At the Seams
Trembling fingers run through thin blonde hair, the sweat slicked skin attracting loose strains, pale tendrils that curled around even paler skin. The hand's twin curled around a liquor glass, the smooth edges permanently stained with dirt and grime and other ghosts of the past. Karen Page brought the glass to her lips, tastelessly swallowing a mouthful, as if Josie's unidentifiable liquor could burn away the memories of the last few days—hell of the last months. There was a loud crack, the sound somehow echoing deafeningly through the music and drunken revelry of the bar and Karen flinched, her breath catching in her throat as she twisted around. One of the pool players had sunk a ball, laughing rowdy as he took another swig of his beer.
Not a gunshot.
It wasn't a gunshot.
Feeling like her skin was crawling, ever tick and creak that reached her ears causing her muscles to seize and tense, Karen turned back to the bar. In one swift movement, she threw the rest of her glass back, barely feeling the burn. The glass clanked as she set it down and she winced, peeking out from behind the curtain of her hair to glance at her companion.
Foggy Nelson's glass was just as full as when Josie poured it last. To be entirely fair, it was his third. He held the glass up to his mouth but didn't take a drink. As if sensing her gaze, his eyes flickered up and met hers. With a sigh, he set his glass down and motioned to Josie, nodding his head at Karen. Karen nodded her thanks as the woman refilled her glass without question.
"So, you were covering for him." Her words were bitter but Karen was too tired to muster up any anger or resentment alongside it as she numbly took a drink.
"Yep," Foggy sounded as exhausted as she felt, that single word rolling around on his tongue as if he too were trying to find the anger to give it sting, but was too weary to put any proper effort into it. He drained his glass, setting it down with a clank.
Karen flinched at the sharp sound but Foggy's eyes were fixed on his empty glass, missing the sign of her frayed nerves. Karen was grateful. She brought her own glass up to her lips, her thoughts whirling as they tried to decipher her bosses' (. . . her ex-bosses, she thought bitterly) strange behavior over the last few months. She wished it would just stop, that she didn't have this incessant need to discover the truth so she could have some semblance of peace. Instead, her brain drudged up the past, scrutinizing and uncovering.
"But. . . you didn't always," she said slowly, "in the beginning, before Fisk. You didn't . . . you didn't then."
"Nope," Foggy agreed, still staring avidly into his empty glass.
"I don't—" Karen said, clearing her throat. "I don't understand."
"S'kinda impossible to cover for someone when you don't, ah," Foggy's face split into a smile but it lacked all its usual warmth, all the light and humor and goodness Karen had come to love about his smiles, "if you don't know what they're doing."
And then it made sense.
"You didn't know," she said, nodding as a bitter chuckle broke from her lips. "He didn't even tell you."
"Nope," Foggy agreed, popping the 'p'. "Went to his apartment one day to find him bleeding out on the floor."
"Oh Foggy," Karen whispered, closing her eyes tight and wishing desperately that she could see anything other than death and blood.
"I mean," Foggy gave a bitter laugh himself here, "I mean I guess it's not that big of a deal right? It's just, I thought seven almost eight years of friendship meant something, you know? But it turns out, Matt was keeping secrets from me the whole time."
"Foggy—"
"I got over it," Foggy said abruptly, finally looking up. "I did, I really did. I don't like it, but I get it, you know? I get it. He's got—" Foggy lowered his voice, as if anyone could hear them in this dingy little dive bar or cared enough to listen in "—superpowers or whatever. And he was afraid. I get it, really. I mean it sucks that he thought he couldn't trust me or whatever, but I get it. I forgave him. In the past, hakuna matata and all that."
"But then he goes and turns from being Matt who's sometimes," Foggy nodded his head to the side, which Karen took as code for the Daredevil. Because that's what Matt was, the Daredevil. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. A vigilante.
Karen took another drink.
"To . . . not being my best friend anymore," Foggy finished. "He's not . . . he just quit . . . "
"I just thought he'd still be my best friend you know?" Foggy whispered and it broke Karen's heart. She reached out to grab his hand and squeezed his fingers tight in silent support. Foggy gave a watery laugh, just this side of broken hearted. He ran the hand Karen wasn't holding over his face, pressing the meat of his palm into his eyes. "Oh god now I sound stupid and selfish, like a damned preteen . . . Ugh, gross, middle school flashbacks."
It was a weak joke but Karen laughed softly anyway before running her thumb over the back of his hand, "It's not stupid."
"Yes, it is," Foggy disagreed, picking up his glass and frowning as he remembered it was empty. He set it back down with a shake of his head. "A friend of mine once said Hell's Kitchen needs the Daredevil and, I don't know, maybe she's right."
"That doesn't mean you don't still need your best friend," Karen pressed gently.
Foggy gave her a weak smile, finally squeezing her hand back. "I told him to tell you," he said, "I told him that it wasn't fair and that you deserved to know. I didn't want to lie to you but . . . It's Matt."
"It's Matt," Karen repeated, nodding, and she understood. It was Matt.
"Alright," Foggy said with a groan, pushing himself upright. He sighed as he played with his glass before pushing it away and pulled out his wallet. "Well, I have a new job and I don't think they'll appreciate it if I show up hung over."
"Yeah me too," Karen said softly and Foggy faltered.
"I'm sorry Karen," he whispered. "I really wish it could've turned out differently."
"Yeah, me too," Karen whispered in return.
They paid their tab, her hand still held tightly in his and as they stood she tucked her arm into his elbow, leaning into his warmth as they left the sanctuary of Josie's Bar. Karen ran her hand through her hair once more as they stepped outside, biting her lip as she tried to quell the light tremors that still plagued them. She smiled up at Foggy as he waved down a cab.
"I—" she said, "I actually think I'll walk home Foggy."
Foggy looked at her, his eyes too wide and too bright and she thought for a moment he might protest but instead he gently detangled her arm from his with a weak smile. "Yeah that's, okay. Be safe, Karen. Just . . . just be safe okay?"
"Okay," she echoed, hating that her voice wavered. Foggy just stared at her.
"We're still friends right?" Karen asked, her hand coming up to muse with her hair again. She stopped halfway, curling her fingers into a fist and letting it fall back to her side.
"Always," Foggy immediately promised.
"So, ah, I can get a goodnight hug?"
"You never have to ask," Foggy said firmly, his voice strong for the first time that night as he stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms.
Karen buried her face in his neck, letting herself sink into his warmth and his softness. He smelled like cinnamon and honey and too much coffee and oh god she wasn't going to walk into the office anymore and get this. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, relishing their closeness for just one second more before pulling back. Foggy let her go and she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.
"Get home safe," she said, taking a step back.
"Yeah, yeah and you call me the second you're home," Foggy said, his voice only slightly shaking. He gave her one last brave smile before climbing into the cab.
Karen watched him climb in, clinging tightly to her purse as the cab pulled away. She wondered if Foggy was going home. Probably. Where else could he go now? Shaking her head to dispell the thought, Karen hitched her purse up onto her shoulder and starting the trek home. Her shoes clicked against the pavement, a steady and too sharp rhythm that kept her company all the way to her apartment. Once inside, Karen set her purse down on her bed and stared at the boxes lined against her wall. Another new apartment. Because she woke up in her first one covered in the blood of her dead coworker and the last one was probably still a crime scene. A hysterical bubble worked its way up her throat but she forced it down, hanging her head.
She made sure to lock the doors and close the curtains before she went to bed.
Things slowly got better. Not good, but the weight on her shoulders felt less oppressive and her fingers finally stopped trembling. She still jumped at loud noises and got the overwhelming urge to drown herself in liquor on occasion, but it was better.
She went out with her coworkers. She smiled. She wrote articles and scooped out stories. She made jokes. The numbers in her bank account were clawing their way into the green. She met Foggy for lunch every Thursday afternoon at two. Sometimes he brought Marci and once a retired nurse named Claire. He never brought Matt. They didn't talk about Matt.
Sometimes, late at night, two fingers of whiskey at her side, Karen would stare at his number. Call him, a voice in her head whispered but something always held her back. She wasn't ready, her heart was still raw. But she turned on the news every morning for signs of the Daredevil and breathed a sigh of relief every day there was no report of injury. At least to Daredevil, to Matt.
As it turned out, she didn't have to call him. He found her.
It was late but Karen wasn't afraid of the dark, after all she knew better now. The monsters didn't come out at night, they lived during the day and hid at night because when the sun went down the devil came out to play.
She stayed too long at work, the numbers on the clock ticking by until she looked up and a bright red 1:23 blinked up at her. A voice that sounded a little like Foggy and a little like Matt and a little like another voice she didn't have the strength to decipher, told her to call it a night and go home. The corrupt politicians would be there for her in the morning.
It was only a block and a half to her new apartment. She was halfway there when the shadows lurched and suddenly the Daredevil leapt down before her. Karen couldn't stop her gasp of surprise, her hand automatically going into her purse for the pepper spray that rested inside before her brain came back online, jumping from oh my god to that's Matt.
"Dammit Matt," she gasped, holding her hand over her heart.
"Sorry."
Karen squeezed her eyes tightly shut at the sound of that all too familiar voice. She opened them back up and looked at the man before her. The Daredevil costume's dark red blended in with the night, the batons at his side still swinging from his jump.
"Foggy was right you know, the horns are a bit much," Karen said, vaguely motioning towards his head when it became apparent he wasn't going to speak first.
"You shouldn't be out so late," Matt said and just like that, the little flicker of relief and happiness at seeing him again, even in this ridiculous form, disappeared.
"Screw you, Matt," she said.
"Karen—"
"No, no screw you," Karen repeated forcefully, taking a step back as he took one forward. "You don't get to do this Matt."
"It's not safe—"
"It's not safe," Karen repeated with a bitter laugh, looking around as if she might find Matt's common sense hanging in the dirty streetlights. "It's not safe. Yeah, that's—because that's something I didn't know. Because nothing bad's ever happened to me."
"Karen—"
"What do you want Matt?" She demanded. He licked his lips, looking uncertain and oh god she hated that look, hating how his face turned down and how she immediately wanted to do anything to get that wounded duck look to disappear.
"I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Yeah, yeah I'm okay. I mean, I've been better," Karen shrugged, folding her arms around herself in an attempt to shelter herself. "But, ah, I'm okay." She licked her lips and sighed. "Look . . . thanks for checking up on me, Matt, okay. That's . . . that's nice."
"You're welcome," Matt said, stepping forward.
"But I'm not ready to forgive you," she said and he quickly nodded.
"Of course."
"Have, have you talked to Foggy?" She asked and damn, she didn't even know a face was able to hold that much guilt.
"Can I walk you home?" Matt deflected.
"Sure," Karen said, nodding, letting the subject of Foggy drop. "Okay Matt. Should I—should I be calling you that?"
"Probably not," Matt said, his voice low and it reminded her of promises in the rain and jalapeno shaped lights and . . . and betrayal and lies.
The rest of the short walk to her apartment was silent as the Devil of Hell's Kitchen walked Karen Page right up to her apartment door. She paused, a hand on her keys as she turned to look at Matt. She could barely see him in the darkness, the horns of his ridiculous outfit rising above the vaguely dark outline of a strong jaw but otherwise indistinguishable features of his face.
"I did it to protect you," he whispered.
"Oh bullshit," Karen said, unable to stop her face from twisting in anger and disgust, shaking her head and huffing in disbelief. "I was already in danger. I've always been in danger Matt—"
"But you would have been in more—"
"You know what, that's not even the point," Karen said, waving his excuses away. "That's my choice to make Ma—Daredevil, not yours. It's mine. And you took that choice away from me. You lied to me, you were always lying to me. You had Foggy lying to me. After all we've been through, after all I've done, after all that's been done to me . . . I just . . . I don't like being lied to Matt, and I don't like other people making my choices for me."
"It wasn't safe—"
"It wasn't safe for who?" Karen asked harshly. "Because I was being shot at and blown up and framed for murder and if that's your idea of safe, that's pretty sad Matthew. So who were you really trying to protect, me or yourself?"
And that shut Matt up. He slowly licked his lips before closing them, head bowed.
"Yeah, that's . . . Look Matt. I just need you to not lie to me," Karen said softly, carefully. "I don't want to be lied to. And the thing is . . . Matt you've been lying for so long that I don't think you know how to stop anymore."
Matt flinched, looking like she'd punched him and Karen wanted to take the words back, wanted to soothe over the hurt and unwrinkled that brow and make everything okay. But she couldn't take them back and everything wasn't okay. She believed what she said and Matt needed to hear it, no matter how much it hurt. Matt's mouth worked but no sound came out.
She reached out and gently touched his arm, "I can't do that Matt. I just can't take the lies."
"I understand," Matt whispered and she could practically feel the overwhelming guilt radiating off him.
"I don't think you do," she said softly, kindly, and he stiffened. "But . . . but you know where I am if you ever want to talk okay? And Ma—Daredevil—" she squeezed his arm before letting go, "thanks for walking me home."
Matt gave a jerky nod, edging away, probably getting ready to parkour his way out of this conversation or do whatever it is Daredevil did at night.
"You should talk to Foggy," she said and apparently that was the last straw.
"Have a good night Karen," Matt said shortly before disappearing into the night.
"Goodnight Matt," she whispered into the empty air.
She slowly closed the door to her apartment, leaning her forehead against it. She took a deep, slightly shaky breath. Matt made his own choices, for better or for worse, and now Karen made hers. She briefly considered calling Foggy but thought better of it. Instead, she poured herself a glass of whiskey and spent the rest of the night at her computer, looking into the senator's finances and trying not to think about vigilantes.
A/n I loved everything about season two . . . except Matthew Murdock. I did not expect to leave S2 with more love and respect for a psychotic mass murder than the protagonist yet here we are. Matt was a real hypocritical jerk this season and he needs to straighten up. Until then he doesn't deserve the actual angels that are Karen Page and Foggy Nelson.