Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of "Daredevil," they belong to Marvel. I also don't own the characters of "CSI:NY," they belong to Anthony Zuiker.

Author's Note: Okay, serious author's note, here we go...

I've always written that I write because it's cheaper than therapy. Sometimes, you just have a rough day, and you need to vent some frustration. Well, this was born out of some frustration and stress, and so it's a bit darker than what I usually write, thus the rating. I needed a creative outlet, and writing was it. Yes, it's a weird crossover, I totally get that. But Matt Murdock is a guy who can usually see things coming and get himself out of trouble, he doesn't normally need saving. Also, I was bingeing "Daredevil" and Matt, well, Matt drew short straw. It kinda fit my mood with the show being darker. It's a weird departure for me, so it's a different kind of story for me. And then I thought well, it would make a good casefic and I kinda missed the CSI:NY characters so...yeah. I don't know that you really have to know anything about either show to understand this story. Maybe that Matt was hinted at in Season 1 to be kind of a womanizer and Flack's in a pretty dark place after he loses his partner.

This was also inspired by a prompt off The Writer's Circle Facebook page, something about wanting a female villain who was evil for the hell of it with no sympathetic angle. Challenge accepted.

I know the timelines don't really jive, but this would be somewhere Season 1ish for "Daredevil" (mentions of Fisk) and between Season 5 and 6 for CSI:NY (right after Jess Angell is killed).

CHAPTER ONE:

It was 11:35 when Foggy Nelson decided to pack it in. Matt Murdock heard the clink of his beer bottle on the table, over the sounds of .38 Special on the jukebox, the crack of pool cues and balls and the conversations going on around him. He'd focused in on it because it was…well, it…was early. By both of their standards.

"Leaving so soon?" Matt asked him, surprised. He heard the scrape of Foggy's barstool, heard the sound of him shrugging on his jacket.

"Yeah, I've got that meeting at 9 a.m. tomorrow because Karen 'forgot' I usually drink 'til one," Foggy reminded him, and Matt could feel the air quotes even without seeing them. Matt grinned; he remembered that shouting match well. He could've been down the block and heard them just fine, even without his enhanced hearing. Karen had reminded Foggy that the client came first; Foggy argued that the client came after the rounds of Jameson's. Matt hadn't said anything, choosing to enjoy imagining the facial expressions.

In the end, Karen had won, because apparently, neither one of them could say 'no' to Karen Page and actually mean it.

"Sorry, what?" Matt realized Foggy had been talking to him and he looked up over his own glass to where Foggy was standing, in the middle of the aisle.

"I said, what about you?" Foggy repeated, sounding annoyed. Matt suspected it was directed more toward Karen and his nine o'clock appointment than Matt's apparent ignoring of him.

"Oh, I'm gonna stay awhile," Matt told him. He shook his glass and offered his friend a grin. "Some of us don't have to get up in the morning."

"Bastard," Foggy tossed at him, but Matt could hear that he was (mostly) joking. "Fine. But next time Karen schedules something at the asscrack of dawn, it's your turn."

Matt saluted him with the glass. "Fair enough," he agreed. "See you tomorrow. Eight a.m. work for you to go over the Hawkins deposition?"

"Bite me!" he heard Foggy yell over his shoulder as he headed for the door. Matt laughed as he downed the rest of his drink.

"Lover's spat?"

The woman's voice made Matt jump. I must've drank more than I thought, he thought. This was the second time in less than ten minutes something had caught him off guard. She sat across from him, in Foggy's vacated place. He could smell just a hint of something…something berry. Her shampoo, maybe, no, definitely her shampoo as she leaned over the table. "Ah, no," Matt responded. "My partner." Then, he realized how that sounded, and hastily amended, "Law partner."

"I'm glad you clarified that," she said with a hint of a smile in her voice. "Otherwise this would've been a very short conversation."

Matt grinned. "I don't recognize you," he told her. "You ever been in Josie's before?"

This time, she laughed. It was a low-pitched, throaty laugh. "No, first time. A friend talked me into it."

"Your friend has horrible taste," Matt told her, and she laughed again. He was enjoying the sound.

"Or really good taste," she countered. "Depending on how the night goes."

"You're awfully forward," Matt said. Then, he nodded understandingly. Ah. "Your friend dare you to come talk to me, or…?"

He felt her slide out of his personal space, back onto the stool. "Actually, I'm pretty sure she's putting this on Snapchat," she admitted, sounding embarrassed. "It's my birthday. I swear Shannon's one goal is to get me laid tonight."

"Sounds like a great friend," Matt teased. "So she had you come talk to the blind guy in the suit?" He sat back. "'Cause you know, I can't tell if you're ugly or not," he added, tapping his glasses.

She snorted indignantly. "For the record," he caught a whiff of the berry again as she tossed her hair, "I'm gorgeous." She laughed, and Matt laughed with her. "Anyway, do me a favor?" she asked him. "She won't get off my back about this, so…" He heard the nervousness in her voice. "Could you at least act like you think I'm worth going home with?"

Matt was reminded of his college days. Going to the spot off campus with Foggy, trying their damndest to get girls to come back to their dorm with them. Playing off each other. Foggy's line, "He may be blind, but there's nothing wrong with the rest of him, if you get my drift." How many times had they dared each other to go home with a co-ed?

"Well, since it is your birthday," Matt played along, "and I'd hate for your friend to give you hell the rest of the night…" He tossed some cash on the table to cover his tab and stood up. "How about I walk you back to my place, or, I guess, you walk me, and then when we get there-"

Her heatbeat picked up. "Ohh, oh no, wait, I can't-" She was stammering now.

Matt cringed. Oops. "No, that's not what I meant," he assured her. "We go in, and we hang out on the stairs until we know your friends aren't hiding in the window wells and I call you a cab to take you home."

She coughed out a short laugh. "And how do I know you're not some serial killer?"

Matt reached into his pocket, pulled out a card and offered it to her. Karen had made up like 500 of them on some website that was giving them away for ten bucks and shipping. He slid it across the table.

"Nelson and Murdock. Attorneys at Law." Matt snickered as she read it out loud. "What? Laughing because it's fake, or what?"

"No, inside joke," Matt promised her. "Anyway, I'm a blind lawyer," he told her. "I'm literally the last candidate for a serial killer."

He waited. He could tell she was thinking about it, she was turning the card over in her fingers, he could hear it flicking against her nails. Finally, she said, "How far is your place?"

"Maybe before we go, we should swap names," Matt suggested. "I'm Matt."

"Matt," she rolled the name around. He liked the way she said it, the way she enunciated the 't' at the end. "And are you the Nelson or the Murdock of Nelson and Murdock?"

"Murdock," Matt told her. "Matthew Murdock."

He waited. "Amanda," she said a moment later. "Amanda Hines."

"Well then, Amanda, Amanda Hines," Matt said, standing and grabbing his cane. "Let's make this good for your friend Shannon, shall we?"

Amanda laughed again. He could feel her push on his shoulder so her mouth was level with his ear. "We're walking by her now."

He dipped his head low to return the gesture. "Give her a wave," he whispered, felt her shiver.

Had Matt been a little more observant and alert, he would have noted that there was a second set of eyes watching them as they left Josie. A pair of ice blue eyes belonging to a man in dark denim jeans, a blue longsleeve shirt, and black leather jacket had watched the entire exchange from the bar, behind a beer that was either his third or fourth, he'd lost track. He leaned back against the bar, half watching the Rangers game on the flat screen TV in the corner, half watching the exchange at the table across the grimy floor.

She's good, he noted, watching "Amanda" flirt with the blind guy at the high top. There were a lot of guys around the precinct that wondered how exactly she was getting guys to go anywhere with her…but watching her in action, it was painfully obvious. Unconsciously, his hand drifted to his jacket, where his service pistol was tucked in the inside pocket. His partner had talked him out of his shoulder holster-telling him he'd stick out in a place like Josie's, and she'd been right.

He set his beer on the table and threw down some cash to cover it. Then, he got up to follow his suspect out of the bar.

He'd taken no more than a step or two before the bar erupted in cheers as the Rangers scored a goal. By the time he'd weaved through the crowd and stepped outside, the woman and the blind guy were gone.

Detective Don Flack, Jr. swore. Shit. He looked up and down both sides of the sidewalk, trying to decide which way to go. It was empty in either direction.

Shit, now what? His partner would have told him to call for backup, but Flack didn't have that kind of time. And she wasn't around to reason with him, to talk him out of looking for a serial killer in a neighborhood of New York City where it definitely wasn't safe for anyone, badge or not, to be walking around at night. Fuck it. He randomly chose a direction, and started walking.