Hi guys! I am so so so sorry. It's been so long. I had a good chunk of the chapter written, and then I got sick. But please don't think I've abandoned it just because it hasn't been updated on time! I usually try to post progress updates on my profile, so you can always go look there to see what's up.

Anyway, last chapter was really intense, so this one is a bit lighter, and a lot more character-driven than plot-driven, because that's easier to write and I'm sick so I can do whatever I want. Meaning this chapter is basically various people sitting around talking to each other in different settings, but next chapter we'll jump back into some more plot.

I think that's all the updates. On to Matt and Sarah (you guys still remember who they are, right?)

Chapter Twelve: Complications

The wait between Matt's exit and his phone call was long and tense. Sarah found herself constantly trying to calculate how much time it would take him to get to her dads and check out what was happening, then to get to Ronan's and do whatever he was going to do there. Had it been long enough? Had something gone wrong at her dad's? Or did it seem like more time had passed than it really had?

When the phone did finally ring, she answered immediately.

"Hey. What's going on?" she asked, her voice slightly raspy from exhaustion.

She knew immediately that the news wasn't good when Matt responded with an agitated sigh before answering. "Ronan's not here."

Sarah didn't respond for a minute, trying to understand what he meant.

"As in, he's not home yet?" she asked slowly.

"No. As in, he packed some of his stuff up quick and split. Recently, too. I don't know if he's trying to avoid me, or Orion, or the police…but I don't think he's planning on coming back to his apartment any time soon. He might have left town."

"He didn't," she responded immediately. That much she knew for sure.

"How do you know?"

"Because he's obsessive. He's obsessed with me and he's obsessed with you, and…we're both right here in Hell's Kitchen. So that's where he'll be, too."

Matt was quiet on the other end of the line, which she took as acknowledgement that she was right, and that Ronan was still in the city somewhere.

"I'll keep looking," he said. "I know this city, I know its hiding places."

"Yeah," she responded, trying to sound convinced. "Okay. That's…that's good."

"Sarah, listen—"

"Did you get a chance to stop by my dad's place?" she interrupted him nervously. "Is he okay?"

"Yeah, I did. He's fine. All of his doors and windows are locked. I didn't pick up on any signs that anyone has been lingering around for extended periods of time, so I don't think he's being watched."

Sarah was relieved to hear that no one was stationed outside her father's home, but the news also shook her conviction that something was off about the men who had visited him. "So…what, I'm just being crazy and paranoid?"

"Not necessarily," Matt replied. "Just because he's not being watched right now doesn't mean that something's not up. I'll keep checking. When are you going to see him next?"

"I was supposed to go tomorrow, but I don't know if—I mean, I just—I don't really want him to see me…like this. But I'll go soon. I'll try to ask him if anything's been weird."

"Good. Let me know what he says."

"Yeah," she said tiredly. Her brain was so tired from the day that she felt like it was just shutting down, completely incapable of absorbing any more information today. "I think I'm going to try and—and get some sleep now."

"Alright. You should be fine tonight. He's not going to do anything right now, not when everything is still so up in the air. Is your deadlock on?"

Sarah almost laughed at his segue from You're completely safe to Barricade yourself in your apartment.

"Yeah. It's on."

"Okay. Call me if you need me," he told her.

"I will," she said distractedly, already noticing the twisting sensation of anxiety building up in her chest.

"Sarah," he said sternly, snapping her attention back to the conversation. "I mean it. If you think that something is wrong…call me. I'll come."

She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her free hand, trying not to think too much about his confusing statement. Was he just being helpful because he felt guilty about what had happened to her? Or was he just eager to find Ronan and smack down the guy who had been a longstanding obstacle to his goals?

"I—yeah. No, I will. Thanks, Matt."

After they hung up, Sarah began getting ready for bed. She was too tired to change clothes or brush her teeth. Instead, she dug her stun gun out of her drawer and set it on top of the nightstand, then paused as her gaze fell on her purse, which she had hung on the back of her door after hastily stuffing the contents back inside. She slowly walked over and withdrew the tranquilizer gun she'd pocketed earlier, then returned to her nightstand and carefully placed it next to the stun gun. Satisfied that this was a more than sufficient arsenal for what would no doubt be an uneventful night, she climbed into bed and turned off the light.

She lay there for a few minutes, listening tensely to the sounds of the city outside her apartment and imagining even more sound inside her apartment. She cursed at her mind for being so awake when her body was so ready to go to sleep. Eventually, she grabbed her laptop and put on some quiet music to fill the silence—classical pieces that she knew every piece of from having practiced them on piano—and hoped that she would fall asleep soon.

But it wasn't until the sun had come up that she actually fell asleep, calmed by the dim light coming through her window. She slept restlessly for a few hours before waking up shortly after noon, disoriented by the time. Unable to fall back asleep, she gathered all of her blankets and pillows and piled them onto the couch, where she buried herself among the comforting softness with a glass of wine. Looking for something to fill the silence in the apartment, she flipped on the television and zoned out.

After several episodes of a cheesy daytime soap opera that was currently playing on marathon, Sarah set her wine glass down on the side table, letting her gaze linger on the cell phone sitting next to it, where Lauren's voicemail was still stored. Sarah slowly spun the phone around on the side table with her finger, chewing her lip. She could call Lauren, but her friend would definitely want to talk in person, and what would Sarah tell her? That she got mugged? Lauren could almost always tell when she was lying; she'd pick up on it immediately. There was already enough tension between them because Sarah wouldn't tell her anything about her new career or new life. If she saw Sarah looking like she did right now, with no believable explanation, she'd flip out.

Focused on this dilemma, Sarah jumped when she heard a knock at her front door. She threw a nervous glance at the door. There were only a handful of people that could be on the other side, and a good number of them were not people who'd be there for anything good. She slowly got up from the couch and tip toed over to the entrance, where she squinted through the peep hole.

Of all the people she had expected to see on the other side, Foggy Nelson was not one of them. And yet, that was unmistakably his shaggy blonde hair.

"Foggy?" she asked confusedly through the door.

"That's me," he replied, his voice muffled slightly by the barrier.

"What are you doing here?"

Through the peephole, she could see Foggy glance around the hallway.

"You know, this door is doing an excellent job of acting as a barrier between the inside and outside of your apartment, as I'm sure it's meant to do," he informed her. "But, little known fact: doors can also open, so that you can interact with other humans face to face."

Sarah frowned down at her pajamas; the old t-shirt and sweatpants she was wearing were comfortable, but not the most appropriate attire for company. And the shirt didn't do much to hide the bruises littering her neck and arms. She sighed and leaned against the door for a second. She really didn't want to talk to anyone right now, but she also didn't want to turn away someone who had been nothing but nice to her the one time they'd met.

"Um…yeah, just—just hang on a second," she called through the door, backtracking over to the armchair and grabbing a random sweatshirt from the pile of clothing she had yet to do anything with. She zipped it up over the t-shirt, wincing as she tried not to move her wrist too much. Returning to the door, she undid the deadbolt and slowly opened it.

"Hey—whoa," Foggy's cheerful grin faltered when he got a look at her. "You really do look bad."

Sarah shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware of her busted lip, the vivid bruise covering most of her cheek bone, and the ugly finger marks that were still visible above the neckline of her shirt. She found herself grateful that the oversized sweatshirt covered not only her bruised arms but her wrists and bandaged hands as well. Next to Foggy, who was wearing a sharp suit and carrying a briefcase, she was sure she looked especially run down.

"Looks worse than it is," she said with a forced smile. Foggy looked doubtful, but she changed the subject before he could object. "What are you doing here? Is Matt stuck under a collapsed bridge or something?"

"No, no. At least, I don't think so. You never know with him. I was just, uh, in the neighborhood," he said, gesturing down the hall. "Or, more specifically, in your hallway. Working on a couple of statements with Mrs. Benedict."

Sarah nodded slowly, leaning against the door and wrapping her sweatshirt tighter around her as she waited for the rest of his explanation.

"So…I…thought I'd stop by," Foggy said evasively, scratching the back of his head. "Catch up on life. You know."

"Catch up on life," she repeated doubtfully.

"Communication is important for a budding friendship, Sarah."

She tilted her head and fixed him with a skeptical look, but he just continued smiling innocently at her. She sighed and shook her head.

"Do you want to come in, Foggy?"

"Yes, please. If I don't come in, I'm pretty sure Mrs. Benedict is going to lure me back into her apartment. I'm not as good at escaping from her conversational black holes as Matt is," Foggy said as Sarah stepped aside to let him through the door.

"Where is Matt, anyway? It's kind of…daylight-y for him to be fighting bad guys, isn't it?"

"He had to go take statements from another client on the other side of town, because get this: we have multiple clients nowadays," Foggy said excitedly. Sarah must not have looked suitably impressed, because he continued earnestly, "As in plural, Sarah. More than one. I never thought Foggy Nelson would live to see the day."

Sarah laughed tiredly at his unreserved excitement; she hadn't realized that Nelson and Murdock wasn't that successful of a law firm. She supposed it made sense, what with the Murdock half spending all of his time playing vigilante, and the Nelson half spending his time keeping said vigilante alive.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked, grabbing her empty wine glass and making her way over to the kitchen.

"What do you have?"

"Well, I have, um…" She opened the fridge, and her eyes fell on the mostly empty shelves. She snapped the door shut. "Tap water. But, the pipes are kind of funny so it sort of tastes like pennies. Or, uh…very cheap wine. Sorry. I thought maybe I had other stuff."

"How cheap are we talking? Under ten dollars?"

Sarah held up the wine bottle with a wry grin. "Try under four dollars."

Foggy grinned back, tilting his head as he considered the offer. But he sighed as he glanced at the clock on her wall. "I think I have to pass on that this time. I have more work to do when I get back to the office."

"Suit yourself," Sarah said with a small shrug as she poured a good amount of wine into her glass, causing Foggy to raise his eyebrows.

"Bit of a heavy hand, there," he noted lightly.

"I've had a bad week," Sarah replied quietly.

Foggy gave her a worried look. "Are you allowed to drink alcohol when you're injured? Doesn't it, I don't know…keep your insides from knitting together, or something?"

"I have no idea, Dr. Foggy." Sarah closed her eyes as she took a deep drink from her glass. It tasted exactly like one would expect three dollar wine to taste, but she didn't care. "And anyway, my insides are fine. I don't have, like, internal bleeding or anything. It's the outside that could use a new paint job."

She swirled the wine around in her glass absently, staring down into the dark liquid.

"Well, did you win, at least?" Foggy asked.

"Sorry?" Sarah said, glancing up from the glass she had been idly staring into.

"You know," he said, holding his fists up in a mock punching motion. "I should see the other guy, or whatever?"

Sarah laughed sharply, surprised at how bitter it sounded. "No. Lord no, I didn't win. Not even close."

Foggy grimaced sympathetically. "Well…I heard you stapled his face, at least."

Sarah winced at the memory, but nodded.

"That is truly terrifying. Congratulations."

"What, um…what all did Matt tell you? About what happened?" Sarah asked, keeping her voice carefully casual as she carried her wine glass back over to the couch, where she curled back up into one of the many blankets.

Foggy followed her into the living room, settling onto the arm of the couch at the opposite end of the couch.

"Not much. Just that someone you work with hurt you pretty badly. He didn't go into detail, or anything," Foggy reassured her. Sarah nodded, trying to hide her relief that Matt hadn't talked about what Ronan had been trying to do. "He definitely didn't tell me how bad you looked. I mean, I guess he wouldn't really know how bad you look."

"Oh, I'm sure he does," she said, taking a drink of her wine before continuing. "And anyway, it's not really that bad. It's all just little stuff. Cuts and bruises. I'm not bleeding to death on a couch from scaffolding falling on me, or anything like that, so…I'm not sure I get to complain."

"Okay, well, don't compare yourself to Matt," Foggy argued. "You got attacked. Matt puts on a Halloween costume and goes out looking for fights. That's different."

"We both made our choices," she said softly with a shrug before taking another long drink of her wine. "They generally seem to end in violence, apparently."

"Speaking of violence, Matt did mention that his split lip was from you clocking him with your keys after you yelled at him for a bit."

Sarah glanced up guiltily to see Foggy giving her a disapproving look.

"Am I the only one around here who doesn't solve all of their problems with violence?" he asked in exasperation.

"I'm sorry. I told him I was sorry. He was fine."

"Did it occur to you that maybe you shouldn't hit someone who's—"

"Bigger than me?" Sarah suggested. "Also stronger? And doesn't like me? Yeah, I kind of thought of that after I hit him."

"I was actually going to say already injured. And also, trying to help you?" Foggy said pointedly. Sarah looked down guiltily. "Oh, and—blind! You can't hit blind people!"

"People hit Matt all the time! He's a vigilante!" Sarah protested.

"That's no excuse," Foggy said, pointing a finger at her sternly.

Sarah held her hands up in defeat, not wanting Foggy to continue lecturing her.

There was a long minute of silence during which Foggy glanced idly around her apartment and Sarah fiddled with her now empty wine glass.

"What are you watching?" Foggy asked finally, casting a doubtful look at the television. Sarah, glad to seize upon a change of subject, glanced at the screen to see that the two main leads were currently having a tearful fight in front of a highly unconvincing painted beach background.

"Oh, um, it's this Spanish soap opera. I think it's called, um…Piratas…Piratas Delgado—Llorando?" she fumbled, trying to remember the title of the show.

"Wait, I've seen this show," Foggy said, nodding in recognition. "My friend Karen watches it. It's completely insane."

"Right? I'd never seen it before today, but they were having a marathon. It's great."

"Not the word I'd use, but alright. Do you speak Spanish?"

"Not especially." Sarah shook her head. "So I don't really know what's going on a lot of the time? But the plotlines are ridiculous, so I kind of think that even if I was fluent, I wouldn't understand."

"I don't speak much Spanish either, but Karen explains it pretty well. She's…maybe talked me into watching it more than once."

"Wait, so do you know who the father of Esmeralda's baby is?" Sarah asked, gesturing towards the television, where a very obviously pregnant woman was running in a floor length gown. "Because I can't figure out if it's supposed to be Ronaldo or Eduardo."

Foggy shook his head. "Neither. Get this: It's not a baby at all. It's a tumor."

"What? No!"

"It's true!" he insisted. "That's why they need her godfather's surgeon skills so badly."

"But he's dead," Sarah argued. "He got impaled on a swordfish when that giant tornado hit the beach on the day he was supposed to marry Paulo."

"Yeah, but they saved his hands on ice, remember? So now, they're trying to graft them onto Esmeralda's twin sister—"

"—because she has hooks for hands!" Sarah finished excitedly. "Oh, my god, this makes so much more sense now. So, obviously his surgeon skills will transfer over to her once she has his hands."

"Oh, obviously."

"God, this show is good," Sarah said as she leaned back against the pillows piled behind her. "So…your friend Karen managed to convince you to watch a whole season of this?" Sarah asked leadingly.

Foggy grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "I don't know. I like spending time with her. And I like hearing her try to translate Spanish. It's cute. If it has to happen while watching a cheesy soap opera…I can handle that."

Sarah shifted slightly to get more comfortable, and a sharp pain shot through her lower back. She jerked slightly and hissed through her teeth.

"Ow! Sweet mother of—dicks," she gasped under her breath.

Foggy held a hand out in concern. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm—I'm fine. I'm just…" Sarah reached a hand behind her to feel the bandage on her back, and was surprised when her hand came away with blood on it. She hastily wiped it on the leg of her sweatpants—which were luckily dark enough to hide the stain—before Foggy could see. "…a little sore."

He clearly looked unconvinced, but she didn't feel like discussing the depth of her injuries with him, so she stubbornly held his gaze until he sighed and looked back at the television, though it was clear he wasn't really watching it.

"I take it whoever did this is still out there," he said after a pause. "Matt said he was going to look for him when he goes out tonight."

Sarah felt her stomach tighten slightly at the reminder of the constantly lurking threat that Ronan now presented. She pursed her lips and nodded.

"You worried about it?" Foggy asked quietly, looking at her sympathetically.

"I'm not drinking wine before two on a weekday because I feel great about it."

"Well, don't be," he said resolutely. "I don't necessarily condone what Matt does on his nights off. Circumventing the law and all. But…he is good at it. And if he's looking for this guy, he'll find him. You don't have anything to worry about."

She looked at him intently for a long moment, searching for signs that he was just saying that to make her feel better. But he looked genuinely earnest in his belief that Matt would be able to track Ronan down. Sarah was less certain.

"You have a lot of faith in him," she noted finally.

"He's earned it," Foggy said simply. "Well, then he kind of lost it again for a while when he decided to become a superhero. But now he's earning it back again."

Sarah thought about that as she pressed her hand against the bandage on her back to stem the slight trickle of blood coming from underneath it.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Foggy said, craning his neck around to try and get a better look at what she was messing with.

"I'm sure," she said quickly. "Don't tell Matt."

"Because he turns into bossy Doctor Matt?"

Sarah laughed. "Yeah, pretty much. That's something he does a lot?"

"Oh, yeah," Foggy said with an eye roll. "I don't know if I'm supposed to share that with you, but it's classic Murdock."

"Interesting. I'll put it in my Matt Murdock notebook I keep for the FBI," she muttered, then looked up at Foggy hastily. "Wait, don't tell him I said that either. It was a joke. But he won't get it."

Foggy just laughed at her concern. "You got it. But I'm serious. Back in law school, I was on a bunch of pain killers after getting my wisdom teeth out, and I tried going out to a bar while pretty heavily sedated. I thought Matt would kill me. And that was before I knew that he could, you know…kill me. I still haven't figured out if I think it's endearing or infuriating. But that's Matt."

"I can handle bossy, I guess," Sarah said, then frowned thoughtfully. "Actually, it's not really that different from how he always is. It's better than pity, anyway."

"Matt's not big on pity. I think it's because people always feel bad for him being blind. So when he's worried about someone, he just gets kind of bossy."

She snorted. "Matt doesn't worry about anything to do with me beyond my ability to keep my mouth shut."

Foggy fixed her with a look she couldn't quite identify, but it almost looked like disappointment. He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but then shut it again and shook his head.

"If you say so," he said resignedly, getting to feet heavily. "I need to get back and do some paperwork."

Sarah slowly got to her feet, trying not to wince at the movement. Foggy was almost to the door when he stopped and turned around, rummaging through his briefcase until he withdrew a small bag.

"I almost forgot. This is for you."

"What is it?" she asked, reaching out to take the bag from him.

"Dunno. Didn't look," he said as he opened the front door. "Take it easy on the wine, huh? And feel better."

"Thanks, Foggy."

"Sure thing." Foggy turned back to her for a second after stepping out into the hall, grinning. "By the way: nice sweatshirt." And with that he closed the door behind him.

Frowning, Sarah glanced down at the sweatshirt she was wearing and cursed when she realized that in her hurry she had grabbed the one Matt had lent her, which clearly said "Columbia" across the front. Rolling her eyes at the fact that she hadn't noticed the significant difference in size, she carefully locked the lower lock and the deadbolt.

As she returned to her spot on the couch, she opened the bag Foggy had given her curiously, blinking in surprise when she saw what was inside. She bit her lip as she pulled out the two ice packs that lay at the bottom of the bag. Maybe it was just the effects of the wine, but she found herself contemplating the ice packs for a long while after she had stored them away in her freezer.

The next morning, Sarah snapped awake around five o'clock—a good two hours earlier than she usually woke up. After laying in bed for a while and failing to fall back asleep, she decided to just get up. She could use the extra time to get ready anyway, partially due to how slowly she was moving, and partially because she was now faced with the unfamiliar challenge of dressing to conceal numerous injuries.

She slipped on a long sleeved sweater, wincing as the action pulled yet again at the throbbing cut on her back. Selecting a scarf from her top drawer, she carefully arranged it until it was covering the bruises on her neck. There wasn't much she could do about how her face looked, though not for lack of trying: she spent a good half an hour experimenting with different concealers and powders, trying to cover the dark bruise on her cheekbone, but it still stood out against her pale skin, and the rest of the cuts and bruises fared similarly. Frustrated, she settled for throwing on the largest pair of sunglasses she owned before exiting the apartment.

When she got to work, she was surprised to see several new security guards at the entrance, and even more surprised when they informed her that due to a new policy, they needed to check her bag before she could enter the building. She suddenly found herself glad that she had taken the tranquilizer gun out of her purse at home.

Purposefully averting her eyes from her former work station—which still looked disheveled from her struggle with Ronan two days previous—she hurried into the elevator, pressing the button for Jason's floor. Her stomach flipped nervously as she approached the door, which was open, and knocked on the frame to get his attention.

"Sarah! Good to see you. Feeling better?" Jason asked cheerfully.

She just stared at him wordlessly for a moment, wondering if he was actually insane and couldn't see bandages and bruises covering most of her visible skin.

"Um…I feel alright, yeah."

"I have a pretty busy day planned out," he continued, apparently unbothered by her unenthusiastic response. "So let's jump right into things: We have no more use for a front desk receptionist."

"What?" Sarah said blankly.

"As I'm sure you saw when you came in, we'll now have a small team of security guards monitoring who comes and goes, along with incoming and outgoing mail. And that was the majority of your job, honestly."

"I…am I fired then?" Sarah didn't know if the possibility felt like a positive or negative one.

"Fired? No, heavens no. You've proven yourself to be quite capable in your role as an assistant, though Ronan was fairly convinced that it would be a bad idea to give you any more responsibility than that. But as for me," Jason said, leaning forward slightly over his desk and clasping his hands together. "I think you're much smarter than you let on, Sarah."

Sarah licked her lips nervously at the possible implication behind his words. "So…if I'm not fired then w-what's happening?"

"I'd like to offer you a promotion. You'd be answering directly to me. And doing a lot of the same work you used to do. But now you'd be more of an…errand runner as well, you could say."

"An errand runner," Sarah repeated warily. If Jason picked up on the suspicion in her voice, he didn't acknowledge it.

"Longer hours, since I might occasionally need you to run errands after business hours. But you'd get a raise. Of course, half if it will still stay with company, as per the contracts you signed, but what can you do?"

"I…" Sarah hesitated. There was no way she could turn the job down, but something about it seemed incredibly off, not to mention vague.

"You…accept, of course. Why wouldn't you?" he asked, grinning widely. The more she looked at him the more she noticed that his unnaturally white teeth made his skin look almost yellowish by comparison.

"Um. Yeah. Yes. I accept. Thank you," she said distractedly, looking down to avoid staring at the unsettlingly cheerful look on his face.

Jason hopped off the desk and walked over to the corner of his office. She heard glass clinking and looked up to see him pouring what looked like highly expensive whiskey into two tumblers. Striding back over to her, he extended one of the glasses for her to take.

"Oh, um—n-no, no thanks, I don't think—"

He pressed the glass into her hand, beaming. "Nonsense. This is a celebration."

Reluctantly forcing a tight smile, Sarah took a drink from the glass. The whiskey was smooth, and under different circumstances she probably would have enjoyed it. However, given her company, she found herself more worried that it was laced with poison. But given how deeply Jason himself was drinking from his own glass, she figured it was probably safe.

"Like I said, I have a lot to do today, so mostly you'll just be transferring a lot of your files over from your old station to your new one, which is on this floor now. We can work out more of the details on Monday."

Sarah nodded silently, her stomach still fluttering nervously as she grasped the whiskey glass tightly. After taking a few sips to be polite, she was relieved when Jason put his own drink down and she could do the same.

"Congratulations, Sarah."

He held out his hand for her to shake. She took it hesitantly, surprised at how painfully tight his grip was. The pressure of his grasp must have been too much for the weak bandage holding the cuts on her palm closed, because when Jason withdrew his hand it was smeared with a small amount of blood.

He casually wiped his hand down his bright white tie tie, leaving a trail of blood against the pale fabric while still smiling.

"You're excused now. Have a nice day, Sarah."

Unnerved, she exited the office as quickly as she could.

Transferring both the digital and physical files from her old station to her new one proved to be exhausting, especially given her current state. By the time the work day was over, all she wanted to do was go home and sleep. As walked down the sidewalk away from Orion, she fished her phone out of her purse to call Matt. The line rang several times before he answered.

"Sarah?"

"Hi. Sorry, I know you're probably at work."

"What's going on?"

"Um, well, I figured that you'd probably be stopping by tonight. To talk about work. And I was wondering if maybe we could meet up earlier than usual tonight? Like, maybe sometime in the next couple of hours?"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I just, um…I'm kind of tired," she admitted, rubbing her eyes. "Really tired, actually. I was going to go to bed early tonight, and your usual visiting hours aren't exactly early in the evening, so…"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Sarah had to pull the phone away from her ear for a second to check the screen and see if the call dropped. It hadn't.

"Matt? Is—is that okay?"

"Yeah," he responded finally, sounding distracted. "That's fine. Listen…why don't we meet at my place?"

"At your place?" she repeated confusedly.

"Yeah. Do you remember where it is?"

"Um…yeah, I do. I guess that's…fine."

"Okay. I'm finishing up at the office now, so I'm about to head home. You can come by in about an hour."

"Okay," she agreed slowly, furrowing her brow at the sudden change in routine.

"I'll see you then," he said, and hung up.

Sarah stared down at the screen suspiciously, caught off guard by his odd behavior. On the other hand, she debated, when did she ever understand anything Matt did?

The subway ride to work had been nearly unbearable, and Sarah found herself willing to walk the extra few blocks to Matt's apartment to avoid having to sit through it again. She was used to the impersonal atmosphere of living in a large city; most of the time she found comfort in it. You could walk around New York in a chicken suit and no one would bat an eyelash. So she had been unprepared for the extent to which people didn't bother to hide their stares on the subway that morning. And during her walk to Matt's she was unpleasantly surprised to find that passersby didn't fare much better.

Because of this, she was relieved at the idea of spending time with someone who couldn't see what she looked like. It felt odd to knock on Matt's door in the middle of the day, without any sort of life-threatening injury waiting on the other side. He answered quickly, as though he had already heard her coming up the stairs. He was still wearing his work attire, although he had already ditched the tie and the jacket.

Sarah lingered uncertainly around the entrance to the living room, leaning against the separating wall as Matt headed towards the kitchen. She slowly slipped off the scarf and the button-up sweater she had been wearing. They were both unbearably hot, and it wasn't like Matt could see the bruises she was trying to hide anyway. She couldn't tell if he had the heat on high in his apartment, or if it was just her, but she still felt warm in the thin t-shirt she wore underneath.

"Do you want a beer?" Matt asked, already heading towards the kitchen.

"Yeah, actually," Sarah said. "A beer would be great."

Matt grabbed two bottles out of the fridge, handing one to Sarah before making his way over to the coffee table, where he started gathering the papers that were spread out there.

Sarah looked down at the beer he had given her. The corner of her mouth turned up slightly when she saw the label. It was Lauren's favorite brand of beer. They used to sneak that particular brand into their dorm room their freshman year of college, walking slowly past the resident assistant's room and hoping that the muffled clinking in their backpacks didn't give them away. And now here Sarah was, drinking the same brand with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. She shook her head ruefully at the interesting new direction her life had taken.

The cap was a twist-off, and she clumsily tried to twist it with her bandaged hands, unable to get a good grasp on it. After a few unsuccessful attempts to unscrew the cap, she finally managed to get it off, only to have the perforated edge of the cap get caught on the loose threads of the bandage on her hand, which had slowly started to come undone throughout the day.

"Why'd you want to meet here?" she asked Matt curiously as she tried to pull the cap away without further unraveling the gauze.

Matt hesitated before answering as he continued gathering up the papers and putting them into a folder. "Because I called Claire and asked her to come here as well. She'll be here soon."

Sarah tilted her head in confusion, glancing up at him and pausing her attempts to extricate the bottle cap. "What? Why?"

"I think I might spoken too soon the other night," Matt said carefully. "About the cut on your back not being infected. You're clearly in a lot of pain. And you have a fever; I can tell from over here. I could hear on the phone that you're tired. You said so yourself."

"That's just because I haven't been sleeping," she argued distractedly, shaking her hand as she went back to trying to dislodge the cap from the bandage.

"Well, maybe she can help you with that. Just let her take a look at you. Then we can talk about what's going on at your work."

"Is that why you sounded so sketchy on the phone?" Sarah asked in annoyance, flapping her hand more vigorously. "You were planning this—like—nurse trap—"

"What are you doing?" he interrupted her exasperatedly.

As soon as he asked, the cap finally came loose from the bandage, flying off and hitting the window with a loud clink. She jumped guiltily at the noise.

"Nothing," she mumbled before finally taking a sip from her beer. Growing tired of standing, she made her way over to the couch and took a seat.

Matt shook his head and went back to clearing the coffee table off. After a minute or so of silence, he spoke up again. "Can I ask why you bothered bandaging your hands up?"

Sarah frowned in confusion. "What do you mean? You bandaged them."

"I mean before that. You got into a cab with your face still bleeding and blood soaking through the back of your shirt. And you barely seemed to notice that your wrist was sprained. But you took the time to wrap bandages around your hands."

She looked down at her hands and frowned. In all honesty, she hadn't even realized that the only thing she had bothered tending to were her hands, but once he said it she realized it was true, and she already knew why.

"Oh. I, um…I don't know if it'll make a lot of sense, actually," she admitted.

He waited as she traced the edge of one of the bandages, debating whether to share that particular piece of information with him.

"I played the piano," she said finally. At Matt's uncomprehending look, she elaborated. "Before I started working at Orion. I was a pianist. Accompaniment, mostly. And, um…injuring your hands can be kind of a deal breaker. Cut a tendon too deep, or break your finger the wrong way and you're—you're done. And I'd like to go back to playing someday, if my life ever gets back to normal. So I guess it was just kind of…an old habit. It's silly," she muttered.

"A piano player," Matt said slowly as he processed the new information. "You've never brought that up before. What you did before Orion."

"Well, you had a habit of, um…breaking people's fingers when we first met," she reminded him tentatively.

The implication behind her words hung in the air between them, and Sarah tried to read his expression, but with no luck; he paused for only a second at her words before turning to bring his stack of folders over to the kitchen counter.

From across the room, Sarah studied his face, where the ghost of a cut still lingered above his dark glasses. If she looked closely at his shoulder, she could just barely see the outline of a thick bandage through his white shirt. She felt a small pang of guilt; in all of her worrying about her own wounds, she'd forgotten that he was still badly injured, as well.

"How's your shoulder?" she asked him, and he looked mildly surprised, like he, too, had forgotten about his injuries.

"It's fine," he replied, running his fingers over the area. "Some of the stitches you did came undone during the fight at Orion, but enough of them held out that it's still mostly closed."

"Mostly closed? Sounds like bad handiwork to me," she said only half-jokingly, recalling how unsteady her stitching had been. "Don't you get blood on your work clothes?"

"Sometimes. You should talk."

Sarah cocked her head at the comment. Her back definitely wasn't bleeding right now, so Foggy must have told him about her bleeding yesterday.

"Foggy ratted me out?"

"Foggy?" Matt said innocently, and Sarah narrowed her eyes at him disbelievingly.

"Yeah. Foggy," she said pointedly. "He stopped by my place yesterday. Something about 'catching up on life', I think."

Matt raised his eyebrows interestedly and took a sip of his beer, but didn't say anything. Sarah rolled her eyes at his stubborn refusal to acknowledge that he'd obviously sent Foggy to check on her. She studied his face carefully for a few seconds before continuing.

"He brought me an ice pack. I thought that was interesting, how he somehow knew that I needed one," she said, glancing down at her finger idly tracing the rim of her beer bottle as she spoke.

"Well, Foggy's a smart guy," Matt said lightly, shrugging a shoulder. "He went to Columbia, you know."

Sarah's mouth quirked up and she shook her head, unconvinced.

"Well, I thought it was very kind," she said softly. "Of Foggy."

Matt acknowledged her thanks with a small, crooked smile before circling around to the front of the arm chair and sitting down heavily. He looked tired, she observed.

"He did rat you out, though," Matt pointed out.

"I specifically told him not to tell you."

"Yeah, he told me that, too," he said. "I'd be able to tell anyway, you know. Your heart rate and body temperature are off, your muscles are tense. You're moving differently. There's no way you can pass as being totally fine."

Sarah wrinkled her nose at his laundry list of things that were off about her. "Did you ever think about becoming a doctor instead of a lawyer, with all of the creepy stuff you can tell about people's bodies?"

"I don't think a blind doctor would have a lot of eager patients," Matt replied wryly, before tilting his head back thoughtfully. "Then again, I don't seem to have many eager clients as a blind lawyer, either."

"That might have less to do with you being blind and more to do with you being, like…you know," she said vaguely, but he just tilted his head and waited while she tried to figure out how to word what she was saying. "Well, I mean—you know, you're a little…intense."

Matt raised his eyebrows at her. "You realize I don't generally wear my Daredevil suit to court."

"I don't think it's just the suit that scares people," she pointed out hesitantly.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, just…whatever it is that makes you put on that mask doesn't just go away when you take it off. I mean, the costume definitely isn't, like, jolly or anything, but…I've seen you be pretty scary without it, too. It's not the mask that's intimidating," she finished falteringly.

Matt exhaled sharply in what almost resembled a bitter laugh before taking a deep drink from his beer.

"I guess if anyone would know, it'd be you," he said quietly.

"I guess so. Me and a bunch of comatose Russians."

He looked like he was about to respond, but suddenly turned his attention towards the front door. He stood and headed towards the door a few seconds before a knock came; Sarah assumed he must have heard Claire coming up the stairs, as well. He disappeared around the wall dividing the living room from the entrance way, and Sarah heard him quietly conversing with the woman at the door for a minute. She finished the last of her beer and then, as a last minute thought, threw her gauzy scarf back on, to at least cover the bruises on her neck. The rest would just have to stay visible, because it was too hot to put the sweater back on.

She had just finished carefully arranging the scarf as Matt came back into the living room, followed by a pretty, dark-skinned woman in a hooded jacket who Sarah assumed must be Claire.

Sarah pushed her hair behind her hair and gave the woman a short, awkward wave. She responded with a weary smile as she slipped her shoulder bag off and sat on the couch next to Sarah.

"You must be Sarah," she said. "I'm Claire."

"Nice to meet you," Sarah responded, relieved that the nurse—who probably saw much worse than this every day—showed no visible reaction to Sarah's battered appearance, beyond a quick, clinical-looking scan from the head down.

"Matt tells me that you have a couple of pretty nasty cuts that he wanted me to take a look at."

"Yeah," Sarah admitted. "There's one on my back that's been bothering me."

"Alright." Claire snapped on some latex gloves as she spoke. "Let's take a look, then."

Sarah repositioned herself so that she was facing away from the other woman and lifted up the back of her shirt. Claire gently peeled away the bandage there. She hummed in disapproval at whatever she saw.

"No, that's not pretty."

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. It doesn't feel great either."

"Can I ask why you can't go to the hospital for this?" Claire asked tiredly. "Please tell me you aren't a masked vigilante, too."

Sarah brightened, glancing back at Claire over her shoulder. "You think I look like I could fight crime? That's so nice of you. Um, but no, I'm not a vigilante. I—I just got hurt doing something that wasn't…quite on the up and up?"

"Not quite on the up and up," Claire repeated slowly, throwing an exasperated but slightly amused glance at Matt, who was leaning against the counter that divided the living room from the kitchen. "Isn't that kind of your catchphrase, Matt?"

"I think stronger wording is probably called for at this point," Matt replied wryly.

"I bet." Claire turned back to Sarah and shone a small flashlight over the cut on her back. "So…if you're not doing the crime fighting, how did you get mixed up in all of this?"

Sarah glanced at Matt out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his reaction to the question. Surprisingly, he just pressed his lips together and then took a long drink from his beer, giving no indication of whether she was supposed to answer the question truthfully.

"Um…I just…kind of…stumbled into it," she stammered finally. Not technically a lie, since it was her quite literally stumbling upon the fight at Orion that led to her accidentally discovering Daredevil and effectively catapulting herself into her current situation.

"Very vague," Claire noted lightly. "Between the two of you, I can't imagine how you ever have any conversations. Well, tell me, were dumpsters involved?"

"Um, yeah, actually, sometimes," Sarah said, thinking of Matt's tendency towards threatening her in trash-filled alleyways. She looked over at Matt again in confusion. He visibly winced at the question, shaking his head, although she wasn't sure why.

"Oh?" Claire sounded surprised and amused, which made Sarah think that perhaps her experience with Matt and dumpsters was a good bit different than her own.

"It wasn't—it's a different—" Matt said, pinching the bridge of his nose, then muttered quietly, "Why did I do this?"

Claire smirked at his obvious discomfort. "I don't know. First you fill up my nights off with your own injuries, and now you're bringing me other mysteriously injured people, too. You can turn around now, Sarah."

Sarah let her shirt fall back down and maneuvered her aching back until she was leaning against the arm of the couch, facing Claire. Matt remained leaning against the counter a little ways away from the couch.

"Well, it is infected," Claire said, peeling her latex gloves off. "But it really shouldn't be. Not with a wound that shallow. And it's bleeding more than it should. Have you always been a slow healer?"

"No, not really," Sarah said, frowning as she tried to remember previous injuries. "About average, I think."

"How's your diet?."

"It…could be better," Sarah admitted.

"Do you get a good amount of sleep?"

"Not—not really. Just a few hours, lately."

"Mmm. This may be a silly question, but I suppose you have a lot of stress in your life right now?"

Sarah laughed shortly, raising her eyebrows.

"I'll take that as a yes. Have you been drinking at all since you got hurt?" Claire asked. Sarah winced guiltily at the question.

"Um…not really. A little. I had some wine yesterday. Also a little bit of whiskey earlier today," she admitted, averting her eyes from Claire's look of exasperation. "And then a beer just now."

Claire raised her eyebrows and then glanced over at Matt. "You really do offer a drink to every girl that comes through here."

"Just the beer," Matt said. "I don't know anything about the rest."

"I'm surprised Foggy didn't tattle on me for drinking wine yesterday," Sarah muttered resentfully.

"You and Foggy were drinking wine together?" Matt asked confusedly.

"I was drinking wine. Foggy was judging me."

"We're getting off topic here," Claire interrupted calmly, before fixing Sarah with a disapproving look. "You realize these are all things that slow down your healing process, right? Make you more likely to get infections? Drinking, stress, not eating right, not sleeping right."

You just described my entire life, Sarah thought gloomily.

"I know," she said reluctantly. "I'm working on it."

Claire sighed. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

"No," Sarah lied automatically, wanting to move on from the topic. "I feel fine, mostly."

Claire gave her the sort of thoroughly unconvinced look that nurses were so good at. Not breaking from her gaze, she called out, "Matt. Is she in a lot of pain?"

"Yep."

Sarah threw him a dirty look, but either he didn't pick up on it—doubtful—or he was studiously pretending not to notice. Looking back to Claire, she sighed in defeat.

"It's just my back that's hurting me, mostly," she admitted. "And—and also, the rest of my body."

"I figured as much," Claire responded, giving her a mildly reproving look. "I always get a few patients like you come through the ER."

"Patients like me?"

"The ones who pretend like nothing is wrong with them so that no one causes a fuss over them. Usually it's stubborn old men, but occasionally I get a young person who does it, too."

Sarah gave her a guilty look but didn't argue.

"On the other hand," Claire continued, turning to aim a significant look at Matt, "you have those who will freely admit that they're badly injured, but can't quite seem to stop themselves from going out and making it worse anyway."

Matt laughed at that, and Sarah briefly noted how much younger he looked when he was genuinely smiling.

"Yeah, well, speaking of which," he said, setting his empty beer bottle down on the counter and heading towards the large metal doors where Foggy had procured the first aid kit the first night Sarah had come here, "I'm going to go get changed. Sun's going down soon."

Matt disappeared into his bedroom with an armful of black costume and combat boots, while Claire dug through her bag until she brought out two small bottles. She handed one to Sarah.

"This is for the infection. It should clear up your fever by tomorrow, and the pain should lessen, too. It won't go away completely, though. Your back is basically one giant bruise right now. But the cut itself will be less tender once the infection dies down."

"Thanks," Sarah said, taking the bottle from Claire, who then held out a second, smaller bottle.

"This should help you with rest of the pain. At least for the next few days."

Sarah recognized the familiar name on the bottle of painkillers immediately. "Oh, um…no, thanks. I don't—I don't think that'd be a good idea."

Claire raised her eyebrows and looked like she was about to question her, so Sarah continued hurriedly.

"Do most nurses get to carry their own prescriptions around with them?"

"No. But when you spend your nights off fixing up vigilantes and their secretive, injured friends, you need to have a few supplies on hand."

"Oh, I—I think friends is probably wording it a bit strongly," Sarah said, but as the words came out of her mouth she felt a brief glimmer of guilt. After all, Matt had gone out of his way to arrange for his nurse friend to come over on her night off, specifically to take a look at her. "I mean, we're not not friends—but we're also just not…friends." Sarah shook her head at how unintelligible her explanation was. "It's—it's complicated."

"That I can understand. You don't need to explain to me that things with Matt can be complicated. All that matters is that he's helping you with…whatever all this is. Right?" Claire asked concernedly, waving her hand over the bruises that punctuated Sarah's skin.

She nodded tightly. "Yeah. He's just about the only person helping me, actually."

The other woman nodded, still looking mildly worried. "Alright. Just…whatever you're doing…whatever both of you are doing: be careful. I don't want to see either of you ending up in my emergency room. Or the morgue."

The door to Matt's room opened before Sarah could respond, and he came out wearing his Daredevil outfit, sans the mask. It was odd to see him go from Day Matt to Night Matt so quickly.

"Everything good?"

"Yeah. Should be fixed soon enough with some antibiotics," Claire said as she finished packing her things back into her shoulder bag and stood.

"You, on the other hand," Claire said to Matt, "You probably shouldn't be going out. From what I gather, you had a busy night last night."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You forget that I get to see all of your leftovers when you're done with them? Cops were bringing them through all night long. Even more so than usual. They all had outstanding warrants for some pretty ugly crimes. Assault, rape, battery…I'm guessing you probably already know that."

He nodded with his lips pressed together.

Claire reached up and gently tilted Matt's face towards hers. "That how you get the busted lip? Bad guys don't usually get lucky enough to get you in the face like that."

Sarah pursed her lips and looked down, feeling her face heat up. Matt clearly picked up on her uncomfortable reaction, and the ghost of a smirk crossed his face. "Yeah, I, uh…wasn't expecting it, I guess."

Claire's phone chirped, and she glanced at the screen. Sighing, she swung her bag over her shoulder.

"Looks like it's not my night off, after all. Someone called in sick; I have to cover their shift. You didn't need me to look at any of your own…battle wounds tonight, did you?"

Matt shook his head. "No. Thanks for coming, Claire."

Claire nodded tiredly at him, but there was a small smile on her face. Turning to Sarah, she waved. "Take those antibiotics. No more drinking until you're better. Also, get some sleep. And some food."

Sarah laughed a little at the long list of instructions. "I will."

Claire and Matt disappeared around the corner into the hallway again, and Sarah could hear them conversing lowly before the front door closed and Matt came back into the room.

"Why didn't you let her look at the rest of your injuries?" he asked.

"I knew you were listening in on us."

"You were speaking loudly."

"We were talking at a quiet conversational level, if anything," she argued.

"Seemed loud to me," Matt said with a shrug. He nodded to her hands with raised eyebrows. "You didn't want her to check your hands? Or your wrist?"

"No. They're fine," she said tiredly.

He tilted his head, observing her for a minute. "You know, just because you tell a lie all day long doesn't make it not a lie."

Sarah sighed deeply, wanting nothing more than to change the subject.

"I know that, Matt. It's just embarrassing to talk about," she said quietly. "It's embarrassing even when I'm not talking about it. You can't see how I look. It's not like when you go out and get hurt saving some kid or kicking in criminals' heads. Every person who's seen me today has taken one look at me and been able to tell I got the shit beaten out of me. And—and I appreciate you bringing Claire in to help with the infection, I really do, but…beyond that I kind of just want to not think about it anymore."

Matt looked disapproving, but didn't argue. Sarah felt a little bad for rejecting basically every attempt he had made at trying to help her tonight, so she spoke again, quieter this time.

"Thank you for calling Claire for me. I know that you're not crazy about the idea of me being around your friends."

Matt hesitated before shaking his head. "It's…not a problem."

His response wasn't what she had expected—she wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Some threatening comment about her not putting Claire in danger, she was sure.

"You must have to call her a lot," Sarah guessed. "With your habit of fighting while horribly injured."

An odd, sad look flashed across Matt's face briefly. "Ah…not really. Not as much as—as when I first started. I try not to call her unless it's important."

It was obvious that there was more to the story than that, but Sarah didn't want to push. Glancing out at the ridiculous billboard outside Matt's window, she stifled a yawn for the umpteenth time that night. It didn't escape Matt's notice.

"You said you haven't been sleeping?"

"Hmm? Oh. Well, I go to sleep, but then I wake up and my mind is going and I just can't fall back asleep," Sarah explained.

"Do you ever meditate?"

"Meditate? Like…?" Sarah held her hands up in what she thought might be the 'ohm' position questioningly.

Matt frowned and tilted his head. "You're doing something with your hands."

"I—nevermind," she said, shaking her head and letting her hands fall back down. "No, I don't meditate. I don't even know how to meditate."

"It's not hard, if you practice."

"Do you meditate?" she asked doubtfully. When she thought of meditation, she mostly thought of girls in yoga pants, so the idea of Matt meditating threw her off. She didn't think he'd find that particular mental association entertaining, so she kept it to herself.

"Yeah. I have since I was a kid. It speeds up the healing process, which you could use. And it helps calm you down, which you could definitely use."

Sarah laughed lowly at that. "Fair enough. Maybe I'll try it. Let's just talk about work so I can go home and at least try to sleep."

Matt nodded, then grabbed his mask from where he had thrown it on the table earlier.

"Let's go, then."

"What?"

"I'll walk you home. You can update me on the way."

"You don't have to walk me home," Sarah said, slightly embarrassed by the idea of needing an escort just to go a few city blocks.

"It's already dark out. I have to go out anyway."

"You let Claire walk home by herself," Sarah pointed out.

"Claire was walking half a block to the bus stop, and she doesn't have anyone potentially stalking her."

She looked at him, then sighed. "If I say no, are you just going to creepily follow me home up in the shadows somewhere anyway?"

He just cocked his head and her and raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes, but put up no further argument. If she was honest, the idea of having Matt walk her home did make her feel safer, and she couldn't figure out when that had happened. When did the idea of being around the vigilante start sounding safer than being alone? The realization threw her, and she didn't know what to think of it.

"Okay. Alright. Are we just going to walk down the street with you in your costume? Because I think we might stick out a little, and I'm getting enough unwanted attention as it is, looking like a walking domestic violence poster."

"I know a shortcut," he said. "It'll keep us out of sight."

"Is it rooftops?" she asked him suspiciously. "Because I'm not doing rooftops."

Matt chuckled. "It's not rooftops."

"Is it through sketchy alleyways?"

He paused. "It might be."

Sarah fixed him with a doubtful look and crossed her arms. "You know, alleyways…historically, not a good place for us."

"I'll be on my best behavior," he promised as he slipped his mask on over the top half of his face. He reached behind him and grabbed her sweater from where she had draped it over the back of the chair, holding it out to her expectantly.

Sarah inhaled deeply, taking a second to acknowledge how ridiculous this whole situation would have seemed to her just a few weeks ago. After a moment, she took the sweater from him and slipped it on.

"Alright. Lead the way."