What they wouldn't do

by Lazydaily

matt and OC that works for Fisk. For TTS

27. Chapter 27

Sarah stood in the middle of the rare books section of a bookstore, her arms full of several heavy books with a list of more titles balance on top. Jason had given her the list that morning, telling her he wanted to add to his collection. His office already held several bookshelves full of obscure and rather boring-sounding books, which he seemed to tout as an indicator of his intelligence, but apparently with Vanessa becoming more and more involved in Orion business, he felt the need to add an another shelf full.

"Um…what about…'Highlights in the History of Concrete,'" she read from the list, then wrinkled her nose. Did Jason pick the most bizarre topics he could think of just so he could spring his random facts on people when the moment seemed right? She did not want to listen to useless concrete facts for the next month.

The sales associate helping her was currently perched on top of a ladder, inspecting the dusty, neglected shelves at the very top of the store's bookcases. Sarah assumed that was where they kept the books no one ever wanted to buy. The salesman had been helping her for around forty-five minutes now, and was understandably growing less patient with her by the moment.

As he searched for the book, Sarah's phone rang. She shifted the stack in her arms, struggling to slip her phone out of her pocket and catch a glimpse of the screen; it was Jason calling.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Sarah. I need you to come back to the office, there's a few things I need to discuss with you."

"Well, I'm right in the middle of buying your books—"

"Forget the books, just come back to the office."

"Oh. O—okay," she said uncertainly, but Jason had already hung up.

She winced apologetically at the sales clerk, who had now come down from the ladder and appeared to already know what was coming based off his unamused expression.

"Sorry. I'm really sorry." She awkwardly shifted the stack of books back towards him. Once the books were in his arms she balanced a few of the smaller ones on top until she could only see his disapproving eyes over the tower of nineteenth century dictionaries and how-to books.

"Thank you anyway!" she called to him apologetically before hurrying out of the store, which she hoped she'd never have to return to again. She wouldn't be surprised if they posted her photo behind the counter.

Back at the office, she knocked on Jason's door and he immediately called out for her to enter. When she did, she was surprised to see Vanessa there as well, sitting in a chair in front of Jason's desk.

Jason indicated for her to take the other seat.

"You remember Vanessa, right?"

"I do," Sarah said. Her heart flipped nervously; although Vanessa had greeted her as warmly as any other time, she seemed much more intimidating now that Sarah knew she was Fisk's wife. As thought anything she said in front of her went straight back to the man himself. "Nice to see you again."

"Well, I suppose we'll get right down to business," Jason said. "Vanessa has decided that she'd like to split her time between supervising here at the office and working from home, in order to spend more time with her family." Sarah was alarmed for a second before she remembered he meant the younger Fisk, not the elder. "And she was hoping you could be of some assistance with that."

Sarah looked from Jason to Vanessa in confusion. Did they need her to find someone to help Vanessa with the baby?

"Um…sure. If you need a nanny, I'm sure I can find you a good one—"

"No, no," Vanessa tutted. "Not a nanny. I am more than capable of raising my own child; nannies are so impersonal. But I have a lovely home that I enjoy spending time in, and I would like to have someone who can serve as an intermediary between myself and the Orion employees. Setting meeting times, delivering important paperwork, that sort of thing."

"And…you want me to do it?" Sarah asked uncertainly.

"Why not?" Vanessa asked. "You've proven to be a very valuable employee to Jason, and I'd love to get to know the people helping to keep the company running."

Sarah assumed it was best not to mention that she was, in fact, trying to stop the company from running.

"That's…very nice of you. Um…"

"But, of course, if you don't want the additional responsibility I would understand. You're young and I'm sure you have a social life; you don't want to spend all your time at work."

Vanessa had an inscrutable way of speaking that made it impossible for Sarah to tell if she genuinely meant that—meaning she must not truly understand the details of Sarah's conditions of employment—or if she was playing some strange game.

"Right. I…go out sometimes."

"Well, I don't need anyone immediately. Why don't you take until Monday, talk it over with Jason and see what would work out best for all of us?"

"Great plan," Jason jumped in. He stood as soon as Vanessa did, offering his hand to shake. She took it and smiled at him warmly.

"I look forward to seeing you again, Jason," she told him with an almost indulgent smile. "You too, Sarah."

Sarah nodded as Vanessa left the room. Then she turned her attention back to Jason, who had settled back into his large office chair and was running his fingers over his white tie in agitation. The small demonstration of frustration seemed at odds with the wide, perpetual smile he still had on his face.

"Well, I think that went well, don't you?"

"I—yeah. Definitely," Sarah said. Personally, it hadn't seemed like much had happened at all.

"It's great she wants to be more hands on with the company. And from home! I mean, I went to all that work putting in extra security measures on the fourth floor to set up her office. And I built an adjacent office for myself for when I get promoted to head of the company. But it's fine."

Sarah stared at him with wide eyes. It was very clearly not fine, and she wasn't sure what to say.

"Obviously the decision to take the job is up to you," Jason said. "But…if you were to turn it down, it would…reflect poorly on me. To have employed someone who doesn't have any desire for upward mobility in the workplace."

"Right," she said uncertainly.

"And of course, I can't understate how useful it would be to have someone I already know handling Vanessa's business. Just to ensure that we both fully understand each other's intentions for the company and how to implement certain…projects and personnel adjustments."

Jason was speaking in office jargon in an attempt to sound professional, but his real meaning was obvious: he didn't trust Vanessa, and he wanted Sarah to watch for signs that he was on his way out the door. Just one more layer of espionage added to the mix.

"Um…I'll definitely think about it and have an answer for you by Monday," she said.

Her answer didn't appear to satisfy Jason, who was clearly hoping for an immediate 'yes'. His wide grin faltered just a fraction.

"Very well," he said. He appeared to mentally move on from the subject as his gaze flicked down to her empty arms. "Where are my books?"

Sarah opened her mouth to remind him that he had specifically ordered her to abandon the task, but she decided against it.

"I'll…go get them right now," she said, holding back an exasperated sigh.

She turned and left the office, hoping there was a different sales associate working by the time she got back to the bookstore.

That night, Sarah stretched out on her couch, staring up at the ceiling and wishing she had a glass—no, scratch that, a bottle—of wine to help her as she tried to decide what to do about Vanessa's offer.

She didn't particularly want to take the job. The idea of working with Fisk's wife, being around his child, maybe even being in his home—where did Vanessa live, anyway?—was less than appealing. And every time she got pulled deeper into Orion, people got hurt. Usually her, sometimes others. But she also couldn't pass up an opportunity to potentially get away from Orion quicker. Working there was turning her into someone she didn't recognize. If someone had told her two years ago that she would kill someone—even by accident—she would have laughed at them. Especially if they'd told her she wouldn't even feel guilty about it.

Because she didn't feel guilty. She kept expecting to, but it never came. Sure, there were nightmares of going to prison, and a fairly constant feeling of teetering on the edge of a panic attack. But at night, when she couldn't sleep, she laid there and waited for the guilt to descend on her; instead she only felt relief that Ronan was gone. It bothered her that an emotion she knew should be there just wasn't, and it had to be because of the life she was living, the work she had to do.

Luckily, she was pulled from these thoughts by her phone ringing. Unluckily, the person calling was Lauren's mother. Sarah groaned when she saw the name Brenda Gladstone flash up on her screen.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Sarah, hello. It's Brenda."

"Hi, Mrs. Gladstone," Sarah said. She had never really gotten to the point of calling Lauren's mother by her first name, despite meeting her as an adult.

"I'm calling because I've set up a date and time for the official baby photos to be taken, and Lauren insists that the godmother be in them."

"Oh. Right. That's me." Sarah had forgotten that hiring a photographer for professional baby photos was the kind of thing Lauren's family did. "When are they?"

There was a quiet knock at her window, distracting her from the conversation. Looking over at the glass, she could see a familiar black silhouette on the other side. Mrs. Gladstone was still talking as she made her way over to the window, but she missed what she said.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" Sarah cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she pushed the window up to allow Matt inside. She thought he seemed to be moving slower than usual as he pulled himself through, though his landing was just as silent as always.

"I said, the appointment is scheduled for this Saturday at three o'clock in the afternoon. Will you be able to make it, or should I reschedule?"

"Saturday sounds fine," Sarah said, hoping that was the end of the conversation. "Was that all you needed?"

"No, actually," Mrs. Gladstone said. Of course not, Sarah thought with a roll of her eyes.

Matt had already discarded his mask on the table, and his sweaty hair stood up in odd directions as he leaned against the windowsill and waited for her conversation to be done. He tentatively rolled his right shoulder, and a wince of pain ghosted across his face as he did. Sarah frowned as she tried to see if he was injured—or rather, how badly he was injured.

"Are you hurt?" she whispered, covering the mouthpiece of her phone. Matt made a face and shook his head dismissively, despite clearly keeping his shoulder at an awkward and painful-looking angle. Her frown deepened as she looked at him skeptically.

Mrs. Gladstone—whose hearing appeared to rival Matt's—somehow picked up on her hushed words.

"Do you have company?" she asked. "Am I interrupting something?"

"What? Oh, no, sorry. I—have a mouse. I was talking to it," she said distractedly as she stood on her tiptoes to get a better look at Matt's shoulder. She shifted her phone to the other ear and cautiously tilted his chin to allow the light from her kitchen to better illuminate the area. Immediately she could see that the base of his neck was red and swollen right where it met his shoulder. She winced; it looked painful.

"You have a mouse in your home?" Lauren's mother repeated.

"My apartment tends to attract pests," she said, glancing sideways at Matt. He smirked at the jab, but didn't make any comment. Which was just as well—she didn't need Mrs. Gladstone asking her about who she chose to let into her apartment.

"Well I hope you plan on getting rid of your rodent infestation before Lauren brings my grandchild around," Mrs. Gladstone said, sounding deeply unamused.

"What else was it that you wanted to talk to me about?" Sarah asked in hopes of changing the subject. She stepped back from Matt and went into the kitchen, where she rooted around in her freezer for her now oft-used ice pack.

"Oh, yes. Cecilia was just showing me the photos from the baby shower."

"Sure," Sarah said vaguely, having no recollection of anyone taking photos. She winced at the thought of what she must look like in them.

"I'm trying to figure out what the theme was?" Mrs. Gladstone asked her.

"Um…the theme?" she repeated dumbly.

"Yes, the theme of the party. What was it? I can't tell from the photos."

"It was, uh…baby themed," she said, completely lost as she finally extracted the ice pack from the freezer. "The—the theme was baby."

There was a long silence on the other end, the palpable disapproval practically reaching through the phone line. "I see."

Returning to the living room, she scowled when she saw that Matt looked greatly amused by her flustered attempts to answer the rapid fire questions. She stood on her tip toes in front of him once more and gingerly pressed the ice pack to the base of his neck. He briefly closed his eyes at the contact, tilting his head to the side to allow her better access; she took that an indicator that the ice was helping. After a moment, he opened his eyes again and brought his hand up to hold the icepack himself, his hand brushing over hers as it replaced her grip on the pack. She brought herself down off her tiptoes and stepped back again.

'Thank you,' he mouthed at her, and she gave him a small smile before remembering she still had Mrs. Gladstone on the other end of the line.

"So, if that's all you need to discuss…" she began hopefully.

"It was. Remember, the photographer is going to be there at three o'clock sharp on Saturday."

"Okay."

"You'll need to be on time."

"I will be."

"And dress nicely. Put in some effort."

"Got it."

"No jeans. Or shorts."

"Mhm."

"And nothing you'd wear to a yoga class."

"Okaysoundsgreatseeyousoonbye," Sarah said hurriedly, quickly hanging up before Lauren's mother could say anything else. She tossed the phone onto the couch, then put her hands over her face and let out a long, frustrated groan. Dropping her hands again, she looked at Matt, who was still leaning against the windowsill with the icepack to his skin.

"Hi," she greeted him.

"Hi." Matt still looked annoyingly amused by the conversation he'd just overheard.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

"Just pulled a muscle, I think," he said, brushing the concern aside. "It's not bad."

"Your definition of not bad is different from most peoples," she reminded him, and he didn't deny it. He did, however, change the subject without much subtlety.

"That was Lauren's mother?"

"Calling to make sure I don't show up in cutoffs for their baby photos. I don't think she's very happy Lauren wants me to be in them."

"Have you…told Lauren about everything that's been going on?"

"Sort of. She knows that Ronan is dead, but not that I…" Sarah faltered, still not quite ready to say it out loud. She shook her head before pushing onward. "I just don't feel like dealing with that look she'll give me all the time if she knows. Like she thinks I'm going to have a nervous breakdown any second."

She felt foolish saying that last part to Matt, who had witnessed quite a few breakdowns on her part since they met. Thankfully, he didn't comment on that, just nodded as his brow creased.

"I'm spending the night at my dad's tomorrow night, by the way," she said. Mitch hadn't been doing well lately, and she had been trying to fit in as much time at his place as she could. "I figured I'd give you a heads up so you didn't think I got kidnapped or anything."

"Always a possibility with you."

"So…it's good you came by tonight, because I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

She fidgeted with the hem of her t-shirt, trying to figure out how to broach the subject of her potential promotion. She was positive Matt wouldn't want her to take it, and it would surely lead to an argument when she told him she was considering it. But she also wanted to hear his thoughts on the possibility, despite knowing they probably wouldn't line up with her own.

As usual, Matt quickly picked up on the nervous energy about her. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," she said. He just raised his eyebrows at her, and she relented. "Jason called me into his office today. To talk to him and Vanessa."

"Vanessa?" Matt's voice already had a slightly sharper edge to it just from the name, and Sarah was willing to bet it would remain for the rest of their conversation. "What did she want?"

"She…wants me to work for her. Kind of."

There was a long pause.

"What?" he said, straightening up so he was no longer leaning against the window.

There it is.

"They want me to be a sort of…go-between?" she explained hesitantly. "For the two of them. Coordinating their schedules, setting up meetings, bringing her paperwork on the days when she prefers to work from home. It was kind of vague, to be honest."

"And he's making you do it? You already have a job, working for him."

"I'd still be working for him. I'd just also be working for her. I think they could have gotten someone else, but…I don't know. I guess she likes me," Sarah said gloomily. She was less than thrilled with the idea that Vanessa wanted to spend more time with her. "So Jason asked if I would do it."

Her wording caught his attention. "He asked you? As in, gave you the option to say no?"

"Technically."

"Don't do it," Matt said immediately.

"Matt—"

"I mean it. Don't take the position, it's too dangerous."

"But…maybe it's worth it."

"Worth placing yourself in the middle of Wilson Fisk's personal life?" Matt asked in disbelief. "This is more than being a secretary or—or whatever your job title is right now. This is putting you smack in the middle of Fisk's radar."

"Well, maybe I need to be more than a secretary to get anything done," she insisted. "What have we accomplished so far, Matt? I mean, yes, Ronan is gone and Jason doesn't have his ties to the police department anymore. But Orion is still going strong. Maybe…maybe this is what needs to happen."

"Going after Fisk's wife."

"No. I'm not going after her, I just…I think maybe there's something there we could use. Jason doesn't trust her, and I don't think she trusts him. After she left, he…kind of implied that he wanted me to keep an eye on her. I mean, he didn't say it outright, because he's weird. But I think he wants to make sure she's not trying to get rid of him."

Matt closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You'd be…spying on Wilson Fisk's family for Jason."

Sarah shrugged weakly. "Probably just his wife. I don't think the baby will be doing much."

"This isn't funny."

"I know."

"Do you?" Matt shot back. "You're not just going against Fisk's company now, Sarah. This is family. It's personal. If he even suspects that you're not telling the truth about who you are or what you're doing…"

"No one has any proof that I'm working with you."

"Fisk won't care about proof if he thinks his wife and child are in danger. He'll take you out just as a precaution if he suspects you. Just because he's in prison doesn't mean he can't use his connections to do a whole lot of damage."

Sarah knew that. Matt might have known Fisk better before he went to prison, but Sarah had heard enough stories from and about her coworkers to fully understand how dangerous the man was, no matter where they locked him up.

"I know. It's not a done deal yet," she said. "I have until Monday to decide."

Matt nodded, working his jaw in displeasure at the situation.

"What would happen?" he asked. "If you said no?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "It would probably make Jason look bad, which…"

"Never works out well," he finished for her, his face darkening.

"Yeah."

Silence lulled between them, broken only by the drumming of Matt's fingers against the window sill.

"It's your decision to make," he said finally, a hint of resignation in his tone. "I just…don't like the idea of you being that close to Fisk's family."

"I know."

"Promise me you'll think this through. Really think it through."

"I promise," she said honestly. "Go home and ice your shoulder more."

True to her word, Sarah did think it through. Like most of her nights lately, she had difficulty sleeping, so she spent the long hours of waking time debating whether or not to accept the position. But when it was finally time for her to get up for work she was left with only exhaustion in the place of a decision.

The next night, Sarah went to visit her father. It was a difficult visit; he was distant and confused, with fewer bursts of lucidity than usual. After a tense, quiet dinner, he went to bed early, and she retreated to her own childhood bedroom soon after, hoping the change of scenery would help her sleep better.

There was no such luck. She woke up several times during the night, each time with a deep feeling of dread in her stomach, though there was no particular cause to pinpoint.

Shortly after midnight, she woke up yet again. Lying on her back in her bed, she took a deep breath, ready to try to calm herself back to sleep. But a few seconds later, she heard a noise, causing her to snap her eyes back open and listen closely. After a moment, the noise came again—she realized it was a voice, coming from somewhere in the house.

Sarah sat up quickly, her heart pounding. Who could be here? Two of the people who most recently posed a threat to her were dead, and the other was nowhere close to walking condition.

She struggled out of the tangle of sheets and fumbled her cell phone into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Then she squinted around in the darkness for anything to use as a weapon, cursing the fact that she had left her purse containing her pepper spray in the living room—which, coincidentally, was also where the stun gun she'd given her father was. How in the last few months had she not yet learned to sleep with a weapon next to her bed?

Unfortunately, teenage Sarah Corrigan had not lived the kind of lifestyle that resulted in keeping many dangerous objects in her bedroom. On the shelves there were lots of books and CDs, old cassette tapes that hadn't been played in years, some board games. The desk didn't offer much beyond some brightly colored gel pens and a few framed photos of her high school friends. She gave the lava lamp on her desk a cursory glance, but decided it was too heavy to be much use. Finally, her gaze landed on a trophy she'd gotten in sixth grade for perfect attendance. Her father had thought it was funny that they gave out trophies for such things, and had insisted she keep it.

Grabbing the trophy, Sarah weighed it in her hand as she padded towards the bedroom door. She quietly cracked the door open, listening closely, then slowly made her way down the hallway towards the open door of his bedroom. When she got to the doorway, her heart sank.

The voice talking was Mitch. She could see him clearly in the light from the streetlamp through the open blinds: he was sitting up straight in bed, looking up at the ceiling and turning his head as though watching something move around. His tone was so aggressive that it was nearly unrecognizable.

"Get down from there," he snapped at the ceiling. "Stop rolling around."

Perhaps it was the dreams Sarah had been having lately, but Mitch's words sent a chill down her spine. She stared, casting her eyes up towards the ceiling—where she already knew she wouldn't see anything—then back down to him.

"Dad?" she said softly.

He didn't appear to hear her. She set the trophy down in the hallway and stepped into the bedroom.

"I won't tell you again. You don't belong in here."

She flicked on the light. As the shadows were whisked away from the corners of the room, she was nearly convinced one of them would remain behind, solid and tall and broad shouldered, leering at her. But the room was empty, full of nothing but the heavy, buzzing stillness that settled in late at night.

"Dad, it's okay. There's nothing there."

Now that the room was well lit, her father seemed slightly less distressed. He looked around a few times in confusion before finally focusing on her, giving her a beseeching look.

"They were in the corners up there. Watching me."

Sarah bit her lip. She'd read about hallucinations because she knew they were coming. Most of the literature she'd read had advised her against arguing with whatever delusions her father was having; it would only upset him more. Instead, she tried to get his mind off them.

"Okay," she said slowly, trying to keep her voice calm. "What about the living room? Maybe, um…maybe it'll be better in there. I don't think there's anything in there."

He looked at her uncertainly, considering her suggestion. Then he nodded.

"Yes. Alright, let's…let's do that."

She turned on all of the lights in the living room and hallway, scanning the room to make sure there were no corners with shadows that could mess with his vision. Clicking on the television, she flipped through the channels to find something that would distract him without making it impossible for him to sleep. One channel was playing a Cheers marathon, so she chose that and set the volume on low.

Eventually, Mitch drifted back to sleep in his arm chair underneath the blanket she had draped over him. Sarah watched him for a few minutes before pulling her phone out of her pocket and bringing up a well-visited website in her browser: Greencrest Nursing and Rehabilitation Center. One of the best in the state, and well out of her price range. But not necessarily out of Jason's.

It wasn't a difficult decision to make, and it she didn't need until Monday to make it. In fact, the quicker the better.

And so the next day, Sarah found herself accepting the position Vanessa and Jason had offered her. Vanessa herself wasn't in the office that day, but Jason had been thrilled to be the one who would inform her. So thrilled, in fact that she had barely had to argue the case for him paying for her father's nursing home. She'd prepared an entire proposal to convince him to make a deal with her, but in the end he must have really needed her to take the job; he agreed after just a cursory glance over the brochures and financial papers she'd brought with her. She supposed the amount of money, which seemed astronomical to her, was just a drop in the bucket for him.

She knew the position was more dangerous, and had a much higher risk of her getting caught, but the idea of her father finally getting the help he needed outweighed that, so she tried to keep her thoughts centered on that. As long as she focused on this one small victory, she didn't have to think about Ronan and Donovan and McDermott and all of the failures that seemed to be stacking up in her life lately.

Entering her apartment after work, Sarah set her purse down on the kitchen counter and looked around. Her living room felt very large and very empty, and without work to focus on she found that the thoughts she was trying to avoid were slowly creeping into the edges of her mind. The strongest of which was doubt—about whether she'd made the right call, about whether Jason would follow through on his end of the deal. She should be thrilled that her dad would be getting the care he needed, but it just didn't seem real yet. Not until he was actually in the home.

She fished her phone out of her purse, hit the call button and waited, leaning back against the counter and undoing her hair from its bun. She was about to hang up when Matt answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey," he greeted her, sounding distracted. "You alright?"

The corner of her mouth turned up; the sound of a familiar voice helped to keep her at this good point she'd found, stopped her from sinking back down.

"You don't have to answer the phone with that question every time, you know," she reminded him.

"Sorry," he said with a chuckle. "It's become habit."

Sarah heard what sounded like shuffling papers in the background, and she glanced at the clock. It was later than she thought he usually got off. "Are you still at work?"

"Yeah. Foggy and Karen already left for the day, but I'm pretty behind, so I'm just finishing up a few things."

"Oh," she said, slightly disappointed.

"Why? What's up?"

"Think I could talk you into ditching work and coming to eat dinner with me instead?" she asked hopefully as she shifted the phone from one ear to the other and made her way down the hallway to her bedroom. "I had a few things I wanted to catch you up on, and…I can actually go out in public now."

"Tempting. I skipped lunch. Where'd you have in mind?"

Sarah smiled as she slipped out of her work heels, kicking them into the corner of her bedroom.

"Have you ever been to Rose's Pizzeria on fifty-seventh?"

"I haven't. You want to meet there or at your place?"

Sarah was about to tell him to meet her there, but she paused. She was curious about what Matt's day job was like. The closest she'd seen to him practicing law was when he and Foggy had helped her at the police station, and even then it had been too tense and strange of a situation to get a feel for what a normal day was like for him.

"Actually…I could come to you," she suggested. She bit her lip in the ensuing silent beat. Was Nelson and Murdock one of those spaces she still wasn't allowed to invite herself into?

"At the office?" he said, sounding surprised.

She shrugged, despite the fact that he couldn't see it. "It might be interesting to see where you spend all your time when you're not lurking on my fire escape."

"Alright. Don't set your expectations too high," he warned her wryly. "It's not exactly a palace."

"You did say everyone else was gone for the day, right?" she clarified nervously. She definitely didn't want to run into Karen quite yet—she still hadn't decided where she stood with her, and she felt guilty even thinking about the promise she'd made to her and then promptly broken.

"Just me here."

Sarah rummaged around in the top drawer of her desk for a few seconds until she found the business card that Mrs. Benedict had given her the day she first encountered Matt outside their apartment. She remembered how the older woman had pressed the card into her hand, not-so-subtly trying to set her up with the lawyer.

"Um…211 West 47th Street?" she read from the card.

"Yeah," Matt replied. "How'd you know? We aren't official enough to be on Google yet."

"You're talking to a professional spy here, Matt," Sarah told him seriously as she turned to her dresser, grabbing some clothes out of the drawers.

His laugh came low and clear through the phone line. "Of course. I forgot."

"I'll be there soon.

A short while later, Sarah knocked on the door at the law office. She heard Matt's voice call out from somewhere inside the office for her to come in. Stepping into what appeared to be an attempt at a reception area, Sarah saw him sitting at his desk in a room off to the left. He lifted his attention from whatever he was working on when she stood in the doorway.

"So, this is Nelson and Murdock," she said, running her fingers along the door frame as she looked around the space.

Matt leaned back in his chair, offering her a wry grin as she walked around the space. "Try not to get overwhelmed by how majestic it is."

The lack of grandeur was outweighed by Sarah's curiosity about the place. Matt hadn't been lying when she said it wasn't a palace, but it wasn't awful, either. There were enough personal touches throughout the office to make the small space seem charming rather than depressing, and it had a warmer feel than the steel and glass skyscrapers where so many law offices were found. There were stacks of papers on his desk, mostly Braille with some printed ink mixed in, and something that kind of resembled a keyboard hooked into his laptop, which was open to a boring-looking page of legal text.

And then there was Matt himself, looking perfectly at home amidst the messy office picture, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie loosened slightly so it hung low around his neck. His glasses were resting on his desk next to his laptop, leaving his tired eyes exposed, and he hadn't shaved in a few days, leaving a dark scruff behind. Seeing him like that, she was struck at how easy it was to view him like others must: a handsome if intense lawyer, immersed in his work.

"I like it," she said. "The office. It suits you."

Matt quirked an eyebrow.

"I can't see the place, but I think that might be an insult," he said, offering her a half-grin. "It took some convincing to get Foggy to agree to renting it. He wasn't big on the view."

Sarah glanced out the window and was greeted by the sight of a half-built construction site; by the looks of it, the scaffolding and cranes were going to be sticking around for a while. She couldn't help but agree with Foggy.

"Better than the view from your apartment, at least," she said.

As she surveyed the street below, her eyes ran across a familiar silhouette. Her heartbeat skipped nervously at the sight of the tall, broad-shouldered man standing by the crosswalk, who she was positive was looking in her direction—

She blinked a few times and the man was no longer who she had thought he was. She noticed now that his hair wasn't quite the right color, his clothes fit him a little too well. And he wasn't squinting up at her, he was reading the street sign above the stoplight. She shook her head at herself and let out a shaky breath.

"What's wrong?" Matt asked, his brow furrowed as he paused from his papers, presumably interrupted by the sudden change in her demeanor.

"Um, nothing, I just thought…" Sarah's eyes drifted back down to the man in the crosswalk, who looked less and less like Ronan the more she looked. Her face heated up in embarrassment at her own paranoia.

"Thought what?" Matt prompted.

"Thought I saw a spider."

Matt's expression held the same mix of skepticism and resignation that it always did when he could tell she was lying but wasn't about to call her on it. She didn't like it, but it was better than when he did decide to call her on it, zeroing in on her lies with unnerving intensity.

Searching for a change of subject, she glanced around her room, her gaze falling on two framed certificates that hung on the wall nearby.

"Are these your degrees?" she asked. Her question was answered when she moved closer and saw that was indeed what they were: a graduate degree from The Columbia School of Law, and a New York State Bar certification.

"I thought it seemed a little pretentious to put them up on the wall," he said. "But Foggy insisted it would give clients more confidence in us, and Karen agreed, so…majority rules."

"They're behind glass," she noted. "Do you ever worry that Foggy will replace them with something weird and you won't be able to tell?"

Matt paused, looking vaguely concerned. "Why would you say that? Did he put something weird in there?"

Sarah laughed, choosing not to answer.

"Are you almost done with whatever you're working on?" she asked.

"Not even close," he said, leaning back in his chair and exhaling deeply. "This one case involves both the Housing Authority and Immigration Services, and neither of them are particularly easy to work with. Another is one that Family Services should really be helping with, but they're not. I honestly haven't even opened the other files."

Sarah listened intently as he talked about his work. She supposed she'd always kind of pictured Matt's lawyer job as something he did as a cover for his 'real' job as Daredevil. But this was a real job, with budgets and office supplies and clients who weren't Mrs. Benedict.

"That's…intense," she said with a frown. She had no clue how he dealt with these things all day and then willingly went out at night to take on even more. "If you want to rain check on dinner…"

"No, no. Taking some time away from it will help. I won't finish it tonight anyway," Matt said. He reached for his cane as he spoke, picking it up from the corner of his desk and unfolding it.

"Do you actually use your cane, or is it just like a…prop?" Sarah asked. She frowned and added apologetically, "That sounded less rude in my head."

For his part, Matt didn't seem bothered. She supposed he was probably used to answering questions like that.

"It's fairly helpful, actually. Obviously I can get around without it, but sensing where things are takes focus. It's tiring to do all day," he said. "Usually I use my cane and let Foggy lead me when I'm out during the day. Part of it is just out of habit, but I'd also exhaust myself by the time I go out at night if I didn't use a cane or a guide sometimes."

He stood up from his chair and slipped his glasses on. "You ready to go?"

"Yep."

As Matt put away the papers he'd been working on, Sarah took another good look at him, at the tiredness that lingered in the dark circles under his eyes. She bit her lip, hesitating before speaking.

"So, how does it work?" she asked.

Matt cocked his head and frowned. "How does what work?"

"Do…I take your arm, or do you take mine?"

The confused expression didn't leave his face, which was less than reassuring.

"You're…offering to guide me?" he clarified.

"Well…yeah. I mean, I know you don't need me to. I've seen you do your ninja tricks all up and down Hell's Kitchen. But…you're tired, and you said that it helps to not have to concentrate so much on your surroundings, so…I thought if it would take some stress off of you, I…could help…" she asked, trailing off a bit uncertainly at the end.

Matt didn't say anything for what was probably only a few moments, but felt much longer. Sarah shifted self-consciously, wondering belatedly if the offer made him uncomfortable or if he was just surprised. She opened her mouth to awkwardly back peddle, but Matt spoke first.

"I'd…take your arm, usually."

"Oh. Okay." She gave a small smile, holding her arm out slightly. "So, let's go then."

Matt took her arm just above the crook of her elbow, his large hand easily wrapping most of the way around, and together they left the office.

Matt had to withhold a laugh at how dismal Sarah was at leading him around. Of course, everyone seemed dismal compared to Foggy, who after years of practice was able to guide him through crowded New York City streets without missing a beat. Sarah reminded him more of how Foggy had been at the beginning of their friendship, when he'd been first learning how to lead—eager to help, but easily distracted from the task.

Of course, this meant that he wasn't actually getting to relax his senses like Sarah had intended, but he wasn't complaining in the slightest. It was relaxing in its own way, the two of them walking slowly and enjoying the night air, which had grown warm but not yet unbearably hot. In general, the person guiding was supposed to walk a step or two ahead of the person they were leading, but since he didn't technically need the help, Matt didn't see the harm in keeping in close step with Sarah, her arm pressed against his side, and she didn't seem to mind either.

As they made their way down the sidewalk, it was almost easy to forget the traumatic events of the past week—but little reminders kept popping up, not allowing either of them to put it completely out of their minds. For Matt, it was the disconnect between the things Sarah was saying and the way she was acting. From listening to her, she sounded fine: all light-hearted jokes and routine rambling. But he hadn't missed the way her heartbeat had skipped fearfully in the office. He kept the observations mostly to himself, quietly filing them away until he could figure out a way to bring them up.

"So…how'd you hurt your shoulder?" she asked.

Matt sighed. He'd been pushing himself too hard the last few nights, trying to make up for his utter failure in the alleyway the other night, and it wasn't a subject he particularly wanted to talk about.

"Chasing a guy who tried to rob a bank," he explained. "He shot a couple of security guards, but from what I heard they'll be alright."

"And…the bank robber?" she asked, sounding more curious than concerned.

Matt jerked his head noncommittally. "He'll be alright, too, when the cast comes off his leg."

"Ouch."

"In my defense, I wasn't in the best mood after he wrenched my shoulder out."

They walked in silence for a while before Sarah spoke up again.

"Maybe I should rob a bank," she speculated absently. "It's good money if you don't get caught."

Matt smirked. "As your lawyer, I'd probably have to advise against it."

"Are you officially my lawyer?" she asked him. "Because if so, I hate to tell you that you might need to establish some better personal boundaries with your clients."

Matt laughed loudly at that. She had a point—the state bar would probably frown on just about every aspect of his relationship with Sarah as a client. Then again, the state bar would frown upon a lot of things he did.

"Alright. Next time you end up in an interrogation room you can call some other lawyer to help you."

"I happen to know another lawyer I can call, thank you very much."

"Foggy won't defend a bank robber."

"Fine," she conceded. Then after a pause, she titled her head up at him hopefully. "You should rob a bank. But give me half the money. You'd probably be better at it, anyway."

"Why would I give you half the money if you aren't helping to rob the bank?"

Sarah scoffed. "I came up with the idea."

"You came up with the idea of bank robbery?" Matt asked doubtfully.

They continued like this the rest of the way to the restaurant, quietly bantering as they made their way down the sidewalk. It was a nice change from the usual urgency and angst of their usual conversations, and Matt found himself reluctant to let go of her arm when they reached the restaurant and were seated at their booth.

The waitress was a middle-aged woman with a tired voice and a dangly earrings that jingled slightly as she walked. She placed the menus on the table, looked from Matt to Sarah expectantly, then heaved a sigh.

"Drinks?" she prompted impatiently.

"Oh," Sarah said. "Um, coffee, please. Black."

"You?" the waitress said, turning to Matt.

"I'll have the same. Thank you."

She merely grunted noncommittally in response before walking away—hopefully to get their coffee, though Matt couldn't be positive.

"I don't think this waitress likes you as much as our last one did," Sarah said, tutting in fake sympathy.

Matt smirked, leaning back in his seat. He liked when he got to see this side of her: small flickers of the person he suspected she had been before all of this.

"I'll get by. Don't think she'll be reading the menu for me, though."

"To be fair, the last one was obviously looking to get your number."

"Right, Gracie. She left me hers, actually," he recalled. "She wrote it on napkin and put it under my plate. I already know what I want here anyway. It's some kind of pesto, red pepper, barbequed chicken pizza."

Sarah scanned the menu for a few seconds. "Umm…yeah, I see that. How'd you know?"

"Guy on the other side of the room is eating one right now. It smelled good," he explained. Sarah turned in her seat, craning her neck to get a look across the room. Matt tuned in to the man she was looking at; he could hear the sound of tweed sliding against vinyl as the man shifted in his seat, then the soft click of his wedding ring against plastic as he adjusted his glasses. Forming a picture of the man, he added, "The one who kind of looks like a professor."

A wave of citrus scent hit him as Sarah whipped her head around to give him an incredulous look. She shook her head. "That is ridiculous that you know that. It will never stop being ridiculous."

Matt couldn't stop himself from grinning a little at that. While he was making progress with Foggy, they still weren't to the point where he could casually bring up his abilities in conversation and not have it feel awkward, weighed down by the fact that he'd kept them a secret for so long. It was kind of nice to get to show off a little, to have someone so interested in what life was like for him to experience.

"Why did she write her number on a napkin for you?" Sarah asked, bringing him back to the present. "She had no way of knowing you could read it."

Matt shrugged. "People don't always think through the logistics of being blind."

"Did…you end up calling her?" Sarah asked casually.

"No."

"Oh," she said, and for a split second he could have sworn she sounded relieved, but he must have imagined it. "Why not?"

"I didn't even think to take the napkin with me when we…" Matt paused, hesitant to bring up the events that had followed. "Well, we left in kind of a hurry."

"Oh. Right." The smile disappeared from her voice, and he knew she was thinking of how that night out had ended: with Ronan sitting across from Matt, taunting him to his face about his intentions to hurt Sarah and Matt's inability to stop him.

It drove him crazy that Ronan had been right, in a way; in the end, Matt hadn't gotten to give him the beating he'd so been looking forward to. He'd gotten a few good hits in—the sound of Ronan screaming as Matt drove the knife through his hand had been satisfying, as had the crunch of several bones breaking in his face upon impact with Matt's fist—but it should have been more. Ronan should have suffered longer as penance for the way Sarah still sunk into herself sometimes, still flinched at sudden movements. And for the way he'd made her internalize the things he'd drilled into her over the months; the way she still seemed to think that she was stupid and useless, despite proving herself time and time again to be smart and resourceful. It only made him wish all the more that he could have been locked in a room with Ronan for a few hours before he died.

But that wasn't how it had gone down. And it didn't matter, he reminded himself. Sarah was alive and—mostly—unharmed, and sitting across from him.

If the waitress noticed their change in mood when she returned to the table, she didn't mention it. After taking their orders, she quickly disappeared into the back one more.

Some song was playing over the speakers, and Sarah absentmindedly tapped her fingers along the side of her coffee mug to the tune. He could tell she had something on her mind, but for whatever reason she was putting off talking about it.

In the end, he didn't have to wait long to find out.

"I took the promotion," she said suddenly. The announcement would have seemed out of left field had he not been able to tell she was building up to it. Matt couldn't say he was surprised by her decision, as much as he wished she had done the opposite.

He nodded. "I figured you might."

"My dad…needs to go into a home," she said very quietly. Sarah rarely spoke about her father's illness, and Matt remained silent, waiting for her to continue. Her voice was tight as she spoke, clearly pained under the carefully controlled calm she was maintaining. "I…I can't leave him alone in that house anymore. He's going to get hurt. He needs to have someone around all the time, and he's only going to get worse. I can't afford to pay for the kind of care he needs. But…Jason can."

Matt blinked in surprise.

"And he agreed to that?"

"Yeah. He…really wanted me to take the position, I guess. To keep an eye on Vanessa. Since he'll be the one writing the checks to the home, he'll know where my dad is, which I'm not crazy about, but…it was kind of necessary. Given my arrangement."

The waitress, who had a knack for showing up during the awkward lulls in their conversation, appeared at the tableside and set their pizza slices down. Sarah and Matt both distractedly thanked her before she left.

Bringing her father into the equation had taken some of the wind out of Matt's argument.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "About your dad."

She nodded, but wilted slightly in the way she always did when talking about her father.

"This is all I can do to help him. I've already let him down too many times lately."

Although she didn't say it explicitly, he knew she meant of the large sum of money she turned down that could have easily bought her father a far more comfortable life. Money she had turned down for him.

"Just…be careful, Sarah. Fisk is unstable, even more so than Jason. And the only thing he cares about is Vanessa. If he gets wind that you pose any sort of threat to her or their child…he'll go after the people you love. He'll send people after your dad, after Lauren."

In the silence after his words, he could hear her heartbeat; it was faster than normal. Nervous. He didn't like that she was afraid, but part of him was glad she understood the gravity of the situation. She should be afraid of being one step closer to Wilson Fisk.

"Then I guess he better not find out," she said steadily. If he wasn't able to hear her heartbeat giving her away, he might have believed the calmness in her voice. "So…are you going to help me or just be mad at me?"

Obviously he was going to help her; they both knew that. It didn't mean he was any more enthusiastic about the prospect of her being in significantly more danger at work—something he hadn't even thought was possible.

"Don't see why I have to pick one or the other," he said finally, eliciting a tired laugh from Sarah.

"I'll take it," she said.

"But we need to start up your training sessions again."

"Okay."

"Soon. This weekend."

"Okay."

He cocked his head suspiciously at how easily she agreed.

"Are you just agreeing to avoid more of an argument?"

"I'd more categorize it as a lecture, but…yes."

He leaned his head back in exasperation. "I'm not trying to lecture you, I'm just…"

"Intensely overprotective?" she finished. "Yeah. I'd have to be in a coma for the last few months not to notice that."

He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again.

"Not my best trait," he admitted grudgingly.

Sarah laughed. "Not your worst."

God knew that was true—and if anyone was familiar with his worst traits it was her.

"Right," he said quietly, a guilty wince crossing his face.

"Hey," Sarah said softly, tapping her foot against his leg under the table. "That's not what I meant. I just mean that…given how my life is going these days, having an overprotective vigilante hanging around isn't the worst thing. Even if it means getting lectured, like…all the time."

"I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I know."

Before he could say anything else, an unfamiliar female voice called out Sarah's voice from across the restaurant.

"Sarah!"

"Oh," Sarah sounded surprised by whoever had approached them, though not unfriendly. "Allison, hi."

Matt didn't recognize the name. Whoever she was, she was tall and thin, and as she got closer he picked up on a perfume that smelled like roses.

"It's so good to see you! How are you?" the woman chirped enthusiastically.

Sarah adjusted the thin scarf around her neck self-consciously; Matt could hear the material brushing against the bandage on her neck that she was trying to cover up.

"I'm—I'm great, how are you?"

"I'm doing fantastic. I hope that you're feeling better after the—um…incident? At the baby shower?"

One of Lauren's friends, then, Matt surmised. He could sense Sarah's face flushing with embarrassment.

"Yeah. I'm…doing a lot better now."

"Clearly," the woman said, nodding teasingly at Matt—a gesture she assumed he was oblivious to, but which Sarah knew he wasn't. She quickly ignored it and moved on to introductions.

"Matt, this is Allison. Allison's an old friend of mine from college. We used to live across the hall from each other in the dorms. Allison, this is Matt," Sarah explained. Matt noticed that she deliberately didn't give any explanation for how she and Matt knew each other, but it didn't seem to phase Allison.

"Hi, nice to meet you," Allison said, holding out her hand to shake. Matt offered his hand just a few inches left of where he should, and she quickly adjusted to meet him there.

"It's so crazy that I'm running into you, because you know who I ran into earlier this week?" she asked Sarah, not waiting for her to guess before answering. "Nick Reynolds! Have you talked to him lately?"

If Allison was expecting an excited response, she was wrong. Matt listened interestedly, curious as to who they were talking about.

"No, not for…over a year and a half, probably."

"Really?"

"That's…kind of how breakups work."

So Nick was an ex, then. Allison chattered quickly about her encounter with the man, clearly oblivious to Sarah's discomfort.

"—and he's dating a model now—isn't that crazy? But like just a catalogue model, not a couture model," she assured them. "She's like fourth cousins with the Kardashians or something."

"Oh, wow, that's…that's so wonderful to hear," Sarah said unenthusiastically.

"Anyway, have you given any thought to what we talked about at the party?"

"Mmm…mhm," Sarah hummed vaguely, clearly having no idea what the other woman was talking about.

"So…what do you think?"

"What do I…think?"

"Yeah. Would you be willing to do it?"

Matt kept his expression carefully neutral when he felt her gaze momentarily flick over to him.

"Well—I—maybe…you could just walk me through the details again? Of the…of the thing?"

"Details are blurry, huh?" Allison asked knowingly. "You were pretty plastered. But I mean, that's like your thing, you know?"

"My thing?"

"Yeah! You were always the queen of drinking games in college. They named a drink after her at the bar across from our campus," she informed Matt, who was very interested in this information.

"Did they?" he asked, "What was the drink?"

"Not important," Sarah said, sending him a pointed glare that he could feel even without seeing it.

"Well, you've always known how to throw a party. I was like, this baby shower is great, and then I stepped outside for two seconds to get some fresh air and missed all the juicy stuff! I heard you and Cecilia got into some big fight about that Daredevil guy while I was gone."

At the unexpected mention of his alter ego, Matt instinctively tensed. He didn't miss the way that Sarah's head moved a fraction as he assumed her eyes flicked to him, or the way her fingers tightened ever-so-slightly around her mug. She hadn't mentioned anything to him about getting into an argument about him.

Allison didn't seem to notice the tension that her words had created.

"It wasn't a fight, it was a…small disagreement."

"Well, whatever it was, she really has it in for that guy. She's kind of feisty. Anyway, the party was great up until got rushed to the hospital and everyone thought you were dead," she finished cheerfully.

"Um, what—what was the point you were making?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, right. Anyway, I'm having this charity fundraiser soon; just the usual, a few hundred per plate and we're raising money Lesch-Nyan Syndrome this time—charity is just so important, don't you think? Andrew is technically having the fundraiser but he's clueless when it comes to planning parties," Allison said with an eye roll. "He wanted to hire a string quartet, even though I told him that would be way too overbearing for this kind of event—I mean, obviously, right?" Allison tittered. "Anyway, eventually I convinced him to let me pick the music, and I was wondering if maybe you were interested."

"Interested?"

"In playing the piano during the party. You always used to play for events back in school, so I thought maybe…"

"Oh." Sarah blinked. "Wow."

"You wouldn't have to play the whole night, obviously," Allison clarified quickly. "Just during the hors d'oeuvre, and then for a while when people are milling around. You'd have tons of time to enjoy the party. But we'd pay you for the whole time, of course."

"That's…really nice of you. But I—I actually, um…I don't play anymore."

"You're kidding me."

"Nope," she said, the nonchalant tone she'd been aiming for sounding more strained than anything. "Not for a while now."

"Shut up. You're kidding me," Allison repeated. "You don't do accompaniment or recitals or anything anymore?"

Sarah just wordlessly shrugged and shook her head.

"Didn't you have, like, a fellowship? To play all of those summer concerts?"

"Not anymore," she said, the casual tone even more forced now.

"But you were so good!" Allison persisted, apparently not getting the hint. "Piano was like, your life."

"People change," Sarah said quietly.

"I guess they do. Wow. Well, listen," Allison said, reaching a manicured hand into her purse and pulling out a small business card. "I don't know if you still have my number from school, but it's on here. Call me if you change your mind, okay? I'll talk to you soon!"

"I—uh—okay, thanks," Sarah said, but Allison was already gone, leaving a trail of rose scented perfume behind her.

In the awkward silence that ensued, Matt searched for something to say.

"Your friends all like to talk a lot."

"We're not really friends anymore. I hadn't seen her in about two years, I think. Until the party…apparently."

"You don't remember talking to her?"

Sarah was silent for a beat.

"I…don't even remember her being there," she admitted. "The whole party's kind of a blur except for a few chunks." Sarah groaned, leaning back in her seat and pressing her palms to her eyes. "That's so embarrassing. It's even worse because it's her. She's so…put together."

"Sounds boring."

"She's raising money for…Lesch-Nyan Syndrome. I don't even know what that is."

"Well, maybe you should go play at the fundraiser and someone will tell you," he suggested.

"There's no way I can play at that fundraiser."

"Why not?"

"I haven't played in months, for one. And I've been to Allison's parties before," Sarah said. "It'll be full of all her husband's rich friends and people I went to school with that I either haven't spoken to in forever or very recently embarrassed myself in front of at Lauren's baby shower." She tossed the card down on the table. "It was nice of her to offer, but it's not going to happen."

"Why don't you play anymore?" he asked curiously.

Sarah's hair brushed against her shoulder as she tilted her head to the side, a motion he knew was probably accompanied by a skeptical look. "Um, maybe we haven't met. I'm Sarah, I spend all my time working for Death Eaters."

"Yeah, I know. But you don't play at all, even outside of work."

"I did, for a while," she said with an uncomfortable shrug. "After I started Orion, I mean. But it was…painful."

"Painful how?"

"It was easy to sit down at a piano and close my eyes and pretend like things were back to normal, but…they weren't. And it just made it that much worse going back to real life. Like a bad hangover," she said quietly. The topic obviously didn't have appositive affect on her mood. "And having Allison ask me to play at her perfect charity party is even worse."

Matt frowned, and he tapped his fingers on the table as he searched for something to say.

"If it makes you feel any better, she's a stress smoker."

"What?"

"Her breath reeks of cigarettes," he told her. "She must smoke half a pack a day. But she also uses mouthwash and perfume to cover it, and she keeps her cigarettes in her makeup bag, so I'm guessing so tries to hide it."

"That's so creepy that you know that," Sarah said, sounding both disturbed at his methods and delighted by this new information. "Maybe her life isn't perfect. Even if Nick's apparently is."

"Nick…is your ex?"

"Yeah. From a few years ago," she said.

"Were you two serious?"

"Uh…he was, I think. I wasn't."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Well, now he's dating a Kardashian and I'm celebrating the fact that I can go out in public without getting murdered. So…I showed him," she said half-heartedly, tracing her finger around the rim of her mug.

The corners of Matt's mouth turned down at the resigned tone in her voice. Running into people from her old life clearly didn't do wonders for Sarah's outlook.

"Well, I'd be out of luck if there was a Kardashian in your shoes," he offered. "I don't think they're quite as resilient as you are."

"No?" she asked wryly.

"Nah," he said, wrinkling his nose and giving her a crooked grin. "One minor stab wound and they'd be done."

Sarah finally laughed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

After they paid and stood to leave, Matt quickly slid the discarded business card off the table and slipped it into his pocket.

He probably shouldn't be spending time with her like this; he knew that. The more time he spent with Sarah, the more it became glaringly obvious that while their relationship was getting easier, it wasn't getting any less complicated. But if Matt had learned anything over the years, it was that this was around the time people usually stepped out of his life; as soon as he started acknowledging they were important to him. He'd thought it was already done when she had left him that voicemail, but here he was with yet another chance. At some point he would screw up and be all out of second chances, but until that point came he had no plans to stay away. He shouldn't be here, but she had asked him to be, so there was no chance that he would be anywhere else.

So against his best judgment, he turned to her as they stepped out of the restaurant and onto the busy sidewalk.

"I'll walk you home," he offered.

Sarah's apartment was several blocks in the opposite direction from Matt's, so it didn't make much logistical sense for him to walk her home, but she didn't mind the company. However, something was bothering her, and Sarah chewed the inside of her cheek as they walked down the sidewalk.

Why hadn't he brought up the subject of her talking to Cecilia about him? It wasn't like him to miss an opportunity to get overly protective of his secrets. And he had definitely reacted when he heard Allison mention his alter ego, even if he had tried his best to keep it hidden. Yet he had brought up every aspect of that conversation but that.

Finally, her curiosity got to be too much.

"So…aren't you going to ask?" she inquired warily.

"Ask about what?" Matt replied, though from his casual tone she was fairly certain he knew what she was talking about.

"My conversation with Cecilia about you."

Matt was quiet for a moment. "No."

"No?" Sarah repeated doubtfully, turning her head to look at him fully.

"No."

There was a long pause.

"Is this a trick?" she asked suspiciously. "Are you waiting until we pass by somewhere dark and scary?"

"This is Hell's Kitchen, everything is dark and scary."

"You know what I mean."

"It's not a trick," he said, shaking his head and hesitating before continuing. "If it was a conversation I needed to know about…you would have told me."

Sarah looked away from where she had been staring suspiciously at Matt's profile. She was thrown by this new turn of events.

Unable to drop the subject, she spoke up again a minute later.

"It's just—you're usually sort of an answer-me-now kind of guy, so…this is confusing."

Matt seemed reluctant to explain himself, which she thought was strange.

"I…haven't missed the fact that you've given me a few more second chances than you probably ought to have. I figured…maybe I should start trying to deserve some of them."

"Oh." Sarah didn't know what else to say. She was touched by this decision to finally, finally trust her. But she also couldn't shake a feeling of guilt over not telling him the full story. She didn't want to ruin the olive branch he was extending, but she could already picture this coming back to bite her in the ass if she didn't talk about it now.

"I don't want you to think I'm hiding this from you, so I think you should know…Cecilia's a reporter," she said slowly. Matt didn't immediately say anything, so she continued. "I mean, kind of. She mostly just writes shitty opinion pieces."

"Opinion pieces…on what?" he asked warily.

"Lately? …mostly about you."

She glanced sideways at him to gauge his reaction, but his expression was hard to read.

He exhaled heavily. "Of course."

"She's Lauren's cousin," Sarah explained. "And she's awful, and I didn't know she was a reporter when I was talking to her."

"And this was at the baby shower?" Matt clarified.

"Mhm."

"The one where you were concussed, and drinking, and strung out on prescription pain killers?"

Sarah winced at the unforgiving but accurate description. "Yes."

"Right."

"It's just that she had her opinion on what you do, but her opinion was stupid, and…I just sort of ended up saying something to her about it. But it was nothing."

It was a simplification of the truth. In actuality, it was something of a struggle to recall exactly what she had said in the conversation. She remembered the gist of it: the topic of Daredevil had come up somehow, and Cecilia had been of the opinion that the vigilante and the people he saved were less than deserving. The details beyond that were blurrier, but she was positive the short argument hadn't revealed anything suspicious.

Matt was quiet again, and she looked over at him worriedly, wondering if thoughts of his identity being exposed were running through his head. Another pang of guilt went through her. His identity had already been revealed once because of her; she didn't want him worrying that it would happen again.

"I didn't say anything that would put you at risk," she said quietly. "I would never do that to you, Matt."

"I know," he said finally. "If you say it was nothing…I believe you."

She blinked. This was going weirdly well. "Really?"

"I mean you aren't exactly making it easy, but…"

A smile grew on her face as she realized he was actually sticking with his decision to trust her. He was still holding on to her arm, and she bumped her shoulder against his lightly, causing the corner of his mouth to quirk up slightly.

"Just…maybe don't talk to any more reporters about me while blackout drunk," he couldn't stop himself from adding.

"Got it."

"And I don't need you defending my reputation to people," he reminded her.

"Okay. Next time someone's calling you a lunatic I'll agree with them."

"Good."

She found herself glancing over at him for the remainder of the walk, trying to wrap her mind around how far both of them had come since they met.

Matt gently tugged on her arm, making her side step out of the way of a tall woman talking on her cell phone, who Sarah had just been about to run into.

"Are you leading me or am I leading you?" Matt asked with a smirk.

Sarah's face flushed slightly; she'd forgotten she was supposed to be guiding him.

"Right. Sorry," she said with a laugh. "I'll do better next time."

Matt tilted his head in her direction. His smirk was still lingering on his lips, but there was something else playing across his expression that she couldn't quite place.

"Or you could always get Gracie the waitress to guide you," she added.

Matt groaned at the repeated mention of the pretty, overly eager waitress. "What was it you said about finding someplace dark and scary?"

She just shook her head at him as they made their way down the sidewalk.

Later that week, Sarah found herself standing in front of her bedroom mirror, where she had been standing for several minutes with a vastly unenthusiastic expression on her face. Mrs. Gladstone's words echoed in her ears: Dress nicely. Put in some effort.

In reality, the request wasn't particularly unreasonable, but Sarah found herself struggling with it all the same. After a year of purposefully dressing to draw as little attention to herself as possible, along with a few months of selecting outfits specifically for their ability to camouflage various cuts and bruises, attempting to dress up nicely didn't come as naturally to her as it once did.

"Effort," Sarah murmured, staring at her reflection. "Right. I can do that."

The majority of her clothes weren't an option, given the very obvious wound on her neck, which was glaring with or without the bandage. After several discarded outfits, Sarah settled on a blue, sleeveless dress with a mockneck that covered most of her throat. She opened the jewelry box on her dresser, sifting through her necklaces and earrings for the first time in ages before selecting a coral pendant on a delicate gold strand and a pair of matching earrings. The jewelry and the dress were both brighter than anything she'd worn in a while, and when she looked in the mirror again she was surprised to see that the colors helped to soften the sharp edges of her figure.

Focusing on dressing up had taken her mind off of the tight knot that perpetually lingered in her stomach these days, and she was almost in a good mood as she stood on Lauren's doorstop that afternoon. Of course, that good mood swiftly evaporated when she remembered that Cecilia and Lauren's mother were also on the other side of the door.

Lauren answered the door, looking remarkably bright-eyed and put together for a new mother. If she wasn't Sarah's best friend, she undoubtedly would have hated her for it. She followed Lauren into the nursery, where baby Noah was sleeping in his crib. He was wearing a brightly colored onesie with the words 'Party Animal' printed above a picture of a giraffe in a birthday hat.

Sarah gave her friend an amused look.

"I thought you were strongly against onesies with stupid sayings on them."

"I am," Lauren said. Then she relented, "I was. But this one is just so cute, look at it."

"Wow," Sarah said, watching as Lauren brushed her fingers against the small amount of fine hair on Noah's head.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said innocently. Then, unable to restrain herself she added, "You know, in Whoville they say—"

"Stop it."

"—the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day," she finished laughingly.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. You're incapable of hate, because now you're a mom, and no longer the cold-hearted bitch I know and love."

"Are we swearing in front of my grandson already?" came a cool voice from behind Sarah. She turned her head to see Lauren's mother stride past her, her lips pursed. "I'd have thought you two could wait until he was in elementary school, perhaps."

"How does she always do that?" Sarah whispered to Lauren. "Does she Apparate?"

"You have very weak peripheral vision," Lauren informed her, and Sarah scowled at her before turning to the woman in question.

"Hi, Mrs. Gladstone," Sarah said guiltily.

"Sarah," she acknowledged, then blinked as she took a second look at her. "You look very nice."

She sounded surprised that Sarah had followed her instructions and not dressed like a yoga teacher.

"…thank you," Sarah said guardedly, giving Lauren a questioning look. Was this a trap? But her friend only shrugged in return, equally surprised by the compliment.

The moment was interrupted by Cecilia, who followed Mrs. Gladstone into the room with a bored look on her face. For a wonderful minute, Sarah had forgotten that she would be there—supposedly to help with the baby, but in reality for Lauren's mother to have someone with whom she could exchange constant exasperated looks.

She and Sarah nodded in greeting, but didn't say anything.

"The photographer is all set up and ready to go when we are," Cecilia told Mrs. Gladstone.

"Unfortunately he'll have to wait," she replied, a disapproving look on her face. "Lauren's father is running late," she said, twisting her mouth disapprovingly. "I'll call again and see what's taking him so long. That man can't navigate New York City to save his life."

Sarah sent up a silent thank you as Lauren's mother left the room. Then, as though that wasn't good luck enough, Cecilia started towards the door a moment later.

"And I'll be out on the balcony until everyone is ready to start," Cecilia said. "I don't have the patience to listen to the Gilmore Girls talk today."

With that she left the room, which seemed remarkably brighter without her or Mrs. Gladstone.

"Does she mean us?" Sarah repeated, exchanging confused looks with Lauren. "That doesn't make any sense. Am I your daughter or are you my daughter?"

"Obviously I'm Lorelai," Lauren said. "I have a baby and a whimsical air about me. And you're Rory because you're…quiet and like to read. And you have the whole big blue eyes game going on."

"And your mom does remind me of Emily," Sarah acknowledged.

"Valid," Lauren agreed. "Okay, come on. We need to go talk to the photographer for a minute."

With that she tugged Sarah out of the room and down the hall.

"Talk to him about what?"

"You," Lauren replied simply.

"Oh. Wait, what?"

Before she could fully register what Lauren had said, the two of them had rounded the corner and were standing in the living room, where a tall man with dark blond hair was fiddling with an expensive looking camera. His suit looked similarly expensive, and when he looked up from the camera screen he was concentrating on she could see that he had a handsome, friendly face.

"Sarah, this is Todd. He works with Greg," Lauren said, coming to a stop in front of him. "Todd, meet Sarah."

"Nice to meet you, Sarah," Todd said, offering his hand with a smile.

"Um…hi," Sarah said. She shook his hand, a bit bewildered as to why Lauren sounded so enthusiastic about introducing her to her photographer.

"I mentioned Todd to you a little while ago, remember?" Lauren said, giving her a meaningful look. "When we were shopping for baby shower decorations? I told you I…wanted to hire him to take some photographs, and that when your life was less hectic you could…be in those photos."

Sarah squinted at her for a second before remembering what she was talking about. This was the guy she'd told Sarah she wanted to set her up with, but Sarah had told her it would have to wait until she was no longer being actively stalked. Christ, she works fast.

"Oh. Oh," she said, turning back to the man in front of her. "Um, it's nice to meet you."

"I've heard a lot about you," he said.

"That's—yes. Good," Sarah said dumbly, still thrown by this new turn of events. Lauren sent her a look that clearly said she was being socially inept, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Um, so you work with Greg, then?"

Greg worked for an advertising firm as a copywriter, and was quite successful at it—hence the large and nicely decorated apartment he and Lauren shared.

"Yes, we worked together on the Manring account, doing some print ads for magazine circulation."

"Magazines," Sarah said, hoping she sounded enthusiastic. "That's exciting. People…read them."

"That's the idea," he said with a smile that indicated he had either somehow not picked up on her awkwardness or was ignoring it. He held his camera up. "I work more on the picture side of things, though."

"Right, of course."

"And you…play the piano, right?" he asked. "I hear you're good."

Was good, she corrected him mentally. Playing piano was something Old Sarah had been good at. New Sarah was mostly good at things like moving bodies and washing blood out of her clothes. Saying that out loud probably wouldn't go over very well, however.

"I studied music in college," she agreed, settling for a middle ground between the truth and avoiding discussing what she currently did. "Would you excuse us? I just need Lauren to help me…fix my hair before the photos."

"Sure," he said, flashing them another smile before returning to the camera he was holding.

Once Sarah and Lauren were safely out of earshot in the kitchen, Sarah threw her hands up in exasperation. "What was that?" she asked.

"Um, a social disaster, apparently," Lauren said pointedly. "You're lucky you're pretty, you know."

Sarah winced. "Was it that bad?"

"That depends," Lauren said slowly. "Was that your first time ever speaking to another human?"

"Well, what do you expect? You—you ambushed me," Sarah accused her.

"I'm sorry," she said, not sounding particularly sorry at all. "But this was the best possible way for you to meet a potential date, right? It was a low-key setting, you didn't have time to get all stressed about it—which you know you would have, so don't even deny it," she said sternly when Sarah opened her mouth to protest. "And if you don't want to hear from him then I just won't give him your number. Easy breezy."

"Great. I don't want to hear from him," Sarah said immediately.

"Why not?" Lauren protested. "He's attractive, he's really nice, he has a great job, and he doesn't have any of the fatal flaws of your previous boyfriends, like collecting stamps or being really into Creed."

"He's not the problem. I am. I can't be going on dates with people right now."

"You said that you'd consider dating once Ronan was no longer following you around," Lauren pointed out. "And now he's not."

"Okay, that's true, but—"

"And," she pushed on before Sarah could argue, "wouldn't it be nice spend some time with a guy who—to the best of my knowledge—has zero ties to the seedy underbelly of Hell's Kitchen?"

"I am that seedy underbelly," Sarah reminded her. "The moment he goes on a date with me he will have those ties without even knowing it, and I can't put that on some innocent guy! Besides, am I just supposed to date someone while hiding an entire portion of my life from him?"

"It's not hiding. Everyone holds off on the more personal aspects of their lives until they've been dating a while. I dated Greg for eight months before I told him why I'm banned from every Applebee's in New York state."

"That's so not the same thing, Lauren."

"It's not the end of the world to not tell someone you're casually dating everything about yourself. And besides, you won't be working there forever."

"But I'll be there for the foreseeable future. A relationship just won't work."

"No one said the word relationship. Go on a few dates, have some fun. Dig out all of those tiny dresses that I used to borrow and will never be able to fit into again, and go out to dinner or dancing. Get laid," Lauren said. Then with a glance at the baby in her arms, she added, "Use a condom."

Sarah exhaled, eyeballing her friend. Lauren looked so eager to set her up, always determined to make Sarah happy despite her protests. Would going on a date really be the worst thing in the world?

"Fine. One date."

"Great!" Lauren exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I'll text him tonight and let him know you're interested. And assuming that you didn't just scare him away with your awkwardness, he should call you soon."

"This feels very middle school."

"Well, you are my daughter, apparently."

"I know you're still caught in the middle of everything, but I just figured with the immediate danger out of the picture...maybe you could get a little bit closer back to normal life," Lauren said hopefully.

Normal. There was that word again. She could do that. She could be normal. Couldn't she? After all, things were going well. Ronan was gone, Donovan was out of the picture. She was getting along with Matt, Lauren was setting her up with an attractive and normal guy, her father was going to get the care he needed. But if everything was going so smoothly, why did her chest still feel heavy with a strange sense of dread all the time?

"Earth to Sarah," Lauren said. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, sorry," Sarah said absently, snapping back to the present. "I, um…I'm just going to stay in here for a second and get some water."

"Okay," Lauren said, concern in her eyes as she studied her friend. "You aren't going to pass out again, are you? I cannot call a vigilante to come get you while my mother is around."

Sarah laughed. "I promise I'll remain conscious."

After Lauren left the kitchen and Sarah was alone, she leaned back against the fridge and closed her eyes.

She felt tense, like she was waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under her feet. This couldn't be right. This just wasn't how it went, this wasn't how life worked—you didn't get to kill people and threaten people and then receive promotions and get asked on dates. It was a trick of some sort; this wasn't what she deserved. Where was the punishment? Where was the harsh hand of karma waiting to smack her down?

"This is all a trap," she muttered out loud to herself.

"I feel that way every time Lauren's mother comes round," someone said.

Sarah let out a short, startled yelp and snapped her eyes open to see Greg standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing in here?" she asked, clutching her hand to her chest.

Greg gave her a look as he grabbed the coffee pot from the counter poured himself a cup

"Well you see, I live here," he explained patiently. "I don't know if you've heard, but Lauren and I are married. We have a child together, actually."

"Very funny."

"You might have met him, he's about the size of a loaf of bread," Greg said, retrieving a second mug from the cabinet and pouring Sarah a cup as well. "Constantly dressed up like a ballerina."

Sarah rolled her eyes as she accepted the coffee. "There's that dry, British sense of humor that no one loves."

"I keep fighting the good fight anyway," he said, leaning against the kitchen counter and surveying her over his mug. "So, I heard Lauren is working her magic and trying to set you up with Todd."

"Don't act like you weren't in on it, too. You two share everything," she said. Well, almost everything. Maybe not the secret vigilante stuff.

Greg chuckled, not bothering to disagree. "Well, he's a nice guy. And you're…acceptable, I suppose."

"Thanks so much," she said. "But I don't know how I feel about going out with someone Lauren set me up with. I've let her set me up before, and it's always been disastrous."

"But this time it has my stamp of approval as well," Greg reminded her. "And technically I've known you longer than Lauren has, so I have a better feel of these things."

"You've known me a total of two hours longer than Lauren," Sarah pointed out with a laugh. "And that's only because you helped me move into my dorm room. And then as soon as Lauren showed up and I introduced you to her, you dropped all my boxes and switched right over to her."

"I like blondes," he said with a shrug. "Point is, we both think that you and Todd would get on well."

"Well, I hope so. Because I already told Lauren I'd go out with him."

"Fantastic! I don't think you'll regret it," he said, but Sarah's reply was only a low hum of doubt.

There was the sound of the front door closing as Lauren's father finally arrived.

"Sounds like it's about time to begin," Greg said, glancing at the kitchen door and setting his empty mug in the sink.

"I'll be there in a minute."

Greg nodded and started towards the hallway, pausing to say one more thing before leaving the kitchen.

"I know you've been having a rough time of it lately, what with your dad and all," he said. "But maybe going out and doing normal things will be good for you."

"Yeah…maybe," she said hopefully.

"Give it a try. You deserve to be happy," he told her.

He flashed her a reassuring smile before disappearing through the doorway, and Sarah was left standing in the kitchen, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in her chest that told her he was wrong.