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[nonfictional]

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[trustinthedevil]

That gets a half smile out of Matt, accompanied by a soft breath of a laugh.

"I guess I am. People seem to be getting replaced every five minutes." He leans back against the wall, looking vaguely in Alan's direction. "Don't tell me you've had your eyes down at that typewriter so much you haven't noticed. You have to leave this room sometimes."

[nonfictional]

Matt talks, and Alan is grabbing his little communication device, quickly scrolling through it. No. He hasn't really left.

"I got caught up," he mumbles, and his eyes narrow as he scrolls. Matt isn't kidding. He glances back over, and--shit.

"Here. There's a chair--" he's already rising to grab it.

[trustinthedevil]

Well, Alan won't be able to fill Matt in like Matt hoped, but at least the writer confirms that Matt suspicions are right.

"Oh, thanks -"

Matt hadn't even thought about sitting. He moves towards the sound of Alan moving, towards where he vaguely remembers the chair was. He bumps into something and makes a face of annoyance at himself before schooling it to laugh it off.

"Sorry. Clumsy."

[nonfictional]

“Not clumsy–” Alan sets the chair an appropriate distance away from the other one, guiding Matt’s hand so it’s on the top of it.

“There’s a lot of stuff in here now, Saga asked the admiral to make things a little more functional. I should have warned you.”

It’s a very polite way of saying ‘Saga turned it into something that's a little more functional than insanely creepy attic.’ He’s suddenly glad Matt can’t see the owl behind him, even if he’s personally grown very fond of it.

[trustinthedevil]

It's nice of Alan, really, to be so mindful. It reminds Matt a bit of Foggy, which immediately makes Matt feel a pang of regret. Mostly, Matt feels mad at himself that he needs to rely on people so heavily here, and he's so tired of pretending to be just Matt Murdock.

"Saga," he says, letting the flow of conversation distract him. He moves around the chair to sit in it, looking thoughtful. "I met her, I think. In the gym. Is she your warden?"

[nonfictional]

"No, but I know her. We collaborated back home." Alan doesn't hesitate with his answer, quick and assured. He glances down at the knuckles from the hand he'd guided once the other mentions gym, noting the other's knuckles. Roughed up, to put it mildly.

"Your hand okay? 'Cause I'd hate to see the other guy."

[trustinthedevil]

He's about to say that he's sure it's nice for Alan to have someone he knows here, then he pauses for a moment.

"Oh." Matt ducks his head, flexing his hand a bit before running his thumb over his knuckles. "I'm sure he's fine, considering he's just a punching bag. I like to box when I get restless."

[nonfictional]

Alan chuckles at that, pulling his own chair out to make himself a little more comfortable and a little less stuck behind his desk.

"Does it work?"

[trustinthedevil]

Matt exhales, chuckling a bit himself. Alan isn't aware that's a loaded question, and Matt doesn't have a quick reply for it. He should answer quickly, shrug it off and say that it gets the job done. But hitting a punching bag doesn't have the same gratification that being Daredevil has.

"Honestly?" Matt sits back in his chair, tilting his head back as he looks a bit thoughtful. "Sometimes, I guess. I'm not used to having all this free time. My work is a full time job in every sense of the word, morning through night."

[nonfictional]

There's a moment of hesitation--a fraction of a second, hardly discernible--as Alan mulls something over. Sometime in the halls, shuffling to grab some coffee, right by the common room, he'd heard it. Lined it up.

Listened.

"Your work as a lawyer, right?"

[trustinthedevil]

Another time and place, Matt would be able to clock that hesitation. Here, it goes unnoticed, and he just nods a bit at the question.

"Yeah. Civil defence, mostly."

[nonfictional]

"Yeah."

His head is starting to hurt. Stress headache, pressure headache, some strange malevolent force still clinging to him--he's unsure. But it's enough that he winces and brings his hand up to his forehead, and when he puts down his hand he's glancing over at those knuckles again.

"Just a lawyer?"

[trustinthedevil]

Matt knows he's missing something. There's the sound of clothing moving that anyone could hear as Alan moves his hand for a moment, and Matt's smart enough to know there's something else going on. The frustration at senses being dulled down so much bubbles back up.

And then there's that question. Innocent enough, except that Matt isn't just a lawyer. There's no reason anyone here should know that or even suspect that, and immediately his defences are raised.

"A very good lawyer."

[nonfictional]

Alan sighs.

"Okay. Humour me for a second?"

[trustinthedevil]

Matt presses his lips together. He's not sure he's going to like what he's about to hear, but he's not unreasonable. He'll hear Alan out, mostly because he wants to know what Alan knows and how, exactly, Alan knows it in the first place.

"Sure. I'm all ears."

[nonfictional]

"Okay." Well, there's only one way to go about this. Alan presses his hand to his temple, wincing. Headache's getting just a little bit worse.

"I can see things. Kind of. Bits of people, bits of stories. Not often and not always--I use them for inspiration and to guide me. At least I thought they were just inspiration, but they're a lot more than that. Snippets. Visions."

[trustinthedevil]

There's a moment where Matt feels a slight prick of agitation. It's not exactly equitable that Alan, an inmate as well, is still able to see things while Matt's literally running blind here. As fast as the thought comes, it's replaced by the feeling that Matt probably deserves it. Definitely deserves it. If anything's unfair here, it's not Alan's fault.

Though it's still frustrating.

"What snippet did you get of me, exactly?"

[nonfictional]

Alan's laugh is short and lacking all humour.

"You weren't being a lawyer," he says simply, pushing onwards almost immediately after. "I didn't catch much. A fight at a hospital of some sort. You were blind, but it was almost like you weren't." He trails off for a moment, lost in the recollection.

[trustinthedevil]

Well, that doesn't necessarily narrow it down much, but it does let Matt know that it seems pointless to keep pretending around Alan. He presses his tongue between his lips and clears his throat.

"This is going to seem like a weird question, but in this snippet, what was I wearing?"

It's an important question.

[nonfictional]

It's a weird question. It's also no weirder than this entire conversation has been. Alan squints, lost in thought for a few moments.

"It was definitely you. In a suit--not a full one, but a jacket at least."

[trustinthedevil]

That's good. Matt's aware that he probably has to provide an explanation, but he doesn't want to really get into the whole devil costume just yet. In his ideal world, no one here would have to know about Daredevil at all, but he's not stupid. This small of a space, secrets are bound to come out one way or another.

Hell, it's happening right now, and not even intentionally.

"When I had the accident that blinded me, it gave me ... I don't know what you'd call them. Super powers, enhanced senses, you get the idea."

Matt reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

"They're gone here. But back home, it's better than seeing."

And, well, Alan's got a glimpse of how Matt puts that to use.

[nonfictional]

Alan's face pinches--not out of pity, but of curiousity.

"So you're not blind, except that you are. Like some sort of superpower?"

It sounds like a Night Springs episode. Alan doesn't bother to hide how intrigued he sounds about it.

[trustinthedevil]

"Something like that."

It's about the easiest way to explain it. Matt doesn't want to get into the details of how acute his senses are. It makes people uncomfortable, usually.

"It ... Helps out my day job."

[nonfictional]

'Something like' is such a non-answer that Alan blinks a few times. He's about to ask Matt to elaborate when the other speaks again, and he frowns slightly.

"You sound like some sort of vigilante." No judgement. Just a statement.

[trustinthedevil]

That gets a laugh. An actual, laugh, too, not just one of those little half-laughs that Matt's so good at.

"I think that's the word for it, yeah."

He pauses for a moment, then exhales, but the slight smile still stays on his face.

"A newspaper called me the Devil Of Hell's Kitchen."