References: Daredevil, Vol. 1, No. 233. Some dialogue lifted directly from Frank Miller's script.

A/N: As I've mentioned before, I've been trying to keep this fic set in 1986, as far as canon and technology. This means that Tony Stark's identity is still secret and the Maria Stark Foundation probably doesn't exist, yet.

Chapter 23

Daredevil didn't know whether he could get there in time, he only knew he had to try. When the helicopter pilot gave the order to fire, he was already sailing across the gap from one building to the next. He slammed into Cap and Nuke, driving the two men apart. Cap darted behind a raised skylight—his enhanced strength and endurance didn't make him invulnerable to the 'copter's firepower. The helicopter opened fire on Nuke instead. Daredevil tried to pull him to safety, but there was no cover and the only way to avoid being shot himself was to keep Nuke's bulk between himself and the 'copter's guns.

Daredevil hoped he could get the other man out of here in time. He'd fought Nuke before and he knew that the man was at least partially invulnerable. Only partially, he realized with some dismay, when the smell of fresh blood filled his nostrils. Whatever ammo they were using, it was powerful enough to penetrate Nuke's skin. The man was hurt—how badly, Daredevil couldn't tell—but he'd just taken a direct hit at close range that would have almost certainly killed anyone else and, while his heart and breathing were erratic, Daredevil thought that he could still survive if he got proper medical attention fast. How many more hits could the man take, though? One? Two? They couldn't wait around to find out. Nuke needed medical attention and he wasn't going to get it here. The Night Nurse's clinic was nowhere near their current location. They'd have to risk a hospital. And they had to get out of here now.

Over the sound of the gunfire, he heard a voice, tinny over some sort of radio transmitter, proclaim "Tagged him. Cease fire. General's orders. Move in on foot." He dragged Nuke toward the fire escape, just as the door to the stairwell opened.

He was one story down when he knew that they hadn't gotten away unspotted. Above him, someone—a soldier from the sound of it—informed another party over his radio that they'd gone off the roof. Daredevil stifled a groan and kept going. That meant trouble. Nuke was heavy and dragging his deadweight down the wobbly iron stairs was slow enough going, without having to dodge gunfire. Then he detected a fainter sound and smiled. Cap was engaging the hostiles, buying him time to get away. He wouldn't waste it.

Parked below them was a car. A taxicab, going by the outline of the mounted sign on its roof. The motor was on, the cab was idling, and… Daredevil smiled. The driver was outside the cab, leaning against its side, smoking a cigarette. Perfect. He put on a fresh burst of speed and clambered down the last two flights.

Matt was glad that whoever it was who'd once dubbed him the Man without Fear wasn't sitting next to him right now. He was in the driver's seat of the taxicab he'd just stolen, with Nuke slumped in the passenger seat next to him. His window was down and he strained his ears, trying to hear the other cars driving down the street over the sound of the cab's engine. He had no choice. His radar sense couldn't penetrate the windshield and he wouldn't make it ten feet on foot. He wasn't sure whether his blindness wasn't a mixed blessing. If he couldn't see the road, he couldn't tell how bad the traffic was. He also couldn't tell how well he was steering.

He'd never taken a driving lesson in his life, though he was familiar enough with the theory. While he'd never paid very close attention, he'd sat in enough front passenger seats to note in passing how drivers handled their cars. With a good memory and a radar sense that was 360 degrees, he'd picked up a bit through osmosis. He'd never expected to use it, but when he'd been sitting in the passenger seat with the windows up and the sound of the engine and smell of gasoline filling his senses, he'd had little else to occupy his attention. Until now, it had been an exercise in observation and deduction. When the driver put their foot on this pedal, the vehicle sped up. That one made it slow or stop. Somewhere on the dashboard, he knew, were the controls for turn signals. He wasn't using those and, from the sounds of the blaring horns coming through his open window, the other drivers on the road weren't too pleased with the omission.

He winced—and it wasn't just from the cacophony that surrounded him. It was rare for him that he truly felt blind, but he was straining his remaining senses for all they were worth right now, and he would have traded them all in an instant for a pair of working eyes. Or even just one. If he wasn't careful, he could easily get himself—or someone else—killed. And if the police gave chase, he had no idea how he was going to explain this one.

He debated stopping the car and continuing on foot, once there were several blocks between him and the building he'd just left. Then he got a good earful of Nuke's heartbeat. It didn't sound good. Neither did the sound of metal scraping on metal, nor the impact as he bumped into another passing vehicle, but Nuke was hurt worse than he'd thought.

Beside him, Nuke gave a pained grunt. "Mission… status?" he whispered.

Daredevil tried to sound reassuring. "You're going home, Sergeant," he said, not unkindly. As long as there was still a chance—however slight—that they could make it to the hospital. It wasn't likely, though. Nuke's heartbeat had been getting slower since they'd left that rooftop. It had also become much more erratic. And then, it seemed to give up the fight.

Nuke groaned. "Promised…" he seemed to be struggling with the words. "Promised you'd never do that…" The last word was almost a gurgle. And then, he expelled his breath with a sigh and he didn't take another.

Daredevil shook his head. No, there was no point in getting him to the hospital, he realized. There was only one other place to go now. And fortunately, if he had his bearings, it was less than two blocks away.

He turned east on Twenty-Third Street and focused intently, trying to make out the shape of the Daily Bugle building amid the noise and rain.

Foggy practically leapt from his chair as Matt staggered into the apartment. "Matt?" he said, Karen echoing him as she half-rose from the sofa and then fell back with a wince and glowered at the crutches she'd forgotten she needed.

Matt gave him a tired smile and shut the door behind him. "I know," he said, sagging against the wall. "I must look like hell. At least, that's how I feel right now."

"You're bleeding!" Karen exclaimed. "Foggy, did you unpack the first aid kit?"

"It's in the linen closet," Foggy nodded, already headed toward it. Matt held up a hand. "Most of what you're seeing isn't mine," he reassured them, as he stumbled toward the sofa and sank down next to Karen with a groan. "I'm not seriously hurt. Just… crashing from an adrenaline high. Which isn't a bad thing, considering that a little over an hour ago, I was worried about crashing into a lamppost or a retaining wall in a," he coughed, "borrowed taxi."

"You were what?" Karen gasped.

With one hand on the linen closet doorknob, Foggy turned back to face him. "Excuse me?"

Matt sighed. "It's… kind of a long story…"

By the time Matt was finished telling it, Foggy and Karen were seated on either side of him on the sofa. Both were shaking their heads. "You know," Foggy said, "I'm strictly corporate now. So, if you're busted for reckless driving…"

"I'll get some earnest public defender to handle it."

Foggy moaned. "You aren't reassuring me."

"Well, if it happens in costume, She-Hulk is licensed to practise in New York. And the Avengers might be willing to refer me."

"Hmmm," Karen mused. "So, your first instinct in time of trouble is to hook up with a seven-foot-tall drop-dead knockout. Should I worry?"

"She's only six-seven," Matt replied. Then he raised his hands protectively over his head as Karen attacked him with a sofa cushion. Laughing, he continued, "and even if I weren't blind, with you in my life, why would I ever want to look at anyone else?"

Karen put the cushion down. "Remember that," she cautioned, waggling her finger in a mock-threat.

"Actually," Foggy said slowly, "you might not have to go that far afield looking for an attorney. At least, not for very much longer. When I called a colleague at Kelco to find out what I was missing, she let me know that I'd had someone come around looking to talk to me. Does the name 'Steve Carlson' ring any bells?"

Did it ever! Matt's eyebrows shot up. "You think…?"

"I think that Ben's article might have put the first cracks into Kingpin's grip on this city. What happened at the Tombs widened them. And what's been happening over the last couple of days? If someone can tie Kingpin into what happened in Hell's Kitchen and that freak with the machine gun—"

"Nuke."

"He did not have a—"

"No," Matt clarified. "That was his name. Code-name. Nuke."

Foggy nodded with obvious relief. "Yeah, him. That's too big to sweep under the rug with a few well-placed bribes. Connect Fisk to that and… I have a feeling that every rat he's strong-armed into doing his dirty work up until now is going to start deserting his sinking ship." He shrugged. "A few might even start talking, hoping to cut a deal and save their own necks." A smile crept into his voice. "Guys like Carlson—who've seen too many people involved with your case end up dying in convenient accidents." He paused. "You know something, Matt? Sometimes, when people are that anxious to talk, I can be a really good listener." He took another breath and let it out. "I think it might be time to resign from Kelco. I might not be a rat, but when a whole bunch of them are scurrying for the lifeboats… it's probably time to stop being squeamish and climb in after them."

It wasn't until the next day that Matt discovered how close a call he'd had getting Nuke out of the car and up the steps to the Bugle's newsroom. He'd been struggling under the dead man's bulk, trying not to stumble on the stairs, and getting his bearings back after going from the relative quiet of the cab to the sounds and smells of a Manhattan afternoon. With all of that on his mind, perhaps it was understandable—though not excusable—that he'd missed the snipers on the rooftop waiting to pick him off.

Fortunately, Cap hadn't. One of the hitmen he'd apprehended had been quick to point his finger at Wilson Fisk, blaming him for turning Nuke loose on Hell's Kitchen. Two days later, Daredevil had taken on four thugs running a protection racket in the 'Kitchen, trying to capitalize on the recent disaster. They'd claimed to be doing so on Fisk's orders. As had the youth selling drugs in the parking lot of a nearby high school. And then, the accusations and allegations started pouring in from all corners. Corporate heads spoke of how he'd threatened and bullied his way into an award from the Businessmen's Association. Politicians told of blackmail and intimidation. From storekeepers to pimps, from hookers to housewives, everyone seemed to have a story to tell. And enough of them were telling them to cops who weren't on Fisk's payroll.

By the time Foggy let Matt know that he'd set up a meeting with Steve Carlson and Nick Manolis to discuss the Grand Jury hearing, even Matt was feeling cautiously optimistic…

"Your hair looks awful!" Foggy remarked. "I don't see why you had to cut it that short."

"Oh, please," Karen exclaimed. "His roots were growing in. It looked awful."

"You could have dyed it red again," Foggy pointed out.

Matt gave him a pained look. "First," he said, "I'm not sure what effect slapping red dye on over brown dye would have, but I'm willing to bet it would look worse. Second, you have no idea what the stench of those chemicals does to me. I guess I could always shave my head…"

"And look like a slighter version of Fisk?" He deflected Matt's swipe with a laugh. "Hey!"

"Nice to see you still remember some of the evasive techniques I taught you," Matt grinned back. "Although I'm glad you haven't had much opportunity to use them."

"Could…" Karen spoke up hesitantly. "Do you think I could learn some of that? If I'd known something about self defense when I came back to the States, maybe I could have handled Paolo myself." She took a breath. "Or maybe not. I was a mess then. But I'm getting better. And I want to know that if I'm in trouble and you aren't around, I'll be able to take care of myself a bit better."

Matt nodded slowly. "Fisk's still out there," he admitted. "And a man with his connections isn't going to go away that easily. He's got good lawyers on his payroll. Even without Foggy," he added, smiling again when Foggy snorted. "Don't mistake what I'm saying. With all the people speaking out against him, I'm positive that he is going down. But it's going to take a while before that happens. And meanwhile, he's free to strike out at me again. And he knows that I'm Daredevil, which… paints a target on both of your backs." He wasn't smiling now. "If I thought that staying away from you would keep you safe, I'd be out that door as soon as your backs were turned. But it won't. I tried staying off Kingpin's radar. He turned Nuke loose on the neighborhood where I grew up to flush me out. I doubt he had any clue that I was working there at the time; he just targeted an area he knew meant something to me." He massaged the bridge of his nose. "I guess, what I'm trying to say is that you two are already in danger. It might not be my fault, but I am still responsible. And if neither of you are prepared to leave town…?"

Karen shook her head. "He sent hitmen to Mexico to find me. I don't think running is going to help."

"I haven't walked out on you, yet," Foggy said. "I'm not about to start now."

Matt nodded, smiling again, albeit sadly. "Then I guess the best way to keep you both safe is to teach you what I can and hope it'll be enough."

The meeting with Carlson and Manolis took up the entire morning and part of the afternoon. Matt and Foggy were exhausted by the time they finally stepped out into the fresh (for Manhattan, anyway) air. "Mind if we walk?" Matt asked.

Foggy hesitated. "It's about… what? Twenty blocks?"

"Eighteen." Matt unfolded his cane. "I'm out of practice. I need to get used to this again. And I'm not sure I can cope with being cooped up in a cab, or worse, a subway car, right now."

Foggy took a deep breath. "Sure, why not? We can stop by Carnegie's on the way and grab a couple of corned beef sandwiches to celebrate."

"I'm not sure we should be celebrating yet," Matt cautioned, though his smile belied his doubt. "You heard what Carlson said. Getting my disbarment overturned is going be—"

"—highly irregular," Foggy finished. "I know, I know. But with Manolis coming clean about what he did… Carlson's right. The bar doesn't want the press reporting on how they got played for fools. They're going to want this whole thing to quietly go away. Judicial order, allow thirty days for filing, and you'll get the official notice in the mail a few days later. Sooner if they use a courier."

Matt's smile widened, even as he reminded Foggy that it wouldn't be over until he had the notice in his hand.

"Fine," Foggy sighed. "Have it your way. Let's get the corned beef anyhow. We need to fortify ourselves while we wait for them to process the paperwork."

Matt laughed.

Thirty-two days later, Matt held a copy of the judicial order in his hands. They hadn't provided a Braille copy, but thanks to his enhanced sense of touch, he didn't need it to read what it said.

"So," Karen breathed, "is it… really over?"

Matt smiled. "Well, this part is," he said. "I'm a lawyer again. A very broke lawyer at the moment, though. Sadly, the IRS doesn't move as quickly as the New York Bar Association." He shook his head, though his smile didn't dim. "It could take months. It could take years. But," he shrugged, "I grew up in the tenements. I've lived hand-to-mouth before and I can do it again."

"And," Foggy said emphatically, "nobody is tossing you out on the street anytime soon."

Matt grinned. "Thanks, Foggy. I mean that. For everything," he added seriously. "All the same, considering that you've left Kelco, and Karen's only working part-time—"

"They're talking about giving me more hours," Karen interjected. She sighed. "Too bad it still won't pay very well."

"Well," Foggy said, "Kelco did pay very well. We're okay for a little while. I'm going to put out some feelers with some of the firms whose offers I turned down. Maybe they're still hiring."

"You could," Matt said slowly. "Or…"

Foggy stopped short. "Or…?" he asked, with a hint of excitement creeping into his voice.

"Well," Matt said slowly, "Hell's Kitchen is in pretty bad shape. Thanks to that…" he cast about, searching for a word, "…incident," he continued triumphantly, "they're going to be ages rebuilding. Meanwhile, right now, rents are likely to be substantially lower there than they would be anyplace else in Manhattan. And something tells me that there are going to be a lot of folks in that neighborhood fighting with their insurance companies. They might be interested in hiring a couple of good lawyers, don't you think?"

Foggy considered. "They might not be able to afford to hire a couple of good lawyers," he pointed out, not sounding particularly discouraging.

"They might not have to," Matt replied. "I've been thinking about this for a little while now. And I made some telephone calls. Tony Stark—"

"Tony Stark?" Foggy's voice was a startled yelp.

Matt suddenly remembered that Foggy didn't know what Tony Stark did when he wasn't running his company or playing the socialite. "He mentioned something in an interview recently about wanting to help the city recover," Matt said quickly. "I contacted his office last week about the possibility of securing a grant to cover our—well, I said my—start-up costs." He shifted uncomfortably. "I know I'm a big part of the reason our last venture together failed and I didn't know if you wanted to give it another shot. I still don't. Though I'd love it if you did," he said hopefully. "Anyway, I faxed them a proposal and Mr. Stark called me back in person. And let's just say that he was extremely enthusiastic." He suspected that Cap might have had something to do with that.

"How enthusiastic?"

Matt named a figure and grinned when Foggy's heartrate spiked and Karen squealed.

"W-we could set up on Park Avenue with that kind of funding!" Foggy gasped.

Matt shook his head. "Sorry, Foggy. It's… kind of contingent on our working out of the 'Kitchen. Encouraging more businesses to come in and all that. So… what do you say?" he asked, extending his hand. "Think Nelson and Murdock can handle another go-round?"

Foggy clasped Matt's hand firmly in his own. "You know it, partner," he said. "You know it."