𝗗𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟 𝗧𝗢𝗪𝗡

𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝟮𝟮: 𝗪𝗛𝗢 𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗠𝗕

AEI: quick PSA, i have never been to court, i only have an INCREDIBLY loose knowledge of the structure of a court case, and this is entirely fictitious. should you know more abt court than i do and think i'm doing something wrong, you're very welcome to tell me but it is what it is. just a quick warning in case this is horrendously incorrect.

TW: discussions and descriptions of physical injuries and abuse

Almost a week later, Cat Spector stands shivering in front of Matt's bathroom mirror; hair clipped neatly off of her face, the stitched section of her forehead all too visible, and a thrift-store dress that she's had to be coaxed into crinkling over her shoulders.

Matt says it's important to look well-presented in court. Your argument could be the best in the world, but it isn't always about that. That's why rich people get away with everything and poor people who steal to survive get locked up.

It's all about the people you know, and Declan Spector knows an awful lot of people. Cat's at an inherent disadvantage.

Everything is currently floating in a vat of liquid chaos.

Fisk was caught and then he wasn't, and then he was again, and apparently Matt beat the shit out of him at some point in between all of that. Cat's not sure when he finds the time for these things. He's not even subtle about it.

For the past couple of days, though, everything's been about Cat's court case.

She, Matt, Foggy and Karen have been spending every waking hour in the office; shadows carving spaces under their eyes as they've picked apart every detail of Cat's life. Everything her dad said, everything he did, every time Cat thought he was going to kill her.

If evidence was enough, there'd be nothing to worry about.

Cat bites down hard on her lip.

She doesn't come back from this. It's going to haunt her for the rest of her life, whether she wins or not, and if she doesn't win, there isn't going to be much life left to be haunted in.

One hour, twenty-two minutes. In one hour, twenty-two minutes, her dad will be standing across from her and her world will come crashing down at her feet.

"Sweetheart?"

Matt is suddenly standing in the doorway. When she doesn't reply, he slips through the open door and rests a hand on top of Cat's head as she leans back against him. He's warm to the touch, steady as ever, but his heart feels fast against her shoulders. She squeezes her eyes tight shut.

"I don't want to see him again." She whispers. "I can't do it."

Matt breathes out. Slow and shaky. He brushes his fingers through her hair, and Cat tries her very best not to let her heart break.

"You can," He murmurs to her, "And once it's over, he'll be gone."

"Not if we lose."

Not when we lose.

Calmer than he feels, Matt turns her gently around to look at him, tilting her chin up.

"Cat."

They're both shaking, he notices. Electric and burning from it, wound tighter than a spring. "Cat, I'm gonna tell you something and I need you to trust me. I need you to believe me."

Cat nods, her whole body hot, and Matt feels worry run through his veins like poison.

"No matter what happens today," He says gently, "You aren't going back there. I won't allow it."