PatientBean
Melissa
Skai
Qia
PapaOso
Izurich
Pirouette
webboysurf
Fetzen
I. Pre-Trial
The sound of screeching tires and startled screams filled Matt's world with cascading images of pavements, buildings, letterboxes, every noise flowing out from its source and splashing the environment around it. A runaway truck with hazardous cargo barreled down the street - Matt could hear the driver pumping the failed brakes desperately, could smell the sweat that had flooded out with the outpouring of fear. The horn blared and the noise of it erupted from the front of the vehicle and lit up the road ahead - and then bounced off a frozen figure, paralyzed in fear, waiting for the demise that came screaming towards him. The driver wrenched the steering wheel, the man dived to the side. Truck overturned. Hazardous material blowing its containment. This wasn't right. Matthew watching everything erupt through sound and air pressure. This wasn't right. His father holding his hand, squeezing it tightly as everything unfolded around them. It's okay, Matthew, it's okay. It's not okay, dad. I wasn't blind yet. I can't see. I can't see.
"Dad...dad, I can't see. I can't see! Dad! I can't see! DAD!"
Matt woke up with a gasp and the world lit up before fading back out. He lay still, pushing out against the black; the ambient sounds of the city drifted in through his window; the early sun already laying down a thin layer of heat that rested just above the surface of everything, a silken web that only Matthew could sense. The heat emanated further still from Matthew himself - and also the body that lay next to him in bed, a smooth and pleasant curve that traced down her side to where the sheets lay across her waist. Matthew let the sounds of the city paint a picture of his apartment and softly, carefully, sat up and swiveled himself off the bed, feeling the currents his movements created and the alternating air pressures he'd affected. The wood grain floor under his bare feet felt rough and mountainous with the rises and falls that he could map out beneath his toes, and that microscopic moutainrange served to ground Matthew as equally literally as metaphorical. From this floorboard he knew it was 3 steps forward to the bedroom door and the living room beyond it; 2 and a half to the left to get to the bathroom. Behind him was the bed and its second occupant and beyond the bed was a metre-and-a-half of open space with a window facing onto the opposite building. He'd left it slightly open last night after arriving back late, ever-so-carefully sliding in so as not to awake his guest; now, the breeze flowed through the gap in the window, winding around his bedroom and taking the heat from the bodies within, carrying it out into the living room and through the draught in his apartment's front door. Matthew shivered, and told himself it wasn't, in no small part, the lingering dream that had woken him. He stood, and reached out to his right, groping for the small chest of drawers he knew was there; his fingers met the top handle of the drawer and he moved his arm down to find the third, sliding the drawer open to find the soft cotton underwear and vests within. Slipping out of the bedroom quietly, Matthew made his way into the main room and found his shirt and slacks across the back of the sofa, dressing himself quickly as he attempted to shake off the lingering dread from his nightmare. I can't see. Dad, I can't see...
"Need a hand with that tie, Mr. Murdock?"
The low, husky tones of his lover's voice erupted from the bedroom doorway towards him, the dulcet sounds of her voice spilling out from her and lighting up the room in golden-red waves as they passed silkily over the room and furniture towards him, knocking Matthew out of his memory-filled stupor. He smiled as she walked towards him, and held out the two ends of the tie he had inadvertently paused with to her, which she gracefully took into her own hands to tie an elegant and professional knot, pausing to do up the top button on his shirt before returning to the tie to tighten it up to the collar. She sighed satisfactorily through her nose and Matthew felt the air hit her top lip and curve towards him; she was smiling too, he knew, by the angle of her breath alone. Her heat moved closer to him and suddenly they were kissing, only for her to pull away just as suddenly and leave her warmth lingering on his lips. She stepped away towards the kitchen and pulled two mugs from the rack beneath the island-counter, filling both from the pot she'd apparently started the evening before. Matt hadn't noticed that.
"Making yourself feel at home, El?" He asked, with a whimsical smirk and an edge of teasing. She drank from her mug, pushing the other one across the counter-top towards Matthew as he stepped to join her.
"Oh, you know me, Matthew. I like to be comfortable." She replied. "At the very least, I promise not to disrupt your flow."
"I learned a long time ago how to adapt to...changing circumstances. Just let me know if you create a risk of stubbed toes." He drained his mug. Damn good coffee. "Or I might have to sue you for grievous injury."
"Oh, is that right? Think you'd win that case?"
"I'm blind, El. The jury would love me."
They both chuckled, and the vibrations of the air around her body as she laughed, and then walked around the counter to hug him, forced Matthew to suddenly notice that she was naked, made ever-more abundantly clear as she embraced him tightly. He cleared his throat and felt his own body growing hotter, and even blind he knew his face was red like beetroot. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before leaving his side to walk back to the bedroom.
"Will you be out all day? I thought we might go for dinner should your trial go well."
"You know how these things can go, El. I have confidence that this is open-and-shut - but defense lawyers are often stubborn bastards." He walked across the main space towards the hallway that led to his front door, finding his blazer hanging on the wall next to his sight-stick as he did so. He could feel her heat pushing towards him from the bedroom as she dressed, and the breeze from the window carried lingering drops of her perfume mixed with her shampoo from yesterday's shower and a natural light sweat from the night, a sweet-and-savoury combination Matthew enjoyed very much. It was all he focused on when she was near. "I'll call you when I can. Will you be alright today?"
"I'll keep myself busy, Matthew. Good luck. I love you."
Matthew smiled, a different kind of heat swelling inside him now. He turned to look at her, and while they both knew he was blind, they were both aware that he saw her in a way no other man ever could. She smiled back.
"I love you too, Elektra. I'll see you tonight."
-
Matthew could smell the burnt coffee from the end of the hall, even through the closed door that stunk of oak and varnish, potent odors that mixed with Foggy's cologne and the lingering scent of sweat from countless anxious defendants. Karen's perfume was there too, a soft and sweet smell that relaxed Matthew. He could hear them talking, light conversation. A burst of laughter from the two of them made Matthew chuckle as well, and he walked the length of the hallway, tucking his cane under one arm as he turned the handle and stepped in, closing the door behind him and carefully placing the brown paper takeaway bag he'd picked up from a family-owned coffee shop that was on the corner. Matt had defended them in an alleged tax fraud case the year before he'd been made ADA, and they still hadn't forgotten him.
"Bringing your own coffee again, Matt? What have you got against my personal brew?" Foggy said, his words sharp but his tone lax and playful. There was no real offence here, but Foggy had always liked teasing Matt.
"You burn it, Foggy. Every time. And I didn't bring just mine..." He pushed the bag across the table towards Karen, who leaned forward to empty the contents - three takeaway card cups, steam still rising from the hole in the lid. Matthew reached for his, a hazelnut mix that he could taste in the air.
"Karen likes my coffee. The burn gives it a perky edge. Right?" Foggy rebutted, looking towards Karen expectantly. Matthew felt the heat from her cheeks flushing as she smiled, wordlessly pulling her cup towards her lips and taking a long drain. Matt chuckled as he sipped from his own cup, before Foggy conceded and threw up his hands, grabbing the final cup. "Fine. But you're both bad friends, and I'm only drinking this because it's a gift from a blind man, and I'd look like an asshole if I didn't." He took a sip. "Damn. That's good coffee."
"I know, Foggy. You say that every time too." Matt smiled and sat down.
"How much of the review have I missed?"
"None, actually. We wanted to wait for you." Karen replied, pulling a briefcase from behind her chair and setting in on the table before opening it and retrieving three separate sheaves of paper - pre-trial stratagem notes. She passed one to Foggy, kept one to herself, and gave the third - a braille copy - to Matt. He began to read as Karen summarized. "We've got a known mid-level mob lieutenant in the box after he got a little too drunk and decided the strip joint on 3rd should have been a brothel. Pre-trial prep has dug up a whole bunch on this douchebag - we've got testimony from previous victims, ledgers from local laundering sites, numerous tips from low-level informants. There's enough here to lock him up for a good twenty years, easy. Jury won't even have to think about it." She concluded, and as the sound of her voice played its last echoes around the room Matthew could see her looking at him.
"But?" He asked. Karen faltered, and Matthew could feel the heat of her blushing cheeks erupting again. Foggy gave a single chuckle and leaned forwards in his chair.
"But you don't need the jury to think about it. You need the defendant to think about it. All this evidence, tension mounting up, all his recklessness coming back around, tips from his own people...you make him think he's sold up the river already. Make him think his friends already know he's spilled. Make him think he's a loose end that his bosses are just itching to tie up. And then he really will spill. He'll spill for anything we can offer him."
Matt smiled. "Exactly, Foggy. Thank you, for this - your consultancy has been valuable." Foggy raised his cup to Matt, and then lowered it quickly, shaking his head. Matt had felt the movement through the air and the heat of the coffee moving, and he appreciated the gesture. It saddened him how limiting it was playing the fool, regardless of how necessary. He pressed a button on the side of his watch, and a robotic female voice announced the time to the room. "We have roughly an hour until the trial begins; I'd like to go over our witnesses, informant testimony, and the order we present our physical evidence in - and then drinks are on me." This time, Matt raised his cup, and heard the replying cheers from his friends. "Foggy...make another pot, would you?"
