to keep as still as possible on the couch while he waited for Foggy to arrive. He knew he should be trying to meditate, but he was having difficulty keeping his mind off of the events of the night.

He could only remember bits and pieces from his first bout of consciousness, starting with coming to very suddenly on his couch and not knowing how he got there. Sounds were incredibly loud, coming from all directions in a confusing jumble. He remembered not being able to tell the difference between his own frantic heartbeat and Sarah's as he trapped her small frame against the doorway. Beyond that it was mostly snatches of confused senses. His head pounding with confusion and pain. Sarah's anxious voice going in and out as he tried to stay steady. The metallic smell of blood getting stronger. And then a gentle, hesitant hand on his waist and one on his arm, slowly guiding him back to the couch. A calm voice speaking quietly and indistinctly, keeping him anchored to his surroundings. Then the rough feel of the couch cushions on his back, and deep blackness after that.

Matt's second return to consciousness had been more gradual, less jarring. Sarah had been jumpy, nervous in the way she usually only was if he was directly threatening her. He couldn't remember what he'd done to hurt her, but obviously he had. She was bleeding somewhere on her back, and she'd moved away from him as soon as he'd woken up again. But for some inexplicable reason she was still there anyway, having chosen to stick around—albeit at a safe distance—instead of make a clean exit while he was passed out. Even more inexplicable had been her reluctant offer to stitch him up.

He idly ran his fingers over the stitches that tracked over his shoulder and down his chest. The process had gone about as well as could be expected, given their history. But things had still been tense. When he had reached out to lightly catch her arm, he had been careful to stay far away from the area he had bruised so badly not too long ago. Even so, she had flinched at his touch like he was about to strike her, and somehow he had found it more difficult than usual to tamp down the guilt.

Matt had grown used to Claire's healing ministrations: gentle and steady, always calm despite the situation. Sarah's first aid attempts couldn't be more different. Where Claire was composed and firm, Sarah was nervous and uncertain. Her hands had been shaking slightly, and her long hair brushed against his chest as she worked, no matter how many times she pushed it back over her shoulder. Each time she did, he was hit with a strange combination of her usual citrusy scent mixed with the scent of his own soap and water and blood. The clash of the two worlds had been disconcerting, to say the least.

In fact, it was still disconcerting, and he wondered if part of the reason he was having trouble meditating was due to her scent lingering in several areas of his apartment. She had obviously snooped around a bit while he was unconscious, so who knew what else about his personal life she had discovered, on top of everything that Foggy had told her. The whole night left him feeling like they had crossed a line of some sort, and he wasn't sure if they were going to be able to go back.

Matt took a deep breath, trying to focus on healing and not on the pain shooting through his body, and especially not on the confusion and guilt filling his head.

He wasn't sure how long he sat on the couch, chasing guilty thoughts and justifications around in circles in his head while trying to keep perfectly still to avoid more pain. After a while, he heard Foggy's familiar footsteps approaching the front door, and then the key in the lock. Matt had given Foggy a key not long after they had reconciled, just in case...well, in case something exactly like last night happened.

Foggy's footsteps were especially quiet as he came in the living room, clearly trying not to wake Matt if he was sleeping. Matt opened his eyes and lifted his head up to let the other man know he was awake.

"Hey, Foggy."

"You know you have a much more comfortable bed you could be using instead of the couch, right? It has silk sheets and everything."

"Yeah, but I'm already here," Matt said with a weak grin. He started to shrug, but stopped immediately when the movement sent a searing pain through his shoulder. "Ah—not moving wins out over being in a bed."

"How are you feeling?"

"Been worse."

"Been better, too," Foggy pointed out.

"How was court?" Matt asked, changing the subject.

"It was good," Foggy answered reluctantly, obviously not fooled by Matt's avoidance of the topic. "Lisa Worley said to send you her thanks. She also said we should expect a basket of some sort of baked goods at the office tomorrow, which is excellent. And it will help us deal with the fact that she will be paying us in very, very small increments, over who knows how long a period of time, with no apparent payment schedule."

"Hey, our first client never paid us at all," Matt pointed out. "This is a step up."

"That's true. Karen never did pay us. What a bum."

Matt chuckled at Foggy's indignant tone. He reached for the glass of water next to him, having to focus more than usual to pinpoint where it was. As he drank the water, he could sense Foggy was on the edge of saying something, but was hesitating.

"So..." Foggy began cautiously as Matt set the glass back down. Matt closed his eyes and slowly leaned his head back against the couch, already fairly certain what topic his friend was about to bring up. "Not that I'm looking for another fight with you while you're bleeding out on your couch, but...I think maybe we need to have a talk about your people skills, buddy."

"Do we?" Matt asked tiredly.

"We do," Foggy confirmed. "I know that I haven't really asked much about your trips to go see Sarah, because...I don't know. I guess talking about the more disturbing aspects of your night life didn't really seem like a point we had gotten to, yet. But, Matt...some of things she said about you tonight..."

"Not great things, I'd guess," Matt said quietly when Foggy didn't supply any more information.

"Well, she's not in the Matt Murdock fan club, to say the least. Which, to be fair, is a small club. I'm both the president and the treasurer, and it's pretty exhausting to hold down both positions," he said, and Matt gave a small, tired smile before Foggy grew somber again. "But seriously. You scare the hell out of her, dude. More than I realized."

Matt sighed. "This...this shouldn't be news to you, Foggy. I haven't tried to hide...what my relationship with her has been."

"Alright, maybe you haven't tried to hide it," Foggy conceded. "But let's be honest, you've been kind of vague. Sarah, on the other hand, didn't have any problem letting me know exactly what dealing with you has been like. In fact, I think maybe it took her a little while to realize that I didn't already know. And a lot of it sounded..." Foggy trailed off with a an uncomfortable shrug.

"Scaring her was kind of the point," Matt argued. "From the start."

"I know. I remember. But I just..." Foggy sighed and waved his hands around in frustration. "Are you sure that everything you've been doing is really necessary?"

"Yes," Matt said adamantly. "It is. Or...it was. I mean, I thought it was. I don't—I don't know."

"Wow. That's one really strong argument you have there, Murdock. You should try using that in court sometime."

Matt rolled his eyes but didn't have a retort.

"I'm just worried," Foggy continued. "About you more than her, actually. It just seems like maybe...maybe you can't separate yourself from Daredevil anymore. The Matt that I met in law school knew how to deal with problems using something other than violence. Or, the—the threat of violence, or whatever."

"Well I have very different problems now than I had back then. There are no—no guidelines for this, Foggy. There's no crime fighting handbook that lets me know if I'm in the right or not," Matt said bitterly. "Do you understand what would happen if she told someone? Have you actually thought about it? Really thought it through?"

Foggy didn't answer immediately, so Matt continued, trying to control the panic and frustration building up in his chest.

"Because I have." Matt's head was pounding, and he leaned forward and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes in an effort to stem the pain. "I've run through it in my mind a million times since she found out. If—if she went to the cops? I'd be arrested, charged with...who knows how many crimes. And then disbarred. And sent to prison for probably the rest of my life. Which, considering I'd be in there with criminals that I helped put away, wouldn't be very long. But there's no way that'd be the end of it. No, they'd—they'd charge you, too. Because you were right, Foggy. No one would believe that you didn't know what was going on this whole time."

"I could handle myself if that happened, Matt, I am a defense lawyer—" Foggy started, but Matt cut him off.

"Yeah, and what about everyone else?" he snapped, surprised by the force in his own voice. "What about when they track it back to Claire and arrest her? And she goes to prison just for—for being a good person and saving someone's life when she didn't have to? As if I haven't messed up her life enough. Brought her enough pain that she doesn't deserve. And—and Karen. They'd go after her just as hard as they'd go after you. And she doesn't even know anything. She's innocent. But who would believe that?"

"But, Matt, you can't—"

"No," Matt cut him off again. He desperately needed Foggy to understand how serious this was, that he was doing this to protect them. "I'm not done. Because her going to the cops? That's the best scenario. That's the least painful of all the possibilities. But—but if she skipped the police and went straight to Orion? Do you know what kind of people that company has at its disposal? Violent, vicious people with no conscience, Foggy. Hit men, and rapists, and human traffickers. Dangerous people who could easily find you and Karen before I...before I'd even know what had happened. Do—do you know what they would do to you? To Karen and to Claire—" Matt was dismayed to hear his own voice crack. "Do you really think that men like that would just let them die easy if they got their hands on them?"

Matt could hear Foggy's heartbeat stumble at the implication behind his words as the other man looked down at the floor.

"No. They probably wouldn't," Foggy whispered.

"For weeks, those scenarios have been all that has been on my mind. Do you think that I've just been going home at night a-and thinking up ways to terrorize someone who can't defend herself?" Matt asked desperately. "I haven't. I've been up for nights trying to get these images out of my head. Images of what could happen to you guys. Because of me. Because of this path that I've chosen. And now, with Sarah...that possibility is so much closer. It's just a slip of the tongue away. All of this danger that you're all in, that—that I've put you in...it was awful enough to think about that when it felt like I had some control over who found out. And now I don't. She does."

"Well...I mean, couldn't you say the same about Claire?"

"No. That was different," Matt said adamantly, shaking his head. "Claire knew my face, not my name. Not until I told her. And she definitely didn't know where I work, or your name, like Sarah. And besides, Claire works for a hospital, not the worst corporation in Hell's Kitchen."

"Karen worked as a secretary for one of Fisk's companies, too," Foggy pointed out.

"Karen has no idea who Daredevil is."

"So, if she had found out, would you have treated her like you do Sarah?"

"Well, I...no, probably not," Matt admitted grudgingly. "But she was a secretary at a construction company. She didn't know about the illegal things they were doing until the end. It was all financial. Orion is—is literally just a façade for violent criminals. I don't even understand what their cover business is. There's no one who works there that doesn't know what they do. Including Sarah."

Foggy was silent for a while, observing him. Matt wished he would just say whatever was on his mind; the wait was killing him as he tried to figure out what his friend was thinking.

"You know, Matt, I've heard you give a lot of well-rehearsed closing arguments. And this kind of sounds rehearsed. Like maybe...I don't know, you've had to convince yourself of this a few times, too? Does that not set off some alarms in your head?"

Matt didn't say anything. Foggy was right. The justification sounded rehearsed because he had told it to himself so many times.

"You know she helped save your life tonight, right?" Foggy said. "There was no way I was going to be able to get you out of there and back here without help."

"I know."

"So...what are you planning on doing about that? Just keep on giving her the full Daredevil treatment anyway?"

"No, I...obviously not."

"Good. That's a step. So...what, then?"

"I don't—I don't know," Matt said, hating the disappointment still coloring Foggy's tone. "I've been trying. Since I found about her father, I've been trying to...be better. At least a little. The last few times we've seen each other, I've—I've stayed on the other side of the room from her. I haven't laid a hand on her."

The words sounded like weak excuses even to him, and sure enough, Foggy felt the same way.

"So, basically, you've done the bare minimum required to not be considered an unstable maniac?"

Matt ran a hand over his face. "Pretty much."

Foggy paused, clearly unimpressed.

"Well, that's wonderful, Matt. Really, great job. A-plus for effort."

He cringed at Foggy's caustic tone.

"I didn't mean—I just...I just mean that I'm not—enjoying doing this to her. I do feel guilty, I'm not that...not that far gone," he said softly. "I've been trying to go easier on her. The last few times I've seen her."

"Including tonight?"

Matt was silent. They both knew that it didn't include tonight.

"I'm going to go ahead and assume that's a no," Foggy continued, while Matt fidgeted with the loose threads on the arm of the couch. "Because when I asked her how it went, she said it went like she expected, and let me tell you: she was fully expecting you to wake up and go for her throat. Just for being in your apartment. Helping you. It's not fun to hear someone talk about your best friend like that, Matt."

"I'm sorry," Matt whispered automatically.

"Hey, don't apologize to me. I'm not the one whose arm you threatened to break."

Matt winced. "She told you about that?"

"Yeah, Matt," Foggy said, and the disappointment in his voice was unbearable. "It came up. She did say that was the worst it ever got. Couldn't tell if she was telling the truth or if she was just trying to make me feel better."

"Both, probably. That night was...bad. As bad as the night we first met. I felt awful, later. When I realized how badly I'd bruised her arm, and then even—even more so when I found out about her dad. I felt sick. If that...helps, at all," he finished lamely.

"It helps a little, yeah. Catholic guilt makes up a good fifty percent of Matt Murdock's personality, so it helps to know that at least part of you is still familiar."

The two of them were quiet for a few minutes as they both contemplated the others' points. It was Matt who finally broke the silence.

"I don't...I don't know what happened tonight," Matt admitted quietly. "I woke up and everything was painful and...confusing. I didn't know what was going on. Just that you weren't there and she was, and...I don't remember what happened, exactly. I know that later on her—her shoulder was bleeding. And she said it was from me. I guess I hurt her. But I wasn't...I wouldn't have. If I had been more with it."

Foggy didn't say anything, and an awful thought occurred to Matt.

"You...you believe me, right?" he asked Foggy uncertainly.

"Of course I believe you," Foggy said impatiently, and Matt felt a rush of relief when he was able to tell that his friend was telling the truth. "I get why you've been doing what you have. I really do. If you trust her and it turns out you shouldn't, then we're all screwed. Big time. But if you keep this up...it's going to take its toll on you, man. You know that."

Matt's head was killing him—actually, his whole body was killing him—and he wanted nothing more than to not have this conversation. "Can't we just—can we drop this?"

"No! Because I know you, Matt!" Foggy said with clear exasperation. "You get all inside your head with the guilt and the—the conflicting whatevers and you need to argue it out with someone. And I don't know if you've noticed, but there aren't a lot of people lining up to debate morality with you. Pretty much just me, actually."

"So this is just...what? You playing Devil's Advocate?"

"No," Foggy scoffed. "We can't both be devils. That would be ridiculous. And very confusing. I'm just trying to appeal to your inner law student. And maybe your inner...decent person."

Matt leaned his head back again and closed his eyes. "Okay. Okay. I'll think about it. I really will. Can I just...go to sleep now?"

"Yeah. That's probably a good idea. If Claire was here, she'd probably be yelling at me for keeping you awake this long, actually."

Matt shifted until he was lying on his back, still too tired to get off the couch and find his way to his own bed.

"Just one last thing," he heard Foggy say.

Matt raised his eyebrows, not bothering to turn his head back towards his friend. "What?"

"You can tell she's hot, right? I mean...you know. You always know."

"Foggy," Matt complained.

"Alright, alright. I'll take that as a yes," Foggy said. "But she seems nice. And she's smart. And kinda ballsy, for someone who constantly looks like a deer in the headlights. I mean, if you had to get yourself mixed up working with an employee at a dangerous company who could destroy your life at any moment...she's probably one of the better ones you could have gotten."

"I'm glad you two managed to bond so well over sneaking me around in a shopping cart," Matt grumbled resentfully.

Foggy just flashed him a grin that Matt would have known was there even if he couldn't sense it. "And they say it's hard to make friends in New York."

➳