Matt slid the pumpkin chocolate cookies into the oven, not bothering to set a timer. He'd be able to tell by the smell when they needed to come out. He settled himself into a kitchen chair to wait. The cookies were for Foggy, a desk-warming gift for his new office at the law firm.

A desk warming gift, and an olive branch.

Foggy hadn't actually been the one to tell him; Marci had, in a voicemail that was surprisingly and disarmingly sincere.

"He misses you, Matt," she'd said. "He's too stubborn to admit it, but he does. You should stop by. I think it'd be good for him."

There was still a chasm between Nelson and Murdock, which Matt knew wouldn't be completely healed by homemade cookies, but at least it was a start.

His thoughts were disrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, and he was surprised when they stopped at his door, and more than just a little dismayed-he hadn't bothered to change out of his pajamas. The owner of the footsteps knocked, and Matt approached the door with caution. Whoever it was didn't have the same confident, if somewhat heavy, footfall of Foggy, nor the smell of Karen's coconut shampoo, nor the lingering scent of antiseptic and latex gloves that Claire could never seem to shake. He opened the door.

"Hello?"

"Murdock," the man said, and Matt instantly recognized the gruff voice of his landlord, whose name he suddenly couldn't, for the life of him, recall. "You told me not to give your apartment number out to strangers. Well, there's some guy down on the sidewalk out there wants to have a chat real bad. I said you'd be right down."

Matt sighed, grabbing his cane from where it leaned on the wall next to the door before following the landlord, padding down the hall in his socks. The man was mumbling something about "just came down here to check that vacant room" and "didn't sign up as a guide for my most destructive tenant."

Matt felt slightly less bad about forgetting the guy's name.

They made it down the stairs and out to the sidewalk and the landlord said, "He's at your ten o'clock, about eight feet," before going back into the building. Matt didn't blame him. It was four in the afternoon in an unseasonably warm March, and the record-breaking temperatures easily exceeded 85. The sidewalk was relatively devoid of people, the heat forcing them to find refuge indoors or in air-conditioned cabs or Ubers.

The man waiting for him was sweaty, but Matt doubted it was from the heat. The guy was nervous, shifty. Not much different from the clientele Nelson and Murdock used to take on.

"You Matt Murdock?" the man said, taking a few steps toward him.

"Yes. But I think there's been some misunderstanding. I'm not really a lawyer any more. But I can refer you to one-a very good one," Matt answered, hoping that Foggy didn't have too much on his plate.

"No need," the man said, stepping forward to close the gap between himself and Matt.

Something was off, the blind man knew, but he was in his pajamas, in broad daylight, armed with nothing but a stick that let everyone know that he was blind, and thus shouldn't be able to fight a man.

The man, now directly before Matt, spoke again. "I'm not lookin' for a lawyer, see. I'm lookin' for you."

Before Matt had a chance to react, the man, the vicious viper of a man, grabbed Matt's right shoulder while his own wicked right hand brought a knife forward, burying it in Matt's belly.

Matt gasped, the cane falling from his grip and clattering to the pavement, and the man pulled him in as if for a hug, ignoring the hands grabbing at his arms. Matt wanted to shrink away from the bearded lips that brushed his ear, from the hot breath tickling his neck, but he couldn't.

"Kingpin says hello," the man whispered, and before Matt could say, "Who the hell is Kingpin?" the knife was ripped from his body, then plunged in again, once, twice. A woman screamed, far away, and the man and his knife fled, and Matt was left alone, full of holes leaking hot fluid that his trembling hands couldn't seem to keep in.

His fiery world was dimming, replaced by a crimson darkness and a droning static. He tried to take a step, but his legs were somehow weak and made of lead all at once. He stumbled forward, then a step back, and then the ground was tilting upward to meet his body. The warmth of the sun-baked cement was uncomfortable, soaking up through his clothes and scorching his skin as his hands wandered uselessly over his wounds.

He'd been stabbed before, many times, but that was always in the heat of a fight, when he had adrenaline on his side, and was able to twist away from the bite of the blade. And he'd certainly never been stabbed three times in a row. What was that saying? Three strikes and you're out? He hoped that didn't apply to stabbings.

He couldn't be sure, because his own pounding in his ears was so damned loud, but he thought he could hear two other heartbeats, flighty and frantic and terrified, somewhere nearby. He wanted to get up, to make sure they were okay, and that the madman with the knife hadn't hurt them, too, but his limbs wouldn't obey, and the most he could manage was a vague, weak wave of his hand. Even that took a lot of effort, and his hand lingered in the air for only a moment before falling gracelessly to the pavement.

For the second time that afternoon, his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a pair of footsteps, fast and headed straight for him.

The man was returning to finish the job.

"You!" a voice barked-a familiar voice, one that hadn't carried threats and sharp, deadly weapons. "Call 9-1-1!"

Matt hoped the man, who he'd recognized now as his landlord, wasn't talking to him. He didn't think he had the strength to even reach into his pocket, much less pull out his phone and call someone. The landlord spoke again, this time much closer, and Matt guessed he'd knelt down on the pavement.

"Murdock? Hey, Murdock, you with me? It's Manny, your landlord."

Manny.

Of course.

Matt opened his mouth-there was plenty he wanted to say-but no words came out, just a low, breathy groan.

"That's okay. You don't hafta talk. There's an ambulance on the way. Just stay awake til they get here, yeah?" He sounded worried. Doubtful.

He carefully took Matt's left hand, the one still being soaked in blood, and tried to lift it. Matt resisted, partially on reflex and partially because he was afraid that if he moved his hand, his body would reenact the elevator scene from The Shining.

"Hey. Lemme see," Manny said, tugging a little harder. Matt let his hand be pulled away with a little reluctance, and the man let out a low whistle. "Gotcha a few times, didn't he?" He placed his hands over one the holes and pressed, slowly at first, then increased pressure. Matt drew in a sharp breath. "Okay?"

Matt nodded.

"Okay. There are three wounds that I see here. This one seemed to be bleeding the worst, so it's the one I'm gonna focus on. If it stops bleeding, or at least slows, before the ambulance gets here, I'll go on to the next one," Manny said. His voice was surprisingly calm.

"You!" The landlord directed his voice outward now, in the same commanding tone with which he'd told the person to call 9-1-1, and Matt remembered that there had been not one, but two frightened heartbeats that saw him get stabbed.

"Y-yeah?" A girl's voice. Young. Matt felt sorry for her; he probably looked a fright.

"You got a pen to go with that notebook?...Yeah? Good. Open to a blank page and write down exactly what I tell you." Manny's tone was gentle, but didn't leave room for argument.

"Okay."

"6' 3", 220 to 240, white male…" He paused, probably giving the girl time to write, before he continued. "Brown hair, a beard, blue eyes...tattoo on the left side of his neck...wearing black jeans, white t, and a black bomber jacket. You got all that?"

"Yeah...yeah, I got it," the girl said. Her voice was shaking. Matt heard her rip the paper from her notebook. "What do I do with it?"

"The police are gonna be here before too long. You wait til they get here, then give it to an officer. Tell them it's a description of the guy who did this. Then you and your friend go home and get some rest, okay? You've been a big help." Manny said, his hands shifting, pressing down harder. Matt finally found his voice.

"'m I dying?" His words sounded strange, faraway. If he hadn't felt the vibration of his vocal cords, he would've doubted he'd even spoken.

"Hell no!" Manny said, perhaps a bit too emphatically, as though there were someone to convince.

Matt was really starting to feel it now, through the haze and the heat and the wet-a sharp, radiating pain that seemed to go through his entire torso. He let out a small groan. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. I served two tours in Afghanistan. Seen some shit. That? That's nothing. That's bug bites."

Manny wasn't a bad liar, Matt could give him that, but he was still lying. He could feel his consciousness slipping as pain encroached on everything else in his brain and his heart pumped desperately, struggling to go on despite his rapidly decreasing blood volume. His eyes were just beginning to close when one of Manny's hands was suddenly patting his face, getting blood on it, no doubt.

"None of that, Murdock!" he said. "Awake until the ambulance gets here, remember?" His hand went back to putting pressure on Matt's wound, and Matt let out a cry, pain stabbing through him almost as sharp as the knife.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Yeah, I know. Sorry bout that. But hey, I can hear the sirens! Just a little longer."

"Not, uh...not what you signed up for, huh?" Matt said between the deep, fast breaths his lungs were suddenly forcing him to take. He could feel Manny look at him in surprise.

"Didn't know you heard that. Sorry. Wasn't a great day today...But you're right, it's not what I signed up for."

"Me neither."

Manny was silent for a second before saying, "How the hell have you managed to break that coffee table so many times, anyway?"

Matt was so surprised at the question, at the relative absurdity of it, that he let out a laugh. It hurt like hell, of course, and quickly turned to a wince and a groan.

"Would you believe...ninjas?" Matt managed between gasps, and it was Manny's turn to laugh.

"A blind guy kicking the shit out of ninjas? Now that I'd like to see!"

"They, uh…" Matt's head was spinning, the world tilting strangely beneath him, and he felt strangely cold despite the warmth surrounding him. "They do...most….most of th'...th' shit kicking." He felt his eyes rolling backward, and Manny was tapping his face again.

"Matt! Hey, Murdock, stay with me! Stay with me! The ambulance is turning the corner right now, buddy. I can see it. Not long now! Stay awake!"

"'m awake," Matt murmured, as much to convince himself as Manny. The roar of blood in his ears was getting louder, and it was getting harder to focus on the landlord's voice. Harder to focus at all, really. Everything was just...hard.He closed his eyes, and for a few blissful moments, the world melted away.

Something tightened around his right arm, uncomfortably at first and then painfully, and he let out a groan, reaching over to confront whatever it was. A hand grabbed his, but he was too weak to fight it.

"Matt? I'm Jake, I'm a paramedic, and that's my partner CeCe. She's just taking your blood pressure real quick, okay?"

Matt moved his head from side to side, trying to get a picture of what was happening, but the pounding in his head and the overwhelming smell of blood and the overall haziness that was overtaking Matt's brain made it impossible. He swallowed down the familiar panic of his childhood. The panic that came with being truly unable to see. "Where's Manny?"

"I'm right here, buddy," Manny's voice said from somewhere to the left, Matt thought.

"BP's 80/60 and dropping, we've gotta move 'im quick," said a woman's voice, next to his right arm. The one responsible for the squeezing, then. CeCe.

"Okay, Matt? We're gonna get you on a stretcher and into the ambulance here. We're gonna have to move you around a bit, okay?" Jake said. "Ready? And-"

An explosion went off through Matt's insides, and he ground his teeth together to muffle the scream, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I know, sorry about that. You still with us, Matt?"

Matt nodded weakly.

"Good. We're just about ready to transport you to the hospital. We can get you something for the pain in just a minute-"

"No!" Matt grabbed Jake's arm. "No...no drugs."

"Addict?" Jake asked.

"Catholic," Matt responded as the engine of the ambulance revved to life.

"Catholic," Jake repeated with a humorless chuckle. "Okay, well let me know if you change your mind. In the meantime, I'm gonna run an IV with saline, get your fluid level up, okay? There's gonna be a pinch, inside your left elbow."

Matt sucked in a breath as the needle went into his arm. The ambulance started moving, and he was suddenly made acutely aware just how much vibration there actually was in a moving vehicle. His body was doing that thing again, where breathing was suddenly a struggle and he was gasping. Now, though, it seemed like there wasn't any air getting in. He could hear snippets of speech from Jake-something about O2? And then there was an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, and the air had that strange manufactured quality to it, but it was air so who gave a shit what it tasted like?

Manny was talking to Jake now, sounding-what, angry? Afraid? And Jake was talking too, only Matt couldn't tell who either of them were talking to. If it was to him, well, they were out of luck, because he couldn't really make out much in the way of words, with all the blood and sirens and oxygen crowding them out.

He suddenly remembered something very important and reached up for the oxygen mask (with his right hand, though; he didn't want Jake to have to put in another IV). He pulled it down toward his was infuriatingly difficult, and the words wouldn't come out properly at first. It took him a few tries to turn the sounds into something coherent.

"C-cookies. In...oven." His apartment had survived ninjas. And Stick. He didn't want it to burn down from Foggy's pumpkin cookies.

Foggy.

"Call…" His tongue felt so big, and his throat seemed to tighten with each syllable he uttered. But this couldn't wait. "Call...Foggy."

He let go of the oxygen mask, his hand slipping down. His limbs had begun to tingle, and slowly, all the background noise was replaced with static.

"BP's tanking, he's going out on us!" Jake called.

It was the last thing Matt heard before losing consciousness.

XXX