Chapter Text
“My grandmother, she was the real catholic… Fear of God ran deep, you would’ve liked her.” Matt smiled a bit, “She used to say “Be careful of the Murdock boys, they got the devil in them.”. And you’d see it sometimes, in the ring…”
Matt paused for a moment. Father Lantom kept listening, allowing the man to collect his thoughts.
“...In the ring. His eyes would go dead. And he’d start walking for it, real slow. Hands at his sides like he wasn’t afraid of anything. And the other guy, he’d see it and try to get away.”
Tears gathered upon Matt’s eyes, coating them in a warm salty liquid.
But Matt didn’t want to cry, he just wanted to remember his father. He missed him every day of his life, grief never got easy, but memories helped. Granted, being blind Matt had already forgotten what most stuff looked like. Colors, the sky, the streets, clouds, nothing stayed. Matt didn’t even know what his apartment looked like despite Foggy’s description.
He just knew it was there, but he couldn’t see it.
Just like with memories.
“My dad would catch him and corner him. He’d let the devil out. And I didn’t understand it, what he was feeling, deep inside, I didn’t understand it. Not back then.”
“But you understand it now.” Father Lantom wondered, “Perhaps this would be easier if you tell me what you’ve done.”
But Mathew Murdock hadn’t done a thing. That’s the issue.
“I am asking for forgiveness, for letting my father’s legacy die.”
“...” Father Lantom was quiet. The church was quiet. Matt never liked silences, they were deafening, so he continued.
“He always told me to use my head, to be smart. He never wanted me to fight. And you know, I stitched him up a few times. I learned how to do that, even without sight.” Matt let out a small laugh, though it was humorless, “I wasn’t great at it but I tried my best. My father joked that maybe I should be a doctor… I said maybe, but I couldn’t imagine myself in that position. After he…”
Died.
“After he was gone I hadn’t thought about it. Not till much later.”
“And now you’re a lawyer.”
“That I am…”
Silence stretched on for a bit till Father Lantom decided to speak again.
“Doesn’t sound to me like you’re letting his legacy alive, Matthew. I think it’s still living.”
“How? I am… I can’t even remember his face, father. I can’t remember what Fogwell’s looked like, how rings looked like-” Matt’s breath hitched.
“I understand. But please listen to me.”
Matt did as told, quietening down before the tears in his eyes got overwhelming and dropped in a worrying amount.
“Everytime you speak his name, everytime you relive a memory, be it to yourself or someone else, the legacy isn’t forgotten. Now, a legacy could mean many things. A gift, property, but it can also be words like these. Maybe you would’ve been a good fighter, Matthew, but it doesn’t mean you have or had to be. As long as your words are passed down from person to person, family to family, father to son, the legacy lives on.” Father Lantom took a moment, allowing Matt to grasp what he said, “And plus, you’re holding up to what your father said. Don’t fight. I think that’s what matters more. A legacy can be continued eventually, but keeping a promise made years ago has a lot more value. You’re honoring your father this way, Matthew. There’s no reason to seek forgiveness when you’ve done nothing wrong.”
Matt gulped down the lump in his throat and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “And what of… the devil?”
“Well… The Devil can grow weary. Once he sees you won’t do as he says he will move on.”
“But… But I’m still so angry, Father.”
“I know, Matthew. Don’t let him win.”
Matt won’t. He has a promise to keep.
—
There was a knife in her hands.
Why was there a knife in her hands? Why was she on the floor?
She could smell copper, why was there blood?
She was just at the bar; this made no sense.
The room was dark.
Was it?
No, her eyes were closed.
Should she open them? Was that okay?
The smell was getting worse to her senses. Her head hurt, bad.
Had Daniel drugged her?
No, he was a good man. And Karen wasn’t stupid, she knew what bastards looked like. What manipulative assholes were like.
Fisher wasn’t like that.
She needed to open her eyes. She needed to see- … something smelled rotten.
Why did it smell rotten?
Karen opened her eyes.
Her scream got stuck in her throat. All she could do was release a gasp.
And then the police burst in.
“I didn’t do it!” she begged them to understand as she laid down upon their orders, “I didn’t do it!”
Was she trying to convince herself or the police?
No, no, what a dumb question…
Karen Page was a lot of things but a murderer? No.
She knew she didn’t do this.
She knew even with her hands covered in blood, knife in her hand and with a rotting dead body next to her, as she laid on the floor of her own apartment… She knew she didn’t do this.
How was she supposed to convince them though?
Who would help her? She knew what this looked like.
There was no hope.
She was lifted off the floor.
In the distance, right from the building across the street, a man watched in confusion. By all logic, he knew that the woman had done it, she was the only suspect, plus the blood and the clear weapon, but then why didn't he see her attack? Why did he hear no screams? Why did he not see those two actively entering the place? The man tilted his head in question, pressing his fingers to the small device in his ear.
Was it not working?
Sound engulfed him entirely, cats meowing, people arguing, music from the bar a few blocks down.
He pressed the ear piece again to quiet it down.
No, it was working just fine, he wasn't lied to.
So why didn't he hear anything? Why was this SUDDENLY here? Why were the cops here before him when that wasn't the case EVER? In all the situations so far The Advocate had to A) Leave before the cops showed up or B) Call the cops himself.
Something wasn't adding up.
The man watched as the officers took the woman out of the apartment, the woman crying and mumbling under his breath. He couldn't hear what she was saying all the way up but he could honestly only guess.
Hm…
Well, he couldn't do much like this, not with the cops here and not knowing the full story.
He sighed and got up from his crouching position. He turned, jumping down from the ledge and onto the roof.
Maybe he could follow them? Or wait for them to be finished with all the evidence?
No, that wouldn't work.
He was already doing this illegally, and as for the second idea, everything would be gone by the time he had a chance to take a look at the scene himself.
Besides the um… evident bloodbath on the carpet. That was possibly there to stay.
The man knew from himself how difficult it was to get blood out of clothes, that's why he wore black. It was more difficult to see any stain. Plus, camouflage.
The man fixed his ponytail, pulled the scarf further up onto his nose and then made his way to the rooftop’s exit.
Perhaps he didn't need the scene… There’s only so much that could tell without Foggy having his things.
He just needed the story.
But the truth would only come out from the woman who was arrested just now.
Hm…
Well.
Good thing he had a law firm with his best friend, huh? Surely she'll need a lawyer.
That does remind him though, he should check on Matt one more time tonight before heading back home. Just to assure himself that no one had the guts to sneak into his place.
Not with him watching.
The man pulled a tension wrench out of his left pouch to open the door.
—
His head hurt, his ribs ached, his mouth tasted of blood.
There was an open wound of his temple, luckily there wasn’t a concussion.
Pain, pain, pain, pain.
There was tension in his fingers, he needed to relax. The people weren’t gonna hurt anyone again.
Least of all Matt.
Why was he worried? They weren’t even near the apartment.
The fact they were random thieves looking for some chaos didn’t mean Matt was an active target. It was okay.
Foggy gulped down the lump in his throat, but succeeded in drinking down the red thick liquid. It didn’t clog his throat but it did leave a sour coppery taste. And his teeth were still painted.
He removed the glove from his hand, wiping the red from his split lip.
Pain, pain, pain, so much pain, it was difficult to breathe. Did he break a few ribs? Did he puncture a lung?
He pressed down against his chest gently, trying to see.
He hissed in pain, but found himself with only bruises. Thankfully.
But as he looked into the window from the firescape and saw the comfortable lump on the bed inside the apartment, Foggy didn’t mind. He knew why he did this.
There were sirens in the distance. But they stopped soon enough, probably finding the gift Foggy left for them. A hurt, barely conscious, gift, tied to a pole.
Pain, pain, pain…
Foggy checked his watch and nodded to himself.
He could maybe get some shut eye tonight.
—
He didn’t.
—
Bap… Bap… Bap…
If Matt didn’t know better, he would currently be screaming because there was some person in his apartment, trying to wake him up by poking him on the cheek.
Luckily Matt has known Foggy for way too long to not know that it’s just him. Plus, contrary to popular belief, Matt locked his doors and triple checked them. He knew how to be safe. It’s just that somehow, Foggy knew how to lock pick.
God only knows why, Matt knew Foggy’s mother wanted him to be a butcher, he didn’t know how that correlated to ‘Trust me Matt, my dad taught me’.
Matt didn’t believe it. But it also wasn’t his place to say anything besides ‘Okay, Foggy’ like a tired best friend does.
He opened his eyes with a small sigh through the nose.
“Good morning, sunshine! You forgot to set your alarm.”
Matt slowly sat up, mindful of the fact that Foggy could be watching him by towering over him.
He learned that lesson the hard way once, when Foggy didn’t expect Matt to sit up.
Foggy told him a broken nose didn’t look flattering.
Boy did Matt know it.
“Willing to bet money you turned it off.”
“What money? We’re poor.”
“No, YOU’RE poor, I have my dead family money.”
“I don’t like when you joke about that.”
“I don’t like when you break into my apartment.”
“Bullshit-” “Language.” “-you love to see me first thing in the morning.”
“See?”
Foggy groaned in annoyance as Matt chuckled. He freed himself from the blanket and threw his legs over the edge of the bed till his feet met the soft carpet. “What time is it?” He finally asked his friend, before the man could leave his bedroom.
“We gotta go meet the real estate agent in like… 30 minutes, so get your best suit and drink your coffee.”
Sniffing the air, Foggy was right, the comforting smell of the warm caffeinated drink came right from behind his sliding door.
Matt smiled, “You got it?”
“No, I stole it.”
“From?”
“You.”
Matt raised an eyebrow in question, though the amused smile remained happily on his lips, “Stealing from a blind man? How do you sleep at night, Mr. Nelson?”
“If all goes bad, I don’t, if all goes well… I still don’t.” And just like that Foggy got out of his bedroom, laughing at his own joke.
Somewhere along the line of their college years Foggy developed some sleeping issues. Matt thought that maybe it came with all the sleepless nights the two went through when they had to study for exams. He tried to convince his friend to maybe go see someone about that or at least take some pills, but Foggy said he didn’t need it. He managed to get at least 2-3 hours a night, but Matt didn’t really find that assuring when a person needed a minimum of seven hours every night.
Foggy had promised to try better though, so Matt tried to find that comforting.
The man yawned and got up, making his way over to his own closet. He reached out, feeling the wooden surface under his fingers before opening the doors.
“It’s pretty warm today!” Foggy called from the living space, “DON’T wear black.”
Matt chuckled lightly, “Right, okay!” He turned over to his clothes and found the labels, figuring out what would work best for the day. Eventually he decided on his white dress shirt, red tie, dress shoes, and a gray suit. ‘Eventually’ meaning 3 minutes later because Foggy was getting restless about his hard work being tossed away.
Matt basically chugged his coffee and then Foggy and him were off to find their office. As they have been doing for the past month or so.
“Oh also, we gotta go bribe a cop.”
“Foggy-”
“I’m kidding! I’m kidding.”
…
“But honestly, after this, we have to go.”
Matt hummed, “Why?”
“There’s someone in need of our help.” Foggy cleared his throat, “Well… she hasn’t met us yet but y’know.”
Matt tilted his head slightly in Foggy’s direction. The hand on Foggy’s elbow grew just a bit tighter, “Did Brett tell you that?”
“.........”
“Stop buying her cigars-”
“It’s a free country, MATT!”
Despite the enthusiastic tone from his friend, Matt frowned when his friend released a quiet grunt. It sounded like he was in pain.
“Foggy? Are you alright?” Matt asked. Foggy gave a small curious hum, “Why do you ask? I am, yeah.”
“I heard your… grunt.”
“Ohhhh.” Matt felt his friend slightly tense at the accusation, but his tone remained almost uninterested, “Yeah, no, I’m fine, I fell down this morning.”
Matt tilted his head, not believing him.
“Heeeey don’t look at me like that-”
“I’m not looking at all, Foggy.”
“-you KNOW how annoying Marcus is.”
Matt’s brows raised in surprise, “Marcus is to blame? Did he push you? Should we use him? You know we can.”
Foggy released a laugh and Matt felt the tension disappear from his friend, “Nah, it’s fine, he got an earful from Miss Lana again. And he didn’t PUSH me, Matt, I’m hurt that you think anyone can just ‘push me around’.”
“Your neighbors never cease to amaze me.”
“Yeah. Same here.”
—
“The real estate agent was flirting with you.”
“She wasn’t.”
“She waaaaaaas, Matt. She liked you.”
“Good for her.” Matt rolled his eyes, “Can we go see our client now?”
“As you wish, your majesty.”
…
“But seriously, you won’t even ask her for her number?”
“Foggy.”
“But she curtsied to you!”
“You just told me it was because she tried to go for a handshake but didn’t let me know, so all she could do was awkwardly bow. I don’t want someone who’s awkward or uncomfortable by the fact I can’t see and need a stick to walk.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll ease up.”
“Thank you.”
“... But what about-”
“Stop trying to find me a date, I am FINE-”
Foggy just laughed. But Matt didn't miss the breathy yelp as he did.
Worry tightened in Matt's chest, raising warning bells in his head. He gave a small squeeze to Foggy's elbow.
“Are you sure you're alright, Foggy?” Matt had to ask. But could you blame him? Sometimes he was convinced that his best friend never took care of himself. Sometimes it even sounded like all he worried about was if MATT got home safely, despite the fact Foggy was clearly hurt.
It didn't used to be like that. Back in college, during their first and second year. At one point Foggy laughed when Matt missed a chair or played pranks in which he moved the furniture around their dorm room so he'd be confused. But somewhere between the period of meeting and losing Elektra did Foggy start to truly look after Matt.
It was suffocating, it wasn't even annoying. Matt knew pity. He knew what it felt like when he was treated as fragile, as if he could shatter at any given moment.
And that wasn't what Foggy was doing. It felt… normal, how he did it. Like a best friend would care for another best friend.
The issue steamed from the fact that Foggy cared so much about Matt that he forgot to care for himself.
Matt had no doubt in his mind that if they were stuck in a desert and they found some water, that Foggy would let Matt drink most of it. Even if it caused him pain.
“Yeah, I'm fine, it's a promise, buddy.” Foggy tried to calm him.
“You keep making sounds as if you're hurt.”
“Don't worry, I told you, I fell. Nothing besides a bruise here and there.”
They paused at a crosswalk so cars could pass and Matt huffed, his cane stomping lightly on the ground in frustration. “I do not like Marcus, Foggy.”
“Yeah, you and I both. He's a real piece of work. But on a brighter note, he might be kicked out sooooon.”
Now that put a smirk on Matt's face, “What'd you do?’
“ME? Matthew Murdock, are you suggesting I, Foggy Nelson, somehow managed to convince the landlord that Marcus was lying about his job and therefore not being ‘late’ for rent as much as he wasn't going to pay it at all?”
…
“I never said you did that.”
“You got me.”
Matt just rolled his eyes at the other's theatrics.
Though the knot in Matt's chest didn't unwind.
—
The interrogation room was quiet and tense, and Matt didn’t think it was just because of the two detectives they were with.
Detective Blake and Detective Hoffman.
The two never sat right with Matt, they always made his stomach tighten, as if his own body was warning him of the danger the two emitted. But what did Matt have to fear? They were just detectives. They were supposed to abide by the law. So he simply convinced himself that it was just his paranoia talking.
As they entered the room, Matt walking in right behind Foggy and putting his cane against the wall, his partner gave a tiny groan, “Can you get the cuffs off of the 110 pound woman please?”. The annoyance was evident but Matt didn’t hear the two men even move.
“Miss Page, do you know who these two men are?”
Before Karen could respond, he quickly jumped in, “We’re her lawyers.” Matt nodded his head, “Uncuff our client and give us the room, please.” He repeated what Foggy said then listened as one of the detectives went to do just as told. Through all this Page remained quiet, but Matt couldn’t help but hear her breath stuttering, as if she had been crying. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised given the situation. Crying was a normal reaction to such shock and trauma.
Foggy told him the woman was the only suspect to a murder, but for some reason a lot wasn't adding up. From what Brett told his friend, Karen Page had every reason to be arrested, but she wasn't.
It could be because they wanted all the evidence but they already had more than enough. The case was closed and shut.
So… what?
Either Page wasn't guilty or Foggy's theory was right and they're just not doing arrests on weekends.
“Thank you, detective.” Matt uttered, softly.
With a buzz, the two left and Matt and Foggy were left alone with Karen Page.
“Miss Page. My name is Matt Murdock and this is my partner, Foggy Nelson.” Matt gave a small smile, hoping the woman could catch the comfort behind it, “Do you mind if we sit down?”
It was quiet for a moment.
“She gave a vague shrug, I say we go for it.”
Matt nodded his head and the two did just that, with him using his hand to find the chair before he sat down onto the hard cold wood.
“We understand you are in some trouble,” Matt began, “We might be able to help.”
“Can you tell us what happened?” Foggy asked. Matt held back a smile.
Him and Foggy got along almost perfectly. They bounced sentences and ideas off of each other without prep. They didn’t need a moment to discuss what they were going to say, they simply worked, overlapping each other without a second thought.
“Who the hell are you guys?” Karen spoke for the first time. Her voice was wobbly and wet, which was to be expected. She sounded terrified, but confused as well.
“I’m Matt, this is Foggy.”
Karen sniffled faintly, shifting in her chair. The sound of the metal cuff clinking against the table made Matt flinch, even though he knew it wasn’t around her wrists anymore. He could still hear it dragging on her skin in his imagination.
“I understand you are afraid, miss Page,” Matt said gently, tilting his head towards her, “And I don’t blame you. But we’re not here to hurt you. We’re here because you need someone in your corner.”
“She’s looking at you like you’ve got three heads,” Foggy muttered under his breath, before raising his voice to address her, “We’re defense attorneys. That means our job is literally to believe you and fight for you, even when no one else will.”
Matt would hear the audible gulp from the woman, she was nervous. “Who sent you?”
“No one sent us.” Matt replied easily, the truth rolling off the tongue with ease, “We heard you needed help.”
“So what? Today is just my lucky day?” Karen asked, sounding skeptical. Matt wasn’t offended. After the time she’s had, he couldn’t imagine she was keen on trusting too random lawyers. “I’m sorry but I-I really find it hard to believe that two random men, one looking like he was hit by a car and the other looking too calm for his own good, are suddenly just… here to help me out from this… MESS.”
… What?
Now, Matt knew he wasn’t /not/ prone to tripping, but he guaranteed that he didn’t have any bruises or scars on himself. Not above his clothes anyways. So he must be the ‘too calm’ one that Karen was talking about.
But that left Foggy being the one that looked hurt. And not just hurt, like he was hit by a car.
Few people did stop them to ask Foggy if he was alright, sure, but Matt didn’t think that it was that bad. No one seemed overly worried, not after Foggy responded with the reason in his chirpy voice. But based on everyone that asked and what Foggy told him, Matt assumed his friend looked wounded but not ‘HIT BY CAR’ wounded.
“I understand why you’re worried, but you can trust us.” Foggy assured Karen, but it did little to stop Matt’s brain from overworking. “I mean look, we have no reason to lie to you. We’re a very new firm, so who could possibly be paying us? They wouldn’t even know us-”
“Foggy.”
Foggy suddenly paused, and Matt assumed, turned to glance at him, “What is it, buddy?”
“How bad are you hurt?”
There was a beat of silence. Not long, but long enough for Matt to notice it. Foggy’s silences always meant something. He filled the air when he was fine, but when he stopped? That was when things were wrong.
He could feel Foggy’s gaze on him. It bothered him that he couldn’t see his expression too, “I told you, fell down the stairs.”
Matt paused.
No. No he hadn’t told Matt that- or anyone for that matter. Whenever someone would ask, Foggy would laugh it off and say he just fell.
“Mhm…” Matt hummed.
“Come on, don’t give me that, buddy.”
Matt wanted to push. God, he wanted to push. He was worried and he was HURT. Why did Foggy think he couldn’t just tell Matt what really happened? Why did he constantly throw away any regard for himself?
Even in the past, Foggy was known to simply ignore any bruises or pain, but he never lied to Matt.
At least… Matt didn’t think he did. What reason would he have to lie?
Matt’s attention swayed back to Karen though.
‘Not now,’ he thought to himself, ‘Later. Talk to Foggy later.’
“We’ll get back to this.” Matt told his best friend, folding his hands on top of the table. Foggy watched him for a few more moments before looking back at Karen.
“Miss Page,” Matt began once again, “My associate is correct, we are a relatively new firm so it’s unlikely anyone would give us a second thought.”
“How… long have you been practicting law?” It seemed even Karen wanted to move on from the little tense moment the two lawyers just had.
Matt heard the faint shift of her weight against the chair, the scrape of her sleeve over the table. She was trying to distract herself, he realized, trying to feel out who they were before she let herself believe them.
“Not long,” Foggy answered first, quick as always, “Couple years. Just opened Nelson & Murdock this week, actually. That makes you one of our first clients. So… congrats?”
Matt tilted his head at the tone, because he could hear the lopsided grin Foggy was wearing. The same one he used when he wanted to put people at ease.
Same one he used with the other people who asked what happened to him.
Matt almost shook his head to clear the thoughts away.
Karen gave a weak, incredulous huff of a laugh. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“Better than the alternative,” Foggy said smoothly.
Matt stepped in, “The point is,” he said, calm, “we don’t have a reputation. We don’t have hidden motives. The only thing we’re interested in is the truth. If you tell us what really happened, we can defend you.”
Silence stretched for a few moments, Matt found himself listening to his friend fidgeting on his seat. He himself remained steady, his folded hands holding him together.
“Why?” Karen whispered finally. “Why would you even care what happens to me?”
Matt inhaled slowly. There it was, the real question.
He opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Foggy leaned forward, chair creaking under his weight. “Because nobody else will. And I don’t think you killed anyone.”
Matt’s lips twitched at that. Leave it to Foggy to cut right through everything with one line.
“How are you so sure?”
“We have countless facts on our side, one of them being that the police haven’t thrown you in jail.” Foggy explained, “That alone shows something is up. Because they have all the evidence and one suspect, yet you’re in here.”
Matt nodded his head lightly. He used his finger to push his glasses back comfortably against his nose. “You can say no, of course. We are not forcing you. But currently, as it stands, we are your only chance.”
…
“I-I don’t have any money.” Karen uttered, voice trembling like she was ashamed to even say it.
There was a pause. Long enough that Matt felt the muscles in his jaw tense—because he knew Foggy. Knew the way his brain worked, the way he sometimes tried to armor himself in sarcasm when he didn’t want to get hurt.
“Well,” Foggy said finally, voice lighter than the moment deserved, “that makes this a terrible business model on our part.”
Matt’s head snapped toward him, brows knitting. “Foggy-”
“What?” Foggy muttered back, but softer now, as though Matt’s warning had already cut through the bravado.
Matt turned back toward Karen, his tone gentle, firm. “Miss Page… money doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that you’re in danger. And we can help.”
Karen gave a wet laugh, disbelief woven through it. “So you’re just… what? Altruists? Out of the goodness of your hearts?”
“Something like that,” Foggy said. And Matt heard the shift in his voice turn more real. The part of him that always showed up for people, even when he didn’t want to admit it.
Matt gave the faintest nod, deciding to drive it home. “We will make sure you walk free. That is a promise.”
Karen gave a small sigh…
Matt nodded his head, accepting that as a small sigh of her relaxing with them, “What was your relation to Mr. Fisher?”
“... We worked together.”
“Alright,” Foggy began after Matt, “And your place of work?”
“Union Allied Construction. I'm a secretary. Daniel worked downstairs in Legal. I-I didn't know him very well.” The poor woman stuttered, “But he was always nice, you know? But it's hard to meet people in the city, so I asked him if he would have a drink with me.”
Matt tilted his head in question, “You asked him?”
That was interesting. And worrying. She didn’t even have an alibi that could help her show she hadn’t done the crime. It made sense, given where she was found, but Matt thought that the alibi could help perhaps. But she was there with Mr. Fisher before his death.
However, before Matt’s thoughts could continue, he heard the woman’s voice crack and all allegations in his mind went out the window. No one would sound so heartbroken after committing such a crime.
“Like I said, he was a nice guy…” Karen sniffled, “We met at the Three Roads bar, on 49th Street. We had a few drinks, and the next thing that I remember is waking up on the floor of my apartment covered in blood. His blood.”
Matt bit the inside of his cheek and the room got suddenly quiet. He was tempted to turn to Foggy and ask him to narrate what Karen looked like in her current state.
“Now, I’m not stupid.” Her voice remained wobbly, but it had a certain heat to it now. As if she was upset. Not at them, more so at those truly responsible. “I know how that sounds. But I am telling you we met at the bar. We had a few drinks. And I don't know what happened after that. It wasn't me.”
Matt slightly tensed as the tone almost immediately lost the anger and turned high pitched with her despair. His heart ached as the woman allowed a broken breath to escape her. She was holding back her tears. “Please, you have to believe me. I didn't kill him.”
Matt gulped. He straightened his back. He listened to the rustle of Foggy’s clothes next to him and the gentle bang as he closed the notebook. With a clank against the metal table, the pen was set down as well.
“We believe you, miss Page. We will take care of this.”
Matt was happy when he heard no complaint from Foggy.
—
Foggy opened the window with a steady pull. He jumped over the sill, boots hitting the apartment floor with a muted thud. The place was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that made the hairs on his arms rise. He tugged the scarf down from his face and scanned the room, every muscle tight and alert.
Immediately his eyes settled on the blood on the carpet, the puddle was dry already. He expected as much, as he thought that amount was difficult to get out.
Karen REALLY couldn't come back here whenever they got her out.
He looked around, taking in any and all details that could help but everything seemed fine. Normal.
After him and Matt left the police station they went to their office. They unpacked their things and discussed thoughts about the case they had on their hands. They both agreed that it didn’t make sense at all.
‘There’s something wrong about this case, Foggy’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know. It doesn't make sense.’
‘It doesn’t- They have all they need for the arrest, we should be hearing about it on the news. It's manslaughter. Second degree murder at worst. But they aren’t doing anything. And I know you said before that it could be a weekend thing but-’
‘No, yeah, I agree. If it was a big deal, and it is, it shouldn’t matter… So why? Why wait? And who did it if not her- you know as well as I do that unless we have an alternative they can put this on her when they maaaagically decide to finally arrest her.’
‘That I agree with. Perhaps… there’s something more? Maybe she isn’t lying, but she could not be telling us the whole truth.’
‘Yeah, yeah… We’ll go see her again tomorrow and take another crack at her, yeah?’
‘Of course, anything we can do to help her.’
Something more, that stuck with Foggy.
He exhaled slowly, picking the bridge of his nose. If Karen was being framed, that meant something much bigger was at play. And if she’s still not in jail nor, well, DEAD, that meant she was useful for some reason.
Perhaps something with Union Allied, it seemed more likely than someone random? He couldn’t be too sure. Not till they go to Karen again tomorrow. For now… he was simply looking around the place, trying to find anything that the police missed. Or forgot, because the police seemed keen on not freeing Karen if anything Detectives Dumb and Dumber were to go by.
Foggy walked away from the main scene and walked around the apartment, attempting to find anything that could help. Karen didn’t remember what happened between getting drinks and ending up in her apartment, so someone had to have at least brought the two there. So unless everything was cleaned, put away or taken, Foggy had some shot at understanding what the hell was-
He felt a buzz in his pocket. He yanked it out and read the ID then had a moment of panic once he saw Matt’s name.
Well not his name, it said ‘Justice is blind’.
He answered and pressed the cracked screen to his ear. “Matt? Is everything okay? it’s pretty late.”
“Foggy?” Matt sounded like he was in a rush, it confused Foggy to no end. “I called you a bit ago, why didn’t you answer?”
Tap, tap,tap-
Was Matt already outside? This late?
“Yeah, sorry, I am really tired- what’s wrong? Did something happen?” He was honestly expecting Matt to tell him the building he lived in was set on fire, but thankfully Foggy hadn’t heard any ambulances a bit ago.
Unfortunately, it could be many other things.
“Karen was attacked in her cell, she was almost murdered. It was the person looking after her for the night. I am on my way to the police station, I need you to come as well.”
Matt sounded calm on the outside, but Foggy knew the man better than that. He had to be panicked but also absolutely fuming. If Karen wasn’t safe in her cell, how could she possibly even STAY there?
Honestly, though, Foggy wasn’t happy either. He pinched the bridge of his nose again, this time harder, trying to keep the sudden pounding in his skull at bay.
“Jesus, Matt…” he muttered. He started pacing the apartment, boots squeaking faintly against the floor. “If she can’t be safe in custody then- then what the hell are we even doing here? Someone wants her gone.”
“Exactly. That’s why I need you with me there, if she stays there she won’t survive the night.”
Foggy stopped dead in the middle of the living room. He glanced at the dried blood on the carpet again, the silence of the apartment pressing against him. His gut twisted.
“Alright, I’m on my way,” he said. His voice came out steadier than he felt. “Stay put until I get there, you hear me? You don’t go storming in on your own. This is our case.”
A pause on the other end. Foggy could hear Matt’s jaw clench through the phone.
“…I’ll wait,” Matt said, finally.
Somehow Foggy doubted that. He quickly put his phone away, took one last look around the place, and he was out the window.
First he needed to head to the alley where he hid his bag with his clothes. Yes, it was some bullshit he put together, but it’s better than what he was currently wearing.
After that, he needed to run to the station.
—
Matt hung up the phone and stood on the sidewalk outside the precinct, cane in his hand. Foggy’s voice still echoed in his ears: Stay put until I get there. Don’t go storming in without me.
He clenched his jaw. He wanted to wait. He really did. But Karen had just been attacked- nearly murdered- and every second wasted out here was another second she was alone inside, surrounded by the same cops who’d let it happen.
And Matt Murdock had never been good at waiting. Nor at being told what to do.
He adjusted his glasses, squared his shoulders and walked right through the front doors.
The buzz of lights, the shuffle of paperwork, the tired drone of officers typing filled the air. He could hear the whispers: the blind lawyer’s back, showing up uninvited in the middle of the night.
He ignored them, tapping his cane against the ground as he made for the holding cells.
“Mr. Murdock?” One officer stepped in front of him, shoes squeaking. “Visiting hours are over.”
Matt tilted his head, his voice steady and lawyer sharp. “Then you’ll forgive me if I don’t wait for a convenient hour while my client is being assaulted in police custody.”
The officer shifted.
“If you would kindly move out of my way and point me in the direction of Detective Tower and Detective Blake.” And it really wasn’t that long till he was in the interrogation, right across from said two.
Matt inhaled and folded his hands on the table, sitting up. He pointed his head towards the detectives, despite the fact he couldn’t see them, his red tinted glasses gave the effect of him looking right through their souls.
No one told them this. Their fidgeting gave them away.
Of course, they could just be uncomfortable with the fact he was blind, but honestly? This sounded better to Matt.
“I'm gonna make this easy, Detectives. Get the ADA in here to release Miss Page and we'll recommend to our charming, media-friendly client that she not plaster the airwaves with how she was nearly killed in your custody.”
“Yeah?” Detective Blake spoke, “And where’s your ‘we’ in this, huh? You here alone?”
“That is not relevant, me and my associate are both lawyers of Karen page. We have the same purpose and, therefore, the same rights.”
“How do you know we’re not charging her?” It didn’t take an idiot to see that the man was already upset. “We didn’t tell you anything.”
“Besides the fact that you were required to do so four hours ago?” Matt tilted his head, "Furthermore, I would also appreciate knowing why and how the security camera on Miss Page’s cell suddenly stopped working as she was viciously attacked.”
At that, the two remained silent. Matt hated silences, but this one meant Matt had done well. He had done it properly.
“When given the option, we would also like to speak to Mr. Farnum about what has happened here tonight.”
At that, Detective Blade decided to get his tongue back from the cat, “Yeah well get in line.” Matt could almost state the frustration rolling off him in waves.
Unluckily for him, Matt didn’t cower in front of men like this.
“Get my client released.” He firmly replied, “Do not make me ask again.”
Blake went silent, though Matt could hear Tower moving to whisper something to him.
“You take that tone with me again,” he said, low and slow, after Tower pulled back from him, “I don’t care if you’re blind- I’ll kick the shit out of you.”
The words landed like a fist to his stomach, but Matt remained steady and simply gave a small hum as an answer. This detective wouldn’t be the first nor the last person to threaten him. He wasn’t scared, though the danger aimed at him always made him feel uneasy.
He knew self defense, he was to blame for that, but Matt didn’t think he could remember them properly, it’s been very long, and take on both of these assholes at the same time.
“Thank you, detectives.” Matt uttered.
And with scraps against the floor from the chairs, which Matt grimaced at, and rough steps, the two were out of the room.
…
Foggy wasn’t gonna be happy but hey, he got Karen out.
—
Matt was right. Foggy wasn’t happy.
But they had Karen! Karen was more important than what Matt had done.
Also they agreed, Matt won’t ask about the ‘bus hit’ and Foggy wouldn’t go back into the police station and personally attack the fucker that told Matt he’d kick his ass.
Currently, the three were walking back to their office since it was the closest to the station and they needed to ask Karen a few questions.
Speaking of her though…
“... what are you wearing?” Karen wondered, voice hoarse but soft from choking she had gone through.
“Is he wearing something weird?” Matt asked her from his spot next to Foggy who had offered his elbow to him.
Foggy groaned.
“I’m wearing jorts, flip flops and a turtleneck.”
…
Matt smiled, “I know I can’t see it, but imagining it hurts me, Foggy.”
“DON’T KNOCK IT TILL YOU TRY IT.”
“Don’t try it.” Karen was very quick to suggest- not even suggest, urge.
“Maybe I can’t make it work, but he absolutely can, look at him.”
Matt sighed.
“Don’t sigh! Why do the sigh?”
“Karen, may I please hold on to you instead?”
“I’m HURT.”
—
Foggy walked over to Karen who was sitting at the desk in their reception area. A cup of warm tea was in his palm. Matt was to blame for the kettle in their kitchen, he thought it’d work best till they got enough money for a coffee machine. Foggy agreed wholeheartedly.
“Couldn’t find any milk, so I hope this is fine.” He passed the tea to Karen. She took it and immediately took a sip, to which Foggy held back a small grimace. It was still boiling…
“We have tea now?” Matt asked him from his spot across from Karen.
Foggy shrugged, “I just shrugged- I took it from the financial office next door.”
Matt simply hummed. Then he turned to Karen.
Onto business it seemed.
“How are you holding up?”
Or not. Matt had a big heart and even if he didn’t show it, Foggy knew that his best friend’s worry must’ve been the size of the sun. Him and his bleeding heart. Him and his christian guilt. It sometimes bothered Foggy how the other man found some good in every person. Foggy didn’t really see it that way, he was more objective than his friend. He trusted the system despite some flaws because they could be used against the system. Loopholes were a two way street. He measured risks, he weighed the consequences, with all the facts he had at his disposal.
Matt, however, Matt was subjective. Matt was passion driven, instinctive. His heart bled over every document and fact and threw himself into everything with what he believed was right.
‘I believe we’re here to protect the innocent, my associate believes the innocent includes everyone not yet convicted of a crime- he tends to use fancy terminology.’
Oh Matt.
“Better,” Karen gulped, looking between the two, she looked grateful, “Thank you for getting me out of there.”
Well, in that case, Foggy can start them off again, “Don’t thank us yet. Just because they released you doesn't mean they won't eventually bring charges. Which makes it VERY important that you don’t speak to anyone but us about what happened.” Foggy ignored the way Matt frowned, he knew he was pushing but time was of the essence in this situation.
“Do you have somewhere you can stay tonight?” Matt asked. He kept his voice level, as steady as he could. The question felt small, pathetic even, compared to everything else. Foggy didn’t mention it.
“My apartment’s not far,” she said. Her words trembled. “But I-” She broke off, a sob catching in her throat.
“You can’t go back there,” Foggy said before Matt could, voice firmer than the joke he’d made earlier. There was no theatrics now; just a hard edge that made Matt look up, feeling the same prick of worry as before.
“Miss Page, our immediate priority is your safety,” Matt said, returning his face back in Karen’s general direction. “To keep you safe we need to be blunt. Do you know who would want you dead?”
“No.” Her answer was a whisper.
“Do you know why they’d want to hurt you?”
…
“Yes.” Her voice was small but certain. “Yes, I know.”
“Foggy, would you please get the recorder?” Matt asked, but Foggy was already moving before the other could phrase the question. “On it.” He spoke. When he returned, he passed the small gadget to Matt, who quickly pressed it to life.
Karen inhaled and her voice came faster, like a person spilling water to keep from drowning. “I work in the financial department at Union Allied. They’ve got the government contracts for a lot of the reconstruction on the west side. For the last two years they- there were new owners, new…everything. A lot of money moving.”
Foggy made the noise Matt had come to call his mental jotting-down of data. “I’ve seen their signs all over Hell’s Kitchen,” he said.
“They changed the company,” Karen said. “There’s a file- on the server- called ‘Pension Master.’ It was sent to me by mistake. It had routing numbers, accounts…money going in and out. It wasn’t labeled right. It shouldn’t have been in my inbox.”
“Where’s the file now?” Matt asked.
“I- I told my boss. He laughed it off. Said it was a model. I thought maybe it was nothing. Then I asked Danny Fisher to grab a drink, because he worked in legal and I thought maybe he could explain it. I don’t remember the rest. I woke up in my apartment-” Her voice collapsed. “-covered in his blood.” Karen’s hands tightened on her cup, “They watch people. They must have people everywhere. I asked him for a drink and then—” Her breath hitched into a sob. “They killed him because he knew. Because of me. I- I need to leave, I can’t let this go on-.”
“We cannot advise that, Miss Page.” Matt was quick to pipe in.
“If you’re with them, I’m dead. If you’re not—then I don’t want anyone else dead because of me.”
Foggy’s reply was immediate and blunt. “We can’t advise you to run. We can’t advise you to go dark. You stay with us. We keep you in sight. You do not talk to anyone else. No police interviews. No friends. No strangers.”
Matt tensed for a moment. Foggy laid a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
“You can stay with me, for tonight. I’ll keep you safe.” Matt spoke. Foggy turned to look at him.
Karen’s laughter came out small and unbelieving. “With you? At your place?”
“Yes,” Matt said. “For tonight. Just until we figure this out.”
Foggy honestly liked this idea. It gave him a way to hit two birds with one stone. Keep an eye on Matt AND Karen.
Not to mention, he had been right. There was something larger at play and, clearly, Karen had to have something of use if she wasn’t arrested. The fact someone wanted her dead…
Foggy blinked.
She had evidence. She had something they wanted. And if she was dead, the evidence wouldn’t matter. It would all go away.
… Fuck.
Foggy needed to figure this out and figure it out QUICK because not only was Karen in danger, so would Matt and him be.
—
“You can take the bed, I can sleep on the couch.”
“No, no, I can take the couch, Matt-”
“I have been told that… a person who isn’t visually impaired wouldn’t quite have a pleasant experience sleeping in my living room.”
“What do you mean?”
Karen and Matt entered his apartment and made their way out of the hallway.
As they did, well…
“Oh.”
…
“I see.”
“Yes, well… I will get you some dry clothes, you can order some food and we can… talk? Then we can head to bed for the night.” Matt gave her a smile, to which Karen gave a kind smile back. She was truly lucky, wasn’t she?
—
She moved like a mistake, barefoot and light, each step measured so the floor wouldn’t betray her.
The apartment smelled faintly of old paper and fabric softener- Matt’s life compressed into a handful of domestic scents she didn’t have words for.
Matt slept on the couch, face loose and unguarded. He breathed slow.
Once, twice, and she found herself counting with him until her own pulse slowed a fraction.
His cane lay propped by the door, a pale, quiet thing that looked ridiculous and fragile next to his broad, honest hands. For a second she had the childish urge to reach out and touch it, but she kept her fingers at her sides. She couldn’t taint even more with the blood on her hands.
She could still smell the copper, every meal she took a bite of still tasted wrong.
She slid on her shoes. Her hands shook so badly she had to fold her jacket over them to hide the tremor, the quiet made her feel obscene, like she was stealing a life from someone who trusted her to sleep safely.
She tried to convince herself that she was doing good, she was helping by saving Matt and Foggy from herself. She would take the file and be gone without a trace.
She quietly walked back to Matt and took in a small breath. She leaned down and close to Matt’s cheek, only for a breath, to memorize the tilt of his mouth, the soft rasp of his exhale. “Thank you,” she whispered, “You and Foggy are the kindest people that I’ve met here. And because of that, I can’t allow something to happen to either of you.” She gulped and pulled away from the man, who remained oblivious to the waking world.
The door eased shut behind her with a hush. The hallway smelled of dust and late-night trash. She moved away from the building without daring to look back at the windows, telling herself she was careful, that she’d be fast.
What she didn’t see- could not see in the dark and under her panic- was the slow shadow that slipped from the opposite rooftop the moment she stepped out into the street. He kept his distance, a black shape among blacker alleys, but his eyes never left her. He watched her every step as if the city had given him a single job. To stand between her and whatever came for her next.
—
Karen let herself into the apartment, her steps softened by the carpet under her shoes. Her breath hitched as she spotted the, now brown, stain engraved into what was once her safe place. She shook her head and gulped, stepping over it with intention.
She needed that USB drive and she needed to get the hell out of here. She entered her bathroom and climbed the toilet lid, reaching into the vent right above it. With a grab and a small pull, she had what she needed in her hands.
For a moment she stared at the mistake in her hand.
This… all of that, for this, for some information that she never should’ve seen. Death, blood, the destruction of her home and her job. Almost the loss of her own life.
Potentially the loss of the two men who wanted to help her.
She inhaled once more to calm her racing heart. She wiped her eyes with her free hand and with a small jump got down on the ground once more.
Now she had to go. The station was nearby, it could at the very least help her out of Hell’s Kitchen. After that, who knew, but at least she would be gone.
She walked out of the bathroom…
And froze.
There was a figure in her apartment. Just standing there in all black. He had something covering his mouth, but it didn’t matter, the night was covering the upper half of his face anyways. He was hidden, using what he could to his advantage so he wasn’t seen.
Karen watched.
She stared.
He heart felt like it was going to jump out of her throat. But then the shape spoke.
“Miss Page.” The voice was low and flat, almost robotic in nature. It didn’t sound hostile, but it didn’t sound kind. It was monotone and unclear of intention. “Please, relax.”
How could she do that?
“I am not here to hurt you.”
“Well that’s reassuring.” Karen bit back, voice firm but cracking by the end of her sentence. Was she about to die? Was this it?
“I promise, you do not have to fear me. I help innocent people. I prevent harm.”
Karen sniffled, wrapping her arms around herself protectively, “And I’m supposed to just trust you? You’re in my apartment, hidden in the dark- I have no idea who you even are.”
The figure tilted his head, slow and careful, as if looking over her stance. He seemed to read her and took a step back, as if to give her space. “You don’t have to trust me, I mean you HAVE no reason to, but I really am here to help you.”
There was a certain softness to the voice now, but only the smallest amount, yet it had Karen feeling comforted. She felt like her body was betraying her because how could something so simple make her feel at ease?
“I know what’s been happening and I know that you were attacked for holding something you shouldn’t have been.”
Karen’s fist tightened around the small file holder. “How do you know?”
“I know everything that happens in Hell’s Kitchen.”
Karen called bullshit.
“I also know you’re holding the cause of your issues. You just tightened your hold on it.” The figure seemed to fidget in place, thinking of what he should say next, “I have an idea of what we can do with it, it’ll help you and those around you and keep everyone safe.”
Karen allowed a humorless laugh to escape. Was this guy serious? Did he think Karen was stupid. “You yourself said you’ve given me no reason to trust you.”
“That I have and I meant it. It’s a suggestion, you can do with it as you-”
All of a sudden the figure tensed and grew silent.
What the hell?
“Get down.”
“What?”
“Get down, now!”
Karen dropped to the floor in an instant, the figure running to stand in front of her as he hid her from view, as another person flew into the room, shattering the glass of her window and ending up inside. The shards dropped to the floor.
The other person set their eyes on the figure. No… no, he was a man, Had to be. The light from outside painted the outline of him and he was too tall and broad shouldered to be anything but a man.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“The man in the shadows, mi amigo, now how about I ruin your night even more?” The figure sounded almost amused if it wasn’t for the lack of tone.
And that’s when the new man revealed his weapon, a knife, and swung at the figure, but the figure was prepared and grabbed his wrist with his opposite hand and used the other to-
The man screamed as his elbow was very easily dislocated. Karen couldn’t believe her eyes nor ears as the knife dropped to the floor with a loud thud.
“Told you, even worse.”
And Karen realized just how absolutely terrifying the figure was. Her heart was loud in her ears, her fists trembled on the ground, her knees ACHED against the carpet. The man put the other down, forcing him to lay down and quiet down, ‘Hey, if we wake up the neighbors I’m not fixing it.’
He could have hurt her so easily. Killed her. He could’ve wrapped his hands around her throat- one squeeze, and she’d be gone
The mark that was left around her neck from the attack a few hours ago burned with the revelation. The officer had choked her for nearly two minutes. She knew how long that felt. She knew what almost dying tasted like. But the figure could…
Karen inhaled sharply when he turned to her, the man that wanted to hurt now tied on the ground with zip ties and in very clear pain. She flinched once he knelt down, the rustle of fabric filling her sense of hearing, and she could almost see the eyes if she focused enough. She didn’t know if she wanted to.
“Is this enough to prove you can trust me?”
…
Her ‘yes’ felt sweet and sour at the same time.
—
Foggy loved the taste of justice.
—
The little bell above the office door had a tired jangle when Karen pushed it open. The smell that reached Matt first was something warm and nutmeg, sugar, heat. He smiled in spite of everything. Karen’s footsteps were small and careful.
Someone had brought food.
That small, absurd kindness sank into him easily.
“Here,” Karen said, voice light despite the tremor in it as she set a paper bag on the desk. “I know it’s not much, but…my grandmother’s recipe. She made me promise only to serve it to my future husband.” There was a weak laugh in it and, somehow, sincerity.
Matt’s fingers brushed the edge of the bag. He could feel the bread’s warmth through the paper. “I thought I detected a whiff of virtue in there,” he said, trying for light.
Foggy, half-hidden behind a stack of case files, made a sound that pretended to be modest. He’d been back for a while, Matt could tell by the way his friend moved, the stiff set to his shoulder that pretended not to hurt. A bruise peeked at the sleeve crease. Foggy shrugged like he always did, hiding the rawness in a joke. “Not that I’m complaining, but you really should be thanking the nut in the mask.”
Karen blinked. “He’s not a nut. Well, maybe a little weird.”
“He’s the kinda nut we needed,” Foggy said, louder.
Matt let out a breath that sounded like a laugh. “We’re just glad you’re okay,” he said, and the warmth of it felt true.
“Yeah, if it weren’t for you two, I’d still be in that cell,” Karen said, folding her hands over the bag as if to protect it.
Matt’s fingers found the cane propped near the desk and he straightened. “Job’s easier when the client’s innocent,” he said, truth and irony braided together. “All you had to do was tell the truth.”
“You listened,” Karen said, and in her voice Matt could hear the entire reason he did it.
Foggy snorted. “Don’t get us wrong, we’re still going to bill you. Just as soon as we figure out how to make bills.” He gave the office’s bare light fixture a mock-salute. “But, uh- thanks for this. It smells like a church bake sale.”
Karen’s posture eased for the first time since they’d brought her in. “I did notice this place could use some help,” she said. “I owe you. Maybe I could clean up a bit- help out around here.”
Matt’s smile was a quiet, grateful thing.
“Is this place messy?” he asked with mock indignation.
“Our firm is very prestigious and discerning, Miss Page,” Foggy put in immediately. “Do you have any experience hiding electrical cords, or, uh, making our case files look pretty?” He laughed.
Karen grinned despite herself. “I’ll work for free. I owe you.”
Matt’s hand went to Foggy’s elbow in a small squeeze. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “You’re hired.”
Foggy clapped once, delighted, doing the thing he did best, designate family. “You just got hired!” he announced.
They settled in around the small desk, the bag between them a small island of comfort. Matt listened to the hum- the copier, the city far outside- and let himself believe, for a moment, that things could be okay.
That someone had stood in the night and kept the knife from doing what knives do.
They ate in cramped, hopeful silence. Karen’s laugh came easier with each bite. The office, for all its scuffed chairs and hand-me-down lamp, smelled like something that would hold people when the world tried to break them.
Outside, somewhere neat men in cars pressed lines and made calls. Inside, a battered pair of lawyers and a frightened woman built an alliance out of tea and turkey sandwiches.
For today, that would have to be enough.