Chapter Text
College Park, Maryland
August, 2018
Matt sat back in his chair and half-heartedly wiped an armful of sweat from his face. When he had accepted this job, he'd been told that a summer on the Chesapeake Bay was like being water-boarded with a wool blanket; as it turned out, that was an undersell. It had been hard for him and his suboptimal lungs to breathe the last couple months, and now a rolling blackout had fried what was left of the building's air conditioning. That brought the temperature in his office way above 100 degrees, which didn't help. He'd been this hot before and he really, really didn't care to experience it again.
The heat wasn't the only thing wrong for him lately; his back and shoulder ached, his stomach hurt and he'd had no appetite since last week, the last time the temperature had gone below 90. His concentration was gone and his head was swirling; he'd been trying for two hours to make sense of the decision he was reviewing and it just wasn't happening. Then again, nothing much Justice Alito wrote ever did make sense.
The knock at the door nearly bowled him over; feeling like crap made his senses even more acute than usual. "Yeah," Matt answered half-heartedly.
Barb stuck her head in the room. "We finally got word, we're shutting down early today because of the AC."
"About time." Matt gratefully put his laptop in shutdown mode.
"Hey, you want something done promptly, don't ask the government," Barb admonished. "You want me to call the shuttle?"
"Please."
"You know you look like a fish that's been a dead a week?" Subtlety was not Barb's strong point.
"I feel worse than that," Matt answered. "I was starting to think I'd go home sick."
"Well, now you can do that and get paid, too. Sometimes, things work out," she sighed. "Don't forget about tomorrow, though."
"Sorry. What's tomorrow?" Matt finished packing his briefcase.
"The fourth graders from Bowie? You're supposed to tell them how awesome the law is?"
"Right. That." The best and worst part of his job was speaking with groups of kids. Best because you never knew if one of them would take what you said to heart; worst because mostly the kids just pitied him for being blind. "Gotta find that one kid who'll become a civil rights lawyer."
"Find that kid, you'll be up for sainthood."
Matt flinched internally. "Pretty sure they hold sainthood for people who've actually been inside a church lately." He found his cane and extended it.
"I got the door," Barb advised.
"Thanks." He tapped just to make sure. Barb had the radio on in the lobby, tuned to the news as always, and Matt could follow the sound to the front door easily.
"This, is NPR," the radio said pleasantly. "In New York today, the governor made his choice to replace Congressman Peter King for the remainder of his term. Governor Cuomo chose Manhattan businessman Wilson Fisk to finish King's term, subject to approval of the legislature. King was forced to resign following his indictment on bribery charges."
Matt stood in the middle of the lobby, frozen as he heard the newscast. "Fuck," he said out loud.
"Excuse me, language?" Barb admonished.
"Sorry," although Matt wasn't at all. "I just...I know..."
"The guy going out or the guy coming in? I hope you don't know the guy going out, he's a piece of work. New guy's gotta be better."
Oh, Barb, you have no idea, Matt thought glumly. Somehow, his day had gotten worse.
Hell's Kitchen, New York City
November, 2014
"Shit. Ho-ly shit." I must be really drunk, Foggy thought. That, or there were drugs in the booze he drank at Josie's. Because there was no way he was standing over the bloody, almost-a-corpse of the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Also known as Matt. There was no way. Matt was not the masked man. He couldn't be. Except that it was definitely Matt lying on the floor at his feet wearing what was left of a ninja outfit and gasping for breath.
Vaguely Foggy realized he was still holding Matt's cane defensively and dropped it like it was suddenly electrified. His best friend was bleeding and choking in front of him and what was he doing? Assessing his own sobriety. Yeah. That'll help. Foggy dropped to one knee beside Matt, dug through his pocket and retrieved his phone. This time he really was calling 911.
Or not, as the case might be. Foggy had barely pressed the 9 when Matt half-flailed, half-swung his left fist at Foggy's arm; Matt missed the arm but sent the phone flying across the room. "No," Matt barely whispered. "No hospital. Claire."
Was Matt nuts? No hospital? "Matty, buddy, you're bleeding everywhere. You gotta go to the hospital. I'll go with you. You'll be okay."
"No!" Matt croaked louder. "Claire. Call."
Alright, common sense wasn't going to work. That was common sense, right? Take him to the hospital? But Foggy had known Matt long enough to know that if Matt really didn't want to go, he wouldn't. And who was Claire? Unless she was..."The burner phone girl? That's Claire?"
Foggy decided that Matt's weak cough counted as a 'yes'. He grabbed both of Matt's phones, picked the one that didn't look familiar and clicked. Only one number in the memory. Foggy hit call and glanced back down at Matt. "I hope I got the right number. I hope I got the right phone."
There was a click. "Matt? Where are you and how bad is it?" The woman on the other end, presumably Claire, sounded pretty. Pretty and kinda pissed.
"Ummm..." Oh, real smooth Nelson.
"Matt? Matt?"
"Hi. Is this Claire?" Better but still needs work.
"Who is this? Where's Matt?" Now she sounded worried.
"I - I'm Foggy. Matt's law partner. Matt's on the floor. At his place, not the law office, that would be even weirder than this already is, which is pretty fucking weird."
"Foggy. Okay. Matt mentioned you. You're at his place? And yeah, I'm Claire." She sounded slightly less worried and a lot more confused. "It must be really bad."
Sounds like this is not a first-time event for her, Foggy thought dismally. And she's his first call, not me. "Um, yeah. He won't let me take him to the hospital, but he's bleeding from all over and not breathing too good. I think things are broken."
"That sounds like Matt," Claire answered dryly. "I'll be right over."
How normal is this for her anyway? "Okay. Do me a favor, and hurry?" Foggy clicked off the phone. Matt hadn't moved for several minutes. If he hadn't been struggling for air, Foggy would have thought - well, what would I have thought? he wondered. And then he did start thinking.
Wesley clicked off his phone and was immediately sorry he did so; Fisk was still glowering and with no one on the phone to overhear, Fisk was probably about to read him the riot act.
"The masked man?" Fisk growled.
Wesley flinched. "No sign of him in the river or any of the docks, ten blocks either way. I don't know how - "
" - I don't care how. I care that he is dead. I want a body." Fisk stared out the window for a moment. "By the end of today."
"Yes, sir."
"Wesley."
"Yes, sir?"
Fisk smiled grimly without turning around. "You always do take care of everything, Wesley. Everything."