AN hello and welcome to the annual update of my somber heart. emotions, dubious mysteries, and social commentary still abound.
(thank you all for continuing to read this thing, and also? we're at chapter twenty? seriously, thank you)
Karen had perhaps been a bit liberal with her timeline about how things went with Ben. She had certainly looked into him when she first noticed him snooping around the Dugan case. She had taken note of his penchant for writing clear, honest articles about injustice and genuine scandal. She had also noticed he was unfalteringly honest, which they hadn't needed in a slightly accurate (albeit trumped up) drunken disorderly charge.
What she hadn't done, however, was actually speak to him about writing a piece for Claire.
Instead, she had made an appointment with him as asked and used that time to convince him of their case. He wasn't especially receptive to meeting her, judging by the long pause after she introduced herself, followed by a cool, "Karen Page? From the Dugan Case?"
But, as her father had always said, Karen's tenacity always succeeded where her charm fell through.
Ben stood by his car outside the disused shipyard he had suggested, hands in pockets, forehead already set in doubtful wrinkles as she came closer.
"You walk all the way from the subway?" he asked as soon as she was in earshot.
"Yes." Karen would have loved a car of her own, but they were expensive and left an impression she didn't necessarily want to make. Also, she had learned in Holland that horses still made much better escapes. Also also, Foggy could usually drive her wherever she wanted to go.
"You must be determined, then."
"I wouldn't have to be, if you'd picked some place less remote."
"And where would we meet, Miss Page?" Ben asked flatly. "I can't think of any place more public where people would like us talking to each other. Besides, you'll need to be determined, if this is as serious as you make it sound."
Karen eyed him. "Off the record I'm telling you this?"
"Sure," Ben sighed, shifting like he was preparing himself for the worst.
"Wilson Fisk is a bootlegger."
Ben gave one slow blink and raised an eyebrow. "You know this how?"
"He murdered someone to cover it up," she told him. "I have all the evidence you need. I have a witness."
Ben worked his jaw, looked out over the docks. "And how's this witness connected? They work for Fisk? His competitor? They seen him personally smuggling booze?"
Karen narrowed her eyes at his disbelief. There was something exceptionally irritating about the thoroughness of acting on the right side of the law. Evidence, evidence, evidence, that's all people wanted. She missed the quick sentence and execution of plans in more dubious lines of work. One piece of proof, maybe two, and a good gut feeling were all it took to set things in motion. Then again, it was people trusting one piece of proof and a good gut feeling that let the Pages con them out of all their money.
"His men murdered someone in front of the witness," Karen told him. "All because he knew what Fisk was up to and wanted to talk."
Ben raised his eyebrows again, but this time he looked troubled. "Go home, Miss Page. From what you've told me, if it's true, you don't want to be anywhere near this."
"Yes, I do," she said, fighting to keep her voice from turning hard. "This woman is going to die if we don't stop Fisk. His men have already tried! Surely that means we're onto something."
"And how do you know it is Fisk?" Ben asked. "How do you know she's not lying?"
"We have the records of the man he already killed. He kept a record of everything since he figured out what Fisk was doing."
Ben gave her another doubtful look. Karen hated it. It usually accompanied questions like 'does your husband know you're out here? your father? isn't it awfully late, for a girl like you?' and a politely condescending encouragement for her to go home, mind things there. No one scooted her out of sight when she robbed them blind or blackmailed them into obedience.
To her surprise, Ben just shook his head.
"This is dangerous. I don't want to see anyone get hurt. It'd probably be best if she just left town. She got any family she can go to?"
Karen gave him her best steely-eyed gaze, the one that closed deals and sold souls.
"Mr. Urich, if we had other choices, I promise we would do those instead. But this may very well be her only chance to making it to the end of the month alive."
"It's not a very good chance, you know that? Say you're right. Say I write this thing. Say my editor picks it up, gives the okay, and we do a full spread. Say I get front page. What is to keep Fisk from just killing your witness the moment he sees the headline?"
"We both know the chances of Fisk reading that are very low."
"Say they're not."
Karen let out a slow breath through her nose. "My witness is in hiding. There's no way Fisk can find her, and even if she does miraculously disappear that just proves that we're right. People notice when millionaires act up."
"What if he goes after you? What if your whole law firm closes up shop and you're never heard from again? You're not the headline. You're not the ones that will incriminate him. And if you disappear, this whole thing loses its steam."
"Our names won't be in the paper, either. Who wants to talk about lawyers when you have a dirty millionaire on the line?"
Ben gave her a doubtful look. "It sounds like a long shot."
Karen shook her head. "I thought you were a man that wrote about what is right, not the good bet."
Ben studied her for another long moment before he sighed. He rubbed his eyes, slipping his fingers under the round frames of his glasses.
"And you come to a black newspaper?" he asked. "Surely a good law firm like yours knows a few papers. Ah, but Fisk probably knows them, too. Don't need to be Hearst to keep people from talking."
Karen shrugged, fingering her last ace before she put it on the table.
"Doesn't hurt that this woman is part black. How's that as a story? A woman of Afro-Cuban descent stopping the hurt and corruption of a white millionaire through the power of free speech? I can't imagine a more idealistically American story than that."
Ben eyed her again, expression on his face almost a lot of things. He finally looked away over the water, scoffed a laugh, then adjust his hat on his head.
"And you've been holding on to that the whole time?" He scoffed again. "I think your talents are a bit wasted on secretarial work, Miss Page."
Karen just smiled. "I go where the work needs me. Do we have a deal?"
Ben was quiet, hands in his pockets. He sighed through his nose, then looked back at her. "Whatever danger this girl is in, it'll only get worse once the world's got its eye on her. I mean, The Echo does well, but it's not The Times, it barely reaches people outside Harlem. This girl…if the wrong person sees this paper, she'll be in danger because no one else did."
"If you get it going, I can make sure others pick it up. You'll be the one with the scoop, the one that leads the whole narrative. But, the others keep us safe, make it big enough and sensational enough that he wouldn't dare touch us. Tell me that's not worth the price of paper."
Ben shook his head. "I can't even believe I'm considering this," he muttered.
Karen bit her cheek to keep from smiling and breaking the moment.
"Give me a day to think it over?" he asked.
"Yes, of course. Here's the office number," Karen said, hand already in her bag for their business card. Karen held onto it as he tried to take it, making him look into her eyes.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for being willing to listen."
Ben shifted, uncomfortable with the earnesty in her face. "Yeah, well…thanks for being willing to talk. Not many want to, with a black reporter."
Karen smiled and let go. He turned and walked back to his car, and she turned on her heel to head back to the train station. As much as she enjoyed fixing the world one case at a time with Nelson and Murdock, Karen couldn't deny how she had missed the sweet tang of pushing puzzle pieces into just the right place.
Claire had suggested (or, at least, followed through) on the idea of her leaving Matt's apartment, but she hadn't thought leaving the threshold would make it hard for her to breathe. Karen, wonderfully reliable Karen, had found her a safe place to stay. Claire wished that she could have gone to the same place as her family, but she supposed that still meant more danger for them. The thought just made Claire tired. Danger was turning into a strange, meaningless phrase, chewing away at her mind and losing its urgency bit by bit.
There was a lump in her throat all day as she packed her things and thought about Matt, once again left alone in his sad, dark little apartment. She had wanted to make him extra food, wanted to clean the place spotless, wanted to do something to say thank you and that she would miss him and that the world was going to be alight.
She did what she could, but Claire knew it was a poor substitute for staying right there and never letting him go.
Matt didn't seem particularly happy about her leaving, though he insisted it was the best option they had. He shuffled through the apartment, unable to sit down, looking for something to fill the time. They had to wait until it was dark to go to this new place, safety in obscurity and all that.
"Sit down, Matt," Claire sighed. She was perfectly dressed to go, had been for a while. Her bag was packed neatly at her feet, with her hat placed sweetly on top. Matt looked at her, dropped his gaze to the bag, and turned like he wanted to keep walking.
"Matt," she repeated. "Please."
He looked back, eyebrows furrowed.
"I'm not going forever," she promised. "Come here."
He finally agreed, stalking across the living room. There was something quiet and aggressive in his walk that she was only used to seeing in the boxing ring.
Matt paused before her, twisting awkwardly as he debated where to sit. She sighed and pulled him down beside her.
"Let's just…sit, okay? Let's make this last little while okay."
Matt pursed his lips but leaned back into the couch. Claire smiled and tapped his cheek.
"Are you gonna say anything before I go?"
"I don't want to say something wrong," he said, the words easy as pulling teeth.
Claire smiled and leaned against his shoulder. She took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers on her lap.
"I know you don't like this. Not being in control. But we gotta trust someone at some point."
He just sighed in answer. After a moment, he relaxed a little and slipped his arm around her.
"Are you nervous about meeting the reporter?" he asked.
It was Claire's turn to sigh.
The answer was, Claire couldn't really wrap her head around this actually happening. As a concept, a thing they had to check off their list, it was fine. As a reality, her sitting down in front of a man with a paper and a pen and a whole publication behind him, a doorway into something that couldn't be undone, a thing that would remain indelible on her until the day she died…that frightened her.
"It's just…this starts being real when he interviews me. I mean, it's real now, but…the world's going to know about it. We don't get a second chance." Claire sighed through her nose. "All of this feels much more serious than it did a week ago."
Matt wrapped his other arm around her, holding her tight. He didn't have anything to say, so he let them sit in somber silence, the sky outside getting darker, the street quieter. After a long period of quiet, Matt kissed the side of her head and stood.
"We should go."
Claire nodded, straightening reluctantly. She stood, put on her hat, picked up her bag. Matt slipped on his suit jacket, his coat, eased his hat onto his head. They studied each other for a long moment, still caught in the gauzy quiet.
He glanced away. They could both feel the tension in the air, like a cup filled on the verge of spilling over, the water bubbling up higher than the lip, taller and taller, ready to fall at any second. So far, this strange minefield of a relationship had been quiet enough to ignore, to pretend that it wasn't real. Even though they had kissed, even though they had been honest, it had all happened in the silent confines of Matt's home, the empty boxing hall, the alley behind the tailor shop. If no one saw it, they could lie and tell themselves it wasn't real. But once she left, it would stop being a quiet affair and instead become something big enough for all eyes to see.
"I love you," Matt said, unprompted from across the room. His eyes were on the doorknob, watching his hand fiddle with it. "I don't know when I'll get to say it again, so…I love you, Claire."
She blinked hard, too many times to count. A lump formed in her throat, because this felt terribly like a good-bye she didn't want to have. But it was also the first step down a road she desperately wanted to walk.
"I love you, too, Matt. And I'm glad I got to love you."
He glanced at her, a flicker of fear on his face even now. He looked down and then back up, like he was gathering his courage.
"I'm sorry, I—" He sighed and set his shoulders. "I wish things could have been easier."
She smiled at him and shrugged. "Well, I guess we just have to make things easier from here on out."
He wrung out a smile, then waved her to the door. When she came closer, he gave her another quick kiss, this time on the corner of the mouth.
"I'll do what I can," he murmured, which honestly was all she had ever asked of him.
It wasn't an interesting trip by any means. They went to the subway and sat in tense silence. When the car was empty, they held hands. When other people got on, Matt stood and stepped away. It was a reality that Claire hated but one that kept them safe.
They quickly found the apartment. Claire wiped her palms on her coat, trying to get rid of her jitters. She had been dreading their actual parting, but she hadn't realized it would make her this nervous. He had protected her for so long, a lifetime at least, keeping her sheltered and safe and now she was giving that up for the security of strangers. She squeezed his hand once, then let go when he knocked on the door.
An older woman answered. She looked to be cut from the same cloth as Claire's mother, the thought made her stomach twist with homesickness.
"Mrs. Cardenas?" Matt asked hesitantly.
"Ah, yes. You…ah, you speak Spanish?"
"Yes, we both do," he said, changing languages.
"Good, wonderful, yes, that's me. You are the ones Karen sent, then?" she asked. Claire smiled, the burst of Spanish a comforting taste of home.
"Yes, we are," Claire said with a smile.
"Come in, don't wait outside," Mrs. Cardenas said, waving them in. Claire and Matt obediently stepped through the door. Mrs. Cardenas took Claire's bag and walked down the hall. "There is only one room, but we can share or put you up on the couch, if you want. Bathroom there, kitchen there."
"Yes, thank you."
"Of course, Karen said you needed the help."
"Do you…know why?"
Mrs. Cardenas paused by the tiny table and looked back at them. Her expression turned serious, but not quite sad.
"Not all of it, no. Safer that way, I think. But you needed a place to stay, and you could pass for my niece, so…I said I'd help. Of course, I'd help."
Claire blinked hard, barely surprised at the hot tears rushing to fall from her eyes. She smiled and looked down.
"That's…very kind."
"We could all use kindness now, don't you think?" Mrs. Carendas smiled gently at them, then nodded. "I'll let you say goodbye, then."
Claire turned back to Matt as the old woman bustled out of the room. Of all the things that frightened her now, it was that one day Matt wouldn't come home and she wouldn't know 'til much, much too late.
She looked away, those tears threatening to spill again.
"Hey," Matt whispered. He brushed his thumb over her cheek, palm ever so gently cradling her face. "It's only going to be for a little while. In a couple days, I'll be back so you can talk to the reporter."
"And then…?"
He didn't do her the disservice of handing over false promises. Instead, Matt pulled her into his arms, one hand on her hair.
"We'll make it through," he murmured.
"No, I know, I know, it's just…" Claire broke off into an annoyed grunt. She knew all was fair in love and war, she just didn't want to be so damn reasonable about it.
She softened in Matt's hold, face pressed against the lapel of his suit. "I'm going to miss you."
He smiled, leaning back just enough for her to see it. "Of course you are. And I'm going to miss you."
"Promise me you won't go to the rings."
He hesitated, mouth open.
"Matt," she said, prodding him with a knuckle. "Please. I can't watch you get hurt any more. Especially not when things are so dangerous as is."
He pressed his lips together, then nodded. "Okay. Okay, Claire. I promise."
They stood there a moment, looking at each other like something might change, something more might be said. Then he squeezed her arms and stepped back.
"I need to get going," he told her. "I'll be back in a few days."
She nodded, wringing out a smile. Then Matt hesitated and ducked to kiss her, properly this time, one hand finding the back of her head. A thrill went through her whole body at how sweet and hers it was, but then he was already stepping away, hand on the door.
"Good-bye, Matt," she said.
He offered her a smile, one more real than she had seen in a long, long time, and stepped out the door.
"He's a very handsome man," Mrs. Cardenas said.
Claire jumped, turning to find her standing at the mouth of the hall.
"O-oh, I, uh—" She shook her head and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "He's…well, yes, he's handsome."
Mrs. Cardenas smiled. "You don't have to explain. I'd say snap him up before anyone plants bad ideas in his head, but it seems you both are holding on fast."
"We've been through a lot," Claire sighed. "It's been…"
She frowned. A few months, really. Less than a year since they had met. It felt like a lot longer. Then again, the last two weeks had felt like years all on their own.
"I don't know," Claire murmured. "We've been through the refiner's fire."
"It certainly proves what you can be," Mrs. Cardenas said. "Just be careful that it's not the refiner's fire that makes everything all work."
Claire opened her mouth to laugh—that was what had nearly broken them—then paused. Matt had been adamant when he had said good-bye to her the first time. If crisis hadn't smashed through her life, if she hadn't desperately needed his help, if the world had been anything other than murder, mayhem, and mischief…she didn't think she would have ever spoken to him again. Matt would have remained bricked off from the world, an island of a man that thought violence and solitude the only acceptable form of penance.
"Just a kernel of wisdom from a nosy old woman," Mrs. Cardenas said, waving a hand. "Anyway, let's get you settled. It's not home, but that doesn't mean we can't get you comfortable."
"Thank you," Claire said, smoothing her hands over her skirt.
It didn't really matter what could have been. A thousand things could have happened that hadn't and the world would be so radically, drastically different for it, but this was what they had now. Now, Claire was safe. Now, Matt was finding a way to make it last. Now, they just had to make it back to each other.
AN karen's criminal backstory is a feature of the story that I have been sitting on since the dawn of time and I absolutely refuse to expound beyond the occasional cheeky detail. you're welcome.
see you next year, I guess.