So, this chapter took a month. I'm sorry. On the bright side (unless you hate reading) it's extra extra extra long—basically two chapters in one—to celebrate the fact that May 18th will mark one year since I published this story! I just want you guys to know how much you and this fic mean to me. Writing about Matt and Sarah and hearing your feedback has done so much to remind me of what I love about writing and fandoms. When I'm having a bad day, I often go back and re-read reviews or PM conversations and it always cheers me up. Some of you just tuned in and some of you have been reviewing since chapter one, and I'm so grateful no matter what. Y'all make my nerd heart sing.
Alright, enough sentimentality; on with the pain. This chapter is sort of rock bottom for Sarah, but the nice thing about rock bottom is that there's nowhere to go but up, which is what we'll start to get in the next few chapters.
Chapter Twenty Two: Recognition
Sarah's head felt impossibly heavy, and her mind couldn't stop bouncing around, unable to complete one thought before it shifted to a different one. She was hit by a wave of nausea and rested her head against the wall behind her, closing her eyes for a few moments to try to collect herself.
When she opened her eyes again, she blinked at the darkness outside the window. It had been light out just a few minutes ago. How long had she been sitting there? Her eyes flicked to the bloody man still slumped in the office chair. She waited for the familiar feeling of panic to well up in her chest, but strangely it didn't come. Instead, she just struggled to figure out what to do.
Her first thought was to call Matt.
No, she reminded herself, resisting the urge to look up at the security cameras she knew were above her. If Jason looked back through them and saw her calling someone, he would undoubtedly want to know who it was. She would have to do this alone.
Sarah struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall behind her for support as the room tilted. Even that simple movement made her head feel like it was splitting open.
She approached McDermott hesitantly, holding her breath as she patted down the front of his blood-soaked suit jacket until she felt the outline of his cell phone. She reached a shaking hand into the inner pocket of the jacket to retrieve it and was surprised to feel not one, but two phones. A smart phone and what felt like a flip phone—probably a burner. Sarah hesitated for a split second, still very aware of the cameras above her, before pulling out the smart phone and leaving the burner phone out of sight.
The smart phone's battery wasn't the removable kind, and she wasn't sure if just turning the phone off would be enough to stop its location from being tracked. Placing the phone on the desk, she grabbed the hammer and brought it down onto the screen. The fiberglass shattered immediately upon contact, and she hit the phone a few more times until she was sure the battery was destroyed.
The phone out of the way, she turned back to McDermott. Her eyes drifted down to the bottom of the chair and she sent up a silent thank you that the office chair he was on had wheels. Stumbling a bit, she began to slowly and clumsily steer the chair out of the room. There was nothing she could do about the cameras as she guided the heavy man towards the elevator, but surely this wasn't the most illegal thing they had witnessed in this building. Jason was the only one who viewed them anyway.
Several times she had to stop and push McDermott's body upright as he began to slump out of the chair. The process was slow, and she was exhausted by the time she exited the elevator on the very bottom level, which consisted of an underground parking garage for employees. It was mostly empty by this point, save for a few company cars. One of the security guards—a thin, greasy looking man she thought might have been there the night of Ronan's failed kidnapping trap—was lounging in his booth, watching a basketball game on his laptop. Sarah steadied the chair against the wall just out of sight before approaching the booth.
"Hey," she called through the glass, but the guard didn't move. With a frustrated groan, she smacked her hand against the window as hard as she could. "Hey!"
Finally he looked away from his laptop, blinking as he took in the blood that covered the front of her dress. With a sight he leaned over and slid open the window.
"I'm not a cop, lady," he said in a bored tone. "If you need help call 911."
She narrowed her eyes at him as he started to close the window.
"It's not my blood," she snapped. "I need the keys to one of the company cars."
"What?" he scoffed. "And who the hell are you?"
Sarah licked her lips, debating how to make this conversation as short as possible.
"I—I work for Jason," she said finally, instead of giving her name.
"Jason?" he repeated, looking significantly more serious now.
"Yeah...white tie, big smile."
"I know who Jason is," he bristled, before squinting at her doubtfully. "You work for him?"
"Yes. Call him to check if you want," she said tiredly. "He'll love to be bothered after hours."
It couldn't be more clear from his expression that bothering Jason was the last thing the security guard wanted.
"Christ," he muttered, reaching for a set of keys and tossing them to her. "Fine."
She hesitated as she saw the windbreaker draped over the back of his chair.
"I need that, too," she said, nodding to the jacket.
"What? It's mine."
"I'll bring it back to you," she said impatiently as another wave of pain went through her head. With a roll of his eyes the guard grabbed the jacket and held it out through the window for her.
Getting the police officer into the trunk of the company car was a struggle, but his upright position in the chair meant he was already almost level with the trunk, which helped. His limbs flopped lifelessly as she maneuvered him into the small space, almost feeling like she would pass out from the effort. But she couldn't. Not yet.
Once he was inside, she dipped her hand into his jacket and pocketed his burner phone, using the lid of the trunk as cover from any cameras. Impulsively, she grabbed his badge and shoved it into the pocket of the windbreaker as well, not wanting to leave any more identification on him than necessary. Then she slammed the trunk shut, the loud sound making her head ring.
The warehouse Jason wanted her to go to was by the Hudson; she remembered that much as she pulled out of the parking garage. But which way was that? She had lived in this area her whole life, and she couldn't recall which way to turn to get to the waterfront. She turned the wheel to the left, then changed her mind, clumsily turning to the right instead. A car zoomed by her, swerving slightly to avoid clipping her front bumper. The driver honked angrily as he continued on his way.
"Shit. I can't do this." she whispered to herself. "I ca—I can't do this."
Her hand was sweaty on the gearshift as she coaxed the car to the other side of the intersection. A few seconds later, blue and red lights lit up her rearview mirror and her blood froze. No. She could not get pulled over with the body of a murdered police officer in her trunk. What if they asked to search the car? She didn't have to let them. Right? Didn't they need a warrant for cars? But this wasn't her car, it was a company car. Did that change the rules? She couldn't recall.
She slowed down and started to pull over to the side of the road, her heart pounding.
The cop veered around her and sped out of sight, towards something more important than a careless driver.
Again, Sarah sent up a silent thank you, though she wasn't sure to whom. Surely no kind of god was on her side in this situation.
Half and hour and several wrong turns later, she stood in the gravel parking lot of the warehouse, the man who she had met last time standing in front of her. She'd been relieved when he'd been the one to answer her buzzing at the gate and not his teenage son.
"What's this about?" he asked, watching her warily.
For some reason, she couldn't stop thinking that she didn't know who he was, didn't know who is family was. Who she was dumping this responsibility on.
"S'your name?" she slurred, before taking a breath and trying again. "What's...what's you're name?
He gave her a strange look before answering reluctantly. "Rob."
Knowing his name didn't make her feel better. Just guiltier. She popped the trunk open before she could think about it anymore.
"Holy shit," Rob said when he saw the bloody body. He quickly backtracked away from the trunk. "Jesus."
Sarah watched him as he recovered from the shock, which quickly seemed to turn to anger.
"No. You guys promised me."
"What?"
"After the last one, I was promised that you guys wouldn't be sending me any more of…these," he said, pointing to the trunk. "I told them that I'll store your weapons and your drugs and whatever the hell else, but people?"
In the back of her mind Sarah wondered who the last one had been, but she couldn't focus enough to really think about it.
"I'm…I'm sorry. I don't…I'm not in charge of these things," she said weakly. It sounded pathetic even to her. If the disgusted look Rob gave her was any indication, he agreed.
Muttering a few more choice curses under his breath, he approached the trunk again, looking down at the body inside.
"Who is he?" he asked after a long silence.
Sarah looked down at the man in the trunk. "He's…he's not anyone anymore."
There was another long pause as the two of them stared at the body.
"I'll…I'll go get a tarp," he said in a resigned tone. She couldn't help but wonder what Orion must be threatening him with that he was willing to do something he so clearly disagreed with. Something just as bad as they threatened her with, she was sure.
Suddenly she remembered the hammer sitting in a trash bag under the front seat of the car.
"D-do you have cameras around here?" she asked Rob as he started to walk away.
"No. Never needed 'em. This was an upstanding business at one point, you know."
Sarah ducked back into the car and grabbed the bag with the hammer. She walked around the building until she came to the back side, where it led out to a shadowy shipping dock. The wood creaked as she went as far out on the dock as she dared, not entirely trusting her balance.
She quickly wiped the handle of the hammer with her dress before throwing it into the water. The heavy weight sank immediately. She reached into her pocket and withdrew McDermott's badge, weighing it in her hand for a second as something in her chest tightened. Then she flung it out as far as she could, watching it spin through the air and wondering how many other dark and guilty things it was joining at the bottom of the river.
The first thing Sarah did when she got home—after stuffing her bloody clothing into a trash bag and hiding it in the closet to be dealt with later—was to take a shower, as hot as she could stand it until her skin no longer felt like it was covered in a dead man's blood. Afterwards, in the living room, she was hit with a dizzy spell and leaned against the wall for support. Her shoulder knocked hard into a small shelf on her wall that was covered with decorative trinkets, including several colorful bottles of perfume that she never wore but had thought were pretty enough to display anyway.
Sarah cursed as the shelf tilted and the small trinkets and perfume bottles shattered across the floor, immediately flooding the air with several thick, competing scents: light florals mixed with heavy musks, all sweet and strong and overbearing. The smell tugged at the nausea that still sat low in her stomach, and she stumbled over to open the window before returning to clean up the broken glass.
She had just gotten done soaking up the perfume with a towel when a familiar sound on her fire escape made to lift her head up. Her heart skipped nervously as she tried to figure out how she was going to tell him about what had happened. Matt, hit by an overwhelming wave of perfume, didn't seem to notice.
"What is that?"
The cloying mixture of fragrances was giving her a headache—or, rather, making the one she currently had even worse—so she couldn't imagine how bad it must be for Matt's insane senses.
"Broke some perfume bottles," she mumbled, looking down at the shards covering the floor. It suddenly seemed like so much to clean up, and she debated whether it was even worth it. Considering how much danger lingered in every corner of her life, how much did it really matter if there was broken glass on the floor?
"Hey. Are you okay?"
Sarah realized abruptly that Matt had been talking to her and she hadn't been responding. She forced herself to focus.
"Sorry, I—yeah. I'm just tired. Stressed," she mumbled. Matt looked unconvinced, so she abruptly continued. "Um, I—I think I found out who the new big boss is that's running Orion."
Matt blinked in surprise. He leaned back against the low windowsill, tilting his head intently.
"Seriously? That's great. Who is he?"
"She," Sarah corrected him. She thought about standing, but even shifting slightly made her feel dizzy—maybe from inhaling so much perfume—so instead she just gingerly leaned back against the chair behind her. "It's a woman named Vanessa."
The moment the name left her lips, Matt's relaxed demeanor changed completely.
"Vanessa?" he repeated sharply. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah…why?"
Matt swore softly under his breath. "What was her last name?"
"I—I don't think she told me," Sarah said uncertainly, straining her hazy memory. Had she? No. Definitely not. "Just Vanessa."
"What was she like? Describe her," he ordered, sounding not unlike he had when they first met.
Even in her fuzzy mental state Sarah couldn't help but notice that the restless drumming of his fingers, tapping against the wooden windowsill where his hands rested on either side of his legs. Who could this woman possibly be that Matt was so agitated just hearing about her? She concentrated as much as she could on remembering what she could from the lunch.
"Well, she was…pretty and she had dark hair," Sarah began, before realizing belatedly that he probably hadn't meant a physical description. "Um…she had an accent. Like, Israeli, maybe? It was hard to…hard to tell."
It was a poor description, but it was all she could think of. There had to be something else significant about her, but she just couldn't recall.
Matt had pushed himself off the windowsill as she talked and was now pacing around the room. Sarah watched him for a few seconds before his edgy movements began to make her dizzy, and she looked back down at the broken glass.
"I'm guessing she's not a friend of yours," she surmised.
"It's not her specifically that's the problem. I've only met her once, as Vanessa Marianna. Although by this point I'm sure she's Vanessa Fisk," he bit the last name out as though it tasted bad in his mouth.
"Fisk?" Now Sarah was the one to sound dumbfounded. She had figured that the woman had some connection to Fisk if she was in charge of his assets, but she had assumed it was just a business relationship. There had been company gossip for a while about Fisk having a girlfriend, but everyone had been so afraid to talk about him that nothing solid ever came up.
"She didn't mention him?" Matt asked, only seeming to be halfway paying attention to her. The rest of his focus was somewhere deep in his own thoughts. "Anything about trying to get him out of prison? Or him giving orders from inside?"
"No. She just…talked about getting the company back in order. Jason wants her to give it to him."
"Anything else?"
Sarah bit her lip. She knew she should tell him—she should have told him as soon as it happened. But she couldn't help but wonder how he would react. Would he be as disgusted as the warehouse owner and his son? Would he start seeing her as just another Orion lackey again? Matt didn't kill people, and he generally held others to the same standard. Where did hiding a murdered body fall on his moral scale? Above or below torture? What about the fact that he was only dead in the first place because of information she had willingly given to Jason?
"No," she lied after a beat. "That's everything."
Maybe it was the disconnect between her head and her body, or maybe Matt just wasn't listening closely enough. Either way, her lie appeared to go undetected.
"Alright. I need to go," he said. "There's a few of Fisk's associates still floating around out there. I think I can track a few down."
Sarah nodded. As Matt slipped through her window and back onto the fire escape, she couldn't figure out if she was relieved or disappointed that he hadn't picked up on her lie. Part of her was tempted to call him back in and tell him everything, to grab onto that sense of peace she was sometimes able to find with him and use it to block out the clutter in her head. But she just couldn't bring herself to do it.
"Sarah," he said from across the room, and she looked up to see him leaning back in.
"Yeah?"
"Make sure you lock this," he said, tapping the window.
Sarah smiled weakly at the well-worn reminder, and then he was gone.
She called out of work the next morning.
When she woke up, her head pounded even louder than before, and her dizziness and nausea hadn't passed. After ten minutes of staring blankly at her cell phone's screen and trying to recall her passcode to unlock it—how could she have possibly forgotten something she used dozens of times every single day?—she dialed his number.
He was chipper on the phone—apparently murder put him in a good mood—and as she had suspected, he had already watched the tapes. As such, he was well aware of the blow she had taken to the head. After cheerfully informing her of what a spectacular job he thought she'd done, he'd told her to take the day to recover before she had even brought it up. The entire conversation was strangely upbeat on his part, and she almost felt like it was a trap. Either way, she accepted the offer and took the day off.
She checked the time and saw she had roughly eight hours until the baby shower that night. It had originally been scheduled for a weekend morning at Sarah's place, but due to the constant rescheduling and the questionable safety of the location, they were now having it that evening at Lauren's own apartment. Meaning Sarah had only a few hours until she had to get to Lauren's to set up, and she wanted nothing more than to spend that time sleeping.
The eight hours passed quickly, and the next thing she knew Sarah was standing in Lauren's kitchen by herself, realizing with a sinking sensation that at some point in the last year she had lost the ability to interact with normal people.
Just over forty people ended up coming, some of whom Sarah was familiar with and others whose faces she could vaguely place but not match with a name. With each person who walked though the door, Lauren's apartment became louder and hotter and somehow brighter. She couldn't track conversations beyond a few minutes, and after so long of not having seen anyone she had to answer endless repetitions of the same questions that somehow felt oddly intrusive now.
"Where have you been lately?" Very busy with a new job.
"What happened to your face?" I hit it on a taxi door while getting out.
"Are you dating anyone?" I'm really focused on my career right now.
So here she was, half an hour into the party, hiding in the kitchen as she steeled herself to go back into the room full of too-loud noises and too-fast talking.
"Why isn't your mother here, Lauren?" she heard someone ask, their voice muffled by the kitchen door as they passed by.
"Ugh, she missed her flight back from vacation in St. Barts, so she couldn't make it," she heard Lauren's voice reply. "Thank Jesus, right? She already gave me a whole lecture about how it's bad luck to have a baby shower in your own home, and how it's weird to have one at night, and it's inappropriate to have a coed invite list, blah blah..."
Their voices faded as they moved down the hallway.
Sarah reached into her purse to check her phone, but she instead felt her fingers curl around a small plastic bottle. She pulled it out and recognized it as the prescription Claire had given her. The nurse had been vague about what they did, but Sarah remembered her promising that it would calm her down and help with nightmares.
Sarah squinted at the directions on the bottle, but the small print swam in front of her eyes. Oddly, whatever part of her brain that would normally care about these things didn't seem to be speaking up. She popped two of the small white pills into her mouth and washed them down with water before wandering back out into the crowd.
The effects of the pills worked quickly to help to dull the edge of the party—as did the strong mimosas, of which she was on her second. Or was it third? Nursing the drink, she found a comfortable spot in the living room, distantly listening to the people around her discuss a television show she hadn't been keeping up with. She zoned out, thinking of nothing in particular.
"—and you still live in Hell's Kitchen too, right Sarah?"
Sarah blinked and broke out of her daze when she realized one of the guests—Brendan, maybe?—was addressing her. "What? Uh, yeah. Yeah, I do."
"So, have you seen him?" he asked, leaning forward interestedly.
She hadn't been listening when the topic of conversation had shifted.
"…sorry, who?"
"The Devil."
Her shoulders tensed, and she had to remind herself that this was a friend of Lauren's asking, and not a suspicious Orion lackey. She looked around to see that the other six or seven people sitting around the coffee table were now looking at her with interest, waiting for her answer.
"No…I haven't. Just on the news," she lied weakly.
"Oh," he said, sitting back and looking mildly disappointed. "I figured you had probably seen him around doing backflips off rooftops or whatever."
"They were talking about him on Trish Talk the other day," one of Lauren's old sorority sisters said. "About whether he's one of the good guys or the bad guys. Personally, I don't care. All I know is he is pretty."
"How do you even know?" Brendon argued. "You can't see half of his face."
"Who cares about his face? Have you seen the rest of him?" the sorority sister asked, then after a long sip of her drink she informed them, "One of the local news sites got a perfect angle on his ass one time. I took a screenshot and had it as my phone background for a while."
Sarah very nearly choked on her drink. She really hadn't expected the conversation to take this kind of turn.
"Do you think the people he ties up for the police ever get, like, really into it?" Brendan asked mischievously. "Because I'd be like, turn me in, just let me touch your abs first."
Maybe it was the mimosas, but Sarah couldn't help but laugh at how surreal this conversation felt.
"Well, pretty or not, I think he should be in prison," someone chimed in coolly, putting a damper on the laughter that had followed the previous comment.
Sarah glanced over to see that it was one of Lauren's cousins, a woman who was very possibly named Cecilia, if her flickering memory was correct.
"Really?" she asked before she could stop herself. Do not start talking about this, Sarah.
"Absolutely. The law is the law. And the police should be enforcing it, not some lunatic in a mask."
"He's…not a lunatic," Sarah said quietly.
"How do you know?" Cecilia asked. "People make him out to be this big hero, but it seems to me that he's just a thug who wants to hit people he doesn't like and then be applauded for it. He's not contributing anything useful, he's just creating chaos."
"That seems harsh," Brendan argued. "They just interviewed a girl on the news who said that Daredevil saved her a few days ago."
"Oh, I saw that. Did you notice how she danced around the fact that she's a prostitute, and she got attacked on the job?" Cecilia asked scornfully. "That's exactly my point. Look at who the masked man allies himself with versus who he attacks. He beats up hardworking, law-abiding police officers and business owners, but he'll go out of his way to save a hooker who will probably overdose on drugs next week anyway."
Sarah remembered Matt talking about the girl Brendan had mentioned. The way his jaw had ticked when he'd talked about how she had been maybe fifteen or sixteen at the oldest, about how she'd cried when she'd told him her parents lived five states away and she was afraid they wouldn't want her to come back home.
"S'what, you don't like him because you think the people he saves don't...deserve it?" Sarah hadn't meant for the words to come out of her mouth, and especially not as forcefully as they had, but there they were.
"Mostly I don't like him because he's a violent criminal who acts like he's above other violent criminals. But I do have to wonder how many of the people he helps got themselves into those situations," she said with a shrug. "You do stupid things, there are consequences."
"It's not that simple."
"I think it really is." Cecilia took a sip from her mimosa. "Sorry, not sorry."
Her sing-songy tone made Sarah grip her glass harder.
Like this spoiled brat has never done anything wrong in her life, she thought resentfully.
The conversation went oddly quiet, and when she looked up everyone was looking at her in varying degrees of surprise. Her eyes widened as she realized that she must have said that particular thought out loud. She was about to apologize when Cecilia leaned over and stage whispered to her loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Maybe you've had enough, sweetie," she said, reaching out to take Sarah's drink from her. "You're starting to slur your words. Sloppy isn't a good look on you."
Sarah was so, so incredibly tired of being talked down to all the time.
Forgetting the apology that had been on the tip of her tongue, she moved her glass away from Cecilia's reaching hand and pointedly downed the entire thing in one go. Then, just for good measure, she reached over and plucked Cecilia's drink from her hand, draining that as well before handing the empty glass back to her.
"Maybe you should drink more," she said with a shrug before walking away, the sudden rush of alcohol to her head making her stumble as she pushed through the kitchen door.
Once she was safely alone in the kitchen, Sarah leaned over the kitchen sink to try to gather herself. She was only there for a minute before she heard the kitchen door swing open and Lauren's voice behind her.
"What was that?"
"I'm sorry. I don't know," Sarah said, very aware of the slight slur in her voice now that Cecilia had pointed it out. "It was super dramatic. And also, like, unsanitary. I don't—I don't know why I did that."
"What's with you tonight?" Lauren asked, sounding more concerned than angry. "You're like the 'Before' scene in a Snickers commercial right now."
"I don't know. I'm sorry."
"Don't get me wrong, you know I love Sassy Sarah, and Cecilia is a total bitch. I only invited her because my mom insisted. But you seem super miserable out there."
"No, no," Sarah protested. "I'm having fun."
"Yeah?" Lauren asked skeptically.
"Yes, definitely. It's just…they're just talking about a lot of things that I haven't really…kept up with, I guess. TV shows, and current events, and…" Life in general. All of these people, some of whom she had cared about at some point—some of whom she had never cared for much at all—and she couldn't connect with any of them anymore.
"Yeah. No, that makes sense. I mean, you have this whole other life now of…fighting crime and corporate espionage and whatever else," Lauren said with a sad smile. "It makes sense that you wouldn't have time for the stupid stuff anymore."
"This isn't stupid," Sarah insisted.
Lauren let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"Listen, If you don't want to tell me what's going on, that's fine, but…you are not okay. What can I do? Do you want me to try to call your…friend-not-a-friend?" she raised her eyebrows at her with a significant look. "Devil Emoji?"
"No," Sarah said immediately, her voice louder than she'd intended. This party, this one tiny sliver of her life, had nothing to do with Orion or Matt or criminal empires. And she could handle it on her own. Besides, he had more important, Fisk-related thing to attend to. "N-no, don't call him."
Lauren looked slightly taken aback by the forcefulness in her friend's voice, her eyebrows knitting together warily, but Sarah didn't notice. "Okay. Okay, we won't call him."
"I just…my head. My head hurts. I think I just need a few moments alone is all."
"Like, alone alone, or do you want some company?" Lauren asked, then motioned to the large cake on the table with a serious expression. "Because we can literally take that entire cake with us."
Sarah laughed despite the fact that her head was splitting open. "No. You have a...a million guests in there, you freak. I'll be fine. Gimme ten minutes and then, um…then we'll s-start opening your gifts, alright?"
It felt very difficult to push the words out around her heavy tongue.
"Okay," Lauren said hesitantly. "You sure?"
"Yes," she said emphatically, pushing her friend towards the kitchen door. Once Lauren had rejoined the party, Sarah slipped down the hallway to seek out the peaceful quiet of the nursery, which was empty of people. "M'sure."
The room swayed slightly as she entered. The decorations were all done, and many of the things that Lauren should have gotten at her baby shower had already been purchased. The baby was due so soon; Sarah shouldn't have pushed the shower back so many times. She took a seat in the large bay window, enjoying the cool feel of the window pane against her hot skin as she leaned back against it.
She gazed up at the brightly colored fish and other sea life that adorned the walls above her and noted distantly that it looked like they were actually moving. That didn't seem right.
The actual moment Sarah passed out was, to her eternal relief, not particularly dramatic. She simply put her head down on her bent knees to try to stop everything from spinning. And she didn't pick it back up again.
Matt had put on the mask earlier than usual that night, eager to continue tracking down some of Fisk's old associates. He had just landed on the roof of a motel where he suspected one of the men on his list was staying when Claire called him. It was unusual—he was almost always the one to call her.
"Claire?" he answered, slightly out of breath. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered, sounding tired as usual. She worked too hard, and he knew dealing with him didn't help. "I'm at work. Your friend is here."
Matt knitted his brow in alarm. "Foggy?"
"No. Foggy strikes me as smart enough to not end up in my hospital. I'm talking about Sarah. A friend of hers brought her in a little while ago."
"What do you—she's in the hospital?" he asked sharply. "Put her on the phone."
"I can't, Matt," Claire said, and something about her tone made his stomach drop as his mind unwillingly raced through several awful scenarios. Someone at Orion had caught her. Jason had figured out what she was up to. Or Ronan—Matt closed his eyes, praying that whatever happened, it hadn't been Ronan.
"Why not?"
"She's unconscious. Some sort of head injury. I ran a few tests and I think she's alright, but listen—there's a police officer down the hall, and I heard him talking about her on his cell phone. I think his nametag said Officer Donovan," Claire continued, her voice hushed now. Donovan—Matt immediately recognized the name as McDermott's obnoxious partner. "He was telling someone where she was. I don't know what you guys are mixed up in, but I think you need to get down here."
Luckily, Matt was only about three blocks from the hospital.
"What's the room number?"
"A hammer? Are you sure?"
"She only woke up for a minute or so, and she wasn't making much sense. But that's what she said when I asked her what she got hit with."
Matt and Claire were standing at the foot of Sarah's hospital bed a few minutes after their phone call. Sarah's room looked out over the gravel roof of the hospital's cafeteria, so it had been easy to access it through the window Claire had left unlocked.
"The concussion by itself isn't as bad as it could be," Claire continued. "Her pupils are the same size, and she's not vomiting. I didn't see any signs of bleeding near her nose or ears."
"If she hit her head yesterday, why is this only just now happening?"
If she got hit yesterday like she'd told Claire, then she had been hurt when he'd visited her last night. But she hadn't told him. And he hadn't noticed. He'd thought it was just the stress and exhaustion getting to her. And then he'd heard Fisk's name and it had been difficult to focus on anything else.
"The brain is complicated thing. Sometimes the effects of a concussion can take a day or two to fully show up. Stress can make it worse, but everything she ingested probably didn't help."
Matt frowned. "Ingested?"
Claire sighed.
"She's been drinking, which is never helpful for head trauma. She also said she took a few of these tonight," she said, holding up what sounded like a small pill bottle. "I gave them to her a while back to help her with her anxiety and her sleeping problems. I didn't think she'd pop a bunch while sporting a concussion. But she did, and the combination of pills, alcohol and a head injury are what landed her here."
Matt knew that Sarah often turned to alcohol when she was stressed, but this seemed extreme even for her.
"What do I need to do once I get her home?" Matt asked, keeping his voice carefully even.
"You wait, mostly. I gave her an IV that should help with the substances in her system, but she'll still probably be pretty disoriented for a while. I don't think she's in any immediate danger healthwise, but she probably shouldn't be left unsupervised until she's able to walk around on her own and hold a coherent conversation."
"But she'll be alright?" he asked quietly.
"Likelihood says yes, she'll be fine. But like I said, Matt…the brain is a complicated thing," Claire told him gently.
The heavy silence that followed her statement was interrupted by the small pager clipped to the waistband of her scrubs. She checked it and sighed. "I have to go. I probably shouldn't be here while you're sneaking patients out of my care anyway."
"Thank you, Claire," he said sincerely. "I'll get her out of here as quickly as I can."
"Yeah, well. Good luck with sneaking her out past her security detail."
Matt tilted his head. "Her what?"
"You know," Claire said, making her way towards the door. "Tall, blonde, very pregnant. I guess seems to know about you, if the painfully transparent excuses she made up for Sarah are any indication. Very obvious, by the way. You need better liars in your friend group."
Matt immediately recognized the description. "Lauren? Where is she?"
"She went looking for something to eat, but she'll probably be coming back soon."
With that, Claire closed the door behind her.
Matt listened closely, pushing his senses out to cover the floor of the hospital—but he only had to reach down the corridor before her heard Lauren's heartbeat coming down the hall.
Matt was used to relying on the darkness to help conceal his face when talking to people as Daredevil. But here in the hospital, the harsh buzz of electricity above gave away that the room was lit by bright florescent lighting. Considering the possibility that Lauren might run into him as Matt Murdock eventually—given her propensity for popping up unannounced—it was too risky to allow her to get that good of a look at his face. Quickly evaluating his options, Matt positioned himself behind the door, where he would be hidden from sight.
The knob turned and Lauren entered the room, leaving the door open behind her. As soon as she was past the threshold, Matt quietly clicked the door closed and swept his hand over the light switch. The buzz of the ceiling lights ceased immediately. There was no way to make the room completely dark—he could hear the hum of the equipment monitors that surely cast a dull blue light around the room—but it was enough to give him some needed coverage.
Caught by surprise, Lauren made a startled noise and spun around to face him. Matt heard her heartbeat take off immediately and he held up his hand up in a non-threatening gesture.
"Don't—" Don't scream, he had been about to say, but he could tell by the way her breathing had changed when she was about to react instinctively—and loudly.
She only managed to scream for a second before he hastily moved forward and covered her mouth with his hand. Matt cursed internally at the thought of how pissed Sarah was going to be when she found out about this. He had been hoping to get through this conversation without having to make any physical contact with her friend, but it wasn't like he could just let her scream and attract people to the room.
"Don't scream," he finished firmly, keeping his voice quiet and trying not to alarm her any more than she already was. "I'm not going to hurt you, Lauren."
Lauren's breathing and heartbeat were still erratic, but she didn't seem like she was going to shout anymore. He warily removed his hand from her mouth and took a step back, but not far enough that he couldn't reach her again if need be.
"Holy shit. You're Daredevil," she whispered the moment he removed his hand. She didn't wait for him to answer before she continued, stumbling over her words. "Holy shit. Oh, my God. I'm literally having a heart attack. What is wrong with you? Do you always greet people like this the first time you meet them? Or—I mean—second time? Because I guess kind of met you already for like half a second but you were jumping out of a fifth story window—which is crazy, by the way, in case no one told you—but I didn't really meet you and also that so did not do justice to how scary this whole—like—shadowy demon look is—"
Matt was caught off guard by the rush of seemingly endless words coming his way. He was almost tempted to cover Lauren's mouth again, but resisted.
"Stop talking," he interrupted her bluntly, glad that Daredevil wasn't required to show the same social graces Matt Murdock did. "We don't have a lot of time."
"Time…time until what?" she asked him guardedly, her heartbeat finally slowing down to normal. "Why are you here?"
Matt hesitated, knowing this next part wouldn't go over well. "I'm taking her with me. She can't stay here."
There was a long pause during which he could tell Lauren's mouth had fallen open in dramatic surprise. "Are you insane? This is a hospital, this is literally exactly where she needs to stay."
"Sarah told you about some of what's been going on, right?" Matt asked. "Cl—someone who works here heard a cop talking on the phone about the fact that Sarah is here, meaning she's probably going to have company soon. And not the friendly kind."
"I—what?"
"She needs to get out of here. I can take her to my place. She'll be safe there."
"Your place? Oh, no. I don't think so, Leonard," she said, jabbing a finger in his direction. Matt tilted his head just slightly, but there was no time to question it before she pressed on. "She needs to be in a hospital room, not your—your bat cave, or your devil's lair or wherever you go when you aren't bashing heads in."
"I don't live in a lair—" Matt bit his tongue, reminding himself of the time crunch they were on. "I have to move her. Soon, before too many people know she's here."
Lauren bit her thumbnail, and he could almost feel her squinting in the darkness to get a better look at him.
"You think it's that guy? The one who's been following her?" she asked.
Matt's jaw ticked. "Most likely."
"Well, can't you just…" Lauren gestured wildly in what he assumed was meant to mimic violence. "You know? Isn't that your job?"
"Yeah, if we weren't in a crowded hospital full of innocent bystanders," he shot back. "Someone could get hurt. Including Sarah, and including you. Especially with armed police officers on his side."
Both of Lauren's hands automatically came to rest on her stomach when he mentioned her potentially getting hurt, and her fingers tapped nervously.
"Do you think he's the one who did this to her?" she asked quietly, worry replacing the exasperation in her voice.
"Ronan? No."
"How do you know?"
He knew because the first time Ronan attacked Sarah, Matt had been able to smell him on her—all over her skin, on her breath. It had made his skin crawl. But there wasn't a trace of Ronan's particular odor—stale cigarette smoke and cheap rum—anywhere in the sterile hospital room.
"If Ronan had gotten to her…she would look a lot worse," he said finally. It wasn't untrue.
"Well, what if her—her brain starts bleeding, or something?" she asked.
"I'll know if something goes wrong, and I'll get her help."
"How will you know? What are you, a doctor?" Lauren bit out sarcastically, then paused. "Wait, are you a doctor? That's messed up. Don't you guys take an oath?"
"I'm not a doctor," he said. "But I am pretty familiar with concussions."
"I bet you are," Lauren muttered, and Matt waited while she looked from him to Sarah. Suddenly she spoke again. "I offered to call you earlier, when she was acting weird. She really, really didn't want me to. Why?"
That stung more than Matt had expected it to, and he didn't have an answer. He'd thought they'd been moving forward lately, like actual friends. Especially after the fire escape, when he'd opened up to her more than he had in a long time. More than he'd intended to, really. Now he felt foolish, knowing that she was still keeping secrets from him, that she still didn't trust him. Given how they'd started out, maybe she never would.
"I don't know," he said.
"Well, that's really reassuring."
"Listen, I know you're trying to protect her, but I am too—"
"This is your idea of protecting her?" Lauren exclaimed, throwing a frustrated hand in Sarah's direction. He felt a sharp jab of guilt in his chest. "Then what the hell does not protecting her look like? She told me that you were helping keep her safe, but it seems to me like you're doing kind of a shit job at it."
Her voice got steadily louder and more heated as she went on, and Matt prayed no one in the hallway could hear her.
"Want to keep your voice down?" he demanded hotly.
"What if I don't keep my voice down?" she retorted immediately. "If—if I scream, all of those doctors and orderlies and whoever the hell else is out there are all going to come running in here. And they're not going to let you take her out of here."
Matt's jaw clenched as his last shred of patience began to wear away.
"Do you really think that's the best thing for anyone in this room right now?" Matt asked softly, choosing to let her interpret the question whichever way she wanted.
She was silent save for her heart beating madly in her chest.
"Listen to me," he said, taking a slow step closer. "I know you don't trust me. But if she stays in this hospital room, she'll be in danger. You know that. I can keep her safe."
Lauren's shoulders slumped just a fraction, and Matt knew she'd relented, however reluctantly.
"Just…please don't let anything happen to her," she whispered. "She's my best friend."
Matt could hear the strain in her voice, and he felt another tug of guilt. Pressing his lips together, he hesitated, then reached into the zippered pocket on the side of his pants and pulled out his burner phone, which he handed to her.
"Put your number in there, and call your own. If you want to check on her before she wakes up, you can call me. I'll let you know how she is. And as soon as she's awake I'll tell her to call you herself."
Lauren stared down at the burner for a moment before flipping it open. He heard the click of buttons as Lauren programmed her number in, then a muffled buzzing in her purse as she called her own number. She handed the phone back to him.
"You should go home before whoever's coming gets here," he warned her.
Lauren nodded and reached over to push the hair out of Sarah's face. Then she wordlessly left the room, leaving the two of them alone.
The first few times Sarah woke up that night came in brief, unpleasant bursts of consciousness. Opening her eyes in a hospital room. Lauren and a vaguely familiar nurse worriedly asking her questions. Painfully bright lights that made her squeeze her eyes shut again. Waking up in a dark room with soft sheets under her, her heartbeat skyrocketing as she tried to place where she was. Clumsily lashing out at whoever was leaning over her and hearing a pained hiss as her fingernails made contact with skin. A hand catching both of her wrists and holding them still, then a quiet voice —"Easy, easy. You're alright. It's just me. You're safe."—and someone gently pushing her back against the pillows as her adrenaline drained away.
The next time she opened her eyes, she didn't have the energy to do much besides lay very still and try to reorient herself. The lights were on now, and a small part of her brain vaguely recognized the room, but it didn't seem to want to share that with her at the moment. After a minute, she realized she wasn't alone in the room, and turned her head to the side, noting how heavy it felt. When she saw Matt, her brain finally registered where she was.
Matt had dragged one of the living room chairs into the bedroom, positioning it just inside the doorway. He was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, holding his burner phone up to his ear as he listened to whoever was talking on the other end. His head turned in Sarah's direction when she shifted.
"I'll call you back," he said to whoever he was talking to, then promptly hung up. She tried to focus on him as he got up from his chair, approaching the bed slowly, as though trying not to startle her.
"Hey," he greeted her in a low, even voice, his head tilted to the side as he observed her. "You…you with me? Do you know where you are?"
"Yeah," Sarah mumbled as she dragged herself very slowly into a sitting position. The movement caused the dimly lit room to spin unpleasantly.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, Matt," she said, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes. "I don't know that many people with silk sheets."
A glass of water was sitting on the nightstand next to her, and she shakily reached for it—frowning at the sight of dried blood under her nails—as she tried to remember what was going on. The last thing she remembered was being underwater. No, just in a room that looked like it was underwater. Lauren's daughter's room. Lauren's baby shower. Shit.
"Where's Lauren?" she asked Matt in alarm. "Is she okay?"
"She's fine," he answered. "She's been worried about you."
It took Sarah a second to realize what he was saying. "You…spoke to her? Where did you…?"
"At the hospital," Matt said pointedly.
"…the hospital," Sarah repeated, giving him a blank look. What was he talking about?
"Yeah. Where you ended up after getting hit in the head with a hammer, and then following it up with some pills and liquor." His voice was still calm, but there was an odd tightness underneath, and his fingers drummed against the dresser he stood next to. Even with a concussion she could see he was pissed off by the situation.
A blurry memory of bright hospital lights flickered through her head. As relieved as she was to not still be there, she also wasn't sure why she wasn't.
"How did I end up here? I was at Lauren's earlier and then…"
"Earlier? The baby shower was yesterday, Sarah."
"…what?"
"It's Wednesday night."
"I've…been sleeping for a whole day?" she asked blurrily, rubbing her eyes.
"On and off. You've woken up a few times. This is the first time you've been able to speak in anything resembling coherent sentences, though."
Sarah was quiet as she absorbed this new information. When she didn't speak, Matt continued.
"When I came over Monday night…you already had the concussion?"
She hadn't really thought about it like that. Obviously it was a concussion, but at the time all she knew was that her head hurt. It still did. How did the word 'concussion' never even cross her mind? But she didn't know how to explain that to Matt.
"Yeah. I…I guess so."
He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Remember when I asked you if you were alright, and you said you were just tired?"
Sarah just looked at him, a sinking feeling of guilt in her chest.
"Yeah," she whispered.
"Did it occur to you at all that maybe someone with a dangerous stalker shouldn't stay alone in her apartment with a heavy concussion?"
It hadn't. "No. I didn't—I wasn't really—"
"I would have helped, you know," he told her. "Taken you to see Claire, or at least stayed with you. Really, anything would have been more helpful than whatever the hell stunt you pulled at that party."
"Oh, God, the party," she groaned. "I need to apologize to Lauren."
"Tomorrow, maybe. You're out of your mind if you think I'm letting you leave right now."
"You can't just make me stay here, Matt," she snapped.
Matt cocked his head as his eyebrows went up.
"Try me," he said dangerously.
"I can take care of myself—"
"Maybe we'll let the person who doesn't have a severe concussion decide that," he said.
"You're being such a hypocrite," she retorted, her tone surprisingly forceful given how tired she felt.
"A hypocrite?" Matt asked with a bitter almost-laugh. "How so?"
"Getting mad at me for this. You—you do stupid stuff with concussions all the time, you get injured constantly—"
"Yeah, but I don't get drunk and down a bunch of pills afterwards—"
"—it wasn't a bunch of pills, you're exaggerating—"
"I don't care! It landed you in the emergency room, didn't it? What are you doing, Sarah?"
Matt wasn't yelling, exactly, but his voice was loud enough that it was making her head pound even worse than before. She pressed her palms to her eyes to try to stem the pain behind them.
"I don't know, Matt," she snapped. "It's none of your business."
"I think it is. Keeping you safe is part of the agreement that you and I made from the start, Sarah. And you sure as hell aren't safe right now."
"I'll be fine—" she started, but Matt cut her off.
"You know, when you were in the hospital, Claire said she heard Officer Donovan on the phone telling someone where you were. My guess is it was either Ronan or McDermott, and now they know you're injured. Does that sound like it'll lead to great things?"
Sarah closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headboard and focusing on her breathing for a few seconds.
"It wasn't McDermott," she said dully.
"How do you know?"
She took a deep breath. Matt was already mad at her. Might as well tell him now.
"Because he's dead. Jason killed him," she said. Matt abruptly stopped pacing, but didn't say anything. "Yesterday. No, Monday. I think it was Monday. In—in an empty office on the fourth floor."
"How?" Matt asked her finally, breaking the silence.
"With…with a hammer."
She looked up just in time to see the realization visibly play out across his face as he made the connection.
"You were there," he said slowly.
"Yeah. I…he killed him because of me," she forced out before she could change her mind.
He took a step closer, frowning. "What are you talking about?"
"I told Jason that McDermott was working for Ronan. I—I didn't mean to, I was just angry about my dad, and…I didn't think he would act on it. Not like that."
"Sarah—"
"Jason asked me to take care of the body and I did," she continued, desperate to just get it all out in the open at once. "I—I took him to a warehouse down by the river. And I destroyed his phone, and threw his badge in the water."
"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
"I don't know. I wanted to, but I just—I thought you'd think I was in too deep with Orion and you'd…"
"I'd what?" Matt asked softly when she didn't continue. "Hurt you? I guess that part's on me, isn't it?" he asked bitterly.
"I thought you'd give up on me," she finished quietly.
He was silent for a long time. "Why would I do that?"
"Why wouldn't you? I told Jason about McDermott, Matt. Now he's dead."
"No," he said immediately. "Jason is a psychopath. He would have found out about McDermott and killed him whether you told him or not."
Talking about what had happened made her head hurt worse than anything else so far. She just wanted to be alone, wanted so desperately to be somewhere else that she didn't even think about where she could go. She flipped the covers off and moved to stand.
"Sarah, don't—"
As soon as she took a step forward, the room tilted violently to the side, and she stumbled forward. A pair of strong hands caught her by both arms, steadying her. Taken off guard by the wave of dizziness that hit her, Sarah dug her fingers into the front of his shirt, still feeling like she was falling despite Matt's steady grip on her arms.
"Hey. I've got you," she heard him say distantly, the anger gone from his voice now.
The spinning room made her head pound even harder, so she closed her eyes and slowly leaned her head against Matt's chest. Suddenly she found herself so drained that she didn't even have the energy to be angry anymore. She couldn't even really remember why she had been angry to begin with. She was just tired, and strangely sad. She tried to pull her arms away from his grip, but didn't particularly have the energy.
Matt's chest moved as he exhaled deeply. He slid his hand up her arm and over her shoulder, gently hooking her hair behind her ear and letting his hand linger there. He maintained a steady hold on her other arm to steady her as he leaned his head down to speak in her ear.
"Sarah, please," he whispered. "Just let me help you."
She simply nodded, and he kept a tight hold on her arms as he helped her back to the bed. Once she was back under the covers, he took a seat on the edge next to her. With a sigh he reached out and brushed the hair out of her face to touch the dark bruise on her forehead. There was a dark frown on his face, but when he spoke his voice was much softer than he had been before.
"Listen. It probably won't shock you to hear that I don't have a lot of friends," he said. "I'd really like to keep the ones I do have in one piece."
Sarah felt a stinging behind her eyes when she realized he was still calling her a friend after everything she had just told him.
"I'm sorry," she began, but Matt shook his head and dropped his hand back down.
"Don't apologize. Just…just tell me. When things get bad like that. Or even when they're not that bad. At least let me try to help."
"What about when everything is bad?" she asked him. "We still have Ronan to deal with, plus Jason is crazy. Now Donovan's going to be suspicious."
"I know. And I don't have a plan right now, but…I'm in your corner. Alright? You didn't kill anyone. Jason did. I know that."
Sarah watched him closely. "I wish I was as certain as you."
Matt sighed. "We can talk about it more tomorrow. You need to sleep and I have to go get changed."
"Changed?"
"Yeah. I have to go out tonight for a little while. I was going to look for some of Fisk's old friends, but now I might check out what's going on with the police instead."
"Oh," she said, surprised and a little disappointed that he wasn't going to stick around now that she was awake.
"I'm just waiting for the next shift to arrive," he said. As though he could sense her confusion, he added, "You didn't think I was just going to leave you by yourself, did you?"
Perfectly timed, a knock came at the front door.
"You…got me a babysitter?" Sarah asked Matt confusedly as he stood up.
"Something like that," he said over his shoulder before disappearing.
Sarah heard him quietly conversing with someone as he let them in, and she recognized the familiar voice even before the blond lawyer came into the room.
"You know, it seems like I never see you unless you're injured or mixed up with the law. You don't call, you don't write…" Foggy dropped down heavily onto the foot of the bed, and the sudden movement of the mattress made her head jolt painfully. "I'm considering asking for my friendship bracelet back."
"Hi, Foggy," Sarah greeted the blond lawyer.
"Hi." He set down the duffle bag and coffee cup he had been carrying. "Heard you got hit in the head with a hammer."
"Yeah."
"You should try not to do that."
"Good idea."
Matt returned to the room with his black outfit on and his mask in hand and addressed Foggy first. "Don't let her leave that bed. She'll probably try."
"I'm right here," she protested. "I can hear you."
He ignored her. "Make sure she gets some sleep."
"Well I could always preach to her about Thurgood Marshall for a while," Foggy said innocently. "I'm sure she'll fall asleep immediately."
Matt's lips twitched and he just shook his head before turning to Sarah. "Try to get some rest. Call me if you need anything. Drink lots of water."
Sarah caught Foggy's eye and he mouthed the words Bossy Doctor Matt to her. She bit back a laugh as Matt frowned suspiciously.
"I will," she told him. "Be careful beating people up."
"I'm always careful," he said lightly, and she rolled her eyes as he left. She and Foggy both listened for the sound of the rooftop door closing.
"Well, I come bearing entertainment. Specifically, the newest season of the best Spanish soap opera television has ever seen," Foggy said, hopping up and crossing the room to grab the armchair, which he dragged closer to the bed. "I had to illegally download it from a very questionable website, and it has Korean subtitles, but it'll do the trick."
"Sounds good to me," she said as he settled into the chair next to her, opening his laptop on the bed between them.
"Déjà vu, huh?" he asked. "First Matt's laid out with a concussion, now you are. It's not a great pattern, to be honest."
"I guess it's your turn next."
"Pass. I prefer to fight crime in the courtroom, where there are no hammers and very little chance of getting knocked unconscious."
"There are too hammers in courtrooms," Sarah argued, making a vague swinging motion with her hand. "Judges use 'em."
"That's a gavel, and I don't think they use those anymore."
"That's not what Law and Order tells me," she said with a shrug. She could hear the slur in her words but couldn't control it.
"Well, regardless of the authenticity of a scripted television show, gavels only weigh a few ounces, so I'm not worried," Foggy informed her. "Why are you threatening me with gavel injuries, anyway? Does Matt know that you're this mean when you're concussed?
Sarah laughed, opening her eyes again. "It's not a threat. And Matt's already pissed off at me, don't go telling him I'm threatening his best friend, too."
"He's not pissed off at you, he's just…worried. And guilty. And he expresses that concern through, you know…anger and mild violence."
"That's how he expresses every emotion, I'm pretty sure. And anyway, what does he have to feel guilty about?"
Foggy shrugged. "He thinks every bad thing that happens to his friends is because of him."
Sarah felt oddly offended by the insinuation. "Whoa. Hang on. Orion is a dangerous place. I have my own bad things. I don't just get…Matt's leftover bad things."
Foggy seemed amused by her indignation. "You guys are a lot alike, you know. I didn't see it before, but I'm starting to see it now."
"Is it the concussion?" she asked knowingly.
He snorted. "Partially. I think you might be the only person who rivals Matt in terms of making Claire want to pull her hair out over your personal safety decisions."
Claire. She didn't even remember talking to the nurse, or being in the hospital at all. Having no recollection of what she'd said or done made her feel vaguely nauseous; though that might also be the concussion.
Thinking about that made her head pound, and she tried to focus on the show.
"So, wait," she said slowly after a while of them watching in silence. "That one—Eduardo?—is pretending to be his own twin brother to avoid getting arrested? Doesn't anyone ever wonder why they're never in the same room together? That's ridiculous."
"I think that's what's happening. Karen swears that's what's going on, and I don't speak enough Spanish to challenge her on it."
Sarah blinked slowly, furrowing her brow. Karen. Why did that name sound familiar? She tried to remember, but it just made her headache increase. Probably just heard Matt or Foggy talking about her at some point.
She shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable in the party clothes she was still wearing.
Foggy glanced over at her, noticing her strained movements, then winced and slapped his forehead dramatically. "I'm sorry. You probably want something else to wear."
"This isn't very comfortable," she admitted, waving a hand at the skirt and blouse she was wearing. "I put it on for a party, but it's, um…not great for relaxing."
Foggy hopped up and went to Matt's dresser, pulling a couple of drawers open and digging through them.
"I'm not sure Matt wants me wearing his stuff," she said hesitantly.
"It's fine. He won't care," Foggy said, still rummaging through the drawers. "I mean, it's a loan, not a permanent gift. Not like, say…sweatshirts."
She squinted at him, suspicious of his exceedingly nonchalant tone, but he simply gave her an innocent look as he handed her a dark gray t-shirt that was soft and well-worn, along with a pair of sweat shorts.
"Thanks," she said, accepting the clothes.
"The shorts have a drawstring on them that might help them fit you better. It's about the best I can do," he said apologetically.
Sarah was dismayed to find that just the walk from the bedroom to the bathroom made her a little tired. Closing the bathroom door behind her, she unzipped her highwaisted skirt and let it flutter softly to the cold tile floor, quickly followed by her blouse, then her camisole and bra. Matt's t-shirt, clearly well-worn, was soft against her skin as she pulled it over her head. His shorts were entirely too large for her, and hung low on her hips even when she pulled the drawstring tight. Despite the size difference, the clothes were a world more comfortable than what she had been wearing before, and she felt a rush of gratitude towards Foggy for being so perceptive.
Foggy was back in the chair when she returned to the room. "Better?"
"Yeah. Thank you," she said, slipping back into the covers.
"I'm sure Matt would have offered you the clothes himself, but he was a little…preoccupied."
"He was a little pissed off, you mean."
Foggy conceded with a nod. "That, too. But you know he's coming from a good place. Matt can be kind of…I don't know if possessive is the right word, but I can't think of another one. And I don't mean it in a bad way, necessarily."
Sarah was having difficulty tracking Foggy's conversational shifts. "How do you mean, then?"
"I mean…take a look at this whole Daredevil shtick he does. 'I have to protect my city,'" Foggy imitated in a low, gravely voice. "How many people do you know who take where they live that personally? And then when it comes to his actual friends—that's another level altogether. Matt'll do…just about anything for the ones he sees as his to protect. It's a short list of people." He gave her a meaningful look. "…you know?"
Sarah bit her lip as she stared at him, feeling like he was having two different conversations with her right now, and she wasn't understanding either one.
"…yes?" she said unconvincingly.
Foggy just shook his head and sighed, then nodded towards the laptop. "Alright. Enough heart-to-hearts while your head is broken. We're missing important plot here."
She drifted off in the middle of the third episode of the soap opera, but woke up when she heard quiet voices talking somewhere nearby.
"—two o'clock in the morning, Foggy, how can you possibly be hungry—"
"—I'm a growing man, Matt, I need sustenance—"
They both stopped bickering when she slowly sat up.
"Morning, sunshine," Foggy greeted her cheerfully. "Since you're awake, let me ask your personal opinion on whether one can really consider himself an adult if he doesn't keep any food in his kitchen—"
Matt groaned.
"There's leftover Thai food in the fridge," he conceded, jerking his head towards the kitchen. "Knock yourself out."
"Fantastic. Do you—" Foggy pointed to Sarah, about to offer her some food as well, but the look on her face must have betrayed the way her stomach flipped unpleasantly at the mere thought of food. "—nope. You don't. Alright, then."
With that Foggy left in search of said food, and Sarah was alone with Matt.
"How's your head?" he asked after a few moments.
Sarah started to reply with an automatic It's fine, but she snapped her mouth shut as she reconsidered. Everything Matt had done for her tonight, and all he'd asked was that she be honest with him. She could do that.
"It still hurts," she said truthfully. "But not as much as before. I can think a little more clearly if I'm not…thinking too hard. If that makes sense."
Matt nodded. Of course it would make sense to him; she wondered how many concussions he had gotten since he started his nightly activities.
He took a seat on the edge of the bed next to her and reached out, gently tilting her chin to the side so that the bruised side of her face was towards him. He moved his hand up to her temple, lightly touching the raised bump. As he brought his hand away she could that his knuckles were freshly red and raw.
"The swelling is going down. That's good." Matt suddenly cocked his head, his blank eyes flicking down. "You're wearing my clothes."
Sarah touched the hem of the soft t-shirt she was wearing, then looked back up at Matt tentatively, not sure how to read his reaction. Maybe he was picky about his clothing? She supposed she would be too if she could pick up on other people's scents like he could.
"Yeah. Sorry. Um, Foggy said you wouldn't mind. But I can take them off if you want." She realized what she had just said when she saw Matt's eyebrows go up just a fraction, and she quickly corrected herself. "I mean that I—I can change back into my own clothing."
Matt cleared his throat and shook his head. "No, no, of course not. I should have offered you something else to wear to begin with. Sorry about that."
"No, it's fine. I'll probably have to change back before I go home tomorrow, though," she pointed out.
Matt let out a long breath, casting his eyes up to the ceiling.
"Or…you could just stay here."
"We've already had this talk, Matt," she said tiredly.
"Yeah, and now we're having it again."
Not wanting to have another fight, she bit back a sigh. "Let me think about it, okay? Once I can actually think."
He gave her a doubtful look. "Alright."
With a start, she suddenly noticed the deep scratches on the side of his neck. Slowly she reached out and traced the jagged lines, remembering the blood she had found under her nails earlier. Matt went very still as her fingers brushed against his skin.
"Are these from me?" she asked softly, though she already knew they were.
"They're just scratches," Matt dismissed her, before flashing a small, crooked grin. "Luckily, there were no household objects within reach."
Sarah was caught between a laugh and a wince as her fingertips lingered on the ugly marks. "I'm sorry."
Under the scratches she could feel his pulse. He lifted his hand up as though to pull hers away, but hesitated. Then he curled his fingers around her wrist, running the calloused pad of his thumb against back of her hand while the rest of his fingers ghosted lightly over the tendons on the inside of her wrist.
There came the sound of a throat being cleared across the room, and Sarah looked up to see Foggy standing in the doorway, watching them with raised eyebrows. Matt's hand disappeared from her wrist and she let her own fingers fall from his neck as he exhaled deeply, standing up from the bed.
"Sorry to interrupt this very normal conversation, but I just need to grab my things," Foggy said, still leaning against the doorway and looking vaguely amused.
"I'll let you get some sleep," Matt said to her firmly, very purposefully ignoring the other lawyer. Sarah couldn't tell if they were being weird, or if she was still just out of it.
As Matt passed by Foggy on his way out of the room, she thought she heard the blond man mutter, "Exhibit number four," but that didn't make any sense, nor would it warrant the dirty look Matt gave him. She must have heard him wrong.
"Are you going home?" Sarah said.
"Uh, yeah. All this dark stuff outside?" Foggy said, motioning towards the window. "They call this nighttime. Sometimes people use it as an opportunity to sleep."
"Thanks for coming over."
"Anytime. Feel better, alright? Don't let Doctor Matt boss you around too much."
Matt said something in retort from the other room, but she couldn't hear what it was. Foggy just laughed and sent her a wink before sliding the door closed behind him.
Some nights, Matt could come home from fighting and fall asleep immediately, his bruised and aching limbs welcoming the chance to rest. Other nights, the adrenaline continued surging through him long after he got home, keeping him awake despite his exhaustion. Tonight was very much the latter.
Two hours after Sarah had fallen back asleep and Foggy had left the apartment, Matt was still awake. He was sitting on the couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his laptop open on the coffee table in front of him. Figuring that he might as well do something worthwhile with his bout of insomnia, he'd pulled up some of the research for work that he really should have read earlier that week.
Matt ran his fingers over the refreshable Braille display hooked to his laptop, so intent on the document he was reading that he didn't hear Sarah getting out of bed, but he lifted his head up from his work when he heard her slide the bedroom door open. He frowned and hooked his finger around the cord of his earbud, plucking it out of his ear.
"Hey," he said. "What are you doing up?"
There was a soft clinking noise as she tapped her fingernail against the glass in her hand. "Water refill."
"I can get it," he offered automatically, but the hardwood floor was already creaking as her bare feet crossed the living room to the kitchen. Matt could tell from her gait that she was watching her steps more carefully than usual, but her balance seemed to have mostly returned to her.
"It's okay. I think I remember the concept," she said lightly, turning on the faucet to fill up her glass. "Do you always do paperwork at four in the morning?"
Matt heaved a sigh, shaking his head. "No. But…it can be hard sometimes to go to sleep right when I get home. Too wired. I figured I'd get some work done while I wait for it to die down," Matt said.
Sarah slowly padded over to where he was sitting, and he felt a weight on the other end of the couch as she curled up in the opposite corner with her glass of water, facing him. "So, you really don't ever sleep, then."
He shot her a disapproving look before turning back to his laptop. "Like you should be doing? Go back to bed."
"I'm on a couch," she protested. "That's basically a bed. Besides, I was bored."
Matt's shook his head. "Well, it's boring out here, too. Just jurisdictional contracts."
"I love…jurisdictional contracts," Sarah said, the faint remains of a slur lingering in her voice.
"Your head injury doesn't make your lies any more convincing, you know."
"I promise not to interrupt your boring legal paperwork, counselor." She shifted farther down in her seat to get more comfortable, stretching her legs out so that she took up both of the couch cushions he wasn't occupying.
"Sure," he said doubtfully.
"You won't even know I'm here. Wearing your clothes is basically like camouflage, right?"
Matt smiled slightly at the hint of a teasing tone beneath the exhaustion in her voice, relieved to hear her familiar sense of humor flickering back.
He didn't mention that her wearing his clothing was the opposite of camouflage. That to the contrary, the combination of her scent surrounded by his clothing was just about the most distracting thing he could think of right now.
Pushing the thought away, he tried to focus on the website he was browsing, concentrating on the small bumps that raised against his fingers as the Braille display refreshed itself with each sentence. True to her word, Sarah didn't interrupt, instead leaning her head to the side to rest it against the back of the couch. She lingered somewhere just short of falling asleep, occasionally stirring to take a sip of water.
Despite her silence, her presence next to him was distractingly loud in all kinds of ways. That had been happening a lot lately. He'd just become more aware of it since Foggy had barged in with his blunt accusations that morning. The training session hadn't helped matters; nor had the rest of the events of that night.
It also didn't help that, as an unintentional side effect of sharing that bottle of whiskey on the fire escape, Matt was now fully aware of the taste her mouth was leaving on the glass.
"If you fall asleep on the couch, I'm leaving you out here," he threatened when she shifted again to get more comfortable.
"Probably more suited for someone my size than yours," she said, not sounding terribly worried by the possibility.
"Well, I'm sure you can sleep just about anywhere when you're all of five feet," he said, purposefully undershooting on her height. He smirked slightly at the offended huff he earned in response.
"I am almost five foot four, you dick," Sarah muttered sleepily.
"Almost?"
"Five three and three fourths. It counts."
"I haven't heard anyone list their height in quarter inches since middle school," he told her with a grin. "Is that when you stopped growing?"
"Hey, you should watch it. I'm learning how to fight, you know," she told him, stifling a yawn as she spoke. "This guy is teaching me."
Matt laughed and ran a tired hand through his hair, finally giving up on doing any work at all with her in the room. He leaned back against the couch, turning his head in her direction.
"Yeah?" he played along, raising his eyebrows at her. "Is he any good?"
"He's alright, I guess. After another session or two I'll probably be way better than him, though."
Matt snorted. "Yeah, maybe if you can stop getting your ass knocked to the ground."
Any retort she had was lost as she stifled another yawn. He could practically feel the fatigue radiating off her, and he couldn't quite figure out why she was still out here with him.
"Seriously, go back to bed. You need rest."
Sarah was quiet for a beat.
"I don't feel like being alone. It, um…I don't know. Makes my thoughts bounce around everywhere," she said haltingly, her hair brushing against the collar of his t-shirt as she shrugged a shoulder. "I'd rather be out here with you than in there by myself."
Matt understood that feeling well enough. There were times when he was so tired or stressed that he had difficulty keeping his senses from picking up on everything within a mile radius—his brain would jump from scent to scent, sound to sound, leaving no time to focus on anything in particular. It was maddening, and often he had found the best way to make it stop was just to be around Foggy and Karen, listening to them bicker about coffee and sports teams.
He exhaled deeply as he made what was possibly a very questionable decision. Grabbing a folder of yet more paperwork reading he needed to get done from a stack the coffee table, he stood up, extending his hand down towards her.
"Come on," he said quietly, beckoning with his fingers for her to take his hand. "I have a compromise."
Sarah took his hand and he slowly pulled her up from the couch. She still wasn't entirely balanced as she got to her feet, and he put his hand to her waist to steady her. Once she had regained her footing, he let his hand slip from her side, but her fingers curled around his kept their hands intertwined as he led her through the living room.
Matt knew he should probably sit in the chair that Foggy had left next to the bed, but it was late, and he blamed his lack of good judgment on the hour. He pushed up the pillows on the other side of the bed—a good distance from where Sarah was curled up under the sheets—and sat up against them, his legs stretching out on top of the covers as he rested the folder of papers on his lap.
He could feel Sarah's gaze on him as he opened the folder of Braille sheets that detailed the thrilling topic of jurisdictional mandates.
"I'll be awake anyway, so I can stay with you for a while. Don't want you passing out on my living room floor because you're stubborn," he said when he felt her gaze on him. "I do that enough on my own as it is."
Her laugh was quiet and tired, and he could tell she wasn't going to be awake much longer.
"Thanks, Matt," she said softly.
The two of them fell into silence as he began to read and she drifted towards sleep.
After the fifth time he'd run his fingers over the same sentence, Matt had to accept that he wasn't going to get any work done. But he'd known that from the moment he sat down, hadn't he? For the last two days he'd been so distracted with making sure Sarah's head was functioning right that there had been no room for anything else—but now that she was slowly returning to her usual state, so were the thoughts he'd been trying so hard to push away lately. Now was absolutely not the time to be letting his guard down, but the very confusing combination of Sarah's scent surrounded by his clothes and his sheets was making it difficult to concentrate.
Finally he gave up on trying to comprehend what he was reading and leaned his head back against the wall, exhaling and pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly.
She was asleep now; he could tell. The tension slipped from her muscles, and her breathing evened out to a slow, shallow pattern. He knew he should leave—his job was done, she'd gone back to sleep. But he listened to her breathing for a little longer, just a few more minutes. Just to reassure himself that she was alright, that she was safe here next to him, still in one piece.
And so he stayed perfectly still, closing his eyes as he felt his adrenaline high finally start to fade. Uninvited, Foggy's voice came to mind as Matt listened to Sarah's even breathing next to him.
Exhibit number five, Murdock.
Happy one year anniversary, y'all.