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It was about five am, and Matt Murdock was really fucking tired.
He had just been ‘Daredevilling’, as Foggy liked to call it, around the neighbourhood. He had stopped around four muggings, got a drunk girl back to her apartment safely, made sure that there weren’t any brawls starting at a protest, made a quick appearance at an abuser’s hospital room to scare the shit out of him, and general Daredevil stuff.
He had only gotten beaten up slightly, so it wasn’t like he had to call Foggy, Karen or Claire and ask them to patch him up. He was just tired from having done very excellent ninja parkour around the city for maybe 7 hours straight.
Pulling off his Daredevil armour, Matt faceplanted in his bed, sighing in relief as the relaxing textures of his bedsheets caressed his skin. Lying on his stomach, he mentally ran through his body. His stomach was bruised from one of the muggers getting in a good swing with a baseball bat, but none of his internal organs were busted. Nice.
Rolling over, he could hear his phone beeping with messages. He groaned.
“Open messages.” Matt called out to his phone, which was lying around his civilian clothes at the foot of his bed. He had also been hit in the head a couple of times, he remembered. Probably why his whole radar hearing was a bit off. Oh well.
The phone dinged open, starting to read out his messages in a robotic voice.
“From: Foggy. Sent at: Eleven pm. Message reads: Hey, make sure to rest up tonight, ok? We have a meeting with the people who wanted to intern tomorrow, and I want to make an okay impression on their teachers or whoever the fuck is showing up with these college students. Please don’t go Daredevilling around too hard. Love you Matty. Less than symbol three.”
Matt groaned. He had forgotten about that. Some college wanted to get some of their students to intern at the firm, God knows why. They were a practically broke law firm. Maybe it was a rich college and they wanted the students to experience the poor people life.
“Mark as read.” He said loudly, so the phone could hear him.
“Voicemail. From: Unknown Number. Sent at: Three thirty am. Voicemail begins:” his phone continued.
Matt sat up slightly. Who was leaving him a voicemail at three thirty?
The robotic voice of his phone stopped, letting the voicemail play. It was a younger sounding person, and they sounded tired as Matt was.
“Hi, Mr Murdock? This is Kayla, from the Hell’s Kitchen Police Station. Officer Mahoney left your number here in case we thought someone could use some help? Some guy just got bought in for speeding, and he’s pissed, and said he wanted a lawyer. So, uh, if you could help, that would be great? Sorry, thank you! Sorry!”
The message ended, and his phone announced that was it.
Matt groaned.
An hour later, Matt was feeling still shitty, but looking presentable. He had maybe sprinted his way through the backstreets to get to the station, because he really didn’t feel like taking public transportation today. As he leant against an alley wall a block away from the station, he slightly regretted it, considering the stomach bruise that was trying to inconvenience him at every turn.
He shook it off, brushing his suit slightly. He unfolded his cane, and walked into the station.
Matt didn’t like the police station very much. It smelled like iron, blood and grime. Considering the budget of the police, he was astonished that they never cleaned the station, ever. They might, but based on the smell, they didn’t do it well.
He stopped at the small reception desk, and asked about the voice mail he had gotten. The person who was sitting there was obviously the one who had called him.
“Oh, jeez, thanks for getting here so fast! Yeah, he’s right over here.” They babbled nervously, guiding Matt to an empty desk where the person who wanted a lawyer sat. Matt thanked them quietly, and found the chair to sit down on, facing his client.
He folded his cane, gently tucking it into the briefcase before turning his attention to the person sitting across from him.
“Matt Murdock, attorney.” He held out his hand in what he hoped was their direction. His radar sense thing was still a bit jumbled.
“Jake Lockley, cabbie.” Jake answered, shaking his hand. He had a strong New York accent, and smelled. Different. It was acrid and strange, but not actually him. It seemed to linger behind him somehow. He smelled blood, strongly now, but being in the station, this guy could have been in a fight, or brushed up against someone else who had been stabbed, or any other series of events. But he had a job to do.
Matt tapped the voice notes on his phone, and began to ask some questions.
This man, Jake, was strange. His heart rate was strangely calm for being in a police station, for smelling like blood and that strange acrid smell, and being asked questions by a lawyer. It was strange, but not the strangest thing he had ever come across.
And almost as soon as the questions had begun, they had ended. It was surprisingly simple.
Matt felt around the table for the papers that he had been told were there, getting ready to pack up and get back to the firm.
“So…” Jake leaned in “You come here often?”
Matt turned slightly, smirking.
“I’m a lawyer Jake. I’m obligated to come down here.”
And then Jake offered to take him to coffee. Matt almost said no, but the pounding headache that was struggling to become a migrane answered for him. And they were out.
Walking with Jake to his cab was nice, he seemed quite pleased to get his keys back. Obviously it was his livelihood, so of course he’d like to get his cab back. The keys seemed to smell of that same acrid smell. It was strange, but Matt was really just looking forward to some coffee.
They got to his cab and Jake opened the door. Matt nearly threw up, but was very composed about it, simply freezing. In the cab… it smelled so strongly of blood it felt like he was covered in it right now. Not to mention the very very strong smell of gunpowder and metal emanating from the trunk and under the seats.
Jake was a gentleman about it at least, getting him an air freshener from his trunk, where, even with his senses muddled by the smell and his possible concussion, he could tell there was at least a couple guns.
What the actual fuck did a cab driver need multiple guns for.
Unless they were from passengers, who had left them there, or something else. Matt sniffed the pine tree scented air freshener from heaven and tried not to think about it until he could scream into a pillow and maybe ask Claire to check for a concussion, because this headache sucked ass.
Apart from the very sneaking suspicion that his new client was maybe up to illegal things, Matt liked Jake. He was funny, charming, made great conversation and he seemed to be attractive, based on how the heartrates of the people around them reacted. Maybe he did have a pretty person radar built into him after all.
Foggy was going to give him so much shit.
As Matt walked away from Jake’s cab, he felt his phone beep loudly in his briefcase, with an announcement of “Incoming Call. From: Foggy” from his lovely robot assistant.
“Shit.” Matt swore, awkwardly digging around in the briefcase to get his phone and answer it, while still trying to navigate his way down the street.
He grabbed it out triumphantly, and hit the answer button.
“Matt, where the fuck are you!” Foggy hissed into the phone “I’m at your place right now, and if you’re on the couch at Claire’s being stitched up, I am going to do more damage to you than whatever mobster did last night.”
“I’m not at Claire’s Fogs. I’m near the Joy’s café, the one we helped out.” Matt closed his briefcase, clutching his phone to his ear. Shit. He forgot about the whole intern thing.
“Jesus, give a man some warning. I’m coming over to get you now, Karen is holding down the fort. You better have some food and coffee, or I am going to keel over and die.” Foggy sighed dramatically, obviously walking down the stairs to get to his car.
“Okay. I’ll be very obvious, I’m the blind man in a suit standing on the corner.” Matt smiled.
“Wow, I never knew. See you soon. You don’t get an I love you because I’m mad at you.”
“You just said it.”
“Pure conjecture.” Matt could hear Foggy flipping his hair slightly.
“See you soon. Love you.” Matt smiled, and hung up. Now he needed to go back in and get some more food.
Now sated with some coffee, Foggy was in a slightly better mood as he drove Matt and himself to their office.
“You could have texted that you were going to do something at the station, I practically worked myself into a frenzy thinking you were in another dumpster again.” Foggy sighed, looking at his good friend and buddy who had an unfortunate habit of getting himself into dangerous near-death situations and telling nobody about it.
“I was actually very safe last night. I may have a concussion, but if I do, it’s a mild one.” Matt objected, sipping on his second coffee. It wasn’t healthy, but since when was he the picture of good choices.
“See, this is what I’m saying. It’s okay if you want to Daredevil around the town, but tell me or Karen if you end up getting a concussion.” Foggy sighed again, this time even more long suffering.
“Don’t try and trick me into getting my Catholic guilt out, it’s only worked-”
“Every single time because you’re a lovely Catholic boy.” Foggy smiled, patting Matt on the cheek as he pulled into his shitty street parking. “Now let’s go and make sure that Karen hasn’t tried to redecorate like she always threatens to do.”
The pair walked into their firm, with Foggy delightedly announcing that the office remained un-decorated.
“So where have you been Mr Murdock?” Karen rolled obnoxiously into Matt’s path on her spinning desk chair.
“Doing lawyer stuff, and getting you a coffee.” Matt sat the coffee down on the desk beside her “Never say I don’t do anything nice for you.”
“You spoil me.” Karen grabbed the coffee and swung herself around to get to her desk “Now, the kid should be here soon, and one of the teachers will be coming with him. He’s coming from Columbia, just like you two fancies.”
Matt raised an eyebrow.
“I know. But lets just meet the kid, see what he’s like.” Foggy pat Matt’s shoulder, leaning his head against his back.
He sighed, letting Foggy lean on him for a couple more seconds before making his way to his office.
The kid was Samuel Chung, who was now their first official intern, was a Columbia scholarship student for science, strangely. Foggy and Karen were slightly confused, but Matt didn’t want to out Samuel for being one of the upcoming vigilantes of the city, so he kept quiet. He had offered it to Sam to come and intern, just for some money when he had broken his arm badly and couldn’t keep working his job as a janitor, but he hadn’t taken him up.
Matt thought it might have been easier for him to go through Columbia instead, give himself a good record. Plus, it meant he could keep a closer eye on Sam, make sure he wasn’t going to get himself killed going off and fighting someone who was twice his size.
After the interview was all said and done, and Matt had surreptitiously given Sam a bit more money for the first shift the next week, he started working on the case he
had gotten this morning.
Jake Lockley. He was a good man, but something was really bothering Matt about him. The sheer scent of blood radiating from his cab, along with the guns that he definitely had in the trunk. He seemed to be truthful though. While they were talking, his heartbeat and vitals stayed neutral, if not stressed due to the fact he was in a police station.
It was almost making him insane.
He took off his glasses, putting them down beside his laptop, leaning back into his chair.
“Hey Matty, how are you?” Foggy leaned on the doorframe “How’s the case you’re working on?”
“I’m alright.” Matt sighed “There’s just something about this guy.”
“What do you mean?” Foggy walked into the small office, putting a hand on the back of the chair.
“He seemed to be so calm about everything, and his cab. His cab smelled like blood and guns Fogs.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Most cabs smell like some kind of blood and guns, but it must have been bad. Is there anything else really off about him or is it just a vibe?”
“I don’t know.” Matt groaned “Just a vibe. Also…”
Foggy made a curious noise.
“I think he was flirting with me?”
“Was he pretty?”
“I didn’t get a good look at his face.” Matt turned his face to Foggy’s, deadpan.
“You know what I mean! Get him into the office, I want to meet the blood cab pretty man. Especially if he’s flirting with my boyfriend.” Foggy laughed, kissing Matt’s forehead “I’m going to go get some Thai food for dinner, Karen said she wanted some green curry, you want anything?”
“Pad Thai?” Matt smiled “And I can’t guarantee him coming in, the case is pretty open and shut. But I gave him the firm’s number, so he might call.”
“Alright.” Matt could hear Foggy’s smile widen “Love you, and I’ll be back in maybe half an hour.”
Foggy leant down and kissed him gently. Matt smiled, his hand coming to Foggy’s arm to lightly brush it. He would never get tired of the soft moments like this.
“Love you too.”
Meanwhile, in a very shitty New York apartment, Jake was staring in his mirrors, about to go insane.
“So you went on a date today?” Steven asked excitedly “Good job!”
“He was also arrested for speeding, and put the mission progress back about a week.” Marc glared.
“Getting arrested is not good, but relaxing is important as well.” Steven looked to the side, where Marc’s mirror was sitting. “Plus, Khonshu can do without whatever thing he’s getting us to re-steal”
“It maybe was a date.” Jake interrupted Steven. “He’s also my lawyer.”
“But, if he finishes being your lawyer, you two seem to get on pretty well” Steven dragged out the last ‘e’, grinning.
“Yeah, yeah.” He smiled “I’m going to call his firm tomorrow, get his actual number.”
“After I get to track down that arms dealer again.” Marc tapped his fingers against his jaw. “I know relaxing is important Stevie, but I want to maybe not move into another run down apartment. Layla has a perfectly fine apartment here.”
“Marc, you can have the front tomorrow, just don’t get arrested like I did, okay?” Jake smirked.
“I’m far better at that than you. That’s why I’m the host.” Marc said sarcastically.
“Listen, at this point we’re all the hosts considering how fairly we share front. And don’t forget to write in the diary Jake! I’m going back in.” Steven waved as his image dissipated from the small mirror Jake had propped up against his pillow.
“Same here. Get some sleep, make a note when you want to try and front tomorrow. If I can’t reach you, I’ll either do my best new yorker accent or wait til you get out.”
“If you do a New Yorker accent, I think an Italian mobster will appear and kill you for the accent crime. Just wait for me, alright?” Jake sighed.
“See you Jake.” Marc nodded, his image fading from the mirror.
Jake pinched his forehead, and rubbed at his cheek. He had a bit of stubble, and he would kill Marc if he shaved the moustache.
Collecting the two mirrors, he laid them down on the kitchen counter, grabbing the small paper journal that Steven had insisted they buy that they didn’t have the usual diary they used. He grabbed a sticky note as well, scribbling ‘NO SHAVING MOUSTACHE’ on the sticky note, firmly pressing it on the fridge.
“Alright.” Jake yawned and stretched his arms “Let’s get this diary shit out of the way.”
He scribbled in some notes about the day, including the leads he had gotten from the arms dealer, and where he had put the money he had stolen from him.
Shutting the journal, Jake flopped his body onto his bed. He tucked his knife under his pillow, closing his eyes. He would call Matt tomorrow, after Marc did some of the beating up people that he had missed out on during his brief police station stint. He sighed, letting sleep wrap around him and take him to a nicer place.