Foggy's fingers were a vice around hers. Her own grip whitened her knuckles under Matt's cooling blood as they swayed, siren wailing, through the streets of New York. Foggy's hands were slick with shades of red. Karen barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on Matt. His head rocked from side to side as the ambulance rumbled on. The waxy grey of the oxygen mask strapped around his mouth and nose almost matched the wanness of his skin. The still glistening trail of blood snaking down the corner of his mouth, over his jaw and along his neck, was more black than red against his pallor. He almost look like a character in a black-and-white film, the dark hair and thick eyebrows black against the too-white skin.
His eyes hadn't opened since the office. He hadn't responded to anything she or Foggy had said. Hadn't so much as flinched as the paramedics loaded him on the stretcher and carried him down to the ambulance. Even now, as they roared over potholes and howled through the streets, his face didn't so much as twitch. Her other hand was clenched so tightly around his lax fingers she could barely feel how cool they were in her sweating, blood-slicked grip.
One of the paramedics – Alicia – was unbuttoning Matt's shirt, needing a better look at the bullet wound. God, she thought disbelieving, Matt has a bullet wound. How did this happen? Her frenzied thoughts froze as Alicia pulled Matt's shirt free of his torso. She heard Foggy curse beside her. Karen barely noticed the too-toned muscles. Almost didn't register the bizarre scars across his chest, the two healed slashes on his side. His chest, almost his entire torso, was splashed in burgundy, as though someone had thrown a can of paint at him. What little skin had escaped the trickling river of blood was as pale as his face. It was thickest just to the left of his breastbone, the deep red turned black, thick as oil and pulsing gently in time to the heart monitor's shrill beeps. Alicia pressed fresh, thick gauze over the wound, the sterile whiteness quickly eaten away by rich, bright red. Karen tried to remember how to breathe. Where that blood was spreading, wasn't that – isn't that where the heart is?
Foggy squeezed her hand and she realised it had started trembling again. She tore her gaze away from Matt and saw her terror reflected in Foggy's wide, lost eyes. This couldn't be happening. How was this happening? They'd just been joking in their office. This didn't make any sense. Why the hell would anyone shoot Matt?
Her eyes slid back to his face. He looked dead. Like a corpse. Her gaze zeroed in on the tiny puffs of condensation flaring inside the mask. There. Breathing. He wasn't dead as long as he was breathing. He wasn't dead. He wasn't –
The abrupt halt of the little puffs' rhythm didn't make sense for a brief, still moment. The sudden scream of the heart monitor filled the ambulance. Matt's face didn't change. One wheel hit a bump and his head jerked to the side.
"What's happening?" Foggy's voice shook. "Matt? Matt!"
Alicia was moving with incredible speed, speaking fast over the monotonous drone of the monitor which was somehow louder than the siren's wails. Karen felt Foggy lean back, drawing their hands away, his free fingers prizing hers from Matt's cold, still ones. Her vision was oddly blurred, Matt's face swimming slightly. She blinked. Tears fell hot against her cheek and she realized for the first time how her breath shook through her, her teeth almost chattering. Was she the one saying Matt's name over and over?
It took a moment for Karen to remember what the paddles were. The high pitch of the charge gave her a split second to prepare for what was about to happen. Alicia pressed the paddles hard against Matt's chest, checked he was clear, and seemed to punch them down. Matt jerked, his back arching, fingers clenching, head pressing hard into the stretcher before falling back, limp once more. The heart monitor resumed its cry. A strange, strangled sob escaped Karen's tight throat.
"Don't you dare, Matt," Foggy snarled beside her. There was an edge to his voice she had never heard before and she glanced at him in numb surprise. He didn't look like Foggy, his expression was too fierce, too intense. "Don't you dare die, Matthew Murdock." His teeth were clenched almost as hard as his hand around hers.
Karen looked back in time to see the paddles punch into Matt's chest again. Again he bucked. Again he flopped into stillness. Again the monitor wailed.
Alicia glanced uncomfortably from Matt to his two best friends shaking opposite her. Karen caught her eye and felt her fear coalesce into unmovable fury. "Shock him again," she ordered, her voice low and dangerous. Alien. "Don't you dare give up on him."
The paramedic's expression was infuriating. How dare she look so understanding, so compassionate, as though she knew what was she and Foggy were feeling? Karen unleashed venom as she spoke again, not caring that this woman was doing her job, not caring that she knew more about all this medical shit and blood loss and shock, not even hearing her placating words – only caring that she held in her hands Matt's only chance at ever opening his eyes again. "Shock. Him. Again."
Biting her lips, the paramedic charged the defibrillator for the third time. Every speck of Karen's being was tight, focused, willing Matt to come back to them, silently commanding him to get his fucking heart beating again or she would never forgive him. She was not about to lose him too.
"You promised me, you asshole," Foggy spat into the tension as paddles pressed against flesh. "You promised me."
Matt convulsed, then lay still. The monitor droned on.
"Come on, Matt," Karen breathed, ferocity fading back to fear. "Come on."
It was amazing how such a tight space, bombarded with waves of sound, of sirens and traffic, of creaking metal and shrill monitors, could feel so silent.
"Don't, Matt," Foggy choked, his voice thick and cracking. "Please. Don't."
There had never been a better sound than the staccato beep of an interrupted heart monitor. The tension broke in a wave of relief so profound it made Karen dizzy. Matt's heart was beating again. He was alive. Thank God. Not willing to give him the chance to slip away again, Karen reached out and curled her fingers tightly around his. Foggy clearly had the same idea; his knuckles were pale around Matt's upper arm.
Before her heart could settle in the sound of the beeping monitor, the ambulance pulled sharply to the side and slid to a halt. The doors opened and brilliant sunlight blinded her. She squinted, clutching her best friends' hands more tightly as movement erupted around them. Nurses appeared, helping Alicia pull Matt free of the vehicle, Foggy and Karen clambering to stay with him. They flew through glass doors into halls of white light, voices jabbering jargon around her while she jogged to keep Matt's hand in hers. Foggy's grip was broken but he was barely half a step behind her. The crowd around Matt's gurney – when did that arrive? – swelled as multi-coloured hands rained down over him. Suddenly a frowning Latina woman with short raven hair was blocking Karen's path and she felt Matt's hand ripped from her grip. She opened her mouth to argue but the nurse cut across her, telling her she and Foggy had to wait while they saw to Matt, that someone would look them over in a minute. She'd barely finished her sentence before she was swallowed by the grey double doors and the chaos that was trying to save Matthew Murdock's life faded into the distance. Karen turned to Foggy.
"What the hell do we do now?"
