Chapter Text
Matt’s ears perk up at the sound coming from out the window. Foggy’s whistle is easily heard from the three story distance as he organizes some paperwork his partner must have left from last night. The windows are open and the sun light hugs the blind lawyer’s skin like a blanket. Honestly, the comforting feeling makes his skin crawl but the hero pushes that thought aside. Instead, he continues to listen to the upbeat sound of Foggy’s steps and tune. Matt concentrates, inhaling the wafting scents from outside, smelling the other lawyer’s aftershave.
It would be easy to take a cab, probably a lesser risk to his suit than chancing the Manhattan streets- but Foggy likes the walk from his apartment to Nelson and Murdock. It has become almost habitual, that a few days a week Foggy would go to Matt’s apartment with breakfast before walking together to their semi-new office. Making the walk from just his apartment to the office seem like.. Well, not a walk in the park, but pretty damn near close. Foggy has woken up late that day though, so he doesn’t bother stopping by Matt’s first. Instead, he takes the shortest rout he knew to work, briefcase in hand and a tune on his lips. Not everything is okay, but not everything is horrible, either.
They’ve begun to lock the door to their office and Foggy has to knock just to be let in, thankfully Karen is there on the other side of the glass door in a heartbeat, unlocking it almost before Foggy could knock.
“What, no secret password?” Foggy jokes, stepping inside. Matt’s off to his left, shuffling papers like the damned little Catholic Scholar he is, glasses firmly in place over a small, fading bruise on the bridge of his nose.
“No secret password, we could smell your aftershave from a mile away,” Karen laughs, ducking her head as she brushes a strand of blond hair behind her ear. Foggy dimly wishes that they could have worked out better, but he’s not about to pick up Matt’s sloppy seconds, either. Not that Karen is sloppy, Foggy corrects himself before pausing and thinks, Oh, whatever.
Before Foggy can huff out a reply about his preferred amount of aftershave, Karen saves him the trouble, chirping as she walks back towards her desk, “I made coffee, and Matt brought breakfast.” Cupping a hand around her mouth, Karen stage-whispers, “He’s in a good mood.” while her eyes dart back towards the open door of Matt’s office.
Foggy quirks an eyebrow at that, semi-amused at the blond’s comment. “Should I go in and ruin his day with a case?”
Karen laughs, placing a slim hand on his shoulder. “Well, that’s the only way we’re going to get paid isn’t it? If we actually do real work for once,” Foggy didn’t get all of that, too busy taking in the fact that she’s touching him… willingly.
Groaning, the blond man drags his feet towards Matt’s little square of an office. “Hey, Bud,” he says closing the door behind him.
“Hello, Foggy. How are you today?” Matt asks, still shuffling those damn papers.
“Good, good. That hot-dog vendor outside my apartment continues to be the early-bird from hell,” Foggy huffs, earning a quiet laugh from the other lawyer.
“I, uh, I got us a new case,” he stammers after a moment, and glances up at his friend to watch his reaction.
Matt stops shuffling, his hands going up to adjust the glasses on his face. “Really? Is our client on the way? I don’t... Sense anyone.”
Foggy scratches the back of his neck. “That’s because I wanted to give you a heads up first,” he says nervously. “We’re going to them… And they’re kinda part of the chinese drug trading cartel you broke apart.”
Foggy likes to think he’s pretty darn good at reading his best friend. Not to be that, vomit-inducingly cliche about the whole thing, but Matt’s a pretty reserved guy. Granted, a pretty reserved guy who has a big heart and a tendency to forget that other people could see him, but a reserved guy nonetheless.
So he pays close attention, watching Matt’s face drop slightly, before faltering, and pushing itself into a crooked smile, lips pursed closely together.
“I’m glad we can help him.”
The words come out of Matt’s mouth a little stiffly, but Foggy knows that his best friend means what he says. Matt’s fingers pick up his papers again, running over the edge and finding an invisible page that has remained misaligned. He picks them up to tap them into place, and Foggy rolls his eyes, reaching for the papers and tugging them out of Matt’s hands.
“I just rolled my eyes,” Foggy states helpfully, which earns a slightly more optimistic smile from Matt. Before Foggy can say anything else - about the case, or about how Matt had a problem with those papers - Matt’s head tilts up slightly, facing the door, and a second later the doorknob turns and Karen comes in, two mismatched mugs in her hands.
She doesn’t falter when the two simply stare at her, awkwardness fills the air and she has a feeling that she’s interrupting something- most likely, Karen thinks. But she’s used to it by now, so instead of shuffling away, she comes in and places both mugs in front of them respectively.
“Why thank you, Ms. Page,” Foggy says, his words overly-formal contrasting the wide grin on his face.
“Thanks, Karen,” Matt echoes next to him, quieter than Foggy but no less pleased by the steaming coffee in front of him.
“No problem, guys,” she replies easily enough.
The silence goes on for a few moments, Matt not wanting to drag Karen into this and Foggy not sure if he should spit it out right then and there. Karen, on the other hand, is getting fed up with their bullshit. “Alright, you two, spill.”
“We’re going to see a blind chinese man to clear him of charges against dealing cocaine,” Foggy rushes the words out of his mouth.
“Is he guilty?” She asks.
Matt straightens his already primed tie. “That’s what we’re going to go find out.”
The blind lawyer stands up with Foggy and Karen scrambling after him. “We’re heading to…” Foggy trails off as he stuffs his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out a slip of paper, “to Fire and Ice. A cafe, I think.”
The nod Matt gives is quick. “I’ve been there. It’s based off Robert Frost’s poem, very fitting for Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Yeah, yeah. We get it, you like poetry and are so smooth with the writer chicks,” Foggy mocks playfully.
The three head outside, where it’s hot enough that even Matt looks uncomfortable in his suit and tie. Which is saying a lot, Foggy thinks, tugging at his collar, because he never shows discomfort, the guy can be like a freaking robot at times. Karen hails a cab and after the second attempt one rolls its way down the street, stopping in front of the group. They climb inside, Matt and Foggy cushioning Karen in the middle.
“Where to?” Asks the cabbie with an obviously fake New Yorker accent.
“Fire and Ice,” Matt states as he stares aimlessly out the window.
The cabbie grunts in response and the car jerks forward. Foggy notices his best friend’s grip on his cane, his knuckles white and his grip tense. His eyes trail up to the man’s jaw, which is locked shut and paler than usual, bringing out the nowhere-near-fading bruise on his cheek.
“Hey, Matty,” Foggy leans past Karen (not because he wants to accidently bump into her, Foggy insists) and pokes the blind man. “Are you okay? Really.”
“I just thought this all would be over, is all,” comes his strained reply.
Foggy isn’t quite sure what to make of his partner’s response but it’s obvious he doesn’t want to get into it. Matt, on the other hand, can’t do anything but get into it. Everything that happened last night comes back to Matt full force. Cornering Fisk in the alleyway, beating on him… Killing him. The memories swim around in his head like a smog, corrupting everything that the hero tries to keep pure and clean. Matt slumps against his seat in the cab, trying to focus on anything other than his thoughts. First he listens to the outside world of cars and pedestrians coinciding in the populated city, when that doesn’t work, he tries to key in on the throbbing of his face and ribs. That works for a while, or at least till the cab comes to a sudden stop, jerking all three of the passengers forward.
“Take your time getting out, the meter’s running,” barks the driver.
Foggy rolls his eyes and throws him some cash. “Thanks, by the way you’re pronouncing your ‘yous’ all wrong. Totally not New Yorker, more… Southern.”
Getting out of the car, they - well Karen and Foggy, Matt simply listens - watch the cab race off. “God, one of us needs to get a car,” Foggy mutters.
“Not me,” Matt doesn’t need to explain that one.
“You don’t pay me enough to afford a car,” Karen says, and after a beat Foggy realizes that both Matt and Karen had turned to face him.
“Lets just go inside.” Foggy says in exasperation, ushering them both into the cafe.
The bell chimes as the door swings open and Matt’s nose is engulfed with the aroma of coffee beans and the sweet scent of pastries. Foggy’s eyes widen at the layout of the place, which is split in half by the lighting and decor. Karen looks around and feels like she entered a foreign land that isn’t remotely near Hell’s Kitchen, New York. The room’s divided by wall-long bookshelves but from the front of the cafe, it is easy to see both sides. Right smack dab on the middle of the side panel of the first shelf is a quote:
"I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way."
- Robert Frost
“Damn,” whispers Foggy as he eyes the blue hue of the frozen themed left side holding people slurping on frappuccinos and other cold drinks.
“More like damned,” Karen mutters back as she takes in the right side of candles and fiery hues of red and orange, each of the customers drinking their own brew of hot tea or coffee.
Foggy tries not to laugh at that, he really does, because professional isn’t really what he, Matt, and Karen really scream, but god dammit if they don’t try for it. They still look like a bunch of college students, half the time, and Foggy has to admit that Karen is the only one of them that always manages to look like a professional.
Reminding himself that he did actually graduate law-school in the top of his class, Foggy makes a quick scan of the cafe and is instantly able to find the man he was looking for - a short, thin Chinese man with raybans and a fanny pack reclining in one of the booths, a cane propped up against the table. He looks like he could have been asleep he’s sitting so still, but Foggy has seen that before- Matt would get unnaturally still as well when he didn’t have anything to read or fiddle with.
Foggy leads Matt and Karen over to the more heated side of the cafe, beaming at Mr. Zhou when they get close enough. He knows the man is blind, but it seems impolite to just keep frowning.
“Mr. Zhou!” Foggy exclaims as he reaches the table, and the blind man looks up, though his face remains tilted too far to the left to actually be looking at Foggy. It’s more for appearances than anything else, he assumes.
“It’s Foggy Nelson. From Nelson and Murdock,” Foggy says easily, feeling Matt step up beside him, “And this is my partner, Matt Murdock.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Sir,” Matt nods down to the man, which Foggy finds bizarre since they’re both blind.
Foggy gapes when Zhou actually nods back, as if he can freaking see!
“Please, sit down.” Zhou says, and Foggy pulls out a chair for Matt, and then himself, but remains standing for another beat.
“Can we get you anything to drink?” He asks, unsure if that’s exactly business protocol, but this man has been through so much, it seems like the least he can do while going over the gruesome details of the case.
“Just a black coffee, if you wouldn’t mind.” Zhou says, and Foggy reminds himself that the Chinese man couldn’t be over twenty-five, despite his older appearance. Glancing back at Karen, Foggy holds up two fingers, and she nods, moving from the back corner to go stand in line to order.
Foggy sits down, Matt having already found the chair that had been pulled out for him and seating himself. The cafe’s on the quiet side, but Foggy decides that the music - classical stuff Matt likes - manages to keep their words from the ears of everyone around them.
Matt clears his throat and leans forward, and Foggy is somewhat relieved - not because he doesn’t want to talk to Zhou, but because Matt has been exponentially quieter than usual, and considering that Matt was already a quiet person by nature... It was making Foggy worry, slightly.
“Mr. Zhou.” Matt starts, and Foggy leans back in his chair, watching Matt rests his forearms on the table and intertwine his fingers, looking every inch of the lawyer he is, minus the painful looking bruise on his cheek, of course.
“Can you tell us what exactly you were arrested for? We understand it had to do with... Madame Gao, but we need to know any details you can give us.”
Zhou leans forward, and Foggy wonders if he’s the only one finding it creepy that Zhou and Matt are mimicking each other, even though they are both, y’know, blind.
“Where do I start?” Zhou asks, and Foggy felt bad, because the man didn’t ask it as a rhetorical, tired question - he just didn’t know.
“I - if you could just start at the beginning.” Foggy says, glancing towards Matt, who nods in agreement, though Foggy thinks that it’s more for his benefit than it is for Zhou. Well. Obviously.
Zhou sighs, sitting back. “It didn’t really get bad until Madame brought in that Russian man.”
Matt straightens up beside him, sits up and retracts his elbows from the table, becoming very still. Foggy takes a guess it’s because some people still think Daredevil was responsible for the bombings on the Russian mobsters that swarmed - or had swarmed - Hell’s Kitchen like rats.
“What Russian man?” Foggy asks, Matt’s voice layering on top of his with the same question. Weird, we haven’t done that in a while, Foggy thinks.
Zhou makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, and Foggy sets himself up for the disappointing answer: ‘I don’t know.’
“Vlad.. Vladimir, I think?” Zhou asks more than states, but Matt doesn’t give the man a chance to say anything else before he asks:
“Are you sure that was his name?”
Foggy glances at his partner - Matt’s voice has turned sharp.
The chinese man fiddles with his cane for a moment, thinking. “Yes,” he confirms, much to Matt’s… horror? relief? The hero isn’t quite sure. All he knows is that his heart is racing as the man once again says, “Yes. His name is Vladimir.”