Matt hadn't planned on joining Stick's crusade that night. But Stick had been waiting for Matt in his apartment when he got home from a deposition hearing, and—as usual—had been surprisingly convincing as to why Matt should come help him, despite the lack of warning and the fact that it was only just past five in the evening.

("Not that either of us would know for sure, but I think it's still daylight out," Matt had tried to argue.

"Not underground, it isn't.")

It had been enough to catch his curiosity. Stick had been confident that it would be a short recon mission, just checking out the space to make plans. If he had been lying about that, Matt couldn't tell—but then, he could never tell with Stick.

He hadn't been expecting so many opponents, or for them to move so quickly and silently, and he especially hadn't been expecting them to have bows and arrows. He could only guess that Stick hadn't been expecting it either, or surely they would have brought more backup, enlisted some other poor souls that Stick had under his thumb.

But instead it was just the two of them, and somewhere in the ensuing scuffle Matt didn't move quick enough.

He heard the arrow flying toward him and curved away, but it grazed him. He lifted his hand to the back of his neck to check the damage, and there wasn't much blood. Nothing to worry about. So why did he feel so dazed? He'd gotten hurt much worse than this before, but this was different—something was wrong. His balance was going, and he stumbled, still trying to fight off the men around him. One of them delivered a sharp kick to his already cracked ribs, and he lost his footing completely, falling to the ground.

As he tried to get up, the sounds around him grew painfully loud. It was impossible to distinguish one noise from another among the roar. Shouts, bodies moving, weapons swinging—it all blurred into a cacophony of sounds he couldn't make sense of.

Then, very suddenly, the noise gone. All of it. He couldn't hear anything going on around him. He tried to push his senses further, figure out the placement of objects around him, but there was nothing. The pain spread through him, down his spine and through his limbs, to the point where he couldn't tell if it was coming from his attackers or from his own veins. He felt like he was screaming, but he couldn't be sure.

The line between being conscious and unconscious blurred—there was little to let him know when he was awake and when he wasn't. Time and location were impossible to gage; all Matt could really be sure of was that while this might not have been the traditional Catholic idea of hell, it was definitely his own personal version: being lost in nothingness. It pressed in around him, and no matter how hard he tried to reach out there was nothing there but pain shooting through his veins. He lashed out at anything that came near him, but it was difficult to tell if he was just imagining it.

Then somewhere along the way, the pain started to fade a little, but he couldn't remember how or why. There was someone there with him, touching him with gentle hands and guiding him to lie down. There was only one person he could imagine it being, but it didn't make any sense for her to be there. He was deep underground somewhere, far from her.

Maybe this wasn't real. He was just slowly losing his mind, and this was his brain's way of trying to make it easier on himself. But his body was already reacting, his muscles relaxing just a fraction at the familiar contact, and he found that he really didn't care if he was imagining her. Real or not, leaning into the feel of her touch helped some of the panic fade away, so he focused on the feel her fingers in his hair as he slipped from one kind of nothingness into another.

—

As predicted, Sarah didn't really fall asleep that night. Instead she drifted in and out of a semi-conscious state, vaguely aware of the heavy weight of Matt's head on her lap, the slow expanding of his ribcage underneath her hand. She was on the more unconscious side of said state when she was startled awake by Matt abruptly jolting into a sitting position with a shuddering gasp.

Sarah's eyes flew open.

"Shit," she gasped, bringing a hand to her chest. Her heart was skyrocketing from the sudden awakening. She kept perfectly still with her back to the exposed brick wall, watching Matt as he got his bearings. The cut on his forehead had started bleeding again at some point, leaving fresh blood on both his face and—as Sarah looked down to see—her clothes. His eyes were wide and his breathing harsh and ragged, but he was tilting his head like he always did when he was listening closely to something, which gave her hope.

"Matt," she tried quietly. "Can you hear me?"

No reaction.

She slowly reached for his hand, loosely linking her fingers through his. His head whipped in her direction, his fingers tightening around hers, and she instinctively threw a hand up between them. But after a moment some sort of recognition flashed across his face as—hopefully—the memory of who he was with returned to him. He held her hand no less tightly, but the line of his shoulders grew less tense, and Sarah let out a long, shaky breath.

"You're here," he said. His voice sounded painfully raw and tired.

Sarah frowned and tilted her head.

"Of course I am," she said. Replying to him out loud made the situation feel more normal, somehow.

"I thought, uh..." Matt shook his head, a sad half-smile flickering across his lips. "...thought maybe I imagined you."

Sarah chewed her lip, hating seeing him like this and knowing how helpless she was to do anything. She gently traced her fingertips from his temple down to his jaw, hoping the familiar gesture might at least comfort him a little. It seemed to work somewhat as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. She let her hand linger there for a few moments before slowly pulling away and getting to her feet to grab something to clean the blood from Matt's face.

When she returned with a towel and a bowl of water, she saw that Matt had shifted so that he was sitting against the wall, looking less panicked than he had earlier in the night but just as lost. Sarah gently turned his face towards her.

"I know you're probably spiraling right now," she said as she gingerly pressed the damp towel to the cut along his hairline. He flinched at the initial contact, but didn't try to move away. "Thinking that this is a permanent thing. But it's—it's not. Okay? It's...you'll be fine. Your hearing will come back soon."

She had no idea if that was true, but she had to believe it was. Matt didn't deserve to get trapped in whatever sensory deprivation pit he was in right now. There were too many things he had to do, too many people he had to save for him to lose all his senses now.

"Your hearing has to come back, because I need to let you know how pissed I am at you," she said. "You and your stupid secrets. This is what happens when you go running around with Stick and don't tell anyone." She dipped the towel back into the bowl, watching the reddish-brown tendrils swirl into the water, muddying the color. "Maybe if you had mentioned that you were going to fight ninjas who have poison arrows, I could have...I don't know, reminded you not to do that."

She moved the towel down the side of his face, following the dried rivulets of blood.

"And I'm pissed you didn't tell me that guy was dead. I could have handled it," she said. "I deserve to know when people get murdered because of me."

Ranting at Matt wasn't as satisfying as it probably would have been with him awake, but it was still helping a little bit.

"And—and I know that when you get your hearing back and we argue about this, you're going to say that I would do the same thing in your shoes. That I'd have kept it a secret. And you're right, I probably would have. But you would have been able to tell, you know? That's the difference. You can always tell when I'm lying, but I don't have that ability. So you have to be better. I know that's not fair, but...you just do."

Matt was silent, obviously. Sarah pressed her lips together and swept the towel over the bridge of his nose, cleaning away the last bit of dried blood.

"You know, this isn't so different from how things were at the beginning," she informed him. She set the towel and bowl aside. "Me talking about nothing. You being very stoic and bleeding everywhere."

After a long moment of silence, she sighed and rested her head on her knees, watching him. His eyes were closed, his head tipped back against the wall. Maybe he'd passed out again. Honestly, it didn't seem like such a bad idea.

Sarah checked the time on her phone, which was on its last three percent battery: it was just past 3:30 am. She let her own eyes close for a few moments, just to rest them.

"Foggy. Foggy. Foggy."

Sarah jumped, her eyes flying open at the unexpected voice coming from nearby. Morning light was shining into the living room; she must have actually fallen asleep for a few hours. Now Matt's audio assistant was going off as Sarah clambered to her feet, every muscle in her body protesting her sleeping arrangements.

"Foggy. Foggy. Foggy."

Matt's phone was on the table, and Sarah fumbled with the screen, trying to answer it, but she didn't particularly know how to work it. There was no big green Answer button like on her own touchscreen. Instead, Matt's accessibility settings were set up so that he could swipe certain sections of the screen in a specific way to do different tasks, and she had no idea which way answered the phone.

"Foggy. Foggy. Fog—"

The phone's announcement cut off as Foggy hung up. Hopefully it hadn't been anything too important.

Setting the phone back down, Sarah made her way into the kitchen to get some water. As she was coming back, she heard Matt's burner phone begin buzzing in the pocket of his black cargo pants. Foggy again, she was sure. Matt had almost no reaction to his phone vibrating against his leg, nor to Sarah unzipping his pocket and taking the phone out.

"Hello?" she answered.

There was a pause on the other end.

"Sarah?" Foggy said.

"Hi, Foggy."

"If you're answering Matt's phone, he either had a really good night or a really bad one."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "The second one."

"Shit, really? Is he alright?" Foggy asked, the humor quickly slipping out of his tone.

"He will be, I think," she said. She wasn't sure how much Foggy knew about Stick and whatever he had mixed Matt up in, so she kept it vague. "He had an...incident?"

"Are we talking 'fell into a manhole' incident or capital I, 'aliens are invading' Incident?"

"Uh...somewhere in between. I don't know what happened, exactly. I wasn't there. But his—his senses are all...out of whack. He can't hear anything and I don't think his—I don't know, his radar or whatever is working, either."

Foggy swore on the other end of the line, and Sarah was oddly reminded of the first time they'd ever spoken, with her half asleep and him frantically trying to get help. Speaking of which...

"Why were you calling? Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I mean, Matt just missed an appointment with a client this morning, is all. I figured he just overslept but then when he didn't answer his phone, I thought maybe something was wrong," Foggy said. "And I was right. Dammit. Has Claire checked him over yet?"

"Uh, no. I—I didn't think this was really something that was in her wheelhouse, I guess."

"Give her a call anyway. She's a nurse, she sees all kinds of weird shit."

"I will. So you weren't calling to like—make up, or—or anything like that?" she asked hopefully.

"The man's gone deaf, and you're worried about whether he and I are still fighting?"

"I can worry about a lot of things at the same time, Foggy. It's called anxiety."

Then Foggy sighed.

"Okay, yes, I had maybe been thinking about giving him a call—unrelated to your very overbearing encouragement, I might add. So, maybe when he's more stable I could still...you know, stop by and talk."

Sarah gave a tired smile.

"I think that's a good idea," she said. "Come by whenever you want. Even if his hearing isn't back yet, I could use the company. Matt's apartment is really boring."

"Tell me about it," Foggy said. "I've been trying to talk him into getting a TV for years. You want his Wi-Fi password?"

"My phone's dead. But thanks."

"I think we shoved an old People magazine shoved under one of the legs of his dining room table once to keep it even, if you want something to read."

Sarah glanced at the table doubtfully. A magazine that was probably a couple years old didn't sound like very appealing entertainment.

"Sure. Thanks."

"Okay, I gotta go. Does Matt need anything?"

Sarah took a good look at the man in question. He probably needed a hospital, to be honest, but that wasn't an option. For now, he seemed to be sleeping somewhat peacefully.

"No. No, I think I've got it under control."

"Okay, good. He's not bleeding or anything? He's all bandaged up and safely in bed?"

"He is safely...on the floor," Sarah said carefully. "But he's not bleeding."

"The floor? Sarah."

"He's heavy, Foggy," she protested. "I can't move him."

"Alright, alright. Don't let him stay on the floor any longer than he has to be."

"Okay," she said, feeling mildly chastised. "We'll see you soon, I hope."

The next person she tried calling was Stick. Matt's second burner phone—the one with only one number—was on the counter, and Sarah naively thought that Stick might like to know Matt wasn't dead. But he didn't answer, and he had no inbox to leave a voicemail.

"What an asshole," she muttered as she hung up.

Just as Sarah set the phone down, Matt woke with a start again. She was kneeling next to him within a few seconds, laying one hand against his chest and another along his cheek.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay, you're fine. I'm here with you."

After giving him a few minutes to calm down, Sarah pressed her fingers to his neck to check his pulse. It seemed steady, as did his breathing. His skin was hot, but not as bad as it was earlier. She wasn't sure why he kept waking up so violently, but there was someone she could call to ask.

When Claire answered the phone, she already sounded exhausted. Sarah wasn't sure if that was from work or just from mentally preparing to deal with a call from Matt, but either way she quickly became more alert at the words 'poison arrow'. She listened as Sarah stumbled through an explanation of what she thought happened to Matt, and how his hearing and other senses seemed to have disappeared completely.

"So, do you, um, know anything about that?" Sarah finished. "Like how long something like that would usually last?"

"Hearing loss by poison isn't really my forte," Claire said, sounding a bit overwhelmed by this information. "Do you know what kind of poison it was?"

"No."

"Or how much he got hit with?"

"No."

"What was in the injection you gave him?"

"I have no idea," Sarah said apologetically.

Static filled the phone line as Claire let out a loud sigh of a frustration.

"Okay. How are his vitals?"

Finally, a question she could sort of answer.

"They seem okay. His breathing is steady, and his heart rate is normal, I think. He keeps waking up suddenly, though, like he's in pain."

"It might be his equilibrium. If he's lost his hearing, his balance is probably off, too. It can be disorienting when you're trying to sleep. You know that feeling when you're just getting to sleep and suddenly feel like you're falling? That's probably something along the lines of what's happening."

"Is there anything I should be doing to help him?"

"Just keep an eye on him. Make sure he gets a lot of liquids. Is he hurt otherwise?"

Sarah's eyes wandered from the cut on his temple to the bandage on his neck. "Just the usual amount."

"Okay. Keep me updated on his condition. Call me if it gets any worse, and I can come over myself."

"Thanks, Claire." Sarah said. Just as she was going to hang up, an idea occurred to her. "Oh, wait! Um, could I maybe also ask you for a different, non-Daredevil related favor?"

"You can ask," Claire said warily. "No guarantees beyond that."

"There's a patient who would have been brought in to your hospital sometime in the last few days. Her name is Cheryl McDermott."

"I know the one you're talking about. She was poisoned, too. Was Matt poisoned with that same stuff? Because if so—"

"No, no," Sarah said quickly. "They're not related. But I was wondering if you, um...could you maybe check on her? See—see if she's doing okay?"

"Yeah, I can check. Do you know her?"

"Sort of."

If her vague answer bothered Claire, she didn't let on.

"Alright. I'll check on her when I get the chance and call you back. Anything else?"

"No, that's it," Sarah said. Then she hastily added, "Oh, call me back at this number, though. My phone is dead, and I don't know how to use Matt's other one."

"Sure."

"Thanks again, Claire."

After checking on Matt again, Sarah could no longer avoid checking out her own injuries in the mirror. She ducked into Matt's bathroom and flipped on the light, wincing as the harsh overhead bulbs threw the bruise on her face into sharp contrast.

Matt's fist had a large radius, and he had caught her square on the cheek, managing to leave a vivid reddish-purple bruise over the entire area. The skin had split open just below her eye, and again near the corner of her mouth. Thankfully, the blow hadn't hit her eye directly, or she was sure it would be swollen shut.

Jesus. She didn't look quite as bad as she had after Ronan's attack, but it was still her most noticeable injury in a while. No amount of makeup was going to properly cover this up until it had healed somewhat.

She dabbed some alcohol on the cuts before returning to the living room, where she checked Matt's phone to find a missed call. Of course Claire had called back in the five minutes she'd been out of the room. She settled on the floor next to Matt as she listened to the voicemail the nurse had left her.

"Hey. The patient you were asking about? Her vitals aren't fantastic, but they're not the worst I've seen. And she has three or four uniformed officers on a rotation guarding her room, so she should be safe from anyone trying to hurt her, at least. If that's what you were actually worried about. Keep me updated on Matt."

Claire's message ended, and after a short beep the next new message began playing. It was the message Sarah had left Matt the night before, when she had been waiting for him at Fogwell's.

"Hey. I, uh, I'm at the gym. It's a little after 8:15, so I don't know if—"

She hit delete. Obviously she had since figured out why he was late.

"Saved messages," the phone announced.

Sarah went to hang up, but she paused when she heard her own voice coming out of the phone again.

"Hey, I'm on my way over. I'm bringing you coffee and I—oh, shit. I meant to call your other phone," Phone Sarah said with a laugh. Real Life Sarah shook her head and sent Matt an amused look. What a random message to save. "Hang on."