the front door after she locked it, trying to breathe steadily. She hadn't seen that side of Matt in a while, and she had nearly forgotten how terrifying he was when he wanted to be. Her head was spinning with confusion as she slowly started to come down from the fear-induced adrenaline rush that had kicked in when he'd backed her into the wall. She had been positive at that moment that he was going to go full Daredevil on her to keep her from taking the bribe and turning him in. So why hadn't he?

Running a shaking hand through her hair, she crossed the room back to the dining room table, where she began gathering the photos together to put them back into the folder. She flipped the folder open, forgetting that there were still more photos inside, and she was immediately greeted by the gory sight of a half-flattened body on a sidewalk, surrounded by police tape. Her stomach turned. She vaguely remembered reading about this one in the news: a junkie had thrown himself off the roof, and his friend who had been shooting up in the same room swore he had seen Daredevil knocking the guy around beforehand. But he couldn't seem to say for certain if it had been real or a hallucination, and soon enough the news had dropped the story.

Oddly enough, this one almost bothered Sarah more than all the others. One of the most unnerving things about Matt—of which there were many—was the way he seemed to get so consumed by his temper. She was willing to bet that if he were ever to kill someone, that's how it would happen: he'd be interrogating a lowlife somewhere and would simply go too far, throw him over the edge of the building. No chance to calm down or change his mind; just a split second decision that ended in a dead body.

Sarah closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. Maybe looking at more photos wasn't a good idea. She stuffed them all back into the folder before letting her gaze fall on the ceramic shards that now littered the floor. Reluctantly, she grabbed her dust pan and brush and slowly knelt next to the broken pieces. One more glaringly obvious reminder that no matter how comfortable they had started to become with one another, Matt Murdock was still a violent, dangerous person.

Matt had pinned her to a wall by her throat, scared her to the point of passing out. Matt had threatened to break her arm, then dragged her into an alleyway and terrified her. Matt had left her with a bruised arm and the sound of his hands slamming into the dumpster echoing in her ears for days. Matt had repeatedly used his size and strength to manhandle and intimidate her, taken every opportunity to show her that he was willing and able to hurt her.

Matt had also helped her after Ronan attacked her. Matt had been gentle and quiet and bandaged her hands, even after she had busted his lip open in a panic. Matt had given her ice packs, and taken care of her father's traffic ticket. Matt had asked Claire to help her, despite knowing the risks. Matt had agreed to look after her father for her, and taken it upon himself to track down Ronan after what he had done to her. Matt had given her his jacket and helped her through her panic attack.

But that was the problem, wasn't it? The man couldn't seem to pick whether he wanted to hurt her or help her.

Sarah couldn't seem to muster the energy to get back up and go throw out the broken mug she'd cleaned up, choosing instead to sit back against the wall tiredly. She turned her head when she heard a tiny scratching noise, and she spotted the mouse lingering under her dining room table.

"Don't you come in here unless you have advice for me," she warned the rodent.

He simply twitched his tail. Useless mouse.

When Sarah was younger, her father had been an adamant supporter of Pros and Cons lists, no matter what the problem was. Making a physical list felt too silly in a situation like this one, so instead Sarah made a mental one in her head:

Pros: Almost too many to count. She could buy a new life for both her and her father, in a different country—on a different continent. He could get proper healthcare and she could go back to playing piano full time. No more letters from the electric company threatening to cut her services off. No more hoping the price of her father's medication doesn't increase again. No more Ronan or Jason or sleazy cops. No more staying up at night wondering if she was doing the right thing partnering up with a wanted vigilante.

Cons: It made her heart hurt in a strange way to think of Matt going to prison because of her.

The thought was ridiculous. She had no obligation to protect someone who constantly showed little to no regard for her own safety and privacy. But nagging questions kept popping into her brain anyway: What would happen to Matt in prison, locked away with the same criminals he had put there? What would happen to the streets of Hell's Kitchen without him? Since they'd first made their deal, Sarah had started closely following mentions of Daredevil in the press—a habit she would never mention to Matt—curious to see what he did with his time when he wasn't with her. A few times a week, stories cropped up of people who owed their lives and safety to a mysterious man in a black mask. His presence in the news would only increase if his identity was exposed: a blind lawyer becoming a vigilante would be a national story. Would she feel guilty seeing Matt's face splashed across the newspapers, hearing news anchors condemn him on TV?

She groaned in frustration and slid her knees up so that she could rest her forehead on them. She turned her head slightly to see the mouse still staring at her. Judging me, probably.

"What do you care?" she whispered resentfully at the small mouse. "He doesn't even like you."

The mouse, clearly offended by the comment, scurried back into the kitchen, and Sarah remained sitting on the floor alone, a dustpan of broken pieces on her lap.

The rest of the weekend passed in a similar haze of internal debate. Sarah wished that she had someone—anyone—that she could talk to about it, to get a clear opinion. But the only person who knew enough about the situation to have an opinion was the one-man Matt Murdock Support Group known as Foggy Nelson, and there was no way he was going to be able to give her any unbiased advice. (Yes, please send my best friend to prison, Sarah. And me as well, possibly. Seems like a good idea.) So, she spent much of the weekend alternating between thinking about her dilemma and carefully avoiding doing just that. After the first few hours, she had shoved the envelope of money into her nightstand drawer so that she didn't have to look at it anymore.

Monday at Orion was predictably tense for Sarah, who found herself constantly on edge, thinking that Jason or someone else was going to bring up the bribe at any time. But no one did, and her workday ended up being mercifully short. She had just come back from another inexplicably detailed errand of no apparent importance, and was settling into her desk to answer emails when she heard Jason's muffled voice coming from his office. She frowned when she glanced at the phone on her desk and saw that the line in his office wasn't in use. Jason used his work phone almost exclusively; he was constantly buzzing her on the intercom to have her put him through to various numbers. So to hear him on his cell phone at work was attention-grabbing, and it was only made worse by the way his voice got louder with each sentence. Jason never raised his voice; it was one of the things that made him so intimidating.

"—not today, everything is just about to kick off and I—"

Sarah paused her typing, trying to pick up snatches of his conversation. It sounded like whoever was on the other end of the line kept interrupting him.

"—not here all the time like I am, they don't understand how important it is—"

There was a long silence, and Sarah strained her ears to hear more. She was listening so closely that she jumped noticeably when the door to Jason's office banged open dramatically. Despite the theatrical entrance, he seemed as unruffled as usual when he emerged from the office, save for a strange tightness to his usual wide grin.

"Sarah. You can go home for the day," Jason informed her, slipping a heavy coat on over his suit. He always dressed like it was freezing outside, even with the late spring temperatures starting to build into summer. "I have some business to attend to."

Sarah glanced at the clock on the wall; it was barely past two in the afternoon. Any other day she would have jumped at the opportunity to leave so early, but today she was desperate to stick around and find out what that phone call was about. "Are you sure?"

Jason's answer faded on his lips as his phone buzzed with a new text message. He scanned it, then sent a look of trepidation upwards, towards the ceiling. Sarah followed his gaze in bewilderment, but didn't see anything.

"Actually, go ahead and take tomorrow off, too," Jason said distractedly, not even bothering to follow up the instructions with his usual plastic cheerfulness, as he usually did. Instead he just turned and headed for the staircase, still tapping at his screen. Sarah watched him as the door swung closed behind him, and she could have sworn she saw him start to head upstairs—to the fourth floor—instead of down to the exit.

Sarah sat there dumbly for a minute before starting to gather her things. She wasn't sure if she was glad to have these extra few hours of thinking before having to make her decision tonight. She felt like she'd exhausted the arguments for either decision after thinking about nothing else all weekend, and she still hadn't figured out what to do. She bit her lip as she slung her purse over her shoulder. There was one person who she knew could help make her feel better, even if he couldn't actually give her any advice on the situation. As she exited the building, skirting past the new and unfriendly security team at the entrance, she pulled her cell phone out of her bag.

Her father answered after a few rings.

"Hey, Dad. I got off work early today. Mind if I come over?"

If the past few days of introspection had made Sarah lean towards taking Matt's side, stepping foot into her father's apartment Monday afternoon had the opposite effect. Glancing around the apartment as she set her purse aside, it not only became easy to imagine taking the money, but almost like a betrayal not to. Her eyes swept over the blank walls—all of the pictures had now been banished to the stacks in the corner of the room—and the thick layer of dust that had settled over most of the shelves and windowsills. Then she frowned at the pile of unopened newspapers stacked against the wall next to her dad's recliner, still stuffed into their plastic sleeves. Her father used to read the news religiously every day. There were more than a few dirty dishes around the room, and the trash needed to be taken out.

But Mitch himself seemed to be having a relatively good day, and he greeted her with more clarity in his expression than she had seen him show in a while.

"What a nice surprise," he exclaimed, greeting her with a warm hug. "Some special occasion that they let you off work early?"

She smiled at him weakly and shook her head. "No, they just...didn't need me anymore today." Due to mysterious phone calls.

Mitch nodded, then his face lit up excitedly. "Hey. You know what was on sale last time I went to the grocery store? Those peanut butter cookies you used to like. I got three packages."

Sarah laughed softly at his enthusiasm as he disappeared into the kitchen, mostly because she did used to love peanut butter cookies growing up, and the fact that he could recall that was comforting in a bittersweet way. As alien as the apartment looked, and as out-of-character her father acted these days, there was a part of him that was still Mitch, and catching glimpses of that person was always simultaneously painful and comforting.

While her father was in the kitchen, Sarah allowed her mind to wander longingly. Once her father had the proper therapy and support that he needed—that she couldn't provide on her own—maybe she would get to see those glimpses of the real Mitch more often. Once his mind wasn't taxed with finances and worrying about her health, he could focus more on staying healthy and present. They could stock the entire kitchen—which, in their new house far away, would be large and full of windows—with foods they loved, like the peanut butter cookies. The image was tempting, to say the least.

"Hey, do you know who won the game last night?" Mitch called from the other room. "I fell asleep on the couch before I could watch."

"I have no idea. I can look it up," she called back, getting up from her perch on the arm rest of the couch and making her way over to her father's desk. She shook the mouse to wake up the ancient computer that he refused to replace. The local news was his homepage, so she scanned it to see if the scores were listed anywhere. She found them, and was just about to read them off when a photo of a familiar face caught her eye: the sandy-haired police officer who had played the 'Bad Cop' to Aaron McDermott's 'Good Cop' in the station. It was just a small picture, inserted next to a quote he had given the newspaper about safety regulations for some fluff piece on an upcoming marathon. According to the caption, is last name was Donovan.

Forgetting about the sports scores, Sarah quickly opened Google in another tab and typed in the officer's name along with the words 'NYPD 15th Precinct' to see what would come up. His name appeared in several police blotters and articles, the first of which she went ahead and clicked on.

"Are you on a church website, there?" she heard from behind her. Her father leaned over to look at the photo on the screen, which only showed Donovan from the neck up, making it difficult to tell he was in uniform.

"Hmm?" Sarah said, distracted by the police blotter she'd just brought up and only half listening. "No. Why?"

"Well, that's one of the Jehovah's Witnesses that came to see me a few times."

It took Sarah a second to fully register what he'd said. She whipped her head around to get a better look at Mitch, trying to figure out if he was just having a moment of confusion. But his eyes were lucid and clear of uncertainty.

"This...this guy?" she said, pointing at the photo on the screen. "Are you sure? Maybe he just looks like him?"

Mitch shook his head resolutely. "No, no, that's definitely him. Him and a dark-haired guy with a funny nose."

Sarah recognized the description immediately, and entered Aaron's name into Google the same way she had Donovan's. A photo came up of him and two other police officers; all three of them were dressed down, but she could barely make out that they were wearing police sweatshirts. She looked back at her father, who was squinting at the photo.

"Yes. That one on the left, there," he said, pointing directly at Aaron.

Her stomach dropped. If those two had been at her dad's house, she was positive it hadn't been on any police-sanctioned business. Not with the way they had acted in the police station and at her apartment.

"Have they come to see you in a while?" she asked Mitch.

"I'm not sure." He paused to think about it, but she could tell he was struggling. Dates and time were the most difficult thing for him these days. "It...seems like it was recent."

"Okay. Okay," Sarah said, trying to keep her voice patient. She desperately wanted more information, but didn't want to push him. And the thought that those cops had spoken to her father, come into his home and pretended to be there on a mission of good—the thought pissed her off, and she didn't want Mitch picking up on that. "Listen, just...don't answer the door for them anymore, okay? Don't talk to them."

"Why?"

How was she supposed to explain to him what was going on? That they were undercover cops, but that she had no idea if they were really working for the police or someone else entirely? Would he remember if they showed up again; would he say something to them that would just put him in further danger?

"I've just seen a lot on the news about people getting robbed after getting visited by guys like that," she lied, relying on her father's inherent acceptance of sensational stories he saw on the news. "You...you never know if they are who they say they are. I know it seems like they're trying to help, but maybe they're not."

"Oh, I know that," he replied, surprising her. "I've never been a religious man. All this talk of eternal paradise just for following the correct writings in the right book? I know when something sounds too good to be true, and what those guys are peddling is sure included in that."

The truth behind his words hit her hard. She had been holding out hope of a golden ticket to get her and her father to a paradise of sorts—maybe not the Heavenly kind, but the kind without Orion looming over them. But he was right; it had sounded too good to be true because it was. If those two were working for Orion...Matt would probably never make it to prison. Whoever that money came from didn't want him arrested; they wanted him dead. Giving her the first $20,000 up front had been smart; when she'd been holding all of that cash in her hands, it had been hard to imagine ever giving it back. But now, looking at the computer screen and seeing Aaron's pixilated face smiling back at her, she realized it had probably never really been hers to begin with. Even if Orion would let that much money walk away, the Sarah who walked away with it wouldn't be the same person she was now. The picture she'd had in her head of a safe place for her and her father slowly faded away

Sarah had thought that when she finally made her decision, it would be like an epiphany. Instead, it hit her very slowly, a piece at a time. The news that Aaron and his partner weren't who they had claimed to be wasn't shocking, but it made the correct path that much more undeniable.

"I have to go, Dad," she said suddenly, turning to her father.

"What?" Mitch protested. "You just got here."

"I know, I'm—I'm sorry," she said as she stood up from the computer chair. "But I just realized I have to go do something."

A wave of guilt swept over Sarah as she surveyed her father, who stood there with the package of cookies in his hand, looking taken aback by her sudden exit. She knew that Mitch had no way of knowing what she had almost been able to give him; the stress-free life that they could have happily lived elsewhere. It's not like he would know the opportunity he was missing, but she would. And as much as she was convinced it wouldn't have really ever worked, it still felt like she was letting him down.

She stepped forward and hugged him tightly, wrapping her arms around his neck like she used to when she was younger.

"I'm really sorry, Dad," she whispered in his ear.

"It's not that big of a deal, Sarah," he said, clearly confused by her strong reaction but dutifully trying to cheer her up. "They're only cookies."

"I know," she said, breaking away from the embrace. She felt tiny pricks behind her eyes, and hurriedly grabbed her things, avoiding meeting his eyes. She kept her voice as light as she could. "I'll come over soon and we can eat cookies and do some—some spring cleaning, okay? I'll bring pizza. Maybe I'll even get mushrooms on it."