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Matt sits back in his chair, dumbstruck.
“Huh,” Foggy says. He sets the invitation card back down in front of Matt. “That sounds like an interesting evening.” He pats Matt’s shoulder, says, “Good luck,” then tries to beat a hasty retreat.
“Wait!”
Foggy pauses in the doorway.
“Are you not going to come with me?” Matt asks.
“Unfortunately,” Foggy says in a pleased tone, “I’m busy that night. Very busy. Very, very…busy.”
Matt waits him out.
After a few more seconds, Foggy sags. “Okay, you got me. I really don’t want to go to some fundraiser – but I am actually busy,” he adds with a finger pointed at Matt.
Matt gives him a look.
“I am!”
“Oh, really?” Matt says.
“Yeah, I am.” Foggy nods quickly. “It’s on the tenth – that’s when I’m meeting up with the old Punjabi crowd. Eliza, Marcos…”
Grimacing, Matt says, “Ah. Yes.”
“You didn’t want to come,” Foggy says. “Just think: you’d have an excuse if you’d said yes…”
Matt makes an offended noise. “I wasn’t invited! In fact, I was very specifically not invited.”
“They never said that.”
“Eliza told you to ‘leave the asshole at home’,” Matt counters.
Foggy huffs the little laugh that means he’s grinning. “Technically, you were never referred to by name.”
“Eliza hates me.”
“Aw, no she doesn’t.”
Matt inhales, counts to ten, then says, “She once told me to go to hell.”
“Jessica says that all the time,” Foggy says.
“Jessica—”
“Hey guys!” Karen greets cheerfully as she breezes into the office, interrupting Matt and Foggy’s conversation as she slips past Foggy to set a cup of hot coffee on Matt’s desk. “I heard you had a late night, so I figured I’d pick something up for you on the way in.”
Matt gives her a smile, inclining his head. “Thanks, Karen.”
“Ooh, that looks fancy.” She plucks up the invitation, reading it once then turning it over. “Shiny paper and everything.”
“Everything except braille,” Matt says, dry.
“Assholes,” Karen says.
Matt laughs; Foggy joins in, albeit more mildly, shaking his head.
“It says you’ve been invited to a fundraiser?” Surprise fills Karen’s voice. “Like—a smart one.”
“I know,” Matt says measuredly. “Foggy already read me the invitation.”
“Who invited you?” Karen asks, curious. “I mean, a couple of Foggy’s long-term clients have some cash to burn, but we aren’t exactly rolling in it.” She takes a sip of her own coffee.
“An old client,” Matt says. “One of the pro bono cases I worked when Nelson and Murdock was just Murdock.” He shakes his head. “His employer was trying to screw him over, I helped him get a big pay-out. Apparently, he used the money to make it big in the city. Investing or something, I don’t know.”
“Huh,” Karen says. She runs a nail over the creamy, high-quality card.
“Anyway, he’s invited Matt to this big event he’s putting on.” Foggy sounds amused, now. “A big night of avoiding dicks with more money than they know what to do with. Unfortunately—” he draws out the word to exaggerate it; Matt lets out a deep sigh “—I will be busy that night. So Matt’s going to have to find someone else to keep him entertained with witty commentary and funny banter.” He clicks his tongue. “I’ve got to say, that’s going to be a challenge, buddy.”
“No one can do it like you,” Matt says smoothly, giving Foggy a smile.
It gets him a bright, beautiful laugh. “That is true. No one can do it like me.”
Karen huffs a laugh too, then offers, “I can always go with you. I’d love to pick up some dirt on those people.”
“You’re busy that night,” Matt says.
“With me and my awesome friends from Punjabi!”
“Oh, it’s that night?” Karen says. “Oof. Good luck. You’re going to die of boredom if you can’t find someone to go with.”
Matt groans and flops forward onto his crossed arms. “I know.”
“Absolutely not,” Jessica says.
“But—”
“No way in hell am I going to some fancy-schmancy party with you.”
“Fundraiser,” Matt corrects.
Jessica pauses. “What?”
“It’s technically a fundraiser, not a party,” Matt says.
Letting out a groan, Jessica says, “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.” She pushes past him, heading towards her kitchen, but Matt catches her arm.
“The one problem with that,” he says, “is that you owe me.”
“I do not!” Jessica immediately protests.
“Remember that bet last month?” Matt says. “Where you said Danny could fit ten marshmallows in his mouth—”
Jessica sags. “Ah, shit.”
Matt grins at her. “I’m calling the favour in. You’re my date.”
“How romantic,” Jessica deadpans.
Jessica shifts next to him, itching at her dress again. Apparently, she stole it from Trish’s wardrobe. The silky material – not actually silk, but close – swishes with every movement she makes, and the tiny little sequins faintly scrape against each other. Her hair – done up in some plait that curves around the back of her head – is held in place by a dozen pins that Jessica keeps on tapping with her fingers. When Matt had asked, she’d said they were digging into her scalp.
“Some guy’s staring at us,” Jessica says.
Matt himself shifts now. Like Jess, he’s awkward in these smart clothes. His tux is a loan, and the material of his dress pants is coarse against the backs of his knees. “Might that be because we’re on the subway?”
“Hey, I’m not forking out fifty bucks for a cab to an event I don’t even want to go to.”
Matt sighs deeply. Maybe it was a mistake to ask Jessica to do this with him.
It was not a mistake to ask Jessica to do this with him.
“Who’s coming over now?” Matt asks, leaning in close.
Without taking even a moment to think about it, Jessica says, “He looks like an asshole.”
Matt laughs.
“Matthew Murdock!” Thomas Schrader says, in the tone of one greeting an old friend they haven’t seen in years. He holds out a hand which Matt pretends not to notice. “Oh, right of course. I’m holding my hand out.”
Matt sticks his hand out, intentionally off, and there’s another short pause before Schrader grasps it firmly. They shake, then Schrader slaps Matt’s shoulder in a friendly gesture.
“Boy, is it good to see you!”
Dryly, Matt says, “I can’t say the same.”
Jessica, who’d gone off to find alcohol and is now returning with champagne, snorts a laugh.
There’s a slight intake of breath from the group of people who followed Schrader over here, and it takes a few seconds for Schrader himself to get it, but then he seems to realise the joke. “Oh, right—oh, I get it.” Schrader laughs, then turns slightly to address his friends. “Matt’s blind,” he explains. “But he’s the best darn lawyer I’ve ever seen.”
He chortles at his own joke. His friends join in. Jessica downs a flute of champagne.
“It’s because of him that I was able to do this,” Schrader continues on, gesturing around them. According to Jessica, whoever decorated the hall chose silver and stuck with it despite the countless people who must have told them to stop.
Matt reaches for the second champagne flute Jessica fetched, but she bats her hand away and says, “Get your own.” She swaps the full glass for the empty one in her hand and takes a sip.
“Oh, I never met your wife—” Schrader says.
Jessica chokes.
“—you must introduce us.”
Matt throws his head back and laughs.
Schrader soon moves on to schmooze people more important than them. Not until after he’s apologised profusely, though. Matt can barely stop cackling long enough to catch his breath.
Through the crowd, a familiar heartbeat sounds, and then Matt catches the scent of junk food and wool and ozone and something indescribably ancient. He’s turning before Jessica’s noticed their friend, and smiles when she jolts upon spotting Danny.
“Matt!” he says brightly. “Jess!”
“Danny,” Matt greets, inclining his head in a nod just before he’s pulled into a one-armed hug. “Oof!”
Jessica makes a confused noise. “Wait—what are you doing here?”
“I’m a billionaire, I get to go to fundraisers,” Danny says. He shrugs and sets his glass down on the tall, round table that Matt and Jessica have claimed as their own. It’s not champagne in his glass – Danny rarely drinks – but instead something tasting of apple and orange. “Besides,” Danny adds, “Foggy told me you were coming! I thought we could have some team bonding time.”
“Yay,” Jessica says, voice completely flat.
Matt pauses. “Wait. Team bonding? Does that mean—”
Turning away, Danny waves a hand in the air and calls over the crowd, “Luke, look, I found them!”
Luke winds his way through the throng of people, over to their little table. He’s holding a little plate of food with a selection of hors d’oeuvres. “So Foggy was telling the truth,” he says. Amusement fills his voice. “Jessica Jones in an evening gown.”
“Matt’s in a suit too,” Danny points out.
“Matt’s always wearing suits,” Luke says.
“You’re one to talk,” Jessica tells him. “You’re both wearing tuxes.” She turns to Matt. “They’re both wearing tuxes.”
Matt huffs a laugh. “I was able to put that one together by myself, but thank you.”
Danny makes an irritated noise, holding his sleeves out to inspect them before tugging one further down his wrist. “It’s stiff. And tight.”
“Formal clothes always are,” Luke says.
“Mine isn’t stiff, just itchy,” Jessica says. “And these heels are killing my feet.” She reaches out and steals a tiny biscuit with smoked salmon and cream cheese from Luke’s plate and eats it in one bite.
A dismayed sound comes from Luke, and he shifts away, tensing, protectively pulling the plate closer to his chest. “Jess!”
The latest speech finally comes to and end, and the man – some executive who donated some large sum of money to the charity Schrader is raising money for – leaves the stage as the string quartet starts up again.
“Not a single word of that was actually about the kids they’re raising money for,” Luke says, something like wonder in his voice.
Jessica breathes out a confused noise. “I thought it was refugees.”
“Don’t look at me,” Matt says when they turn to him. “I couldn’t even read the invitation.”
“It’s refugee kids,” Danny says. “In…” He pauses, wracking his brain. “…I want to say Afghanistan?”
“I feel like you should know that,” Jessica says.
“You should definitely know that,” Luke says. “You made a donation to get us in here.”
“It’s not like they told me what the charity was for when I rang up,” Danny protests.
Five minutes later, another old man gets up on the podium and starts speaking. Something tells Matt they’re in for a long one.
Jessica leans in to whisper, “What will you do if I run out the doors right now?”
“I’d follow you out,” Matt replies.
A huffed laugh slips from Jessica’s lips. “I take it that favour’s been used up, then?”
“I’m not cruel enough to extend your torture. I’ve made my appearance with Mr Schrader.”
Jessica nods, then turns to Luke. “What do you say we get out of here?”
“God, yes,” Luke says.
“How much did you pay to get in there?” Jessica asks Danny. Her heels are dangling from one hand as she walks along the wall by the river, holding her arms out like she’s on a tight rope.
“I didn’t pay, I donated,” Danny corrects. He’s been trying to undo his bowtie for a while, but apparently he hasn’t worn one in a while and tied it tighter than intended.
“Not a single other person in that hall would make that distinction,” Luke says.
Matt hops up onto the wall behind Jessica. It’s only a foot up from the path, but on the other side is a twenty-foot drop to a gravelly beach populated by potato chip bags and empty bottles of vodka. The night is mild, and Matt’s fine in just his tux, but apparently Jessica’s cold as she stole Danny’s jacket and slung it over her shoulders.
“Let’s hope those refugee kids actually get the money,” Jessica says. “Then at least something good came out of that snooze-fest.”
“I overheard a couple of people from the mob. Got the time and place for a couple of big deals,” Matt says. “That was something good.”
Danny perks up. “You did?”
“That’ll keep us busy for the next week,” Jessica sighs.
“And I got to avoid seeing Foggy’s old college friends,” Matt continues. He grins. “That’s definitely a positive.”
“I thought you were one of Foggy’s college friends,” Luke says, a frown in his voice.
“It doesn’t count as ‘old’ if they now own a business, live together, and are dating,” Jessica says.
“What’s wrong with Foggy’s old college friends?” Danny asks.
Jessica groans and comes to a stop on the wall. “Oh, god, not this story again.”
“Eliza Hildman,” Matt starts with a grin, “has hated me ever since I knocked into her just as she was taking her baked beans out of the microwave.”
“Why did you knock into her?” Danny asks.
“Well, you see—”