Ian likes to be helpful. Adam needs a whole lot of help.

He's letting him in. He'll use this like he's used every scrap of information Andrew has given him. This is a mistake.

(Fletcher walks him home from the jazz club. Andrew invites him in, to talk.)

So maybe Matt signed up for this, but Foggy sure didn't — this thing that's eating his friend alive. Matt's back is to the wall, and Foggy is very very close, daring Matt to hit him maybe or wanting the scene to dissolve into something else — into Matt's arm snaked through his, maybe. Something from before.

**

Matt's just there to pick up his things, and Foggy's about ready to wrap their collaboration up for good. Things go a little sideways for both of them.

"It's Karen," she says hopelessly in the middle of his doorway like he wouldn't know her a thousand other ways. The whiff of perfume on her, Viktor & Rolf Flowerbomb trapped underneath a thick smear of booze, or the sound of her shoes on the hard tile floor. She's drunk already; her breathing is faint and thready. Her face is too hot.