trigger warning: mentions of sexual assault (non graphic, but i want to throw it here in case) 💗

—

The first month of Sarah's new position at Orion, Inc. was full of unfortunate surprises. The first and most obvious being the job itself, which she had been shoved into with little warning. The second was the discovery that her new supervisor—a tall, sneering man named Ronan—was among the most detestable of the company's employees; much worse than James Wesley, who had been the one to 'offer' her the job in the first place.

The third and worst surprise was when she opened her first paycheck. There was no accompanying stub with a breakdown of hours worked or deductions—and why would there be? Had she forgotten what kind of company this was?—but she was certain there had to be a mistake. Had they accidentally left a week out?

It wasn't as though they had an HR department she could ask, so she had to resort to something she had quickly learned to hate: knocking on Ronan's office door.

Ronan didn't look surprised to see her entering his office. In fact, he looked expectant and almost—gleeful? The sight immediately set her on edge.

"Um...I think there's a mistake," she said hesitantly. "With my paycheck."

"What kind of mistake would that be?"

Sarah looked down at the check, then back up at Ronan's smug expression. She held the check up.

"There's barely anything in it?" she ventured.

Ronan squinted theatrically, as though trying to read the check from across his desk. "Mmm...no. Looks right to me. Maybe you just don't understand how the math works."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, trying to keep her breathing steady. He was always playing these weird games with her, and she hated it.

Ronan rolled his eyes, then pointed at the chair in front of his desk.

"Take a seat," he said.

Sarah was reluctant to make herself any more comfortable in his office than necessary, but she did want to know what was happening with her pay, so she took the chair.

"Didn't Wesley walk you through the logistics of this arrangement?" Ronan asked. "Were you not listening? You do the work, we keep half the money to pay off daddy's debts."

"He said it would be a—a portion," Sarah argued. "Not half."

"Half is a portion. A big one. Plus, there were a few special deductions I had to take out myself," Ronan said. At Sarah's confused stare, he elaborated. "We don't pay you to just show up here and look pretty. You have to actually do your job. So all those breaks where you go—I don't know—cry in the bathroom or whatever you do? That's not paid. Neither is the time spent staring a the clock like you'll make it go faster. So...that's the pay you actually earned."

Sarah hadn't realized until now just how closely Ronan watched her while she was at work, and the knowledge made her skin crawl.

"But I can't survive on this," she said. "I have to pay rent, and bills, and—and buy groceries—"

"Then I'd suggest you pick which one of those is most important to you," Ronan said with a callous sneer.

Sarah bit the inside of her cheek hard to stop herself from responding. It wasn't like he needed a response to continue anyway.

"I feel bad for you. I really do. It's not like you can go get a second job. You have no real marketable skills," he said as he stood from his chair and walked around to lean against the desk in front of her. His proximity made her want to get up and run, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was making her uncomfortable. "Remind me again what you were doing before this? Playing the violin?"

He was playing with her, trying to get a reaction. And in some ways it was working; she could feel her face heating up and knew that it was probably turning visibly red.

"The piano," she said as calmly as she could.

"Right. The piano. Is that what you're always daydreaming about at your desk when you should be working? Playing some fancy concert? Being a big crowdpleaser?" Ronan asked. He laughed derisively. "That life's over, sweetheart. You have a crowd of exactly one person to please now, and that's me. So maybe start actually doing your job."

"So what, you're going to knock m-money off of my paycheck every time I take a moment to breathe?" she asked, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. She regretted it immediately when she saw Ronan's smug expression.

"Look, I don't know what you're whining about. It's not like you don't have options, you're just not creative enough to take them," he said.

A heavy sense of dread fell over her as she started to suspect what direction he was trying to take the conversation.

Sarah didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer, so he continued.

"I mean, you have it easy. Men have to actually work hard at a real job to make a living. But women...women can find all sorts of ways to make money if they really need it."

If his words weren't enough to make her stomach turn—and they were—the predatory look in his eyes was. He leaned forward, and his hand came to rest high up on her thigh.

Despite all of the comments he'd made, the leers he'd sent her way, the actual physical contact of his hand on her was jarring.

Sarah jerked back, her eyes widening in shock. Ronan's stare never faltered, just stayed pinned to her as he grinned.

"Come on. What do you think? A little extra work and you can make up for that small paycheck in no time."

"I—I..." she started, but her words stuck in her throat.

"I—I—I," Ronan mocked her stammer. "You what?"

Sarah swallowed hard.

"I'd rather starve," she replied, her voice barely loud enough to be heard—but it was steady.

Something in Ronan's face hardened at that. He narrowed his eyes at her, his mouth twisting into a bitter sneer.

"Suit yourself," he snarled. "We'll see how long that conviction lasts when those paychecks actually leave you starving."

When she got home that night, Sarah immediately reached for the bottle of wine on top of her cupboard. She paused, then reached instead for a bottle of vodka that had been sitting on her shelf for a while. She needed something stronger than wine as she processed the fact that her working conditions had just gotten much worse.

She turned her TV on just to have some kind of noise, figuring she might as well use her streaming services while she could still afford to have them.

Of course, that thought quickly waterfalled into other thoughts: about her student loans, her credit score, her dad's medications. Eager to drown those worries out for a night, she poured a generous amount of vodka into a glass, then opened her fridge in search of a mixer. She'd been so stressed the last few weeks that she hadn't gone grocery shopping in a while, so she grabbed the best option she had: a small, half-empty bottle of orange juice she had bought from a bodega on her way to work yesterday. She poured it in with the vodka and took a sip, then immediately made a face.

Strong, but it'll get the job done. She tossed the now empty orange juice container in the recycling.

She leaned against her counter for a moment, gathering her thoughts. As she did, her gaze landed on a nearby photo of her and her father at a restaurant after her college graduation. They were both grinning widely, and her father had a glass of rum and Coke in his hand—of course.

"Cheers," Sarah murmured dryly, tipping her glass at the photo before taking a deep drink. It tasted just as strong as the first sip, but she knew it would get easier as the glass got emptier.

Her phone buzzed beside her, and Sarah took another deep swig of vodka as she checked who it was. Her screen was lit up with a photo of Lauren's face as her best friend tried yet again to call her.

It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to Lauren. But what was she supposed to say if she answered? How was she supposed to come home from that soulless place and act normal to her friends? Should she even talk to them at all, knowing how easily the two sides of her life could painfully collide?

Sarah gripped her glass tightly with both hands, watching the photo as her phone kept vibrating. She made no move to answer, and eventually it stopped. Of course, knowing Lauren she would call back again soon enough. Slowly, Sarah reached over and turned the phone off.

Sitting there in the silence that followed, Sarah felt incredibly, completely alone.

Involving her friends would put them in danger. Her dad wasn't mentally there enough to be of any help cleaning up his own mess. And the police had made it clear they weren't going to be of any assistance.

There was no one she could turn to for help. And she couldn't imagine that changing any time soon.

She took another drink from her vodka, and it made her a little dizzy. But the dizziness was accompanied by numbness, and she welcomed that. Anything to get rid of the sick feeling that had been sitting in her stomach since Ronan touched her. She slowly put her head in her hands, and didn't lift it again for a long time.

—

The nice thing about riding the bus in New York City was that no one really blinked an eye at someone quietly crying by herself in a seat near the back.

Sarah had just made a total fool of herself, and now she didn't even have a place to stay. It was still light out, but not for too much longer. And as much as she didn't want to go back to Matt's and face him after that breakdown, she also couldn't sleep in her gasoline soaked apartment with its broken locks.

Sarah wiped her cheek on her shoulder before focusing her attention on her phone. Unsurprisingly she had a missed call from Matt. No voicemail. She discarded the notification before she could stare at it for too long.

'Can I crash on your couch tonight while you're out of town?' she texted Lauren. 'Long story.'

'Of course. There's leftover lasagna in the fridge.'

Sarah didn't have the her copy of the key to Lauren's place on her, but she remembered where they kept their spare. Underneath a ridiculously obvious fake rock—but maybe you didn't have to worry about those kinds of things when you lived in a nice neighborhood and had non-homicidal coworkers.

Once she'd let herself into the apartment, Sarah took a calming breath and looked around. Lauren's apartment was quiet, with a few lights still left on. She slipped her shoes off and padded quietly down the hall towards the bathroom. It was a small half bath, with a toilet and sink just inside the doorway.

She flipped on the light switch in the bathroom and turned towards the sink to splash some water on her face. The water that came out of the tap was lukewarm against her fingertips, and Sarah watched her reflection in the mirror as she waited for it to get colder.

It was when she was bent over the sink, splashing her face with water from her cupped hands, that all the hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she was overwhelmed with the sudden feeling of not being alone.

She abruptly jerked upright, and as she did she caught a glimpse of a man standing only inches behind her in her reflection, blurred by the water droplets in her eyes.

Reflexively, Sarah let out a startled yelp, while at the same time—almost without thinking—she spun around and lashed out at the figure, swinging her fist in a clean right hook directly to his face.

"Jesus!" the man exclaimed, before letting out a string of swears in a voice that Sarah immediately recognized.

She clapped her hands over her mouth as she recognized the man in front of her, who was slightly doubled over in pain with both hands clasped to his nose.

"Greg?" she said, her voice muffled by her hands over her mouth.

He looked up at her, and even with his hands in the ways he could see his nose was bleeding heavily.

"Sarah?" he said incredulously.

"Oh, my god. I'm so sorry! What—what are you doing here?" Sarah exclaimed as she grabbed a handful of tissues out of the box on the bathroom counter and shoved them towards him.

"Me?" Greg said indignantly as he snatched the tissues from her and pressed them against his nose. "I live here! Why did you hit me?"

"I didn't know it was you! I thought someone broke into your place!"

"Someone did!" he said with an accusatory gesture her way. His voice was nasally and stuffed up sounding from the bleeding.

"Me? I didn't break in," Sarah protested. "Lauren said I could sleep here for a night while she was upstate and you were at a work conference. Why...why aren't you at a work conference?"

"Because there is no work conference! I lied!" he answered in exasperation. "To my wife! I didn't realize the penalty for that was a broken nose!"

Sarah winced.

"Oh, god. Greg, I'm...I'm really sorry, I don't..." She faltered as she took a look at how much his nose was still bleeding. "Um, you-you should tilt your head back. It'll help."

Greg glared at her, but tilted his head back all the same.

"Why are you trying to sleep here anyway?" he demanded.

"Uh...my apartment had to get some work done on it," she said lamely. It wasn't really a lie so much as a half-truth, but it sounded less than convincing all the same.

Greg gave her a long look, his eyes peering doubtfully at her from over the tissues he was pressing to his nose. Then he broke her gaze with a rueful shake of his head.

"You know, if you're going to break in here and punch me in the face, you could at least do me the courtesy of not lying directly to it afterwards."

"I...you're right," Sarah said, her face flushing. "I'm sorry. I'm...I'll leave. I'm really sorry about your nose."

Greg let out a sigh as she skirted past him.

"Hang on," he said.

Sarah turned back to him, and she saw him frown as he took in her bloodshot eyes and tired face. His eyes quickly flicked down over the rest of her, and she realized with a sad start that she showed up hurt so often that even her friends who were uninvolved with her Orion life knew to check her for injuries.

"I was about to put on some tea. If you're truly sorry, then put yourself to work and go put some on for both of us while I try to sort all this out," he said, waving at the bloody tissue.

Sarah blinked.

"Yeah," she said uncertainly. "Tea. I'll...go make us some."

Greg gave a short nod and turned his attention back to his bloody nose as Sarah turned and left the cramped bathroom.

While Sarah was making tea in preparation for sharing her jumbled thoughts with Greg, Matt was sorting out his feelings in his own way.

His boot slammed against the chest of the man he was fighting—although Matt would use the term loosely, as it wasn't taking much effort to take him out. He was wiry and out of shape, and in another circumstance Matt might have held back a little on him. But he'd caught Daredevil having an exceptionally bad night, and he was also an exceptionally huge piece of shit, so he was out of luck.

He left the man in a spot where the cops would find him easily, and continued on his patrol.

But to his frustration, he didn't come across much else. His head was a tornado of conflicting thoughts after what happened earlier, and he desperately wanted something to distract him from the guilt brewing in his chest.

Sarah hadn't answered his call, so he was left with only his own interpretation of what had happened, and his mind was quick to supply a long list of the different ways he'd screwed up.

It wasn't like this was some new fling where he didn't know any better. He knew exactly what Sarah had been through in the last year. He also knew that their own relationship wasn't free of questionable complications, as much as they both tried their hardest to navigate them.

It also seemed clear to him now that for as much as their relationship bounced from hot to cold, maybe it hadn't been the best judgment to segue directly from yelling at her to stay away from Fisk to straddling her on his couch. And that maybe he shouldn't have initiated something like that when his apartment was her only viable safe place to stay.

But he'd felt such a headstrong rush of relief when she'd promised him she'd stay away from Fisk's jail, only to be directly followed by what she'd said to him afterwards.

("He...wouldn't be wrong."

"What?"

"About me being yours. He'd...he wouldn't be wrong.")

After that point, none of the problems that seemed so clear to him now had crossed his mind. In fact, nothing much had crossed his mind at all beyond wanting to be with her. And he'd been so certain she felt the same.

Sarah was difficult to read, but up until now Matt really thought he would have been able to tell if she wasn't enthusiastic about what was happening. But clearly that wasn't true, if the racing heartbeat and flushed skin he'd interpreted as excitement similar to his own had really been panic.

He was brought out of his ruminating thoughts by the sound of two angry voices a few stories below him.

It was a man and a woman, and they were arguing in low voices as they crouched next to a car. One of the back doors was open, and the shattered window gave a good clue as to how they'd gotten inside.

As much as Matt was itching to get a few more good fights in tonight, he didn't generally let himself get involved in things like car break-ins. Like he'd told Cecilia, protecting property wasn't the reason he did this.

Then the smell of gasoline caught his attention, and he listened more closely.

"—but I think we should try again at the girl's apartment," the woman was saying. That certainly caught Matt's attention even more. "Elliot wasn't happy with the job we did—"

"Of course he wasn't! We went to all the effort to break in there and then your dumb ass forgot the matches! So we wasted our chance to light the place up, and now you want to go back so we can get caught?" the man argued. "That's stupid, let's just use what we have left of the gas on the guy's car and we'll figure out something else to do to her."

"Fine," the woman snapped.

Matt heard her rustling in her pocket for a book of matches, and he took that as his cue to step in before anything went up in flames.

He dropped down silently to the pavement right behind them.

"You shouldn't do that," he said calmly by way of announcing himself.

Two heartbeats skyrocketed in unison as the pair spun around to face him. He heard the man swear under his breath, while the woman stayed quiet. They both instinctively moved to step back, but were blocked in by the car.

He tilted his head slowly. So these two were the ones who had broken into Sarah's apartment? He and Sarah had spent so much time running through every possible enemy she had in Hell's Kitchen, and it ended up being two morons working for an equally moronic nightclub owner.

"Whose car is that?" he asked, nodding towards the gasoline soaked vehicle.

"Just a guy," the woman said. Matt noticed for the first time how her words were slurring together. "Real bad guy."

"You two work for Elliot Bradshaw," Matt said. There was a beat as he could tell the two of them were exchanging some kind of look. Panic, he would guess if he had to go off their heart rates.