigilante.

Foggy gave her a strange look.

"What?" she said uncomfortably.

"Nothing. I just…you're really afraid of him," Foggy said uncertainly. "Of Matt."

She opened and closed her mouth, unsure of how to answer. "Well—I…sometimes. I mean, less than I used to be, I guess. He's alright when he's like…in a well lit room, and not in my personal space. He can be almost friendly sometimes. But then the next thing I know, he's threatening me in an alleyway somewhere. Which would be scary enough with a normal person, but Matt could probably kill me before I could blink. And about half the time it kind of seems like he wants to. So…I wouldn't say that I'm not scared of him."

"So…why did you come help him tonight?"

Sarah shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know. You sounded really desperate, I guess. And I make weird decisions when people wake me up in the middle of the night. And—and besides, there's a difference between being scared of someone and just…letting them die. It's not like I hate him."

Foggy didn't respond for a while as he busied himself applying a small bandage to the cut on Matt's face.

"He really is trying to do the right thing," he said after a while. "I don't know about the way he's doing it, but…he's trying to protect his friends."

"I never threatened his friends," she said quietly.

"No, I get that. But you just kind of came out of nowhere. He let his identity slip in just the dumbest, simplest way possible. And it just happened to be to someone who really shouldn't know. You can't blame him for, you know…overreacting a bit. He didn't have much reason not to. For all he knew, you could be a crazy person."

"Is that what you think?" she asked.

Foggy was finished with Matt's face and moved over to help her with the cut on his chest. She was relieved; she really didn't want to deal with the shredded skin surrounding the deepest parts of the cut.

"Well, I'm on the fence," Foggy said. "I mean, before tonight, all I knew about you is that you work for evil people, and you refuse to quit. You recently met one of the most feared people in Hell's Kitchen, and you…agreed to spy for him. Actually, scratch that, you suggested spying for him. So, right off the bat, I don't really understand your idea of, you know…safe, non-crazy-pants type decisions."

Sarah frowned begrudgingly. She couldn't really argue with that.

"That being said," he continued, "It's not like crazy is new to me. My best friend dresses up in a mask and runs around beating people up at night. It's really the kind of crazy you are that makes a difference here."

She handed him some gauze to put over the now clean wound on Matt's shoulder. He clumsily taped the gauze down, and began to unravel a long bandage he found in the first aid bag.

"So, what kind of crazy am I?"

"Well, you and Matt are…not friends. That's pretty clear. And yet, you still got your ass out of bed at two thirty in the morning and came to some random factory to help him. In your pajamas, no less. So that doesn't make you seem…especially sane. But you helped me save my best friend, when you could just as easily have let him die. So in my book, whatever kind of crazy you are is alright. If nothing else, I'd say you've got a friend in Foggy Nelson, at least," he said, grinning at her.

"You know, you're much friendlier to meet for the first time than Matt was," she noted, returning the smile hesitantly.

"Yeah, but Matt's an idiot," Foggy said affectionately as he glanced down at his friend. "You scare him, too, you know. In a different way. Not that fear ever seems to stop him. He's always doing things that a normal, sane person would be too scared to do. I don't get it. I've come to accept it. But I don't get it."

"I don't know. I guess you can't just not do something because it's scary or crazy," Sarah said. "No one would ever get anything done if they let that stuff get in the way."

"Now you sound like Matt," Foggy pointed out. "He's always talking about not giving into the fear and whatnot. Always picks the most annoying times to start quoting Thurgood Marshall."

"Really?"

"Yeah. What, he doesn't do that while running around exchanging secret documents with you?"

Sarah tilted her head as she thought through their encounters. "Um…did Thurgood Marshall ever have any quotes along the lines of 'Do what I say or I'll break your arm'? Because if so, then yeah, he does."

Foggy looked at her for a long moment before he slowly shook his head, frowning. "It's so weird to hear you talk about him like that. You know, Matt's usually really charming with the ladies."

"This—this Matt?" she said doubtfully, waving her hands over the bloody man stretched out on the couch. "This one right here? Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Foggy exclaimed. "Back when we were in law school, I remember being so jealous of him. He always had girls lining up to, you know, guide him to class, or help him study. Like he needed help with any of that. Even before I knew about all his weird super senses, I knew he didn't need help with that stuff. Lucky bastard."

Sarah dropped her gaze back down to the unconscious vigilante. This was the first time she had ever seen his face unobscured by a mask or dark sunglasses. He looked younger without anything to hide behind, and it occurred to her that she had no idea how old he was. He was obviously handsome, and she supposed that had she met him in another time, she might have been one of those girls Foggy talked about. His crime fighting obviously kept him in shape, but the effect was kind of ruined for her when he spent so much of his time using that strength to intimidate her.

"I can see that, I guess. I just…never really see that side of him."

"Yeah, I guess he wouldn't really be putting the moves on you, huh?" Foggy said thoughtfully.

"If you mean crazy ninja moves, then the answer is yes, sometimes, and it's very scary."

Foggy was quiet for a while, looking at Matt. He looked deep in thought, and Sarah didn't interrupt him.

"Did he really threaten to break your arm?" he asked suddenly, sounding sad and uncertain. Sarah suddenly felt slightly guilty for the offhanded comments she had made about his friend's violent side. It wasn't Foggy's fault that Matt had some temper problems.

"Well—I—I mean…it was something like that," she said, trying to backtrack and downplay it somewhat. "And it was the night that he thought I was about to turn him into the police. He's not always that…straightforward with his threats."

"Right," Foggy said, nodding. "I saw you for about a split second that night. When you were mysteriously hauling ass out of the police station. I guess that explains why he was all weird and moody after he got back from chasing after you. Probably some Catholic guilt thing."

"He's Catholic?" Sarah said, surprised. He didn't seem like the religious type. Then again, she didn't really know him well enough to say.

Foggy grinned weakly at her. "You really don't know anything about him, do you?"

"Not really. Not about the Matt that you know, at least. I mean, to you, he's like this—this blind lawyer guy who sometimes wears a vigilante costume. And to me, he's this very confusing vigilante who…sometimes wears a lawyer costume."

The subject of lawyers seemed to trigger something in Foggy's brain, and he quickly checked his watch.

"Shit. I forgot what day it was. Matt and I are supposed to be in court in…three hours. Great."

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Can you reschedule? Because I really don't think he's going to be much help in the courtroom right now."

"Not with this judge. He's really strict; there's no way he'll let me petition for a change of date on such short notice. And I really don't think he's going to be amused if I try to pull a Weekend at Bernie's with this…bonehead," he said, gesturing irately towards the still unconscious Matt.

"Well, what happens if you don't show up?"

"Default judgment. Basically we lose the case. And it's this really awful custody case, too. The father's a total psycho, and he's suing his ex-wife for custody of their kids. Not even because he wants them, just because…he can. He makes way more money than her, and if one of us doesn't show up today, he'll definitely get custody." Foggy sounded completely defeated.

Sarah felt a twist of sympathy in her chest, for both the mother of the children and the overwhelmed lawyer sitting in front of her. She bit her lip as she debated what to do.

"So…go, then," she said finally. Foggy looked at her in confusion. "Go to court. Claire said he seems stable, right? There's not really much to do but watch him. I can…I can stay here. Go help your client."

"What about your job? Are you even allowed to call in sick there?"

"Um…not really. But you have court at what, seven? My job starts at nine. I can take part of the morning off without raising too many eyebrows," she lied. Her absence would almost definitely raise some eyebrows, especially the morning after her conversation with Ronan and Jason, but she could cross that bridge when she came to it. She'd come into work hungover twice now in the past month; it wouldn't be too unbelievable that she had drank too much the night before and slept through her alarm.

"Matt would definitely tell me to go if he were awake right now," Foggy said, staring contemplatively at his unconscious friend. He chewed his lip and shifted a conflicted gaze between Matt and Sarah. After a minute of consideration, he sighed.

"You'll keep an eye on his bleeding?"

"Yes."

"You might have to change the bandages."

"I can do that."

"If something goes wrong, call Claire, and then call me."

"I will."

"Okay. I'll call his burner phone whenever I can to check up on how he's doing, alright?"

"I'll keep an ear out," Sarah said, and Foggy slowly started to stand. Suddenly something occurred to her. "Wait, wait, what if he wakes up?"

"That's a good thing," Foggy said slowly. "We want him to wake up. I hope we're on the same page with that, because if not, I'm kinda a lot less crazy about leaving you alone with him."

"Well, yeah," she amended. "Obviously I don't want him to not wake up. I just mean…how's he going to react when he comes to and the first person he sees is, you know…not his favorite person?"

"Well, first of all, he's not going to see much of anything when he wakes up. Also, he has a giant, open wound, probably a concussion, and who knows what else. What do you think he's going to do to you? Bleed on your pajamas some more?"

She cast a wary look over at the couch. Foggy had a point. The bloodied man laid out on the couch didn't much resemble the masked man who always managed to make her so nervous.

"Yeah, I…okay. Point made," she said reluctantly. "Go home and shower. Bloody and dirty isn't a good courtroom look."

"Actually, I was thinking I might try to rock it. You can wear anything if you do it with enough confidence," he informed her lightly, and she smiled at him tiredly

"Good luck," she said. "I hope you win your case."

"Thanks," he said, pausing as he put his hand on the doorknob and giving her a serious look. "And…thanks for staying with Matt. I know you're not comfortable around him. But he's a good guy, and I know he's going to appreciate all you've done tonight."

Sarah glanced at Matt doubtfully, then back at Foggy. "If you say so."

"Take care of him," Foggy said to her, before pointing his finger at the Matt's passed out form and addressing the unconscious man. "I'll call and check in on you as soon as I can, buddy."

With that, he closed the door softly behind him, leaving Sarah and the injured vigilante alone in the sparse apartment.