blindfighter | There was a time when I was good, but there are witches in the woods.

There was a time when I was good, but there are witches in the woods.

It's around 630 when Matt stops pretending to be asleep.

Though that's a lie, just a tad--Matt has slept. On and off, on his silk sheets and curled up naked with another man in what feels like forever. It's nice, and for a few hours it lasts. It really and truly lasts, and Matt can hear the steady beating of Tim's heart. He can hear every creak as his bones adjust, can still smell scotch and bourbon as he exhales in his sleep. It's not the kind that's overwhelming, it's natural and in a way comforting.

But it's still another person and Matt Murdock is used to being alone. He's used to not getting close.

He's used to one night stands and relationships that barely last a month, if that. He's used to Foggy clapping him on the shoulder and telling him there'll be more.

He's used to going to their place. This is the first time he's brought someone home.

Someone here.

He's brought people over, but not for a one night stand. This is a different circumstance in many ways--mostly that they're going to see each other again. They're going to pass each other in the courtrooms even if they're not going to actively see each other although, if Matt's being honest, he does want to. It had been one of the best lays in a while.

And that's how, at exactly 6:40 in the morning, Matt Murdock decides he can't get used to it just yet. So instead, he gets to work. Turns the alarm off to let Tim sleep in, gets half-dressed (socks, slacks and a dress shirt, the first few buttons undone and the collar a little rumpled), and is in the kitchen. He gets to work.

If this is a one-night stand with special circumstances, he may as well make breakfast. That includes half a grapefruit for each of them, fresh fruit, and Matt himself is in the middle of cooking up some of the bacon and eggs. Simple and scrambled, but if there's one thing Matt can do better than most thanks to his olfactory senses being heightened, it's cook.

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There's more to it than that. Or, at least, he has a hunch that there's more to it than that. And usually, his hunches are right. There's something Matt isn't telling him. Tim can already tell — Matt Murdock has a lot of secrets. This, whatever reason he had for not taking off his shirt last night, the bruise next to his eye. He can only begin to guess what the truths are.

It's probably a good thing they're going to leave this at a one night stand. Good that they'll have breakfast and see each other around the office and that will be the extent of it.

Tim wants more — Tim always wants more — but this is probably better for both of them.

It takes him a moment to realizes he's watching Matt eat more than actually eating himself. That's-- probably creepy. Whoops. He takes a bite of his grapefruit, dropping his gaze again.

"I should be," he says, and he can't help a small smile. "Gonna have a lot of office work today."

A day of planning and filling out the necessary paperwork to conduct a sting. A day of trying to find the best way to finally catch the vigilante.

Matt smiles, too, even though he can't see Tim is. He's assuming, from the sound of his voice. Because Tim is actually very expressive. He doesn't know it, he thinks--but Tim's voice isn't actually as deadpan as he thinks. There's very subtle nuances, extremely fine syntax. It's nice. No, it's more than nice. It's perfect.

"Maybe I'll stop by," He says carefully. Testing the waters, testing Tim's reaction. Wondering if it's too far. It probably is, Matt thinks. He's already getting too attached just because he likes Tim's voice and what he does; he's too clingy because he knows it's probably going to go up in flames after the first month if that.

And yet all he wants to do is see Tim.

Tim should say no. He should cut this off, because it's starting to diverge hard from one night stand territory. It wouldn't be the first time he's done it. Some people get too attached and too clingy and Tim has to put a firm stop to it. Hurt feelings are easier to deal with sooner rather than later. It's more for their benefit than it is for his anyway.

That's what he should do here. Maybe a little more gently than in the past, because Matt deserves at least that. It's right on the tip of his tongue — 'I don't think that's a good idea.'

"If you do, bring me a coffee and we'll call it date number two."

It's a joke. It's sort of a joke. Clearly, he makes terrible decisions when left to his own devices. There's a reason he prefers following orders.

"I'm afraid my office's coffee is just as bad as the department of justice's," Matt jokes. Feels for his fork to pick it up and immediately dig into his eggs. They're nothing fancy but one thing about having a heightened sense of taste and smell is that he's a pretty good cook.

Usually.

Today, he's on the ball, it seems.

"I don't see why I can't bring you starbucks, though."

The food really is good, and Tim's been slowly working his way through it, not quite ready to leave yet. He knows he will eventually, with enough time to grab a shower and a change of clothes at his place. But they have some time. There's no rush. Which Tim feels like is a first for him since moving to Hell's Kitchen.

New York City doesn't really leave room for a leisurely pace. He misses Kentucky's long days.

He feels like whatever fancy law office Matt works for ought to have better coffee. Starbucks seems too ridiculous and pretentious for Tim's tastes, but he's not about to turn it down.

"Then it's a date."

Matt nods. "It's a date," he repeats, and they go about eating breakfast. The conversation is polite and easy, relaxed in a way that Matt feels with Foggy. There's a different level, though, and on their way down the stairs, Matt, behind Tim, leans forward on the staircase to nip just at the back of the other's neck without any pretense.

He's dressed to the nines, cane in hand, and once they're down the stairs he nods and adjusts his glasses so they're more comfortable. One small smile and a comment he'd be there around noon, and they part ways.

He arrives at the office and Foggy immediately knows. Karen wonders why Foggy starts cheering and Foggy points out not-so-delicately that Matt has definitely had sex because he walked in the room smiling.

"Is it that Deputy?" He asks. "Can we bribe him, too? Use your nubile young body to catch wind of cases?"
M
"Foggy!" Karen gasps. Matt laughs and promises it's alright and that no, he can't bribe Tim.

"Right. Tim," Foggy states. "You can't see it but I'm using air quotes on the word.

"That's his real name. Any luck on Union Allied?"

They all, eventually, get to work. Nelson and Murdock gets their third client. Or, more accurately, at third client comes to them. Wesley, his name is, has a case for them. A case and a lot of money. Matt accepts not because of the money, because that ticking of the Cartier watch and his voice is very, very familiar.

It's Karen that arrives at the bullpen with Starbucks. Regular coffee, black, just like Matt had heard and smelled he took. She leaves it and the secretary calls Tim down. By the time Tim is there Karen is gone and there's just a single cup, warm and steaming, with the name Gutterson on it.

Matt knows Wesley is connected with Fisk now, after following him. After hearing it. What bothers him more is the police in Fisk's pocket. The police that Tim works with. So Matt takes a gamble, because despite the bourbon on his breath he can sense Tim is honest. He wants to do good. He decides to float him a name.

Matt is masked, ready, when he hears it. A sting operation. They're trying to catch him, now, he knows. Here's Tim's voice. His own heart drops in his chest.

This is why he shouldn't have got his hopes up.

Still, he needs to contact Tim. Not as Matt, but as the devil of hell's kitchen. He makes a copy of the information on Union Allied that Karen brought up, too. Waits, patiently, for them to give up on the sting. And the moment they do, the moment Tim is alone, Matt plans on cornering him.

The day is slow, no thanks to being stuck in the office for the majority of it. It's a day of paperwork and planning, getting a team together and going through all the proper channels. Everything has to be on the up-and-up when they finally get to arrest this guy. When they're not in meetings, Tim's getting through stacks of reports and glancing periodically at his watch.

He should not be anticipating Matt's visit so much.

Though, that's probably why he feels relatively stood up when Matt doesn't visit, but leaves a cup of coffee anyway in passing. Like a formality. It's, admittedly, disappointing. But this is probably for the best. It was only supposed to be a one night stand anyway. Tim shouldn't ask for anything more.

He does, however, seek out Brett Mahoney on his lunch break and chats him up under the guise of having a question about a follow-up report filed a couple of weeks ago. Tim doesn't really make friends with people, but Matt wasn't wrong. He gets along with Brett Mahoney fine. He can tell the man's a good cop.

Matt is something he manages to push out of his mind with very little difficulty. Always better to get over things than to dwell on them, and work happens to be a very, very good distraction. Especially when it comes time to put the sting into action.

It's a relatively straight-forward operation. Putting the word out about some new human trafficking operation, using exclusively undercover cops to set up the scene, rather fucking convincingly, even. All they needed was for the vigilante to drop in to save the day. They had SWAT and agents on standby, and a couple of snipers on the roofs.

One of them being Tim, obviously, because he's the best damn shot in the precinct. Possibly in New York City's entire police department. Not that he's about to brag. They wait for a long time, the comms device in Tim's ear alive with quiet chatter of possible movement and false alarms and doubts of whether the guy is coming at all.

Eventually, the boss calls it a bust, says they'll regroup and replan tomorrow. Try to figure out where things went wrong.

"Alright, wrap it up," a voice says into his ear. "Comms off, gear up. We're calling it quits."

Tim pulls the unit from his ear and switches it off before everybody sets in with sighs and complaints and a bunch of shit he really doesn't want to listen to. He turns, resting his back against the edge of the roof as he takes his rifle apart piece by piece.

He waits for the ear piece to slip off and the rifle to get about halfway apart before he flips up from grabbing the ledge. It's four swift motions after that: step, grab the gun parts Tim holds, twist, and bring it up to hit Tim in the forehead. Not the face, though, and not to knock him out.

Matt is disarming him. Even if the gun doesn't connect with Tim's head it's enough time for him to reach out with his other hand, lightning quick, and yank it form him. Takes another half a second to stomp it under his foot, just in case.

"Stop. Still." he commands, voice low and full of authority. "And quiet, Or my next move will be pushing you off this roof." Tim would survive, of course.

Doesn't mean Matt wants to beat up the poor guy.

"Nod if you understand."

Edited 2015-11-23 05:25 (UTC)

It all happens very quick. So quick, that Tim isn't able to counter the attack soon enough to stop it. It's not very often at all that he's taken so off guard. His reflexes are sharp. Nothing really ever takes him by surprise.

Except for this. Him. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

The guy obviously possesses some serious training, but nothing that Tim pegs as military. It's nothing he recognizes right away. And that's concerning.

He's about halfway to grabbing his side piece, the gun holstered at his hip, when he's told to stop. And he does. This is a delicate situation. One that he might be able to get information out of. Assuming he's not murdered first. The vigilante has yet to kill, and seems to only be interested in beating up bad guys. Which doesn't explain this, and doesn't put Tim at ease even a little bit. But it's worth noting.

He nods, slowly. Then he opens his mouth.

"I guess you've spent this whole time just waitin' for us to give up, huh?"

"Use your resources to save this city. Not to find me." That's neither here nor there, because he's concentrating. Listening.

"The gun, at your hip. Kick it to the floor." It's more than he really wanted to say, but he knows Tim. Maybe not well, but enough to know that Tim's not afraid to die to take someone else down. That's the trait he's scared of.

That's the trait he needs on his side.

This isn't a war, Matt reminds himself. He isn't Stick.

"Then we talk."

Tim wants to point out that they are trying to save this city — from him. But even Tim, who believes that vigilantism is more about vendettas than it is about justice, sometimes thinks that they have more important things to worry about than the guy saving innocent people.

His fingers curl around his gun, and he pauses. He's quick, but is he quick enough to draw and shoot before he's disarmed again? Raylan would be, he thinks. Tim's a better shot, but Raylan's always been a quicker draw.

He pulls the gun from its holster slowly, as non threatening as possible, and puts it on the ground, kicking it away. Not towards the man in the mask, but away from the both of them. He's weaponless now, and he hates it.

"Okay. Talk."

Maybe if he can stall long enough, the rest of the team will come find out why he hasn't come down yet.

"We don't have that much time before they realize something's wrong," And Matt takes one smooth step to Tim, lips parting a moment before he makes a conscious effort to show his hands. He's slowly going for something in his pocket, though. The flash drive.

"Tim Gutterson? You need to listen to me. You can't trust anyone that you work with. You can only trust yourself. A man named Wilson Fisk has half of the force in his pocket. Worse than Falcone in the 90s."

A brief pause. He pulls out the thumb drive from his pocket.

"There's a man named Ben Urich who writes for the local paper. Specializes in Hell's Kitchen. He can be trusted--if anything happens to him, I want you to open this thumb drive. Do you understand?"

The guy's smart, but that's not surprising. He's been evading police arrest for weeks now, including the half of the police department and all of the marshals gathered on the pavement below them.

Tim watches him carefully, not only to be ready if he tries to attack, but also to clock various things. Approximate height, weight. He can't get a very good read on an age with only being able to see half the guy's face, but he can get a fairly broad ballpark. Things that might narrow down possible identities of the masked man.

He doesn't move back when the man steps forward, but only because he can't. He's backed up against the ledge of the roof, exactly where he doesn't want to be. He doesn't make a move to take the thumb drive, either. He only stares, eyes narrowed.

"Why should I trust you?"

It feels like a legitimate question. Why should he trust the secretive man in the mask as opposed to all the people he's spent months working with and trusting his life with?

"You don't have to trust me." And quite frankly, Matt doesn't care if he does or doesn't. Not yet. Not as the devil.

He can hear it over the radio, below. Someone wondering where 'Deputy Gutterson' is. He needs to act and act quickly. "You just have to do what's right."

Cheesy, maybe. Over-the-top, maybe, too, but he can't really do much else. Tim's not going to trust someone because they said so. But if Matt can nudge him along,if Matt can carefully plant the seed of the idea in the good soldier's head. See if it takes.

Because at the bottom of it all? They're similar.

"You want to fight the good fight, Tim. Talk to Ben. Remember that file. Remember Wilson Fisk."

'You just have to do what's right.'

Tim's always tried to do what's right. That's why he spent eight years in Afghanistan dedicating himself to his country. That's why he came home and went into law enforcement. It's not as if he doesn't believe in corruption, but it's hard to think about half of the people he's working with being corrupt.

He's always just been better at following orders and not asking questions. But that's not quite the same thing as doing what's right.

He takes the thumb drive, and he commits the names to memory. He'll look both of them up later, see what he can find. See if there's even a shred of evidence that backs up what the guy in the mask is saying about Wilson Fisk.

"You know we're not gonna stop chasin' you."

Just as a reminder. It's out of Tim's hands, but even if it weren't, he wouldn't stop anyway. He likes a good chase.

"I know," He says, and keeps his voice quiet, deep, disguising it from Tim. Tim, who has heard him laugh and joke and somber and moan and come. It's almost painful, thinking about this sort of thing right now.

He can't. He has to just block it out. He needs to focus. Tim is already causing him trouble in that department, it seems.

"There's a storm coming, Gutterson. A black sky. Be careful."

That's all he asks. For Tim to be careful.

"Storm's nothin' I can't handle."

Said with all the blind confidence as an Army Ranger. Like somebody who really doesn't think they can be defeated. Tim's been facing storms his whole life. Between his daddy and the war and this, he's not sure he can remember a time he wasn't waiting to see one emerge over the horizon.

Tim's not confident about a whole lot, but this sort of thing is sort of his forte. It's what he's built for.

"Wilson Fisk is dangerous. The men that work for Wilson Fisk are dangerous. You can't trust anyone in the station, not with how many are in his pocket. You're too at risk." He's repeating himself. He knows he is, but this is important for Tim to know.

He pauses, though. Hesitates, just a second.

"I didn't kill anyone," He says, and it's quiet. He's already got blamed. Hurt them, yes. Killed? No.

But he wants to, and that's the worst part. He desperately wants to. Even though he'll never be able to come back from it, Fisk is getting higher and higher on his list of people he feels justified in ending.

"You have to know that. I don't want to hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it."

"I can take care of myself."

Tim's still trying to decide if he wants to believe him or not. He won't decide until he's had a chance to look into it, to look at what's on the thumb drive. But it'd be naive to disregard the claims completely. He'll look into it. One more think to keep him busy.

"I know you didn't," Tim says, and his voice is low, too. He's noticed that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen doesn't kill, and he's only ever beat up the bad guys. Tim has to give him points for that, at least.

"Still isn't justice, though. There's a right way and a wrong way to do things. I bet you can guess which way this is."

Tim has to believe in the system. It's all he's ever done, his entire career has been built around it. He wouldn't know what else to believe in.

"It's the way it has to be," Matt says. His voice is a little gruffer than it should, he guesses, but he's trying to hold his emotions in. He's not a God with a hammer, or someone like Captain America that can always keep his cool. It's frustrating. Emotionally draining. But Matt picks himself up every time because it's right, even if it's not within the law.

He can fight from both sides.

"Remember: Ben Urich. The drive, too."

Find out what's wrong with Gutterson, he can hear from someone's ear piece, and he jerks his head sharply to the left.

"Do the right thing," He says finally. Flips down to the fire escape and disappears into an open window. "Remember who the real enemy is."

The devil is gone.

Matt just hopes Tim will listen.

Tim is found by some of his coworkers, a few moments later, picking up the parts of his rifle, which were bent and damaged by the vigilante. He's glad it was marshal service's and not his own.

"Dropped it," he says smoothly, and they look rightly skeptical about that.

He's given a hard time by his boss for it, but Tim's barely listening. All he can hear is the Devil of Hell's Kitchen telling him to do the right thing.

The next day, Tim is interrupted at his desk by Matt Murdock, his quiet smile, and two cups of Starbucks, already giving out a handful of apologies about skipping out on coffee the day before. It's a bad idea and Tim should say no. Matt blowing him off was the right direction. Matt's a distraction, but he's not the good kind of distraction.

Tim takes one of the cups and goes on break, and they spend fifteen minutes drinking and talking about absolutely nothing on one of the benches outside. They agree to meet up again after work.

Tim feels stupidly giddy about it. But not so much that he neglects to look into all those things the vigilante told him to. He doesn't find concrete evidence, but he finds a lot of shit that doesn't add up.

They keep doing this. Grabbing drinks sometimes, or maybe coffee, and hooking up frequently. It's always Matt's place, though that might be more out of convenience than anything else. Tim stays the night sometimes, depending on how much he's had to drink. The drunker he is, the more likely he is to stay. He can always cite being too drunk to walk home, but it's really about how high the chances are of him having a nightmare. It's always a gamble, but so far, he's been lucky.

It helps that Matt's very good at wearing him out.

It's casual, nothing serious or exclusive. Almost a friends with benefits kind of thing, if Tim were better at actually having friends. He doesn't stop sleeping with other people, but Matt's the only person he sleeps with more than once. It doesn't mean anything, he keeps trying (unsuccessfully) to tell himself. This is the best sex he's ever had, it'd be fucking stupid to let it go if it happens to be working.

And it's working well. Very well. Tim's surprised by that.

If he's being honest, he has sort of gotten attached, just a little bit. Not enough, he thinks, for it to hurt too much if Matt decides to call it quits. Sometimes he shows up and Matt's supporting a new bruise or a new cut above his eye, and Tim wonders, even asks sometimes, but he always takes Matt's lies at face value. No need to make things complicated with a casual hookup.

And that's all they are, essentially. Even though, sometimes, he'll finds his heart fluttering restlessly, thinking maybe he wants more anytime Matt smiles a certain way or Tim sees him without his glasses. But this is better, he reminds himself. He'll have to settle for this.

It's a little over a month since their first night together when Tim runs into the Nelson and Murdock crew. Or, really, nearly literally runs into them, rounding a corner in the courthouse. It's Foggy, with Matt at his elbow that he nearly collides with, Karen not far behind.

"Shit--"

At least his reflexes are fast. He stops short, holding out a hand just to make sure nobody actually crashes into him. It's not unusual for them to see each other here. This is their job, and Tim is frequently called to testify as an arresting officer or whatever. Thankfully, usually, their work doesn't coincide much.

Usually, they're good run-ins. This time, though, Tim notices that Karen and Foggy look distinctly unhappy. Matt looks unreadable.

He really did feel bad, standing Tim up. It hurts a little more than he likes but they reconcile. They fall into a pattern. It's a pattern Matt likes and likes more than he should admit--because Tim, broken Tim, frayed Tim, is perfectly content with casual hook ups and Matt needs casual hookups and not long term relationships. Not with people that work with police.

Not with anyone, with how he spends his evenings.

Nelson and Murdock aren't a huge law firm. Actually, they're struggling to get above water. If it weren't for Matt's 'inheritance' and Welsey's money for defending Fisks' man they'd probably be shut down which is exactly why Foggy had collected those bagels when they turned down the full job offer at Landman and Zack.

Regardless, they don't have too many clients. The ones that pay well tend to be guilty, which means Matt is uninterested. They're learning about Fisk, though, trying to rule him out. They even meet a lovely Spanish woman named Mrs. Cardenas and that entire fiasco happens. He means Claire, too, his night nurse, and Matt knows in order to take down Fisk he needs to take down the Russians first. All of this is balanced in between stealing a few kisses among other things with Tim.

He smells it, sometimes. Didn't realize how much his heart broke when he smelled sex and someone else's place on Tim. Matt tries to tell himself it's for the best, especially when it keeps happening, but he always winds up inviting Tim over or out and they always wind up fucking. Each time it happens, Matt vows to make their nights even better for Tim. He fucks Tim harder, into the mattress. Grabs his hair and whispers filthy things in his ear with his hand around his neck, pressing and bruising. But he always slings a friendly arm around him and never forgets to make breakfast when Tim stays over. He's doing it not to work out his anger, but because Tim likes it rough and hard and fast and desperate.

Sometimes they go two or three rounds. Always when Tim's staying, and always on a weekend so they don't have to go to work the next day exhausted and hungover. The fact that Matt's more annoyed by Tim sleeping with other people than his alcoholism is probably a sign that Matt has his priorities wrong. He gets roughed up sometimes by the Russians, but he's relatively doing alright in that field. IT's slow grueling work but he does it because he needs to. Because this city needs to. In the day, he takes on clients and defends them.

Today, though, it's not so easy. Today, they've lost. Not just any case--one where the big oil companies are going to screw a worker out of a job and more money than he's probably ever seen. They lost and they lost badly thanks to a hung jury and a bought judge. His client knows Matt and Foggy fought for him and fought hard and that's the worst part. He just accepted his fate and wanted the rest of the day to be spent with his family. Matt wonders if he's going to commit suicide like his persperation, heartbeat, and inflection are saying. He prays not and makes a promise to go to confession after work. Now, though?

Now he's just angry.

So is Foggy and so is Karen, and Matt is using Foggy to steady himself. He bumps into someone and Matt has to remember not to snap, not to punch. Instead, he grips his cane.

"Tim," Foggy greets, and Matt's thoughts on who they bumped in to was correct. "Nice to see you." But even Foggy's voice sounds dismal. Karen offers a small, sad smile.

Matt's grip on the cane tightens. "It's nice to hear you again," he says cordially. He's not mat at Tim but some of the venom seeps through anyway. "Happy Friday."

The anger isn't hard to pick up. The disappointment, the bitterness, all emotions that play across Foggy and Karen's unschooled features all too clearly. Even somebody less observant than Tim would be able to notice.

It can only mean one thing, really. They lost. And they lost fucking big. And Tim knows — knows, because he knows Matt, knows his ideals and values and the kind of justice he stands for — that their client had to be innocent. They're client was innocent, and Nelson and Murdock fought long and hard for them, gave it their all, and they lost. Tim doesn't know what the case was. Doesn't know the crime, the victim, the weight of it all. But just the thought of it leaves the same bitterness in his mouth, like copper pennies on his tongue.

It's harder to pick up on with Matt, because he seems to have much more practice in schooling his expression than the other two do. But Tim does, first at the traces of venom in his voice. Admittedly, it stings a little, even though he knows Matt's not angry at him, just in general.

He sees the anger reinforced by the death grip Matt has on his cane. Tim has seen people angry. It's impossible to do years with the military and law enforcement without seeing people get angry. But there's a certain kind of anger, seen less often, but quickly recognized. It's not anger-- it's rage. The kind that doesn't die. The kind that leads to bruised cheeks and busted lips and welts from a belt that don't go down for days.

It's the kind of rage he saw in his daddy's white-knuckled grip around the neck of a bottle of liquor. It's the rage he sees in Matt right now. There's an instinct that kicks in, an urge he hasn't felt since he was eighteen and still living at home. Placate him. Do whatever is necessary to ease the anger, dissolve some of the rage. Anything to keep from getting hit. Tim's suddenly very glad they're in public.

"Doesn't seem very happy," he says carefully. He's not necessarily being quiet, but his voice is a touch lower. He's talking mostly to Matt, but he glances at Foggy and Karen, too. "Let's get drinks tonight. On me. Sounds like you need 'em."

Find a way to make the rage unwind. Calm him down. Like how he used to try and calm his father down to keep him from beating Sadie.

Those Murdock boys, people say. They got the devil in them.

It's not fair. The world isn't fair. It's not and Matt wants to put the mask on, wants to desperately go to the juror that was paid off and the judge that didn't care and shake them until they listened. To make sure that this never happened again.

His knuckles are white and his lips are tight but it's not Tim's fault. It's not. It doesn't mean Matt isn't furious.

Maybe he'll go boxing, after this.

But Tim offers to take them out for drinks and Foggy is never one to say no. Even Karen nods and offers a smile, tiny and polite and still crushed. She's not used to this yet, losing clients.

"God!" Foggy's saying as Karen and him pass Tim. "That jury wasn't hung until Number 8 did some 12 angry men shit."

"Does this happen?" Karen asks. "Does this usually--do you sometimes--"

"Yes," Matt says. Touches Tim's elbow, wanting to start walking. It's polite of Tim to offer, but not necessary. He has work to do, too. He can't be irresponsible. But his grip is a little tighter than normal.

"That's not fair!"

Matt smiles. It's thin and angry but his voice comes out soft and understanding. "The world isn't fair. That's why we fight."

"Drinks," Foggy points. "Drinks, my man Tim. You are a saviour in a weary world of law."

"You guys go ahead," Matt urges. Still touching Tim's arm. Foggy and Karen obey, and Matt stares at the ground.

"Thank you," he says quietly. Because he knows Tim knows. He's still working on what that odd worried pattern in his heartbeat was.

Tim understands what it's like to lose, and what it means to drink it all away. In his line of work, losing usually means losing a life, or multiple lives. It means someone's died. Especially when he was with the Rangers. He remembers IED explosions and missions gone wrong ending in the loss of several friends, several brothers in arms. And he remembers how someone would go out and purchase as much shitty liquor as they could carry, and the whole damn unit would drink in memory.

This is different, but honestly, it's not that much different. It's the same concept. And Tim gets it.

Karen's right. It's not fair. Nothing is fair. But that's why they're there, Nelson and Murdock. To give the underdog a fighting chance.

Matt's hand finds his elbow, and Tim starts to walk almost automatically. It's strange, maybe, how this has become normal. The two of them walking with Matt's lingering touch on his arm. Tim's strangely comfortable with it. Usually. Right now, Matt's anger is a little too high and his grip is a little too hard for Tim to be comfortable with much of anything.

Tim nods in Foggy's direction. Unlike them, he gets paid regularly. Drinks on him isn't a big deal, and they deserve it.

"Nothin' to thank me for," Tim murmurs, and he reaches out with his free hand to brush soothing fingers over the inside of Matt's wrist.

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