The Devil Lives On

Set after the defenders…WARNING: May contain spoilers, based on the spoilers and spec surrounding s3.

1 The Recesses

The church basement had a chequered tiled floors, walls bursting at the seams, laden with cracks from decades of neglect. And the only sound resounding through the vacuous space was of the Devil pounding his bruised fists against a boxing bag he had chained to the ceiling.

He was anger. He was fury. He was nothing human because there was nothing left of Matt Murdoch. Just an eternal anguish that raged within his core like a beast unchained, beating against his skin, itching, thirsting, no— starving to break out, to set the world on fire and burn it to the ground.

The metal of the gun sent a chill along her spine as it pressed into the waistband of her trousers, cloaked by her silk blouse and black blazer. A remnant from her time with Frank Castle, which she kept with her at all times. Karen had grown used to the feeling of dogged loneliness, it was really the only thing that never left her side. Not since her childhood, not since Frank left and Matt was gone, and Foggy was busy leading a normal life. And Karen wanted to leave him to it.

She was fine with loneliness. She had started to derive strength from it. Ever since realising the people she was there for had seemingly just vanished, like some wicked God had clicked his fingers and they were no longer there. Karen was reminded she could only count on herself, just like it had always been. When she moved to Hell's Kitchen, she hoped maybe that would all change… but she wasn't naïve anymore.

She saw newspaper headlines, mostly tabloids, alluding to a vigilante taking down petty criminals with brutal force and at first she thought perhaps Frank had returned, her kindred spirit. But it wasn't Frank.

There was talk of this vigilante copying the Devil of Hell's Kitchen with a mask covering his eyes and wearing dark clothing, but Matt was dead. And tonight, Matt Murdoch and the Devil of Hell's kitchen should have been the last things on her mind as the security guard flashed his ID to a fellow officer and they escorted her into the large room full of convicts at tables meeting their loved ones or lawyers with pained looks in their eyes.

The officer by the door was the blue eyed, blond haired Jack Phelps. He gave her a warm smile. Karen returned it. He was cute and she'd spoken to him a few times over the phone and in person for leads around other stories. As far as she could tell, he was single and still interested, despite the one night stand they shared when she was trying to get over Matt freaking Murdoch. It's why she was surprised that when Jack called last night it was to do with a potential story and not to ask her out. Not that she minded, in fact, she was relieved. She didn't want a messy relationship. Since Matt and Elektra's deaths and the departure of Frank, Karen just wanted to do her job.

And her job was to unmask the truth, regardless of which dark recesses of this murky city it hid beneath. Her job was to find it and bring it into the light so justice could be served.

It had sort of become her purpose.

The doors to the prison buzzed and eight armed guards marched out as Karen settled at the table. The guards parted like the sea and stood towering, a large bundle of muscle, mass and wickedness was Wilson Fisk, millionaire tycoon who was the surviving boss of James Wesley, a man Karen had shot six times. She had covered the story about Fisk and saw to it he was dealt a severe blow in terms of PR.

She froze at the sight of him. A thin line sat where his lips ought to have been and as he sat down opposite her, his hand chained and his eyes soullessly dark, the thin line twisted into a smile.

'Hello Ms Page.'

Karen darted a concerned look in Jack's direction who gave her a reassuring nod. She was safe here. She studied Fisk and didn't dare move, afraid she might reveal how scared she was. In her mind, she rehearsed pulling her gun and shooting him dead. But she knew if she were to do it in front of witnessing and this many cameras, two people would die in that room and not just one.

'I asked for you specifically.' He said slowly as if every word he spoke was pre-meditated in some way. 'After all, you have become somewhat a beacon for the truth, for integrity and justice, haven't you?'

An icy finger of dread slid down her spine and she held his gaze.

'What do you want to tell me?' She asked.

'I want to tell you the Devil of Hell's kitchen is very much alive.'

Karen stared into Fisk's coal-like eyes, unable to move, unable to even breathe as a truth she had long since forgotten how to hope for, reverberated through her mind. Matt was alive?

'And in three days when I'm free of this place… I will paint the city red hunting him down and bringing him in for his twisted vigilantics which have cost perfectly good men their lives.'

'How do you know he's alive?'

'Matt Murdoch maybe dead.' Fisk clicked his fingers and a guard placed a folder on the table between them. 'But the Devil lives to fight another day. I think you'll like to see what I have gathered for you to print. Enjoy.'

Karen picked up the folder, she had gone pale and her heart raced. She was terrified this monster would find out she was the one who murdered his right hand and more than that, she was terrified, he would keep his word and kill the Devil of Hell's kitchen.

'You and Mr Murdoch dated, didn't you?' He asked before leaning in closely with a small smile on his lips. Karen remained glued to her seat. 'What was it like to kiss the devil?' He whispered. Karen wanted to punch him in the face. She could feel Jack's eyes on her. She smiled politely at Fisk, refusing to give him the satisfaction of getting to her.

'What makes you think I'll print whatever's in here?'

'The only person who wants him to reveal where he's hiding more than me, would be you, Ms Page. You and I have spent countless nights awake, fantasizing what we would do with him if we ever found him. Haven't we?'

Karen stood and slid the folder back toward Fisk.

'I've moved on, Mr Fisk and I advise you do the same.' She said through gritted teeth, angry he struck a nerve, angry he knew she had thought about Matt when she shouldn't have.

The guards returned to Fisk's side. He gave her a bemused look.

'The file is a gift for you. Don't let me down Ms Page. Print the story.'

'There is no story because there is no devil.'

'Ah, the lies we tell the ones we love and the lies we tell ourselves.' He chuckled as the guards stood him up then marched him back into the prison. The buzzer blared and Karen was left staring at the file on the table. She was paralysed, if she opened it, if she saw what was inside would she be able to walk away?

She had never been able to walk away from Matt. What if Fisk was right? What if he was alive? What if he had told her yet another lie? Her eyes stung and she felt a large hand press her shoulder. She turned to find Jack with a concerned look.

'So?' He prompted, 'did he give you a scoop? He said he would.' Jack said, excited for her. Karen nodded and picked up the file.

'Sort of. I still have some work to do… fact-checking and stuff. But yeah, if he's right then it could be big.' She confessed. Jack's eyes lit up and Karen felt a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Jack took her out for a drink to discuss the scoop but Karen had remained tightlipped and refused to show Jack what was inside the file. She didn't want to face it in front of Jack, she didn't need an audience if she was about to rip open her scars.

Jack had kissed her goodnight, for the first time in weeks, she didn't want to invite him up even though she felt like she should. She instead returned home alone and found herself sitting on the sofa staring at the file Fisk had given her. It was clear Fisk had connections in the police, how else would he be able to arrange for a surveillance file to be put together while on the inside? She assumed it was a surveillance file, but ofcourse she wouldn't know until she opened it.

She swept up her auburn loose curls into a high bun and braced herself then reaching for the file, she flicked it open and scanned the contents. There were images from security cameras of the masked man who had the same build as Matt in the middle of a fight with four other men. Only he was dressed the way he had dressed the first time he had saved her. No fancy suit, just black trousers, black boots and a black top with a mask over his eyes.

The date and time stamp were spread over the past six months and something in her chest lurched at the sight of him. She rifled through the images, stopping suddenly at the sight of a photograph Fisk shouldn't have had. It was of them, together that night in the rain, the way he had effortlessly traced the journey of a raindrop down her arm and set her senses on fire.

The night he asked her out to dinner for the first time.

There were other photos too, of Matt kissing her and some of Matt kissing Elektra. Karen slammed the file shut and buried her head in her hands. What was Fisk's play here?

Did he want to lure the Devil out of hiding?

Karen wondered if perhaps some truths were better left hidden. As she told herself this, she opened her laptop and began rifling through obscure headlines about a vigilante in the last six months since Matt's supposed death. She found several vague reports of a man defeating gangs of criminals, only with more broken bones than Daredevil used to.

One truth remained undeniable even in the face of the latest revelation, Karen couldn't turn her back on Matt or the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

2 The Devil You Know

'There is more harm in it for you than there is good.' Sister Lilly muttered as she doused a cloth in warm water from a bucket then pressed it against Matt's bleeding ribcage. Matt grunted in pain.

'You're better than you were when we found you, Matthew. But every time you leave you come back more broken than before.' She griped, her hands shook from old age and her jaded brown eyes were dull, like she was all out of tears. She must have been at least seventy. She was one of the oldest nuns at the church.

She often brought Matt food, bandages wash cloths and supplies.

'Thank you, sister.' Matt answered, his voice hoarse from being choked by a metal chain yielded by an angry giant Turk by the docks eight hours earlier. For Matt, the hurt was no different to self-harm, it was a release. The fights allowed him to set himself free, unleash his rage and pour it out into the world. But it never finished. He could fight and fight and keep fighting until it killed him, which is what bothered sister Lilly.

'The world knows the Devil is back.' She said. Matt recoiled at her statement.

'How? I've been careful.'

'Caution and anger are not god bedfellows, Matthew.' She sighed then picked up a newspaper from her bag and placed it next to Matt. Matt's fingers grazed the name on the byline before even looking at the title. It was the name that kept him up at night, the only name that might have once been able to make him happy, had he just let her in. But he didn't, did he? He ran to Elektra, to danger, to risk, to indulgence, to everything that would be his undoing, so he had an excuse to deny himself her. Karen Page.

His hands moved up and across to the headline, 'Where does the devil dwell?' The headline asked of the reader.

'Where did you get this?' Matt asked. Surprised the entire edition was in brail.

Sister Lilly picked up her bag and gave him a disapproving look. Matt, unaware the paper had been put away, reached for it to find an empty space.

'The redhead upstairs. She's waiting to come down stairs. She's been waiting for over an hour. We thought maybe she'd get bored and leave, but she didn't.'

'Sister Lilly, wait… tell her…'

'Tell her yourself.' Sister Lilly said before marching up the stairs and leaving Matt in the basement. Matt's mind raced. How had Karen found him? She was as stubborn as he was, so waiting over an hour incase he might be there didn't surprise him at all. But to bring a newspaper in braille meant she was pretty damn sure he was here.

Footsteps descended down the stairs and the basement door suddenly reeled shut. Matt felt a pain dart through his chest, Karen was here. She still wore the same perfume, delicate, seductive, the kind of fragrance he would gladly lose himself in. She strode toward him and he didn't move. The cool basement air tinged his bare torso, and the mere thought of her made his heart pound and blood pulse through his veins, as if it were bringing him back to life and it scared him. He wasn't ready to face her.

'Karen…' Matt began but trailed off. She had stopped inches from him, he could feel the heat emanating from her body that was how close she was standing. He longed to trail his fingers down her cheeks, to touch her, to feel her. Something he thought he had long forgotten to want.

'Fisk is coming for you in two days.' She said, Matt detected a hard edge to her voice, something colder than the Karen he used to know and he couldn't blame her.

'Karen, I had to do this—'

'Didn't work. Fisk knows you're alive.' She said, blunt. Her tone made it clear she no longer had the patience of the time for his apologies and she was here objectively, to warn him. Matt reached out, despite himself and as he did – she lurched away from him, and Matt instantly wished he hadn't reached out. He felt naked with his battered torso on display, muscles sore, body bruised, bleeding chest and injured neck and face. She was probably making note of every single scratch and scar and chalking it up to his need to hurt, his desire to be s selfishly self-destructive that he didn't spare even her from his world of misery.

Her footsteps began to recede toward the basement door.

'How did you find me?' Matt asked, trying to find a way to make her stay. Her answer wasn't what concerned him, it was the tremor in her voice. She was aching, mourning over what? Him?

'I have friends with access to security footage. It wasn't too hard once I pulled at the right strings.'

There was a long pause. God, he'd give anything to know what she was thinking, where she was looking. He'd give anything just to hold her again. He missed how she felt, the way her soft edges would press against him and he would long to give in, to let himself go but he was always so afraid. Afraid that she was something good and he didn't get good things in his life. Everything he touched was broken, tormented.

'You have two days until he's out.' Karen said, 'then he's coming for you.' The quiver in her voice and the rushed way she said it, told Matt she was going to walk away and on instinct he grasped her arm and yanked her back to him. She placed her hands on his chest and lifted her head, their noses grazed.

He wondered if she could see the tortured expression his face. For a charged moment, neither of them spoke. He could feel her shaky breath graze his lips, he could hear her heart pounding, he could feel it through the blazer covered arm he clutched.

'Wait…just…'

She leaned closer to him, her silk blouse grazed his bare chest and she whispered. 'Let go of me, Matt.'

And so he did. Her footsteps marched out of the church basement. Matt hurried twelve steps to the right and grabbing a shirt and suit jacket, he pulled them on and hurried up the stairs after her. She made the effort to find him, to warn him. He couldn't just let her leave, he needed to explain. He owed it to her.

'Karen!' He called.

Karen turned on her heel, her heart hammered incessantly in her chest and her cheeks reddened at the sight of a funeral service being carried out across the church yard. She turned to see Matt hurrying after her, buttoning up his shirt with one hand and adjusting his black tie with the other.

'Karen, wait!'

Karen flinched as she garnered more scolding glares from the funeral service across from them and took Matt by the hand and led him to a quiet part of the church court yard.

'What?' She hissed.

'Karen, after Elektra, after what happened… I was paralysed for three months. The sisters helped me recover and as soon as I could stand, I…I wanted to find you. To tell you.'

'But you didn't.' She concluded for him.

'God, Matt. I never realised you'd rather let me think you were dead than find a way through.' An exasperated laugh left her lips. Matt placed a hand on her cheek and Karen shut her eyes, she wondered if he could tell. She had missed this, the way he felt his way through life. But most of all, she'd missed his touch. Matt felt her lean into his touch for a moment longer than she ought to if her anger was to be believed, and he took the chance to press his forehead against hers. He longed to kiss her, to be with her, to hold her and never let go. His hands slid to her waist, where he paused, was that a gun pressing against her spine? He paused and maybe he shouldn't have because at that moment, he felt her grow rigid.

'You're a coward.' Her words came as a crushing surprise then she pulled away from him. 'Stay dead, Matt. Do whatever you want, I just came here to warn you.'

Matt heard her rummage through her bag then he felt something be shoved at his chest. He covered her hand with his and with his free hand he realised she was pressing a file against his chest.

'Karen, please.' He tried.

'Fisk has photos of you in your Devil of Hell's kitchen get up.' She scoffed, 'he even has photos of our kiss, and some of you with Elektra. You didn't waste a second, did you?'

It was like a tractor had rolled over him. He stood still, dumbfounded and at a complete loss.

'Karen…'

'Goodbye, Matt.'

In that moment, he realised Matt was dead to the people he loved and all that survived was the Devil. Karen Page had slipped through his fingers, no, it was more than that, it was worse. He had let go of her hand and chosen to fight by Elektra's side. He couldn't even call it a mistake, Karen didn't know the darkness in him like Elektra did. She hadn't tasted it. He had done everything he could to keep it from her by keeping the Devil separate to Matt Murdoch but eventually he realised it was impossible.

He remembered how quickly Karen had left his apartment after finding Elektra in his bed, he remembered how deeply he had hurt Karen and thought perhaps it was for the best that he didn't cross her path because hurting Karen had a way of making him feel like he should be dead.

And despite faking his death, he was still hurting her.

'Fuck!' Matt cursed, kicking at nothing in particular.

As Karen marched for the exit she slowed at the sound of Matt's frustrated yell. She turned to find him with his head in his hands, leaning against a wall. He seemed so lost, so broken. But she had done what she came here to do. She had warned him about Fisk and that was that.