Hogarth, Chao, Benowitz, and Nelson
Present Day

"Since you are still relatively new here, let me clarify something about our clientele. We don't choose our clients based on truth, Franklin. Our goal is to win cases and make money. We can't afford to have you turn down any more cases that we can win, even if our potential client is dishonest."

"'Dishonest.' That's the word you're labeling him with? He killed three children in their own home, and you expect me to get him out of prison simply because he has deep pockets?" Foggy said angrily. Jeri Hogarth was supposed to have been one of his partners, but she sure did feel a lot like his boss. "There was a time when you said that I could choose my own clients."

Like any new opportunity that people offer you, it looks all nice and pretty at the beginning, wrapped up in fancy paper like a gift on Christmas, but soon, you unwrap the gift and find the gaudy underwear your aunt bought you. He knew much more about this firm's past than he was letting on, about bribes and threats. No super-successful firm was perfectly clean, but it was as if Hogarth wasn't even trying to change her ways.

Foggy had put up with it for four months. It was fine at first, until he realized that a jury at one of his cases had been tampered with. He barely made his way out of that one; it was an experience that had his heart racing all the way up until the verdict. And he still wasn't in perfect shape after the fact. It was one of those times where he'd envied Matt and his abilities, and he missed the clarity and sense of direction that he'd had at their own practice.

After the trial, he didn't confront Hogarth about it. He was worried that his suspicions were wrong. What if Hogarth hadn't been behind the tampering? It could have been someone on the outside with Fisk-like connections.

After coming across a person like Wilson Fisk, no one can be too sure about anything anymore.

Also, Jeri Hogarth was hiding something else, something involving a man named Kevin Thompson and a secretary named Pam. Something...dark. Possibly even with fatalities.

"I have been here for four months. It may not seem like that long to you, since I am 'relatively new', but I have had enough experience here to know damn well what cases you would take and what cases you would throw to the wolves. But if you want me to work with you, then I deserve to have my own clients, and my own cases, you know, like you told me you would. I know what I am comfortable with. You asked me to work with you because I defended a professional criminal. If that's all you want me for, the cases that I'm not proud of, then I don't want to be here."

Hogarth's expression was unchanging. Her eyes were narrow and her lips were tight. She had hoped that she could use an astounding lawyer like Foggy and point him in her own direction, but now she knew for sure that he stood firmly in his own beliefs.

"Very well. I suppose your 'good mouthful' isn't going to be an issue anymore," she said, referring to what Foggy had said about the firm's name change to include him as well. "Perhaps this partnership hasn't gone the way any of us had expected."

Foggy hated being unemployed, but it felt so much better to get that off of his chest. The guilt. Everyone deserved a fair trial, a fighting chance for justice, but the way Hogarth did it, the way she was actively seeking the criminals and not the innocents, how was that still fair?

Foggy nodded, pulling his briefcase strap higher up his shoulder. He picked up the very few things that he kept in his office, and then he headed out, not turning back.

As he made his way out the exit door, a girl with dark hair, who appeared to be in a hurry, accidentally bumped into him.

"Sorry, Jessica," Foggy said. He looked over his shoulder as she ran up the stairs, not acknowledging him or his apology. She wasn't the kind of person that was into that kind of thing, anyway. She had a thick skin, yet she was also short-fused. It seemed like a contradicting statement, but somehow it described her pretty well.

Once Foggy made it back to his apartment, he debated calling Marci to inform her about the situation. As he scrolled through his contacts, he saw Matt's name right under hers, and his mind wandered.

After the two friends had gone their separate ways, they still had brief contact. Sometimes Daredevil would appear on the news, but nothing seemed to be as dangerous as Fisk, the Punisher, or the Hand. On occasion, they would see each other at Josie's as they both drank alone. Once or twice, Karen was there too. They usually engaged in small talk about new jobs (Matt was still unemployed as far as he knew; he was living off of SSI) and the sorts, but none of it was ever serious. Foggy hated it.

Foggy's finger hovered over his phone screen. He felt in debt to his friend, like he'd let him down. Matt had needed him. Sure, Foggy didn't exactly approve of how his friend spent his nights, but he needed someone to be there for him anyway. Foggy had failed him.

He tapped his best friend's name.

He held the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring. He wasn't yet sure of what he was going to say, just that he wanted to hear Matt's voice again.

Matt answered on the third ring. "Foggy?" He sounded exhausted.

Foggy stared at the wall in front of him. "Hi, Matt."

"What's up?" Matt asked. Foggy could hear from his tone of voice that Matt thought something was wrong. Sure enough, that was his next question. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," said Foggy. He was quiet for a moment. "Actually, yes. Yes there is."

"What?"

"Us. We're what's wrong. I am sick of us avoiding each other every time we fight. I am tired of fighting. I know we disagree on things, but I don't care anymore. I know you're not the best role model, but I'm the best when we are together."

Foggy waited for a reply. He hadn't planned on saying that much over the phone, but it was all the truth.

"Okay," said Matt. "We can try again. You can come here if you want."

"Okay. I'll, uh, I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

Matt held a butterfly tape bandage in his right hand, then used it to close a cut on his cheek. He ran his tongue over his lip, which was split on the right side.

He picked up a beer bottle and took a gulp.

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Matt's Apartment
Four Months Ago

"So, you don't have a drinking problem, then," said Karen.

"Well, I drink, obviously, but I'm not an alcoholic."

Karen nodded, but didn't say anything. Her eyes wandered to Matt's bedroom, where she'd seen the woman lying in his bed.

"Karen, I didn't cheat on you. I would never do that."

"Then who was that girl?"

"Her name was Elektra, she was an ally, and she was injured. And the old man you saw was Stick." He had briefly mentioned both of them to her in his explanation of being Daredevil.

"Oh," said Karen. "I guess anytime someone finds a girl lying in your bed, they jump to conclusions."

Matt gave a small chuckle. "I guess so. But you can't say much." He was referring to back when Karen had been framed for murdering Daniel Fisher. After all, she'd slept in his bedroom, too. And Claire, after the Russians kidnapped her.

There was a pattern here. Amusing.

"That's true," said Karen with a smile. They were both relieved that the conversation had become more lighthearted, and no one was mad at the other.

°•°•°•°• ó-ò •°•°•°•°

Matt's Apartment
Present Day

There was a knock on Matt's door. He, who was sitting on his couch, stood to his feet and walked to his door. He opened it, revealing Foggy standing there. Foggy's tie was loose, as he had been pulling on it. He was no longer carrying his briefcase.

"Hey," said Foggy.

"Hey," replied Matt. He held the door open wider so Foggy could come inside. Foggy shuffled through the short hallway, Matt following with sluggish steps. Foggy chose a seat on the couch, his eyes landing on the half-full beer bottle sitting on the coffee table.

"Do you want a beer?" asked Matt.

Foggy shook his head. "I'll just take some water."

Matt nodded and headed to his kitchen area. He picked up a glass from his dish rack and filled it with tap water. He rounded the counter and handed it to his friend, sitting across from him.

"Thanks," Foggy said. Matt nodded.

"So, you wanted to talk..."

Foggy nodded, too. "When we have these fights, you always back away and let me choose where we go from there, and, lately, I've always chosen to keep my distance. And you've let me," said Foggy. "Though you try not to show it, I know you well enough to see that it's tearing you apart inside in the same way that it does to me. And I can't take it anymore."

Matt lowered his head. Foggy was right, and Matt wasn't keen on pouring out his emotions to anyone. The whole touchy-feely approach wasn't really his style, or he at least tried not to make it that way.

"I just can't take the lies, man," Foggy told him. "Every time I think you're being honest with me, I find out something else, always the hard way. And it's always about something that I would have been willing to help you with, to be there for you, you know, like a friend should."

Another thing Foggy was right about. Matt was just accustomed to lying. Ever since the car accident that took his sight and gave him his abilities, he's kept that secret. He's played the blind guy act in full, even though it wasn't entirely true. Sure, he couldn't literally see, but he actually could, in a manner of speaking.

"So, if we're gonna do this, you have to be honest with me. No Elektras or secret missions that I don't know about," stated Foggy. "We have to find a way to make this work."

"Okay," said Matt.

There was a short, awkward silence between the two of them.

"You're not talking much, dude," Foggy said with a grin. "You're killing me, man."

"What, you want me to recite the poem I've been working on while you were gone? Because it's a piece of shit," replied Matt with a smirk.

"Oh, then please, go ahead." Foggy held his hands out, Matt's cue to begin.

"Okay, that was a lie. I don't have a shitty poem for you."

"My ears say 'thank you.'"

Matt chuckled, then held up a fist. Foggy bumped his own fist against Matt's.

°•°•°•°• ó-ò •°•°•°•°

Josie's Bar
Three Months Ago

"So...I wrote an article about Daredevil last night. If it gets approved, it should be in the next Bulletin."

Matt raised his eyebrows, leaning his arm against the bar. "Oh, really?" He took a sip of his drink. "Should I be worried?"

"No," said Karen, taking a sip of hers with a smile. "I interviewed Rhonda Hardy, the woman you saved the other night, from her ex. She told me that--wait, let me get out my notes. Wouldn't want to get it wrong by accident." Karen reached into her purse for the notepad she always kept with her, then flipped a few pages. "Got it. She said, 'Daredevil is truly a hero. He saved my life. This man doesn't deserve the horns that society made him wear; he should have a halo above his head, because he is this city's guardian angel.'"

"Hm," said Matt with surprise. "A halo, huh? That's a little over-the-top, don't you think?"

"Yeah..." Karen smiled with an exhale of amusement. "Those are her words, not mine."

"Also, it sounds like she hates this city."

Karen tilted her head with a small frown. "No, she just thinks Daredevil deserves better, I guess." She put her hand on his cheek. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist. "You do."

Matt was silent. "That's your opinion."

Karen huffed out a loud breath, her mouth wide and her eyebrows high. She lowered her hand. "You sure do know how to turn a compliment into an insult."

Matt smirked. "What, I'm ruining the moment?"

"Oh, definitely."

"Then perhaps we should fix that." He held his hand back out to her, and she took it inside her own. Matt dropped a few bills on the bar and escorted Karen outside to the sidewalk.

They walked hand-in-hand to Matt's apartment. As soon as the door clicked shut, they walked to Matt's living room area. Karen slowly removed Matt's glasses. She set them on his coffee table. Her eyes stared into his, which were brown and lightless, though they still held emotion. She couldn't read people as well as Matt, but he was, at this moment, an open book.

Ever since Nelson and Murdock disbanded, Matt had no need to dress fancy, so he usually ended up wearing t-shirts and jeans. At first it was odd to Karen, seeing him this way so often, but she'd adjusted.

She now gripped the shoulders of one of these t-shirts, which was a dark grey. She waited for Matt to make a move. His fingers carefully brushed the buttons on her own shirt.

"May I?" he asked.

Karen nodded, her heart beating faster. "Yes." It came out as a whisper.

A small smirk rose on Matt's face as he undid the first button, and then the second. Karen's breathing grew heavier as his fingers lightly brushed her skin. When her shirt was off, Karen tugged on Matt's. He stretched his arms out, allowing it to come off more easily.

Matt worked softly and gently. At first it only made Karen anxious, but he made it sweet and enjoyable. Once they were down to only underwear, he lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to his bed, where he carefully set her down.

Then he kissed her. It was better than their first. It was full of desire, of love. They wriggled out of the rest of their garments and continued to kiss.

Their breathing was heavy and full of satisfaction as they moved against each other, harmonizing with each other. Matt's fingers trailed slowly and lightly across Karen's arms and back, and she closed her eyes with a gasp of exhilaration.

When it was over, they stayed close, tangled unitedly under the silk sheets. Karen traced Matt's scars with her fingers, feeling his breaths tickle her neck, causing her heart to flutter. They both closed their eyes and drifted away into a pleasant slumber.

°•°•°•°• ó-ò •°•°•°•°

Matt's Apartment
Present Day

"And you just walked out?"

"Yeah, I walked right out."

Matt chuckled.

"What?" asked Foggy. "Was my majestic exit hysterically hilarious?"

"It's just that you and I have a knack for getting into the jobs that don't work out the way we planned."

"When do things ever go as planned?" Foggy finished his glass of water. "Hey man, all roads lead somewhere."

Matt frowned in thought. "Perhaps." He scratched his head. "I can help you find a new job, if you'd like."

"You can't even find yourself a job," said Foggy, good-humored.

"Yeah, I know." He swallowed some more beer. "Being blind isn't very good for business."

"Bullshit," said Foggy. "That didn't stop us from getting clients!"

"Maybe not. But I don't think there are any job openings for a blind cashier."

"There are other law firms out there. You can still be a lawyer, Matt."

"That didn't seem to work out too well, did it?" Matt leaned forward, setting down the bottle.

"You're the best lawyer I know. Other than me, of course." Matt smiled. "You just have...commitment issues. But being a lawyer and doing what you do at night isn't impossible. I've seen you do it before, though it's just not as easy as only doing one of them. But if anyone can, it's you. And I will support you all the way."

Matt's eyes stared at the floor in thought.

"Let's dust off the old sign, eh?" suggested Foggy.

Matt looked up at his friend, though his eyes were pointed at Foggy's left shoulder. "You're just running back to Nelson and Murdock because you don't have a job anymore."

"Maybe. But I also wish I'd never left."

"It didn't seem that way when you did." Matt stood to his feet, picking up his beer bottle and Foggy's empty glass. He walked to the sink, in which he placed it. He drank the last sip of his beer and tossed it into the trash.

"I was mad. I make shitty choices when I get mad."

"And you make better ones when you're unemployed?" Matt's voice was cordial.

"No, but at least this one is coming from my heart and not my head."

Matt laughed as he headed back to his seat. "You sound like you're in one of those sappy Hallmark movies."

Foggy grinned. "I'm surprised you know what those are."

"My neighbor watches them."

"Ah." Foggy nodded. "But seriously. And besides, you need some sunlight. The only time you go outside nowadays is at night, which means you need a day job." There was a look of humor on Matt's face. "Come on, man, don't leave me hanging."

"I'll think about it," Matt said.

"Aaaand he leaves me hanging." Foggy clapped his hands together once. He stood up. "Well, I should probably go talk to Marci. Call me when you make a decision."

"Okay."

Foggy began walking away, but then he turned around. He gave a salute to Matt before he rounded the corner with a goofy skip in his walk that made Matt laugh, realizing how much he'd missed his friend. Moments later, he heard the door open and close as Foggy passed through it.

°•°•°•°• ó-ò •°•°•°•°

Matt's Apartment
Three Months Ago

Matt opened his refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs, which he set onto his counter. Karen walked into the room with a yawn, wearing one of Matt's shirts.

"Do you have any apples?" she asked.

"Yeah." Matt fetched one and tossed it to her. She caught it and took a bite.

Karen ambled into the kitchen area, stopping at Matt's side. She wrapped her arm around him, hooking her thumb into his belt loop.

"You want any eggs?" Matt offered.

"Sure. I'll take two."

Matt cracked five eggs and dropped them into a skillet over his stove. The sizzling of the eggs against the hot pan radiated into his ears. He picked up a salt shaker and added some to the eggs. Each grain of salt made a plopping noise as it landed on the still-liquid eggs, which is what told him how much salt he was adding. It actually worked better than the way normal people salt their food, by using their eyes, since salt always managed to blend into the food in a way that made the applier question how much they'd actually poured out.

"How do you know when they're done?" Karen whispered into his ear as he scooped at the eggs with a cooking spatula, scrambling them.

"A combination of things. The smell changes as the eggs get more and more done. I can also feel vibrations that tell me their texture. They even make a different noise."

"All that from scrambling eggs?" asked Karen, surprised. She took another bite of her apple.

Matt smiled. "And then some."

"And that coffee you're making over there doesn't affect the egg smell?"

"A little, but I can usually separate certain scents."

"Hmm," said Karen with interest.

Matt continued to work at the eggs until he finally poured them onto two separate plates: one for Karen, and the other for himself.

"Bon appétit." He handed Karen her plate, along with a fork. "And, the coffee should be ready right about...now."

The coffee maker beeped, announcing its completion. Karen exhaled with surprise at his accuracy. "I take it that made a special noise before it went off, too."

Matt gave a small laugh, bowing his head with a smile at her comment.

Matt and Karen poured their coffee and sat at his small table with their egg breakfasts. Matt had also prepared toast to go with the eggs. Karen set the remains of her apple on the edge of her plate and took a bite of eggs.

"Wow, the salt on these is perfect," she said. "I guess the perks of having heightened senses means that you turn out a pretty good cook."

Matt shrugged. "Hard to get the ingredient amounts wrong."

"I can tell." They ate for another minute, but Karen decided to ask a burning question that she had. "Do blind people still dream?"

"Yes, we do. I remember what it was like to see, with the objects and the colors, so some of that is incorporated. I also dream about what I 'see' now, with all of the extra feelings and senses that normal blind people don't have. Blind people still dream, but mine are more detailed than most. I see people the way I remember them back when I could see, and I see people like you, that I met after the accident, the way I imagine you to look. Those who were born blind just dream in sounds, I suppose."

"Oh, interesting." Karen's brow furrowed as she thought more in depth. "How do you see yourself? The last time you ever saw yourself, you were only nine."

The corners of Matt's mouth turned upward at her curiosity, but also with slightly-forlorn nostalgia. But it was nice to share these things with other people. "Some of the time, when I think of myself, I see that nine-year-old. I try to imagine what I look like now, but it's a bit difficult. Sometimes I just make up something and go along with it before changing it into something else. But it's usually just a blurry image."

Karen closed her eyes, imagining Matt's perspective, and what he must feel when he opens his eyes and sees nothing. How he has to rely on his other senses to find his surroundings.

"What was your favorite color?"

Matt's smile widened. "I always liked yellow a lot."

"Yellow..." Karen said thoughtfully. "I kind of like blue."

"Blue, huh? Like the sky?"

"Exactly like the sky."

Matt thought of his last moments of sight. His dad's face as he bent over him, full of such panic. It was a moment that haunted his dreams for years after; the last thing he ever saw had been horrifying. His dad, the man he respected so much, that had risked so much for Matt, looking helpless and afraid.

But then he told himself to look behind his father's face, at the sky. The beautiful blue, with the perfect combination of fluffy white clouds...an image behind the fear that told Matt that yes, his life was gonna be shit, but something great was still ahead of him.

Something blue.

Like the beautiful blue eyes currently staring into his.

The only thing was, he couldn't see them.

But that was okay. It was something that he'd learned to accept, as well as embrace the unique gifts that life had given him in exchange for his sight.