ONE

Blow to the head

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Author's Note:

This is set after 1x13. Spoilery references are made to pretty much the entire first season.

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"You do realise that you're a real, actual super-powered dude - hearing stuff from blocks away, sensing vibrations and whatever," Foggy whispered over the monitor of his laptop.

Matt's hands continued to whisk to and fro across the paper file under his fingertips. "Not from blocks away, Foggy," he replied quietly. "Just the next room or so."

"Well it's still amazing." He paused. "Wait - does this mean you can hear what I'm saying on the phone in my office?"

Matt smiled. "Always."

"Ah great… So I guess you know how it's going with Marci then?"

"More than I care to."

"Can you smell stuff too? Like a shark - can you smell a drop of blood from three miles?"

Matt's hands came away from the file, just as willing to give up on work as the rest of him. "Not quite. Maybe thirty yards."

"But that's awesome!" Foggy cried. "I wish I could do that."

"You want to smell blood from miles away?"

"No, man! But that superpower is amazing!"

"It's not a superpower. And it's not that great. I mean, it's blood. And I'm normally in a position to smell more of it than other people."

"But you can smell other things too, right? Like flowers?"

"Yes."

Foggy pushed the top of the laptop down to lean over it, as if reducing the distance between them across the table would somehow make it more secret. "Can you smell blood right now? Like… is something bad going down?"

Matt's head tilted for a moment as he lost his smile. "I can smell it, yes."

Foggy sat back. "Eyiuuu. You're right. I don't wish I could smell like you do."

The door to the rather small office opened and Karen walked in. "Hey. I've got all those—" The manilla file in her hand suddenly took it upon itself to leap from its resting place against her arm and spread its contents over the floor.

Foggy looked round, surprised, but instead of the expected display of apology, he was saddened to see the way Karen simply sagged and watched the papers settle. He got up quickly, sliding the papers toward him to begin scooping them up.

"I'm sorry," she sighed.

"No problem," he said brightly. "I like my files in random order. It makes the day more fun."

She made a conscious effort to straighten her back. Matt's head tilted toward her slightly. His nose barely twitched, his chin barely moved, but the way his head tilted up and then away from them would have spoken volumes on respecting people's privacy, had anyone seen it.

Karen pushed her hair behind her ears and crouched, picking up sheets of paper. "I'm so clumsy today. Struggling a bit, I think."

"Are you ok?" Matt asked.

"Just... Didn't sleep well," she said quietly.

"I thought we'd all given up the constant binge-drinking now Fisk is in custody?" Foggy smiled.

"No, it's—. Well it's my air con. It's broken in my bedroom and the landlord is not being very agreeable about fixing it."

"It's not that hot yet," Matt said.

"Well it is in my apartment," she groused.

Foggy shrugged as he arranged papers in his hands. "Just get your landlord to fix it."

"I tried," Karen said as she rolled her eyes. "He's not being helpful."

Foggy frowned. "Is he being mean to you?"

"He's being a dick," she said with sudden vehemence.

Matt hid a smile but Foggy swallowed, choosing instead to simply pick up the files and wait for her to stand before he got up too.

"Tell him you work for a prestigious law firm and if he doesn't fix it, we'll sue his ass," he said firmly.

Karen smiled. "I might."

"And if that doesn't work… I know a guy," he added.

She grinned. "I might take you up on that too." She handed him the papers and walked out, closing the door softly behind her.

Foggy frowned as he put the folder on the desk. "Wow. She looked really tired. It can't be this whole Fisk thing, can it? I mean, he's been in jail for a week already. What do you think is really eating her?"

"I don't think you want to know," Matt warned.

"Of course I do - we're friends. We find out what's wrong and we try to help."

Matt shook his head dismissively. "I don't think you can help. Not with that."

"With what? Did she tell you? She told you and not me?"

Matt pushed his chair back and got up. "She didn't sleep well and she probably skipped breakfast. —You want to help? Get her a Danish. The one she likes. And don't hassle her about deadlines. She's well aware how long it takes to type things up and get them sent out to these new potential clients that we've suddenly attracted."

"Bringing Hoffman in certainly gave us free exposure."

Matt's left hand swept the surface of the desk until it encountered his phone. He picked it up and slid it into his pocket. "Just… leave her to get on with her work. Just for a while."

"Oh yeah? Till when?" Foggy asked.

"I'm not an expert, but I'd give it a week." He sniffed and his right hand went to the open file on the desk. He pushed the cover up and over to bring it closed. Picking it up, he reached for the briefcase on the table and pulled it closer to slide the file inside. He was just shutting the case and locking it with both thumbs as they heard the harsh haranguing of a telephone bell.

The two men froze. "Was that our phone?" Foggy whispered.

"It's loud," Matt said.

The door opened again and Karen grinned through the gap. "There's a woman on the line. She needs a lawyer. I told her there are two really amazing ones at her disposal."

"We have an actual client?" Foggy dared. "Like a real live person that came to us?"

Karen grinned. "Sounds like it."

Foggy punched both hands in the air. "Danishes all round!"

"Which one of you wants to talk to her? She sounds nice but she doesn't want me," Karen said.

Matt put a hand up. "I'll come to your phone. She's probably not in the mood to listen to one of her really amazing lawyers do victory laps round the desk."

"You're the boss," Karen said. She disappeared from the doorway.

Foggy pulled his tie a little straighter than the lazy slouch it had been in since nine that morning. "A client! Go get her, you silver-tongued devil!" he chuckled. "Oh! Uh… I mean…"

"Just - try to come across less excited. You sound like a five-year-old who just met Iron Man in the street."

"That would be awesome," Foggy mused to himself.

Matt shook his head and trailed his hand against the wall, leaving the room as fast as he dared to get to Karen's desk.

"Here," she said, her hand reaching for him. She captured his wrist and put the phone receiver into his palm.

"Thanks." He put it to his ear. "Matt Murdock of Nelson and Murdock," he said firmly. "How can I help you?"

"Oh… uh… hi," said a rueful voice. "This is awkward, man-I-am-not-supposed-to-know-professionally."

Karen watched Matt's face go slack in surprise. He appeared to pull himself together, albeit with a tiny hint of colour in his cheeks. "You're back in New York?"

"You know what they say - you can take the girl out of New York, and all that."

"Are you ok?"

"Would I be looking for a lawyer if I were?" she sighed. "So, Mr Murdock, Attorney at Law… How do we do this?"

Karen watched Matt's mouth flounder. She frowned and folded her arms, intrigued.

The voice on the phone waited. And waited. Eventually it spoke up: "Matt… I really need representation. Are you available? —As an attorney, I mean?"

Matt let the phone down to press it into his shirt. His head turned toward the meeting room door. "Foggy!" he called. "Get your notebook! Do it now!"

There was a knock and a bang, and Foggy appeared in the doorway. "You scared me, man! Where's the fire?"

Karen looked across the office and Foggy shrugged at her.

Matt put the phone back to his ear. "Where are you calling from?"

"Uh… the police station," she said carefully. "Honestly - this cop here gave me a number and told me to call it if I wanted my own lawyer. I had no idea who I was calling."

"Stay there. We'll come to you."

"You better," she said. "You kinda owe me."

He heard the line click and turned toward the sound of Karen shifting papers on her desk. He held the phone out and she took it from him, placing it firmly back in its cradle.

"Is this going to be good?" Foggy asked as he checked his pockets for pens, pencils and the ubiquitous notebook.

"Get me my jacket," Matt said shortly. "We're going to the police station."

Karen and Foggy exchanged a glance, but he did go back into the office and slide Matt's suit jacket from the back of the chair. He twirled but caught sight of the white stick leaning in the corner of the room. He snatched it up and came barrelling back out to find Matt already at the front door.

"Hey," he said, tapping the cane against the floor a few times. He waited for Matt to turn back to him. "Slow down, buddy. Whoever it is will still be in custody when we get there."

Matt simply held his hand out. Foggy hung the jacket over his palm, but as Matt pulled it on, Foggy looked over his shoulder at Karen with helpless confusion.

I know, right? she mouthed back at him.

He put his hand out and took Matt's sleeve, putting the cane in his hand. "Are you going to tell me who we're racing across town to see?"

"Someone who needs our expert help," Matt said. He opened the door and whisked out so fast Foggy just blinked, completely befuddled.

"Go!" Karen hissed at him. "And then text me what this is all about."

Foggy saluted smartly with his right hand before he swirled out the door and closed it behind him.

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The 15th Precinct police station on West 54th Street was the same grey stone, the same incongruous wooden doors, the same air of resigned optimism. It was also intrigued to watch two men hurry up to its entrance and barrel through as if late for a ball game.

"Just a hint, man, come on!" Foggy urged as he trailed along behind Matt. "Who are we here to see?"

Matt wasn't so much tapping his cane in front of him as battering his way through the reception area to get to the booking desk. He fairly squeaked to a stop before he smacked a knee into the wood. "Booking officer, please?" he asked politely, turning his face up to where the sound of surprised breathing was coming from.

The rather older woman behind the high desk put her elbows to it and leant down a little. "Hey, Murdock. What can I do for you?"

He smiled. "Officer Williams. How are you today?"

"I told you, boy, you call me Ashanti if you want something," she grinned. She pushed a hand through her hair to make it sit behind her ear. "Now then, try again."

"Then… Ashanti," he said, his head tilting down slightly in amusement, "do you have a Claire Temple in custody? She asked us to represent her."

"Hold on a second, sugar," she said, opening a book to her left and looking down the list.

Foggy grabbed Matt's elbow and wiggled it. "Claire? Is this hot-nurse-Claire?"

Matt pulled his elbow free. "Professional, Foggy, that's you."

Foggy cleared his throat and looked around at the officers and civilians going about urgent business around them.

Ashanti looked up from her book. "Yeah, we got her. Girl went Black Widow on some street thug's ass. Sounds to me like he deserved it, but I ain't the arresting officer." She paused. "You take a load off, Murdock, and I'll get someone to start paperwork so you can get in to see her."

"Thank you," he smiled. "I appreciate your help."

"If I were ten years younger I'd give you a whole load of something to appreciate," she sighed, shaking her head and walking off.

Foggy chuckled. "How do you do it?"

"Apparently I'm 'unbearably cute'," Matt said flippantly. "At least that's what she called me the first time she was on the desk when I came in."

"So not fair," Foggy sighed.

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Matt's head twitched to his right slightly, then back again as if aware other people may have seen. Foggy would have been the last one to have noticed; he had flumped back into the wooden bench as if he had fallen from a great height, his arms splayed along the top edge of the backrest, his legs outstretched, his head dangling back over the seat. Matt was a picture of neatness and restraint in comparison, his feet planted firmly on the floor, his cane caught between his knees, his arms folded.

Foggy heard a voice and sat up to find an officer looking down at them. "Hey. You Claire Temple's lawyers?"

"Yeah!" he said, scrambling to his feet. He put a hand under Matt's elbow and kept him pointing in the right direction as he stood too. Matt's elbow detached itself from his friend's grip and Foggy remembered for the fourth time that week that, out of the two of them, it wasn't Matt that normally needed help standing up.

The man turned and chucked a thumb over his shoulder. "This way, gents. She's in interview room three."

They walked along, Matt finding the wall and smoothing his free hand along it, until he heard feet stopping. A door clicked and whooshed and he smelt the familiar yet unwanted stale air of an enclosed space assaulted regularly by air con and cleaning chemicals. Some other concoction of smells was buried in amongst the glass cleaner and mild bleach - a hint of medical soap and latex, of fruit shampoo and Oil of Olay moisturiser. He had to fight to keep the pleased smile off his face.

Foggy touched at his elbow and went in first, and Matt's head canted as he distinctly heard the officer walking away. His fingers tripped over the doorjamb and he followed it round, his cane tapping him toward a metal chair by a desk.

"Am I glad to see you two," Claire heaved.

The sound of material rustling and the sense of concentrated body heat told Matt a long hug was in progress. He waited patiently.

"Don't worry, Claire," Foggy said as they stood back from each other, "we'll take care of you."

"It's my turn," Matt said. He felt his tongue leap up and facepalm itself in sheer self-kickery. "—To look out for you, I mean," he added hastily.

He felt the storm of heat, of fierce will, of unrepentant defiance close on him and swallowed. Then her arms were round him as she squeezed, her chin settling on his shoulder, brushing ever so briefly at the side of his face. This time the heat he felt was shooting through his face and arms, and much lower down too, if he were being honest. His chest turned to concrete, forcing him to try to control his breathing, to make it quieter, smoother, more normal than the freight train puffing in his ears.

"Matt," she breathed right by his skin. "Thanks for coming. You look good."

"You mean I picked out clothes that matched? If the tie is ridiculous blame Foggy - he said it was black," he managed, hoping his voice was not as feeble as it felt.

But she was amused; he could feel the slight rush of air as she grinned. She guided him back. "I heard you picked out a lot of new clothes since the last time I saw you."

His face boiled as her hands went to his arms and eased him further away. "I got a better tailor," he managed.

Again, she was smiling. But her heart sped up just a tad as she replied: "Pity. I kind of liked the black."

Matt cleared his throat. "Well. We're here to talk about you. Shall we?"

She walked away and he felt his chest loosening. Suddenly able to breathe unobstructed, he reached for a chair and was pleasantly surprised as a metal backrest collided with his fingers. He put his left hand to the table to give him an idea of space as he pushed himself into the seat.

A chair scraped to his left and he knew Foggy had collapsed into it. Matt laced his fingers together on the table, his cane resting by his right elbow up against the edge. "So," he said. "Could you tell us what happened?"

Claire sat slowly and put her forearms on the desk. She sniffed. "I had just done eleven hours at the hospital. I was on my way home and I thought: there is no way I'm cooking tonight." She paused. "I went to a lunch truck and ordered. The guy was handing it over and taking my money, and then this… kid… comes out of the alleyway. She pulls a knife and tells the guy to give her everything."

"Claire, Claire, Claire," Foggy sighed. "Tell me you didn't take on a young punk with a knife."

"No," she said, affronted. "The owner of the truck did. He opened the side door and went nuts - they were fighting, there was blood and shouting - I really thought someone was going to die. I was on the line to nine-one-one when the kid gets tossed across the road and the owner comes at me."

"What? Why?" Foggy asked.

"Like I know?" she countered. "Suddenly he's coming at me and I dropped my phone. I picked up the first thing that touched my hand and I used it to defend myself."

"What was that? A two by four?" Matt asked dryly.

"A wooden stool, I think," she said. "It had legs and a seat. Anyway, I swing at this guy and he goes down like… Well, fast. He's getting up like he's going to kill me but then there are blue lights everywhere. I get up and he's gone - vanished. I'm brought here for questioning. They think I beat up the young thief and I'm lying about it - the truck driver is nowhere to be found."

"That's it?" Foggy gasped. "What a waste of everyone's time! We'll have you out of here in like—"

"Foggy," Matt said quietly. His friend stopped dead, just waiting. Matt's head swung to face Claire. "This owner. Did he say why he was angry with you? Did he threaten you, warn you in any way, before he came at you?"

Claire sighed. "Yes."

"What did he say? Please, Claire, try to remember exactly," Matt said.

She paused and he distinctly felt the change in the room; wariness and weariness had morphed into cold anger. "Oh, I remember exactly," she growled. "He said, and if this ain't a quote then my hearing is worse than I thought: 'put that phone down you black bitch, before I beat you with it and then use it to show you a real good time'."

Foggy's face flipped into a rictus of disgust. "And all you did was hit him with a stool? You should have buried that asshole!" he cried.

"Foggy," Matt said sharply. Foggy managed to compose himself, but from the way he was breathing a little fast and his heart was beating like a marching band, Matt knew he wasn't about to let it go. Matt cleared his throat and sat a little straighter. "Claire," he said carefully. "Did he say anything else?"

"Like that's not enough?" Foggy scoffed. "Man, if he'd spoken to me like that—"

"It's ok, Foggy," Claire said suddenly. She looked at Matt. "Yes, he did. He said he wasn't going to let some kid and a woman ruin things."

Matt leant back in the chair, but Foggy looked from her to him and back again. "That's it?" he asked.

Matt turned his head toward Foggy. "Ask Karen to look into this guy. Dollars to doughnuts he doesn't have a licence to cook and/or sell roadside food," he said.

"Ohhh - I'm with you, buddy," Foggy nodded. He whipped out his notebook and began to scribble.

"This is what's going to happen," Matt said, turning his face back to Claire. "We will get you released on our recognisance because you're a public servant and need to attend your shifts at the hospital. In the meantime, you will stay at Foggy's while we look into how this guy managed to avoid getting arrested and kept his name and truck out of all this."

"Me?" Foggy said. "But… uh… I kind of have no room right now. I mean…"

"You mean you smell like Armani Code because Marci is slowly taking over your bathroom and not because you're into perfume?" Matt said quietly.

Foggy squared his shoulders. "She wears D&G Blue, actually," he blustered.

Matt's head tilted nearly all the way flat to his right as he swung it back toward Claire in resignation.

"So… I'll have to stay somewhere else," she dared. "Like… with another person from your firm."

Matt's head shot upright in happy realisation. "Yes. You will."

"Is that going to be a problem?" Foggy asked, the innocence so thick it could have been cut into slices and eaten.

"Not if you call Karen first and ask her nicely," Matt smiled.

"Karen?" Foggy echoed dumbly.

"Karen. You do remember Karen? Nice woman, gets her teeth into a mystery and won't let go, works for our firm?" Matt said politely.

Foggy smacked a closed fist into Matt's shoulder. "You," he managed through clenched, angry teeth. "You - are - a—. Absolutely right."

"I know," Matt said.

Foggy made his hand drop. "Claire? We'll go do boring paperwork stuff, and you wait here to be released," he said stiffly, getting up.

"Thank you," Claire said, her voice relieved.

Matt got up to the feel of Foggy's fingers hauling the shoulder of his jacket toward the door. "Come here, you," Foggy growled.

"Sit tight, Claire," Matt said as he was half-guided, half-dragged from the room.

The door closed behind him and he was shuffled down the hallway. "Foggy - slow down."

"If you weren't some kind of ninja Chuck Norris I would kick your ass," Foggy hissed at him. He turned him by the shoulders and whisked him round, pushing him against the wall. "You idiot. What are you doing, playing hard to get?"

"I'm not playing, Foggy, I'm being a lawyer," he said firmly.

"Right. You know, you could use a bit of playing. You need to loosen up, man. She likes you - really likes you. A few nights of her crashing at your place would be a nice change, don't you think?"

Matt's hand went up and swept Foggy's off his shoulder. He stood straighter and Foggy took a step back. "Foggy… I appreciate what you're trying to do. But there are… reasons, ok? Let's get her released and ask Karen if she'd mind a houseguest."

"But Matt—"

"It's for the best, Foggy," he urged, managing to keep his voice low. "What if she stays and then something happens that I have to leave?"

"Look, man, if you've got her in your place all to yourself then I don't care if your own personal friggin' Bat signal goes up - you let some other superhero handle it and you take a night off," he hissed.

"Do you understand how hard it is to concentrate on anything when you can hear a child screaming three blocks away?" he said calmly.

"Dude—"

"And if I do go out, and I come home, dripping with blood or trailing people who'd hurt her to get to me - again… what then?" Matt urged, his voice quiet. "It's not just me, Foggy - I have to think about what happens to everyone around me - including you and Karen."

Foggy huffed, and Matt detected the very angry way his heart clapped a few times before beginning to settle. "Fine," he muttered. "If that's how you want it."

"It's not how I want it, but… it's just how it has to be." He patted his arm and then angled himself toward the front desk, his cane going out in front of him.

Foggy muttered something under his breath before reaching in his inside pocket for his phone. He huffed and mumbled as he unlocked the cell phone and tapped at a name. He put it to his ear. "Oh, hey Karen," he began, somewhat resentfully. He listened for a moment. "It's this nurse that Matt knows. Yeah. From the hospital. Well you know he had that car accident and everything… Yeah. That one. Well…"

He transferred the phone to his other ear, casting a look far down the corridor and across the room of busy, talking people, finding a single head of fluffy dark hair.

He smiled. "Uh, hey, do me and Matt a favour?" he asked. "The nurse-witness-lady here needs someone to look after her for a few nights. Yeah. Just to… you know, crash at someone's place, be out of her own flat for safety reasons…" He smiled. "Yeah. So… you're busy, right? You can't do it, can you? No, of course you can't," he rattled off, over the top of her surprised voice. "Yeah, thought you'd have to say no. That's ok, Karen - that's perfectly ok." He cut the call with a smug grin, looking up and across the far room. "Oh Matty," he sighed in accomplishment. "You're welcome."

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Thanks for reading so far, folks! Here we go with another story I said I'd never do...