*

Matt’s collapsed cane rests across his lap as he sits in the back seat of a stale-smelling taxicab while his fingers absently worry at the strap.

All of his attention is focused on zeroing in on Foggy, who Matt knows is currently at the police station meeting with a potential client Matt knows nothing about.

They’re a team, he and Foggy, and Matt desperately needs to reunite with his law partner. He should be there with Foggy now. Hell, he should have been at the office when the man with the seemingly deep pockets and suspect motives visited their tiny firm and waved around a check which apparently had a number with a very long string of zeros trailing behind it. Karen had called the guy sleazy, and after his own unsettling encounter with the man, Matt can’t say he disagrees with that assessment.

The man was pushy and arrogant, and how can anyone be expected to trust someone who refused to give you their name. How is anyone expected to trust someone like that? Well. It occurs to Matt that maybe offering trust was not the man’s main motivation.

What was it that Karen said? What are they really buying here?. What indeed. Something else is going on here, and for once, Matt has absolutely no idea what it is. He sighs. He wishes he had some insight about this whole thing. Wishes he’d been dropped off here traveling or maybe even encounter a future version of himself who had. (And when Matt is left to fill in the gaps, he tends to make a lot of assumptions about how things will unfold. Foggy once pointed out to him that not knowing how events play out in advance gives Matt a sense of discomfort. And well, whether he wants to admit it or not, his friend is absolutely correct.)

Car horns blare, impatient drivers angrily curse at other angry drivers, soft R&B plays over the driver’s radio, and Matt’s fingers continue to twitch and pick at the grip of his cane.

Matt knows where the jail is, knows its layout, so he should be able to find Foggy and Foggy’s heartbeat without much difficulty.

He deepens his focus, pushes aside the soft music on the radio, the noises of the city and--

--and right near Matt’s ear, the cab driver barks out an agitated, “Asshole!” while he leans on the horn. Matt drops his head. His focus has collapsed entirely.

Irritated, Mat leans forward in his seat. “Hey,” he says. “Think you can maybe step on it?” because he does not have time for this. He’s already lost way too much of it. He should be there already, he should have been there from the start. He’s too far out of the loop here, and he hates it. He hates not knowing how things go.

“Yeah, yeah,” the cabbie grumbles. “We all got somewhere to be.”

For the next twenty minutes or so, traffic continues to move at a snail’s pace. And through all the distractions, Matt continues his auditory search for Foggy.

Ah. There. Right there. He’s got it. Loud and clear.

Yeah, boy, his friend certainly is distressed if the vitals Matt’s picking up on are anything to go by. The stress and strain come through so clearly in his friend’s voice now that he can hear it.

Matt presses his lips together.

“I’m not sure Nelson and Murdock is a good fit for you, Mr. Healy. I can recommend another attorney who--” Car horns blare and Matt wills the traffic to part.

“Not an option, counselor.” This must be the client. Healy. “You’ve been hired to represent me. So you’re gonna do just that.”

Matt raises his eyebrows. The balls on this guy, Jesus.

“Where is your partner, anyway. Murdock.I want to talk to him.”

They’re about a block away from the station now. Close enough. Matt needs to get going. Now. He reaches for his wallet and pulls out what should be enough to cover the fare, including a generous tip. “Hey,” Matt says to the driver. He offers the man the cash. “Don’t worry about finding a spot. I wanna get out here.”

“What? In the middle of the street?”

Matt waits until the next red light and makes a break for it.

Now all the car horn blasts and bursts of profanity are directed squarely at him as he bolts across the busy intersection. Though to be fair, there isn’t a New Yorker alive who hasn’t experienced exactly that at least once in their life.

He doesn’t care how he looks as he hustles it toward the station. He barely remembers to use his cane, but people part around him all the same.

Once inside the building, Matt pauses to take a breath and smiles blandly as he approaches security. Don’t worry about how all this all looks, I am completely harmless. See? He even begins emptying his pockets for the metal detector before being prompted to do so. Nice and cooperative. Nothing to worry about. “Afternoon, Mr. Murdock,” the officer checking his ID says. She says it cautiously, like he might be a little feral. Well. Maybe she isn’t wrong. “Get into a fight or something?” She chuckles to herself. Almost as if she’s thinking to herself, “Man, what an absurd thought that is.”

“Or something,” he says with a smile he hopes comes across as charming as opposed to maybe slightly deranged. He realizes he must look like a human car crash after all the rushing to get over here, and the lack of sleep, not to mention the ugly array of cuts and scrapes and bruises splattered across his face, but there isn’t anything he can do about that. So. Fake smiles it is.

“Well, try not to get into too many more,” she adds. She sounds as if she’s only half-joking.

“I’ll do my best,” he says. “And. Thanks.” And with that, he passes through the metal detector.

“Matt!” It’s Foggy, coming from the other direction, straight towards Matt. He frowns in disapproval at meeting Foggy out here near the building’s entrance instead of in the interrogation room, but Matt quickly changes it into a happy smile once Foggy’s near enough to notice.

Matt immediately grabs his friend’s arm and presses him into walking in the direction from which he just came. Foggy doesn’t offer any resistance. He does comment on Matt’s appearance, though, which Matt was sort of expecting. “Jesus Christ,” Foggy says. “You are an absolute mess.”

“No, I’m. It’s fine,” Matt says. He tries for a warm smile. “I mean, you know how it goes.” Which isn’tentirely a lie.

“Jesus.”

Matt knows his smile doesn’t come across as genuine, but he tries again anyway. “Don’t worry about it. It’s, you know. It’s fine.”

Foggy exhales. Unhappy but unable to do anything about it. And not wanting to start an argument out in the open like this. After all, Foggy knows how it goes. They continue walking.

Eventually Foggy says, “You got my message.” He shrugs. “Messages.”

“Yeah,” Matt says. “I got your messages. Karen’s too. That’s why I got here as fast as I could. I-- On the way here, I met the man you guys were concerned about.”

“Glasses? Kind of shifty?”

“I don’t know about glasses, but his cologne sure was expensive.”

“Yup, that’d be our guy. What’d he say to you?”
“Eh. Not so much what he said as how he said it. What I want to know though is why us? Someone who has the deep pockets and fancy connections our new friend seems to have must surely have access to bigger, more prestigious established firms.” Matt gestures at Foggy. “L&Z, for instance.”

“Not that Nelson and Murdock is any less prestigious.”

Matt laughs at that. “Oh, no, of course not! Didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”

Foggy sighs. “Well, if the big guys want it, they can have it. I turned down the case.”

Yeah, Matt figured. Explains why Foggy is here walking through the precinct with Matt instead of sitting in the interrogation room. The fact that they’re still headed in that direction without so much as a peep from Foggy in protest is interesting. He has no idea what his friend is thinking.

“I just hope we get there before they put him back in his cell.”

“I dunno,” Foggy says. “I’ll bet he’s still sitting there. Insisted on speaking to you.”

“Okay,” Matt says. “Why did you leave, then?” They were heading right back there, and Foggy wasn’t resisting, so what was the point?

“Because that’s not a client in there, it’s a wolf in a man-suit. You should’ve heard him, Matt. The guy’s been in and out of the system so often he practically has his own law degree”

“Isn’t that all the more reason to take the case? Everyone deserves representation. It’s why we’re here.”

They were still walking, at least. Which means Foggy doesn’t actually need convincing.

“Mystery man hired us, that is Nelson and Murdock to represent John Healy. So, Mr. Healy wants to see you,” Foggy says. (Yeah, and Matt wants to know why.)

“Okay…?”

“Well, I figured if you agree to meet him now, then that means there’s a you who’s met him already.”

“Foggy,” Matt warns, because, Jesus Christ. Foggy cannot start making his own assumptions about the future now, too. Especially not on second-hand information.

Matt scrubs a hand over his stubble. They turn a corner and approach the room. Foggy opens the door, and Matt’s the first to enter.

He wants to ask Foggy if that’s happened, if he’s had a conversation about the ins and outs of this particular case with a future version of Matt. But Matt knows himself. He has a hard time imagining a scenario where he’d sit down with Foggy and have a casual chat about cases or even events that haven’t happened yet. While Matt isn’t opposed to talking about the things he learns while time traveling--it’s not like he’s superstitious about the whole thing or anything, it is his life, after all--he just knows himself. He doesn’t tend to volunteer stuff. And well, this isn’t exactly the time to worry about it. So instead he leans in and quietly says to Foggy, “Let’s finish this another time.”

Then Matt sits down across from the man handcuffed at the table.

“Murdock,” the man greets, and something about the familiarity of his tone grates on Matt’s nerves. But showing personal irritation is not exactly professional behavior, so he ignores it for the time being and focuses on who and what is in front of him right now.

He gestures to the man seated across from him. “Mister Healy,” Matt says

“You get mugged on the way over here or something?” Healy says with a scoff.

Well, Matt can tell this will be easy sailing. He exhales and clears his throat. Tries again. “Mr. Healy. Mr. Nelson and I--”

“‘Cause I’m not so sure if I want a lawyer who looks like he spends his time being somebody else’s punching bag.”

Foggy’s still standing by the door with his arms folded across his belly and radiating equal parts wariness and annoyance. Matt turns toward him and simply says, “I see what you mean.” A wolf in human form.

Foggy sighs in resignation, unfolds his arms, and takes his seat next to Matt. Matt then asks his partner to bring him up to speed.

Mister Healy here murdered a man.

This fact is not in dispute. This man is guilty. And Nelson and Murdock is going to represent him.

*

As Matt and Foggy leave the station, Matt swears he picks up the faintest hint of warm leather, black pepper, and earthy cedar wood.

*

An older Matt is sitting naked on the couch, drinking a beer when Matt gets in.
He wants to ask himself what he and Foggy should expect with all of this. What should they know, how does this all play out? But he doesn’t. Instead, he settles himself down on the couch, next to himself. Wordlessly, he reaches for the bottle resting on Older Matt’s bare chest, and Matt obliges.

The bottle is mostly empty, and what’s left is warm, but not unpleasantly so. Matt’s been here for a while, it would seem.

Well, he lives here too.

Matt tips the bottle to his lips and finishes the bottle. Other Matt gets up to fish another one from the fridge and they share that too.

Matt wishes his other self would say something.

He wishes he could just ask.

But he doesn’t.

So he doesn’t.