Summary: Post-Season 1. All they do is give her a folder, a thick manila filled with too many crucial bits of information. What she does with it is completely up to her…as for Karen, however, she is completely lost. This is the story of how Karen finds out…and the aftermath.
Rating: T+(language, graphic descriptions; basically, don't read this unless you've watched the show and were okay with that)
Genre: Suspense, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship
Hello there. So, this is my first excursion into the Daredevil fandom as far as writing is concerned, but this idea sprang at me from who-knows-where after I finished the first season of Daredevil and was pining for the nonexistent second. I'm still in the middle of a bunch of other stories from another fandom, but…well, I actually wrote this months ago and finally decided to just post it already, before the next season comes out and shoots something that happens here out of the sky. Anyway….
Personally, I had so much fun writing this – I feel like it's in a way a level-up from my usual writing, because the mood and suspense here even made me, the actual writer, pretty creeped out and jumpy. I'm kind of hoping that a similar reaction will reach you readers out there. So, please let me know if that in fact happens! Review, please, and let me know what you think. Thanks!
Chapter One
"Guys," Karen calls out as she shrugs into her heavy overcoat, craning her neck at an awkward angle. She shuffles her shoulders to get the sleeves to straighten out, turning to snatch up her purse. "I'm heading out. You'll have to close up."
Her voice still echoes through the room freshly, like it is still brand-new. Still too empty – and yet, it would always feel like home. From the adjacent room, she hears Matt and Foggy's usual mummer of conversation stop.
"Already?" Foggy's incredulous voice calls. "It's only, like…it's four o'clock. Karen, it's four. Are you dabbling or what?" His voice grows louder throughout, until Foggy's rotund silhouette appears in the doorway. Karen tilts her head, smiling in badly suppressed amusement as Foggy puts on a shocked expression, spreading his hands.
"What gives?" He says, tilting back his head in the signature Foggy way. "Matt, our beloved secretary is jumping ship." He turns, calling the words over his shoulder for effect. Karen stifles a laugh before straightening, placing her hands on her hips as she sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes.
"Busted!" announces Karen, shaking her head mockingly. "Didn't even make it out the door."
Foggy laughs along, shaking his head, before folding his arms and giving her a stern look. "Okay, but seriously. Where're you going?" He's still smiling, but Karen can see the underlying concern. Matt slips into view from over Foggy's shoulder, his roughly shaven face arranged in a politely concerned frown behind his darkened glasses – he rocks slightly on his feet, though, in a way that Karen knows is slightly hesitant. Both obviously concerned, worried for her, and yet unsure if they should show it or not. Karen isn't sure if she is happy or annoyed by it. It's been a while since the last attempt on her life was made – that they know of – and yet, they still practically walk her home every night.
It was nice, she has to admit. And yet…it also makes it harder to forget.
Karen sighs heavily, smiling warmly at the two lawyers. "Somewhere terrible enough to rival your worst nightmares," she says sarcastically, stepping around her desk to stand before Matt and Foggy. Foggy raises his eyebrows while Matt's frown just deepens, and Karen's smile widens affectionately.
"Dentist," she admits after a beat, ducking her head and making a face. "It's been a life-long fear."
Foggy lets out a bark of a laugh, shifting his weight in a way that is obviously relaxed. Matt does too, in his own way; he leans back, clasping his hands together and tilting his head back with a faint smile. Stand down. It still gives Karen a glow in her chest, despite seeming a little overbearing as well. Nelson & Murdock – nothing if not protective of their own.
"Ah, well," Matt says quietly into the short lull that follows. "I suppose we can't fault you for wanting to keep those pearly whites nice and shiny."
Karen laughs, shoulders caving inwards as she tilts her head inquisitively. "Matt – you wouldn't know if I did have pearly whites or not." Sometimes it still bothers her to tease a blind man, but after practically living with Matt and Foggy for so long, she's getting used to it.
Matt scoffs in his quiet way, ducking his head for a moment to take the hit. "Well, I can still take an educated guess," he replies. "Foggy?"
Foggy's grin widens as he rolls back on his heels, sticking his thumbs into his pockets boastfully. "She's got pearly whites." He confirms with a smirk.
Matt nods, lifting his chin. "There you are."
Karen raises an eyebrow skeptically, shifting her weight. "I'm not sure if that counts," she says pointedly. "But hey, A-plus for teamwork."
Matt and Foggy smile appreciatively, seeming to back away slightly. Foggy sniffs, leaving the topic behind, and brightly broaches a new one. "What time's your appointment?"
Karen grimaces again, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder. "Four-thirty, and I still have to get there." She sighs again, not looking forward to the hurried walk, and wonders if she could spare the money for a taxi.
"Okay, get going," says Foggy, jerking his head towards the door. "Just make sure don't run over any old ladies on your rush over there. There are only so many things we can talk out way out of. On the other hand – if those evil dentists give you any trouble, we can sure take care of them." He smiles amiably, and Matt laughs quietly in a skeptical way.
"Never underestimate the power of Nelson & Murdock!" Foggy mock-shouts loudly, raising a fist to the ceiling. "Plus one!"
Karen rolls her eyes and lifts a hand in farewell, starting for the door. "Your plus-one will see you tomorrow," she replies, still smiling as her heels click-clack against the hollow-sounding floor on her way out. She pulls the door shut to the sound of Foggy energetically trying to sell some new, wild scheme to Matt, who is undoubtedly shooting down each of Foggy's shticks with articulately precise contradictions. It's moments like this – when she's just half-way in, half-way out, of the world of Nelson & Murdock – that she most appreciates them, and when she can best see just how badly her life would suck without them. Besides Matt and Foggy, she has literally no one. But, those two can easily make up for whatever she lacks.
She stands outside the door for a moment, smiling softly at the door and the polished, brand-new sign on the wall beside it, before turning and making her way down the stairs and out onto the street. She's walking along absent-mindedly, thinking about her friends and occasionally glancing around for a cab, when a sleek black vehicle with opaque windows pulls up along the curb beside her, slowing to match her pace.
That's when things start to go wrong.
Karen involuntarily slows – she knows, subconsciously, that she really shouldn't, but curiosity gets the better of her. The traffic on the rest of the street is moving steadily, and there's absolutely no one else walking on the sidewalk besides her, so she knows that the car can't be slowing by chance. And then she's meandered to a halt, frowning curiously at the black car, and the passenger-side door snaps open to let out a rather stern-looking man in a sharp suit and overly-polished shoes. And then she's just thinking, shit, I'm an idiot.
"Miss Page?" The man asks in a clipped voice – it's obviously less a question than an acknowledgement, simply calling her in. He stands straight, folding his hands and tilting his head in a way that reminds her chillingly of the man she'd shot. The connection, made in a flash and just as soon buried, leaves her standing frozen, staring at the man with unconcealed horror.
"If you'd be so kind," the man says quietly, raising his eyebrows imploringly. "My employer would like a word."
That word – employer – Karen gulps, suddenly feeling her hands shaking, knees weak. Heat floods her balking body as she takes a stumbling step back, heart pounding in her throat. "I – no, I –" She stutters and falls silent, trying to ignore the rushing in her ears. Not again, not again. It's an entirely different situation from then, but the feeling of panic is the same. She can still feel the haze of drugs making everything seem blurred and out of focus, and still remember how each word that he'd said make some of the haze go away. She can still feel the weight of the gun in her hand, the weight of that moment before she'd fired. And she can still hear the sharp sound of his phone's ringtone – be-e-e-e-e, be-e-e-e-e, be-e-e-e-e – always, constantly, forever tinkling infuriatingly at the back of her mind.
Now, it's just the hum of the city, seeming more distant, and her heartbeat pounding loudly as she stares at this man, standing as if bored beside the black car. He shifts, almost sighing in impatience. "No need to be alarmed," he says. "He'd just like to speak with you. Believe me - I think that you'd prefer cooperation to the alternative. Most do."
His eyes shift to the left deliberately – Karen follows the movement, turning to look down the sidewalk, and her gaze immediately snaps onto the silhouette of a black-suited man standing motionlessly at the end of the block, hands clasped as he sends a measured glance in their direction. Karen's heart leaps into her throat as she whips around, looking to her right – there's another man stationed there, hands deep in his pockets as he stands like a bouncer at the entrance to a private party.
Her breath catches, and she can feel the blood drain from her face – she can't breathe past the pressure building on her chest. The man standing before her gives a tiny hint of a smile, gesturing towards the car with one hand.
Karen presses her lips together tightly, clenching her fists, and fervently hopes that she doesn't pass out from lack of oxygen as her chest seems to continue to constrict. The man from the car pulls open the door to the back seat, revealing a dark interior and the shadowy shape of someone sitting on the far side.
She glances to both sides again, but the sight hasn't improved – the sight of the dark-suited figures brings on a swell of nausea. Her frantic imagination conjures a series of different scenarios – she could run, it would only take a second for her to dart to one of the locked doors along the street, but surely they've already thought of that – and yet, every idea that seems even remotely promising ends with hands like iron, clasped around her neck as they force a reeking cloth to her mouth. It could stop her heart. I can't do that.
At the back of her mind, she knows that she should try. It's a weak thing to do – simply follow this man's orders, as if he were superior – and yet, for once she doesn't care. She's never been one to opt for the easy way – and yet. I can't go through that again.
Gulping heavily, she steps forward and brushes past the man in the suit, folding herself into the car with stiff limbs. The second she pulls her legs over the threshold, the door slams shut and the car is whirring smoothly away to the beat of her thundering heart.
Inside the significantly darker interior, the world is quiet and filled with a constant hum; Karen feels like her ragged breaths and deafening heartbeat are somehow intruding upon it. The panic rips through her like a wave, though, and suddenly it's anger, and she doesn't care.
During that moment of quiet as she tries to get her bearings, there's the shifting sound of fabric moving across fabric, and she whips her head to her left, hair swinging in an arc, just as a voice interrupts the hum.
"Miss Page, I presume?" The man sitting beside her is in another suit, of course – as immaculate and pristine as the others – he sits with his legs crossed, hands folded in a way that is perhaps slightly relaxed, but not at all comforting. His face is almost hidden by the shadows, but she can see enough – a neat, close-cropped hairstyle, a clean-shaven face, a strong jaw and arched eyebrows. "Ah – thank you, for not making this too difficult. That is always irritating, when people refuse to cooperate with us."
Karen licks her lips slowly, feeling almost numb. "Who's 'us'?" Her whisper sounds rusty and abused – she coughs slightly, clearing her throat and raising her voice fractionally. "Who – what do you want from me?"
Her voice audibly wavers – she'd feel almost ashamed, if not for the sensation of being slowly suffocated. But she's been in too many situations like this – why was it always her, her small insignificant self, that ended up here? That attracted or sought out trouble like a month in search of a flame?
The man slowly blinks, his eyes trained raptly on her, and she sniffs, breath fluttering.
"I would like," the man says deliberately, deceptively calm and civilized. "to talk with you, if you'd be so kind. Please believe me when I say that we don't mean you any harm at all. In fact, I think you'll thank us, when all is said and done."
Karen somehow snorts, almost choking on the humorless laugh. "Right," she says breathlessly, feeling her lip shaking - she fleetingly worries that she'll bite her tongue, and presses her lips together momentarily. "Like I haven't heard that before."
The man doesn't reply – just raises an eyebrow, gazing steadily at her. Her breath huffs unsteadily for a long moment, before she swallows, suddenly desperate to break that uncertain silence.
"You know –" Karen says in that harsh whisper that she can't seem to get away from. "Most people, when they're forced into a strange black car by men in suits – they assume that the suits do kind of want to hurt them, one way or another." Her attempted sarcasm falls flat with her shaking voice, but the man still gives a quiet, polite huff of a laugh.
"Well, I can assure you that we'd only like to protect you – you and this city both." He holds her gaze for a long second. "And I apologize that you feel like you've been forced into anything. That's not at all my intention. You're not being held here against your will – in fact, you can leave any time you like."
Karen stares, frozen for a moment – she then tilts her head into an indulging smile, letting her eyes flit to the dark window through which she can easily see the cityscape speeding by. The panic is far from faded, still rendering her numb – she almost wants to laugh, so she knows she's close to hysteria. "Uh-huh," says Karen, trying for something scathing – she probably just sounds out of breath. "Any time I want. Through a locked door, straight into the middle of traffic."
The man sits still for a moment. Then he quietly lifts a hand to a small, inconspicuous keypad adhered to the panel of the door on his side – there's the dull tap of a button being pressed, while almost simultaneously the car gives off a quiet beep.
Karen turns her head fractionally to the right – the door is unlocked.
"As I say," says the man quietly, settling back into his seat. "You're free to go. We'll pull over, if you like. But I think you'd benefit from hearing me out first."
Her heart is pounding heavily again. She's trying not to be too obvious about turning towards the car door – calculating how quickly she can shove it open and if it would be safe or not for her to jump out – but he keeps talking.
"Of course, I know that you're probably not too much of an ambitious person, at least when it comes to your personal success. But I also know that you're a very loyal person. Very attached to friends and even employers, especially when they come hand in hand…well, that's why I think you might like to stay."
The silence that follows is so thick she can taste it – sharp and heavy, with too many possible routes leading away. She freezes, her hand halfway to the handle of the door – again she turns her head sharply, hair whipping out, to meet the man's calm gaze with a defensive glare. "What?"
"To be more precisely put," he says slowly, reaching down into the depths of a briefcase that she hadn't noticed had been sitting at his feet. "I'd like to share some information with you. It concerns the firm you work for."
Karen blinks, frowning skeptically. "What? But that's – their business is brand new. There's no information to be had on them." Some part of her mind is screaming for her to stop falling into this obvious trap, but she can't listen – not while Matt and Foggy might somehow, someway, be in danger because of this. Because of her.
The man smiles in a privileged way, raising his eyebrows. "That's the wonderful thing about information," he says slowly, as if tasting the words. "There's always more to be had." And with a flourish, he hands her a sleek manila folder that's laden with unexpected weight and labeled boldly with a name – Matthew Murdock.
Well, there you have it! Hope you like, and please, if you do, tell me what you thought. Leave a review! I'd really appreciate it. =)