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

When the phone did finally ring, she answered immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How do you know?"

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

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

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

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

"Sarah, listen—"

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

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

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

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

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

"Good. Let me know what he says."

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

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

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

"Yeah. It's on."

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

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

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

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

"I—yeah. No, I will. Thanks, Matt."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Foggy?" she asked confusedly through the door.

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

"What are you doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Catch up on life," she repeated doubtfully.

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

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

"Do you want to come in, Foggy?"

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you have?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sarah winced at the memory, but nodded.

"That is truly terrifying. Congratulations."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What? No!"

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

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

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

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

"Oh, obviously."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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