"Matt, it's me. We're at the hospital. There's some muy crazy shit going on out there, so call me and let me know you're okay, okay?"

"Hey, it's Karen. We're at Metro-General. We brought Mrs. Cardenas in because she was hurt, but Foggy is hurt too. Can you please call me? We're worried about you."

"Matt. Dude. The city is exploding. You need to call me, buddy. Like, NOW."

"Hi Matt. Please, please call me. I don't know what's going on out there, but we just want to know that you're safe. Foggy's getting seen to now. Please, call me back."

"Matt, please call me. I can't... I really need to hear from you. I'm sure that you're just fine, so please, let us know. Foggy could really use your support right now. So could I."

"Matt. MATT. I swear to God, you'd better have some really good excuse lined up. CALL ME BACK."

"Matt, it's Karen. Again. Uh, where are you? Would you please just give us a call when you get this?"

"Matt, it's Foggy. Where are you, buddy? Karen is really worried, and I don't think anyone wants to see me running around with my ass hanging of this hospital gown while I look for my blind friend who might have been killed in a damn war zone. Please, for the love of God. Call us."

"Please just call us. We just want to make sure that you're not...you're not lying in a body bag somewhere, you know?"

"I wasn't kidding about the hospital gown thing, Matt. As soon as I can stand without feeling like I'm going to pass out, I'm coming after you. Hang tight."

Matt wanted to sleep, knew that he probably should. It would give his bruised and battered body a chance to heal, give his mind a chance to clear. After stripping off his dusty gear, however, he sat on the edge of his bed, his muscles tense and his mind running around in circles, infinitely chasing after one name. Fisk. Matt's fists clenched. He now had proof that Fisk was just a man, rather than some malevolent force slithering in the dark. He could deal with a bad man. He did it all the time. He just needed to figure out how.

With a stifled groan, he reached for his phone. It was chirping at regular intervals, reminding him that there were voicemails that needed attention. He supposed he could have left it until morning, but a the moment, he needed a distraction, and anything would do. There were ten messages from both Foggy and Karen that had been recorded in the past few hours. Matt didn't get any further than the second one, when the words "Foggy" and "hurt" were tied together by Karen's tremulous voice.

"Oh God," Matt breathed. His phone slipped from his hands as he wrenched himself to his feet. Suddenly, the lives of the Man in Black and Matt Murdock collided jarringly and he found that he wasn't alone in the middle. The anger abruptly drained from him and he was quickly refilled with guilt-tainted fear. He needed to move.

He shoved his feet into his shoes before realizing that he wasn't wearing pants, and then struggled to pull his sweats up over his sneakers since taking them off seemed like too big a chore. A hastily zipped hoodie ensured that he was fit to be seen in public and he ran out the door and onto the streets. Metro-General was perhaps fifteen blocks from his flat, and the slap-slap-slap of his rubber soles against the concrete accompanied the thundering beat of his heart and the painful creak of cracked ribs as his lungs expanded and contracted. It wasn't until he reached the hospital that he realized he'd left his cane, glasses and phone behind. Stupid.

The hospital was sheer chaos. Rapid-fire instructions from nurses and doctors, screams and moans of pain from the people unlucky enough to be caught in the explosions, shouts from worried family members. The sharp smell of antiseptic, the coppery tang of blood and sour spill of vomit. The aftermath of Fisk's destruction smacked him in the face with the force of a tidal wave and he staggered to a stop as soon as he burst through the doors. Matt stood amongst the turmoil, tilting his head this way and that, sore chest heaving as he tried to catch the familiar sound of Foggy's heartbeat through the pandemonium. He stretched and strained, and he thought he had it before it slithered through his metaphorical fingers.

Matt stepped forward, one step, then another. Someone was walking straight towards him and he didn't bother to move aside, allowing the person to run right into him. "'Scuse me," the nurse said, continuing on past him without bothering to look back.

"Ah, excuse me? Nurse?"

"What?" Her harried voice filtered back towards him. He could tell that she'd been on her feet for about eighteen hours already, and that her blood sugar was dipping low. She hadn't stopped walking, so Matt chased after her.

"Could I please - "

"Are you in need of immediate medical attention?"

"Um..." It occurred to Matt that this could be the one time he could receive proper medical care for his injuries, in an actual hospital, without anyone asking questions as to why a blind man was covered and bruises and carrying multiple fractures. He brushed the thought away. What was the point? He could tape himself up just as well.

"If not, then you will have to see the nurse at the desk so you can be triaged."

There were ten heartbeats that were already queued in front of the check-in desk. "Well, I'm actually - "

"Sir, we are very busy tonight. Go sit and wait." She continued on and barged through the doors that were marked "Restricted Area". Matt blithely followed her in. It was one of the perks of being blind, and he had no qualms about taking full advantage.

He carefully picked his way through the beds, weaving through the steady stream of personnel scurrying to and fro. Come on, Foggy. I know you're in here. The clamoring need to see his friend and to make sure that he was still alive and kicking grew stronger with each passing minute.

"Matt? Oh, shit." Claire's voice cut through the disarray and she grabbed his arm, leading him towards an empty chair. She pushed him into it, her heart rate skyrocketing as she ran her hands over him to check for injuries. "How bad is it?" she demanded, her voice harsh with a dangerous mix of exhaustion and adrenaline.

"No, Claire, I'm fine." He sucked in a startled, pained breath as her roaming touch found one of the weak spots in his ribs.

"Fine, huh?" She continued her exploration, unzipping his hoodie and making an exasperated noise at the spectacular bruising she found underneath. "This doesn't look 'fine'." Despite her words, there was profound relief in Claire's voice when she didn't uncover any gaping, life-threatening wounds.

"It is. Or it will be. I've had worse." He gently pushed her hands away and zipped himself back up.

"Don't I know it," Claire muttered. "My God, Matt. You scared the hell out of me. I really didn't want to know how bad things had to be for you to actually show up at a hospital for help."

"I'm not here for me," he assured her.

"Of course not." There was that exasperation again. "I'd feel better if I could examine those bruises more carefully. They look really deep."

"I'm fine," Matt repeated. "No internal bleeding, if that's what you're worried about."

Claire huffed. "Right. And you can tell because of your supersonic hearing?"

"Pretty much. I'd be able to feel it too, if there was."

"Jesus. I'm not going to ask how you know that," she replied darkly.

Matt shrugged. The memory of Karen's voicemail prodded him, urging him to cut off the conversation. "I got a message that my friend was here."

Claire sighed as she pulled off her nitrile gloves. "Half of Hell's Kitchen is here tonight. Name?"

"Foggy, ah, Franklin Nelson."

"I'll see what I can find." Claire bent down towards him, placing a light hand on his shoulder. "Hey," she said softly. "What happened with that Russian guy?"

Matt's jaw clenched. "He's dead."

Claire nodded grimly. "Did you get what you needed from him?"

"I'll find out soon enough."

There was a beat of silence before Claire said, "Let me try find out where your friend is. Stay put."

As the echo of Claire's footsteps faded around a turn in the corridor, Matt reached out again, seeking Foggy's heartbeat. His focus just wasn't there; he was letting too much in, and not able to filter enough out. Sirens approached the ambulance bay doors and his efforts were drowned out once more by the infuriating sounds of his city in pain. For once, he wished it would quiet down so that he could hear what was important.

"Hey, I think I found him." Claire was back.

"Where is he?"

"There's a Franklin Nelson on the third floor, in the general ward. Bed four. Look, I'd take you up there but there's a fresh round of patients coming in. Can you find it?"

He nodded. He would find it, no question. "Thank you, Claire."

"Take care of yourself, Matt," she said and then she was gone, swallowed by the chaos once more.

Getting to the third floor was easy enough. He had taken two steps from the elevator when another familiar voice assaulted him.

"Matt? Oh thank God!" There was the clickity-clack of heels on linoleum flooring, and then a slender pair of arms wrapped around him, drawing him in close and squeezing tightly. The fresh, vaguely floral scents of Karen's soap and shampoo, the cool, chemical smell of her laundry detergent and a tinge of stressed, salty sweat enveloped him in a cloud that was uniquely hers. Matt hugged her back, disregarding the strain on his ribs, and the tight muscles in his back and shoulders began to relax. "Where have you been? We've been trying to reach you all night!"

"Ah...sorry," Matt said sheepishly, slipping easily into the role of Matt Murdock, mild Catholic lawyer. "Are you alright?"

"I am." Karen released him and held him arm's length and inhaled sharply. "Are you okay? What happened to you? Should I find a doctor?" The questions were fired at him rapidly, powered by her nervous anxiety.

"No, no, I'm fine. Where's Foggy? How's he doing?"

"He's good. Or he will be." Karen guided his hand to her arm and began to lead him down the corridor. "The doctors said the glass didn't penetrate too deeply, so the laceration just needed a few stitches. He was pretty lucky. Considering how crowded it is they'll probably release him soon."

Matt blew out a long breath of relief and rubbed his hand across his forehead. "That's...that's great. I'm really glad to hear that."

"Yeah." Karen lay a hand over his. "We were really worried about you."

"I know. Sorry," he repeated. "And thank you, Karen, for being there for Foggy."

"Of course. That's what friends are for, right?"

Matt knew that Karen was simply stating a truth rather than passing any judgement, but he felt a sharp sting of guilt nonetheless. "Right."

"It's a mess out there, huh?"

"It is," Matt replied shortly, and didn't bother to elaborate. The simmering, ever-present rage was bubbling too close to the surface, and he knew that the devil's fury over Fisk's audacity would spill over into his everyday life if the line of conversation continued.

Karen, astute as ever, took the hint. "I'm glad you're here, Matt. Foggy's going to to be really happy to see you."

As it turned out, 'happy' was not really the major emotion Foggy exhibited when he and Karen finally approached his bed. "Holy shit, Matt. Did someone hit you in the face with a brick wall?"

Matt gently probed his own face with his fingertips, tracing the heated swelling that decorated his right cheekbone and jaw. "Um, it was actually a concrete floor."

"What?" Foggy's voice went from incredulous to concerned in zero to sixty. "You weren't caught in one of those explosions too, were you?

"I was, ah, taking a walk. Ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess." It was close enough to the truth.

"Are you okay?"

Matt stifled a sigh and wondered exactly how beat up he looked. He thought about the fall he and Vladimir had taken, courtesy of the Russian's stubborn stupidity, and had to admit that it was probably pretty bad. He shuffled forward and perched himself on the edge of Foggy's stiff mattress. "Yes. I'm not the one lying in the hospital bed."

"And yet somehow, I'm pretty sure I look better than you do. Seriously, Matt. You look terrible."

"Thanks," Matt said dryly. "I'll take your word for it."

"Anyway, where were you, man? We called you like a hundred times!"

"Two hundred, actually," Karen interjected.

"I stand corrected," Foggy followed up.

Matt huffed out a short, apologetic laugh. "Yeah, sorry about that. I didn't have my phone on me."

"I swear to God, Matt, I am going to superglue that thing to your hand. While I'm at it, I'm also going to rig it so you can never turn it off. How is it you always forget your phone? What is the point of even owning the damn thing if you never have it when you need it?"

"Well, it wasn't like I expected explosions to go off when I went out," Matt replied defensively.

"Honestly, who does?" Karen asked. She had taken the hard plastic chair by Foggy's bed.

"Obviously no one that lives here, but that's not the point," Foggy argued. "The emergency doesn't have to be Hell's Kitchen turning into a scene from 'Escape from New York'. What if you'd been hit by a car? Or a falling piano? Or...I don't know, been caught in a flash mob? Do they even have those anymore?"

"I don't know, but if I don't think I'd survive that," Matt conceded.

"What if Foggy had been really badly hurt?" Karen asked softly. "You'd have no way of knowing."

Matt inhaled deeply, welcoming the stabbing pain that danced across his chest. "I know, Karen. I'm sorry." He meant it, deeply and sincerely, but it still sounded cheap. "I should have been here." Foggy was the closest thing he had to family. He knew it, Foggy knew it, hell, anyone that had every met the two of them knew it. Matt didn't have a ton of experience with family, but he was pretty sure that being present during medical emergencies was a thing that was pretty high on the must-do list.

Jesus, kid. And what would you have done if had been here? Held his hand and wiped his brow? Keep your eyes on the big picture, Matty.

He had to stop Fisk. Matt's fists clenched around the coarse bedsheets. It was the only way to prevent things like this from happening again. It was the only way to truly keep his friends safe, the only way to protect the city from being trampled by one man's unchecked power. Fisk's money could buy a lot of things, but Matt took satisfaction in knowing that it wasn't going to buy him any peace. Not from the masked man, anyway.

"Well, you're here now," Foggy said contentedly. "I'm glad you're safe, buddy."

"You too," Matt returned. He might be a disappointing friend, but he wasn't going to be a disappointing protector.

So, I was kind of disappointed by Matt's jokey response to Foggy being hurt in those explosions, so this is me making up for that. And who knows? We don't know what he did after he left those tunnels... Thanks for reading!