said as they waited for Matt and Foggy to arrive. "I was thinking that to help pass the time, I might tell you a little bit about what kind of jail time we're potentially looking at here. Not for you, necessarily. But just for, you know...whoever it turns out is responsible for these things."

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. He made her very uneasy; she couldn't recall if he had even told her his name. Neither he nor his partner with the crooked nose, still stationed near the door, were wearing any sort of identifying name tag.

"You're not supposed to talk to me until my lawyers get here," she said quietly.

"I'm not supposed to ask you any questions," he corrected her. "And you're not supposed to tell me anything. But I can talk. And you can listen, or not listen. It's up to you."

She didn't say anything.

"So, what's up first? Kidnapping! That's a minimum of five years right there, even if you only helped. Maximum of twenty-five, depending on the judge you get. Then there's assault, since she got hit with that tranquilizer dart," he continued, ticking off each crime on his fingers. "That's, what, seven years? Now, helping a vigilante...that one's tricky. We don't really have a set sentence for that, since, well, not that many people are stupid enough to do it. But I'd be willing to bet it's a hefty one, wouldn't you?"

"I thought you weren't supposed to ask me anything," she retorted, trying to keep her voice steady despite the horrible way her stomach was twisting.

"Good point," he conceded. "I retract the question. Moving on: I thought you might find it interesting that this actually isn't the first case involving your company that I've had to look into in the past couple of months. I was also assigned to look into the death of one Brian Yates. Nasty way of dying, that was. He worked at your company. You might have known him."

Sarah started to open her mouth to reply, but she was interrupted by a knock at the door. The crooked-nosed cop opened it and spoke briefly with another uniformed officer, who stepped aside to reveal Matt and Foggy. A wave of relief washed over her at the sight of the two of them.

"I sincerely hope you weren't talking to our client without her lawyers present, officer," Matt said coldly as they stepped into the room. He swept his white cane in front of him, using it to find the table.

Foggy set his briefcase down and shrugged, pulling out a chair to Sarah's right. "I don't know, I'm kind of hoping he was. When's the last time we got to press charges for improper detainment procedures? It sounds fun."

The cop leaned back in his chair, holding his hands up in mock defense and smirking at them. "Easy, guard dogs," he said. "I wasn't asking her anything. Just talking out loud to myself."

Matt hovered his hand around the chair to Sarah's left before finally finding it and pulling it out so he could take a seat. It was incredibly strange for Sarah to see him acting like that—like he didn't know exactly where every object in that room was.

The cop pointed between the two lawyers, looking amused. "Nelson and Murdock. Of course. That makes sense."

"How so?"

"You two were all mixed up with Fisk and Daredevil a few months back. Makes sense that you'd end up defending this one," he said, gesturing to Sarah, "and whatever involvement she has with the mask."

If Matt was at all unnerved by the mention of his alter ego, he didn't show it. His face was impassive, and his eyes were covered by the dark glasses that reflected the cop's pale face.

"I'm quite certain that Ms. Corrigan has no involvement with Daredevil or any other wanted persons. And I'm unaware that you have any proof otherwise."

"We have the word of whats-her-face," the cop said dismissively. "The chink girl."

Sarah's eyebrows flew up, and it was apparent she wasn't the only one surprised by his callous words.

"Wow. Vague racism," Foggy piped up. "And not even for the correct ethnic group. Always the quickest way to get people to cooperate with you."

"I could care less what ethnicity she is. All I care about is her story. She's an eyewitness."

"I'd hardly call her an eyewitness," Matt said derisively. "She gave a vague description of something she thinks she saw while heavily under the influence of some very strong tranquilizers. And I'd be willing to bet that she was under the influence of pain killers while giving that statement, as well."

"Not to mention that all of this is being passed along through an interpreter," Foggy added. "We'd love to get a glance at his credentials. Maybe get a second translator in there, just to make sure it's all being deciphered correctly."

"I'm sure that will all be looked into once we have enough evidence to bring this to court."

"So even you admit that you don't have any evidence to have warranted dragging our client down here and interrogating her?"

"Let's not be dramatic," the cop sneered. "No one dragged her down here. She came of her own free will, to answer a few questions. We're very appreciative of that. Especially given your family's sparkling reputation with the NYPD."

"I'm sorry," Foggy said. "Are vague character insinuations a verified police tactic now?"

"No one's trying to insinuate anything. I just mean, you know...you're Mitch Corrigan's daughter. That guy ended up in our drunk tank more times than I can count. And his criminal record..." The cop shook his head slowly and scanned over one of the papers in his folder. "Public drunkenness...participating in illegal gambling establishments...even a possession charge for marijuana back in the day. Do you think that it's hereditary? That inability to be a contributing member of society? Because if so, it looks like you've inherited it from both sides."

He held up another record, and she could barely make out the name Anna Corrigan at the top. It looked like he was going to go more into detail, but Matt interrupted him, clearly unhappy with the direction of the conversation.

"Are we here to talk about family trees, or to discuss why you're still questioning Ms. Corrigan with nowhere near enough evidence to arrest her?"

"No one said anything about arresting her."

"Then why is she here?"

"I told you. Just to answer a few questions. For instance, questions like this one," he said, turning to Sarah and lacing his fingers together. "Do you know what happens to people deemed mentally unfit when their caretakers get sent to prison?"

A brief silence fell over the room at the sudden redirection. Sarah felt her stomach grow heavy with trepidation.

"Excuse me?" she said slowly.

"People who cannot legally be expected to take care of themselves," the cop explained slowly, despite clearly knowing that Sarah hadn't been asking for elaboration. "Do you know what happens to them when the person who takes care of them goes off to prison? They're put in care of the state. And let me tell you, state care facilities? Not the best. Not by a long shot. Kind of dirty, not great food. Incredibly subpar medical staff, that's for sure. Really, not all that different from prison."

A strangely familiar crushing feeling began gathering in Sarah's chest with every word the cop spoke, like a hand was squeezing her lungs every time she tried to inhale.

"This isn't even the tiniest bit relevant to what you brought her here for—" Foggy started to argue.

"—my dad has never been declared mentally unfit," Sarah interrupted, not taking her eyes off of the sandy haired cop's.

He shrugged and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Doesn't mean he couldn't be."

The crushing feeling grew, accompanied by a sudden feeling of lightheadedness.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" she demanded shakily.

"Sarah, don't say anything else," Matt said quietly.

She struggled to breathe in fully, and was dismayed to feel a slight tingling sensation in her arms and legs. Wasn't that a sign of something bad? Like a stroke. Or a heart attack. Do people usually have heart attacks in their twenties? she thought irrationally.

"We'd like a few minutes alone with our client, please," Matt said suddenly. Technically it was a request, but it was clear that he expected them to comply. The cop sitting at the table glanced over his shoulder at his partner, then turned to them and shrugged carelessly.

"Sure. If it'll make you feel better, go ahead. We'll be back in a bit."

As the door closed behind the two officers, Foggy immediately turned to Matt.

"Is it just me, or is this questioning session all over the place? They said they were going to ask her about the girl at Orion and they've barely even touched on the subject. Hell, they barely even brought up the whole Daredevil thing."

Sarah stayed silent, trying not to think about the constricting feeling in her lungs. Hearing how suspicious Foggy was of the whole situation didn't help. She balled her hands up, feeling her fingernails dig into her own already injured palms.

"Sarah?" Matt said. She didn't respond. Foggy didn't seem to notice.

"Something's up here, Matt," he continued. "Starting with whatever the hell this room is. I've never seen an interrogation room with no windows, no mirrors, and no cameras. What is this, the Gitmo of Hell's Kitchen?"

Sarah whipped her head around to look at him in alarm.

"Foggy—" Matt warned.

"Uh—I didn't mean Gitmo," Foggy corrected himself quickly, catching sight of the panicked look on Sarah's face. "Not—not Gitmo like with the—the torture, or—" he stuttered off, looking at Matt for help.

A strong dizzy sensation hit her, and she leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table and pressing her palms to her eyes as she waited for it to pass. But it didn't.

"Sarah?" she heard Matt's calm voice say somewhere near her ear. "What's happening?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled. "Just need a second."

Matt leaned back in his chair so that he could talk to Foggy behind her, speaking quickly and lowly.

"Foggy. Go find her some water," she heard Matt murmur to his partner. "Make sure the cops don't come in here. The last thing we need is for them to see her like this."

He probably hadn't intended for her to hear him, but his words made her chest tighten in panic even more. If the police saw her reacting like this, there would be no doubt in their minds that she was guilty. The sound of her heart racing was almost deafening even in her own ears; this must be what Matt felt like all the time.

She heard the door close behind Foggy, leaving her and Matt alone at the table. Then the sound of metal scraping the concrete floor as Matt turned his chair in her direction, causing her to look up. He reached around and grasped the side of her chair, then slowly rotated it around so that she was facing him, keeping her balanced on the chair with his other hand. He slid forward slightly in his seat, so that his knees were on either side of hers, and his hands were on the metal arm rests of her chair.

"Hey. Listen to me."

Sarah was too disoriented to be caught off guard by this sudden proximity, as she normally would be. Without thinking, she found herself reaching out and grabbing his forearm, digging her fingers into the fabric of his suit. If her nails were hurting him through the cloth, he showed no indication.

"Sarah. Breathe," he ordered, speaking very quietly but firmly. "You're alright."

She nodded frantically, but the command to breathe was easier said than done, especially when it felt like she could only expand her lungs halfway. Why couldn't she make this stop? She was in the middle of a police station interrogation room, for god's sake. This was the last place she needed to be having a panic attack.

"They're just trying to scare you because they don't have anything on you. Don't let them get in your head."

Too late. His words weren't helping, so instead she just tried to focus on the sound of his voice, that very specific cadence he had. Anything other than the sound of her own erratic heartbeat in her ears. Her whole body felt chilled, even though she knew somewhere in the back of her brain that the room wasn't actually cold. Despite that, her hands and feet began to feel slightly numb, like she had dunked them in ice water.

She closed her eyes as he continued speaking. She wasn't listening to what he was saying, but she thought maybe he was asking her something. His words were muffled by a rushing sound in her ears.

Sarah felt Matt lean away from her, and a few seconds later something warm and heavy was draped over her shoulders. Her eyes flew open and she looked down in bewilderment to see Matt's suit jacket wrapped around her. He was frowning, apparently alarmed by her violent shivering. She opened her mouth, intending to thank him, but what came out was entirely different.

"I still have your sweatshirt," she blurted out. She had no idea why she had to tell him that right now, of all times.

Matt's looked briefly confused, then his mouth quirked up slightly. "That's okay. I have others."

Sarah leaned forward and buried her face in her hands.

"They're going to arrest me," she said, her voice so muffled by her hands that no one without enhanced hearing could understand her. "They're going to send me to prison and they'll send my dad to old person prison and I'll never get to see him again and I can't breathe."

"That's not true," Matt countered firmly. "You and your dad will be fine. And you can breathe, you are breathing, you just need to slow down."

He was wrong. She couldn't breathe, there just wasn't enough air in the small, dirty room.

"I think—I think I want to leave," she said, sitting up suddenly. "Can I leave? Are they k-keeping me here?"

She moved to stand up, but Matt predicted her actions and quickly slid his hands off the chair to grab hold of her arms, keeping her in her chair. His grip wasn't very tight, but she didn't bother trying to break away.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Matt said immediately.

"Why not?" she said desperately. Some part of her brain, the reasonable part currently being drowned out by the panic in her veins, knew perfectly well why she couldn't leave, but for the life of her she couldn't remember why.

"Listen to me," Matt said, his voice low and calm. "They're not detaining you. You aren't under arrest. But if you go rushing out of here, you're going to look guilty no matter what. It will make things worse."

Of course. She knew that. And she knew that she knew that, but something deep in her chest still frantically wanted to be out of that tiny room. She tried to block it out.

"Right. I know," she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head violently. "I know that. I'm sorry. Shit."

"I'm not going to let you go to jail, Sarah," Matt said softly. "And I won't let them take your dad anywhere, either. Okay? We're good lawyers. Well, Foggy is. I'm decent."

She exhaled in a short laugh, still struggling to breathe normally. But the dizziness had faded, and the feeling was slowly returning to her limbs.

The door opened suddenly, and Sarah jumped. But it was just Foggy, carrying a bottle of water in his hand. He raised his eyebrows a fraction at the sight of the two of them, but made no comment on it.

"Sorry," he said as he handed the water bottle to Sarah. "This vending machine was broken so I had to go find one that worked. Are you...better now?"

Sarah nodded, embarrassed by how badly she had just freaked out. She was still shaky, and didn't feel like she could fully breathe in. But she didn't feel like she was dying, which was an improvement.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," she muttered, shrugging Matt's jacket off and handing it back to him. "I'm sorry. I can't really..." she trailed off, suddenly feeling extremely exhausted. "I'm sorry."

Matt wordlessly moved his chair back to its original position, and she followed suit.

"It's no big deal," Foggy said kindly, while Matt slipped his suit jacket back on. "I'm just glad you're calmed down now because they're probably going to come back in here in about—"

He was cut off by the timely re-entrance of the two police officers.

"—right this second," he finished, spinning on the spot to face the two cops. "Welcome back, officers."

They ignored his greeting. The cop who had been questioning Sarah looked past Foggy, letting his eyes fall on her.

"You're shaking a bit, there," he noted with a hint of a smirk. "Cold?"

Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but it was Foggy who spoke up quicker, smacking his hand down on the table indignantly and then pointing accusatorily at the two officers.

"I should say so! It is freezing in here, gentlemen! Are you purposely trying to make our client uncomfortable?"

The cops exchanged a confused look.

"It's like seventy five degrees in here," the crooked-nosed one said.

"Seventy three, maybe," Foggy countered. "At the most. And I think seventy eight is generally considered the acceptable setting for room temperature, so unless you'd like us to file a complaint with the department for neglect—"

"You've gotta be kidding me," the sandy-haired cop said doubtfully.

Foggy turned to Matt. "If we all get pneumonia from these sub-arctic temperatures, can we sue them, probably?"

"Most definitely," Matt responded casually.

"Christ, alright, alright. I'll go change the thermostat," the cop grumbled, holding his hands up. He rolled his eyes and yanked the door closed behind him. Just before it shut, Sarah swore she heard him mutter to himself about insufferable lawyers. Now they were left with the other cop, who so far hadn't spoken much.

Moving away from the door, he smiled at them sympathetically before taking a seat in the now empty chair.

"I apologize for my colleague," he said. "He's just had a long shift today. I'm Officer McDermott. You can call me Aaron, if you like."

Sarah was immediately suspicious that he introduced himself by his first name; the other cop hadn't even bothered to give any name. She could tell by the way Matt tensed slightly next to her that he had picked up on the difference, too. It felt oddly like a trap.

"Officer McDermott, do you mind telling me why you're partner decided to start harassing Ms. Corrigan over matters that have nothing to do with the subject he was supposed to be questioning her about?"

Matt's voice was surprisingly quiet, but authoritative. Like he expected the officer to lean in to listen to him, which Aaron did. There was a deadly calm to his voice that Sarah recognized, and had he been using that tone on her, she'd probably have been headed for the door. But seeing that intimidation aimed at someone else for once was oddly satisfying.

"I wouldn't say that it was completely irrelevant subject matter," Aaron said amiably. "But I understand that maybe it was upsetting. That definitely wasn't our intention. And I'm sorry about that."

He turned his attention to Sarah at the end of his sentence, apologizing directly to her. She didn't respond.

"In fact," he continued, starting to gather the papers and folders his partner had left on the table, "I don't see any reason to keep you here if you're uncomfortable. We appreciate you coming down and chatting with us."

Sarah exchanged a confused look with Foggy, thrown by the abrupt change.