(Note: I know... it's only been a few hours since the first chapter- but I couldn't get it out of my head. Homework just wasn't enough to keep me busy. So, enjoy. these two are going to kill me...)
It's been a while since she's seen Matt. After he revealed he was the Devil of Hell's Kitchen (something she'd already been suspecting, especially after that night with the Hand, his touch on her cheek so familiar), he'd acted like he expected his identity to receive pity or understanding for the way he'd been treating her and Foggy, his best friend. She couldn't forgive him yet, and wasn't sure if he wanted her forgiveness for his sake or for hers. Karen didn't think she could forgive him for abandoning Foggy (and Frank) at the trial like he had, for lying to her for so long. When Frank had asked her if she was in love with Matt at the diner, she hadn't been sure. They'd only recently broken up, and when they were together, she'd suspected that maybe she'd loved him, but… there'd always been doubt nagging away at her. She couldn't handle the lies, the excuses, and since Matt had told her the truth about himself, she'd known for sure that she could never let herself truly love someone who lied to her so often, and about so much. Frank hadn't believed her in the diner, but she knew that if asked the question again, she could without a sliver of doubt, answer, no.
She still saw Foggy, met with him occasionally at Josie's to talk about their lives, particularly his new job. Even when he doesn't have time to meet up, she finds herself at Josie's, drinking cheap beer and listening to patrons spill their life stories. Tonight though, she's meeting Foggy. It's been a week since she's seen him last, and the only thing she can think about while he's talking is, does he know about Matt? She figures he must, since they were so close, and he always was ready with an excuse for Matt whenever he couldn't make it to work or the trial. But she can't bring it up, because what if he doesn't? It's not her information to tell—it's up to Matt to come clean to his best friend.
Foggy asks her how she's been doing, but she doesn't know. Badly, probably. But it's hard to tell from where she is, when everything feels like it isn't real, like life is happening in fractures around her.
"I'm good," she says, knowing the truth would only make him worry. "I've been keeping busy, working on stories for the Bulletin. I'm almost moved in to my new apartment, just got a couple of little boxes left."
Foggy smiles through his drink. "Good. Your old place was a shithole."
They both laugh. It's true, her old place wasn't great- it was all she could afford on the pay from Nelson & Murdock (which wasn't much) and the landlord had never bothered to paint over the patched bullet holes—they'd still been there when she moved to her new place.
"Looks like Nelson & Murdock splitting up was good for you," Foggy comments.
"In some ways, yeah. But I miss you guys, I miss helping people."
"You're still helping people, Karen. You're putting their stories out there, working against the system and reporting the nasty truths people don't really want to address."
"I guess. It was really nice to actively be involved in their lives, though. I am pretty good at this- I've got a real knack for investigating."
"Figures," Foggy sighs, "maybe you got it from all the training at the law firm, eh?"
She laughs again, and her cheeks already ache from the recently unfamiliar action. (Sometimes she has to remind herself to smile.)
They continue to chat about their work, about the people they've come across- Foggy had an encounter with a woman who wanted to sue her cats, and Karen had a guy give her a report on talking chairs- and laugh until she can't breathe.
But then Foggy gets a call from his boss, who tells him he's needed back at the office. He pays for their drinks (even after she protests) and then takes off, mind geared for work. She stays only a little while longer—it sucks to drink alone in public, and she doesn't really feel like talking to anyone else there. She's not even drunk yet, as they'd only barely made it through one round, and so is too aware of the bitter, cheap taste of her beer to even enjoy finishing it. She grabs her coat and leaves, yelling to Josie that she'll see her later that week, and Josie reminds her to bring Foggy—and Matt.
Karen isn't sure when she'll be returning with either.
It's dark when she steps outside, but the familiar dark of Hell's Kitchen- muddy with neon lights and dim street lamps. Drunken shouts and dogs barking fill the air, along with sirens and shouts. A shout and grunts echo from the alley next to Josie's, and a bottle breaks—someone's fighting. Karen pulls her coat tight around her shoulders and steps over the litter on the sidewalk—and a drunk man sleeping—until she's standing in the entrance to the alley. It's poorly lit by a single lamp that keeps flickering on and off, allowing her only to catch glimpses of the scene.
Three men are struggling, another one lays motionless on the ground. Another bottle breaks, followed by a groan, and then the second man collapses to the ground. Three seconds later, and the third one joins them. Karen can't tell if they're breathing.
The light flickers and illuminates the figure still standing. His face is bloody and bruised, but she would know him anywhere (possibly because he's so constantly covered in it—she can't remember if she's ever seen him without an injury).
"Frank," his name leaves her lips in a single breath.
He finally sees her, and curses softly under his breath. "I shoulda known you'd be here."
"What… happened?"
"What does it look like?"
"I mean it, Frank."
He sighs and walks over to her, stopping only a couple feet away, still in the shadows so she can't quite meet his eyes. "These scumbags tried to mug a couple a street over. Just takin' care of 'em."
"Are they…"
"Dead? Nah. I guess Red got to me. These guys weren't really at that level yet. If I see them doing something again though…" He growls and wipes blood off the side of his face.
"Well…" she says, but she doesn't really know where she's going with it, so she turns around and starts walking out of the alley.
"I read your article."
She stops and turns back around. He's out of the shadows now, a street lamp shining down on his face. It's bloody and bruised, but his eyes are steady, meeting hers.
"What did you—"
"I'm not a hero," he says, his fingers fluttering against his side.
"Frank."
"M'am. I'm not a hero. I—"
"That article wasn't just about you, Frank. It was for everyone in Hell's Kitchen. And, no, really you aren't a hero. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. But you protect people. I get that."
He nods, looking like he wants to say something.
"But… I don't know if I'm ready to move past that night in the woods,"
"I—I didn't mean for you to get hurt out there. I'm sorry."
"It's fine, it was… it was nothing. That's not what I meant. What I said in the woods… it still stands. You're dead to me." Even as she says it, she can taste the dishonesty sharp on her tongue.
"That's fine. I've accepted that m'am. I told you to stay away from me, didn't I? To get away from all of this?"
"How can I when you can't stay away from me?" She's yelling now, angry at him, angry at Matt, angry at herself for standing here.
"Because you aren't dead to me," He says, his voice low. "and, you keep ending up in spots where I happen to be fightin' the bad guys."
Her blood is rushing now, pounding through her head. "That's not—I'm not- you—Jesus, Frank. What am I supposed to say to that?"
"Nothin'." He grunts and turns to walk in the other direction, his steps heavy. "See you around, m'am. Stay outta trouble."
Karen stands in the same spot for almost a minute, staring at the place where he disappeared, the flickering light bouncing off the metal of the dumpster.
"Bye, Frank." A whisper to a grim alley and three unconscious muggers.
(Note: hopefully I'll be able to add the next chapter tomorrow. Stay tuned.)
