Dear Karen,

The first letter, helped. I'm not sure how, but it did. I guess I shouldn't question it; maybe it just helps getting this all out. It feels almost like going to confession in a way. Is that blasphemy? I'll have to ask my priest later.

I went to Fogwells Gym today. It had been a while, and the fire had taken it's toll. Even through the lingering smells of smoke and ash, I could still smell my dad's old aftershave. I swear he practically lived in that gym. My dad wasn't perfect Karen, but God he was my hero. He still is. I wish you could have met him. He would have loved you. I can hear him now, "Matty, you treat that girl right. That's the kind of girl you don't mess around with, you treat her right."

I miss the gym; I used to beat out all my frustration there on a heavy bag. It always felt like my dad was there with my when I was there, like he was right over my shoulder while I was hitting the bag. He'd probably be ashamed of my left cross. Since the fight and the fire that came from it, it's different. There's no place to even hang a bag anymore there. It's like they didn't just attack a place I love, it's like they attacked my dad too.

Fogwells was a sanctuary for me. Now it's gone. All I have left now is my church and you that I can really break down to and feel weak. And even at church, it can be hard to go sometimes. I know, a good catholic boy should go more often than I have been going lately, but then again I guess a good catholic boy shouldn't be vigilante either.

The truth is, I'm scared to go because I'm afraid that they'll attack me there too. They found me at Fogwells by coincidence, I think. But I don't want to run the risk to the innocent people that might be at the church, and Father Lantom. I've lost one of the places I feel safe, I don't want to lose the others and risk people's lives at the same time.

I remember when you first saw me at Fogwells. It had been a long day for all of us at the office. Word had gotten out that we were partly responsible for putting Fisk away, so suddenly clients weren't as scarce. It had been a welcome change, but also a stressful one. Between you answering calls, helping us with cases, and setting appointments. You must have been exhausted. Foggy and I met with several clients that day. One of them was lying about his claim of assault, and was just looking to sue for money. I whispered to Foggy he was lying and we kicked him out. But for the most part, it seemed our business was finally taking off. Everything should have been perfect, which, naturally, meant things couldn't be.

There had been a spike in crime. Since Fisk had been dealt with, several upstarts with half his brains and twice his bravado had tried to take over. Mostly there were just thugs, drug dealers. They were easy enough to deal with. But, there was just so many of them. Even an idiot street tough could get in a few lucky shots. Every day, after a busy day at work, I had to go out there. The police were stretched thin after several dozen officers had been arrested for being accomplices with Fisk. Hells Kitchen had a handful of dedicated men guarding it against a surge of dozens, and even hundreds of gang bangers and thugs. Some nights, I stopped muggings or assaults, burglaries and extortion, sometimes with no police siren within ten blocks. The police did as much as they could, but my city needed me as much as it ever did when Fisk was out and free. It was exhausting, and the bruises and cuts and sprains didn't help. Lucky for me, your average gang member isn't a trained fighter. Still, stupidity, dumb luck, and superior numbers meant I took a decent amount of hits.

On top of that there was, whatever we had at that point. Between us I mean. Since the day that Foggy came back late from spending time with Marci, we seemed, different. No, not different, closer? I had kept my distance from you when we dealt with Fisk; I guess Stick's advice sunk in without me even wanting it to. But in the weeks following his arrest, it was like there were no walls between us. I remembered what it was like to be happy. Had you asked me, I would have gladly told you then that I was Daredevil. But that's not how you found out. That would have been too easy. But for how happy I was, I was also conflicted. Happiness, contentedness, stability, these were never really feelings I had become acquainted with intimately. The idea of being happy, and of being with you, seemed like an unreachable dream. Or maybe a dream I didn't deserve to have become a reality?

Foggy insisted that there was something between us. And there was. Obviously there was. But you deserved better. You still do. But then, for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure what to do. To take you on a date, to admit what I felt for you, to let you into my world, it was dangerous. Not to mention Foggy would try and kill me. But, there was no way you wouldn't notice I was Daredevil. And then, even if you did know, there would be nights we couldn't be together, too many of them. I'd be worried someone would find out who I was and attack you to get to me. You'd be worried about me. It all seemed too complicated. But not telling you, just burying those feelings inside of me, trying to ignore how I feel when I was near you at the obvious, it seemed just as hard. On the one hand, I didn't want you to be hurt, by others, or me because of my nighttime activities. On the other, saying that I didn't listen for you to return to the office when you weren't there, or that I would think of you, of the soft touch of your skin, the soft vanilla of your hair, when I was trying to sleep at night, to keep the noise of the city at bay, was a ridiculous lie. I was torn.

So, I took a night off from beating up thugs to beat up a heavy bag at Fogwells gym. Looking back, it was selfish. I should have been out there that night, stopping criminals from hurting my neighbors, the others who call my city home. But things were different then. I needed time to heal from a bruised collarbone, and I needed to figure out what to do about you. So I beat different combos into the bag at the gym, smelling my dad's Old Spice aftershave, along with the sweat and leather.

I must have been there for almost an hour, I had worked up a decent sweat, and I still didn't have any clue what to do about you. About us. About whether it would be safe for there to be an us. You must have heard me hitting the bag, because you tried to be quiet. You didn't know that I could hear your footsteps from outside the gym doors, that I could smell your vanilla shampoo, along with my dad's after-shave. Or that the sound of your heart had become so important to me; I could pick it out of a chorus of sounds.

I stopped, and turned to face you. You must have been nervous, your heart rate increased as you came into the actual gym. You held your left hand in your right, and bit your lip.

"Karen?" I asked. I knew full well it was you.

"Yeah, Hi." You looked down, and then back up at me. "How did you know it was me?"

"Vanilla shampoo and high heels." I smiled, "never knew many boxers to come in with both of those. One, maybe."

You laughed at my pathetic excuse of a joke. Foggy was always the funny one, but with you, I just loved hearing you laugh. It was practically musical.

"I just-I just wanted to make sure everything was ok." You stepped closer. So did I, but I didn't realize it. "Foggy said you've been having trouble sleeping, and that you fell and hurt your chest or something?"

"Yeah, it hurts a little," I said, as I pulled the collar of my tank top down to show you the bruise. I flexed, like a schoolboy trying to impress his crush. You gasped slightly, but tried to play it off.

"Matt, are you ok? That looks awful!" You said, and suddenly you were right in front of me, examining my bruise. You didn't realize it was in the perfect shape of a baseball bat.

"Don't worry," I pulled your hands away, but lingered on them. Pulling away from your touch was agonizing. "Murdocks can take a hit better than anyone."

"Ah," you said as if something clicked. "Is that why you come here, because of your dad I mean?"

"Yeah…Foggy tell you about him?"

"Yeah, just a little bit. That he was a boxer, and that he, um, died when you were young."

"That's the long and short of it." I chuckled, I don't know why. Maybe it was to show you that I wasn't uncomfortable talking with you about him. "He was a great man. I wish you could have met him."

"So do I." You seemed to pause, unsure of what else to say. "Do you want to talk?"

"Yeah," I answered without even thinking. I don't know if it was because I could spend more time with you, or because I planned on actually telling you how I felt. Maybe it was a bit of both. "That,that sounds nice. Maybe not here though." I could see your smile, even without my eyesight, and my heart felt like it was about to explode.

"What about a nice conversation over libations at Josie's?" You asked, and by the inflection in your voice, you almost sounded excited.

"Sure," I smiled, "Just, let me clean up a bit."

I wonder what would have happened, if we had gone to Josie's that night? Would we have just told each other how we felt then and there? Would I have told you everything, about me being Daredevil? Would we have lived happily ever after somehow?

But we didn't go to Josie's. You got a call from Foggy, telling us we had a new client, a doctor no less, in jail asking for us. He said that we needed to go there immediately. So, we stopped by my place so I could get back into a suit, actually look like a lawyer. You told me I looked handsome. I felt like I could fly after you said that.

But then we met Dr. Zebediah Kilgrave. We met the Purple Man.

And he took you from me.

And I would do anything to get you back.

Love,

Matt