Chapter Text
Karen sat in her office at the New York Bulletin, laptop open on her desk, writing busily. Her latest article was coming together well, despite the chill fog that filled her heart.
It had been ten days since the collapse of the Midland Circle building. Ten days since she had last seen Matt. Ten days since their final, conflicted, all-too-brief conversation, now raised to unnatural prominence in her memory as the last words they would ever say to each other.
She had hoped, at first, that somehow he might have survived the collapse, as unlikely as that was. She and Foggy had been told what happened, by Danny Rand and the others, and it seemed certain that Matt had been under the building when it fell. But still, didn’t people sometimes survive such things? Everyone had seen stories on the news after a disaster, of emergency workers finding people still alive, even under terrible wreckage. As the cleanup began, she had eagerly followed every bit of news available. She had stayed in touch with Trish Walker, in case her sources heard anything that Karen missed.
But as the days dragged on, there was nothing. Even if he hadn’t been crushed, even if there was air to breathe under the rubble, she knew that there was only so long a person could survive without water. As time passed, it became clear that if any bodies were found, they wouldn’t be alive. And yet, so long as his body wasn’t found, her heart refused to accept what her brain knew must be true.
Trish was full of sympathy, but had no comfort to offer. “It’s hell not knowing, I get that,” she had said, the last time Karen talked to her. “If Jess hadn’t made it out, I’d feel just the same as you. But she says the hole under that building was deep. Really deep. If he was down at the bottom…they may never find him. I’m really sorry.”
Karen had no choice but to face the hard fact that Matt was…gone. She wouldn’t allow herself to think “dead”, not unless she saw a body. But he was gone, and for the last ten days her heart had been slowly, inexorably cracking as her hope faded.
On the surface, her life continued unchanged. She had barely spoken to Matt for several months, so his absence from her daily routine was nothing new. But now that he was gone, she felt that absence with a new, aching intensity.
Back when he had told her the truth about himself, she hadn't known what to do, or what she wanted. She didn’t know if she could ever trust him again. She wasn’t sure if she could accept the complicated, powerful feelings he obviously still had for Elektra. She had needed time to come to terms with the lies, the betrayals of trust, the enormity of the truth he had finally told her. The damage he had done to their relationship was significant and lasting, and couldn't be shrugged off in a day.
But also, she had needed time to think about her own secrets. She was hiding things from him, too. Things that she knew he wouldn't like, that must change how he felt about her. She knew in her heart that any future for them would have to be based on honesty, but she didn’t know if she could bring herself to tell the truth as he had.
For his part, he had made it clear that he wanted to repair the damage he had done, if repair was possible; but he had understood her hesitancy, and had left it up to her. She had kept him at a distance while she took time to think—but she had thought she had time. He had put away the mask, stopped his vigilante activities entirely, and devoted himself to the safe, blameless task of rebuilding his legal career. She had felt sure that he would be there, whenever she was ready to start talking to him again. But suddenly, he was gone, and she could never talk to him again.
Now, when it was too late, she bitterly regretted her long silence. She still had no answers to her questions and doubts, but she wished that she had reached out to him sooner, that they could have at least tried to rebuild their friendship. Instead, he had gone out of her life with only a final handful of unsatisfying conversations that had resolved nothing. Their time had run out, and now their relationship was fractured forever.
It hurt too much to think about it, so she focused on her work and tried to ignore the pain. She was fortunate to have a job she loved, especially now when she needed a distraction. Her writing was getting better and better as she gained experience, and she could tell that the article she was currently working on was going to be good.
She was checking her notes to make sure she quoted a source correctly, when her phone rang—her office landline, not her cell.
“Karen Page,” she answered briskly, her mind on her story.
“Miss Page, my name is Sister Mary Helen. I belong to the convent of the Holy Nativity.”
Karen frowned, intrigued. Why would a nun want to talk to her? “What can I do for you?”
“We have a…guest staying in our convent right now,” she answered. “A man, perhaps thirty years old, seriously injured. His name is Matthew.”
Karen felt her heart stop beating, then kick into overdrive.
“We found him lying outside our door, unconscious, nine days ago. On the twenty-first.”
The day after the Midland Circle collapse. Was it possible? “Go on, please,” she said breathlessly.
“He has remained unconscious for most of the time he has been here. He wakes briefly now and then, enough to be given food and water, but he has been too weak to talk until today. I spoke with him this morning, and told him where he is, and how long he has been with us. He gave me your name, and another—I’m not sure I understood him, the effort of speaking tired him a great deal, but it sounded like Foggy Nelson?”
A lump was rising in her throat, she could barely speak around it. “Yes. Yes, he’s a friend.”
“Matthew begged me to call you both. He didn’t give me your phone numbers, but he said New York Bulletin, and another name that I’m afraid I didn’t understand.”
“H, C, and B?” Karen guessed.
“You know it?”
“It’s a law firm, that’s where Foggy works.” Her mind was racing. Matt wouldn’t have had his phone with him when he went to Midland Circle, so of course he couldn’t give the sister her or Foggy’s personal numbers. She must have gotten the Bulletin’s public number from directory assistance…if her story was actually genuine.
Karen’s natural caution abruptly re-asserted itself. No matter how desperately she had hoped that Matt had survived the collapse, how likely was it that he had climbed all the way up out of that deep pit, full of the rubble of a destroyed building, and ended up on the doorstep of a convent?
“Why isn’t he in the hospital?” she asked sharply. If this was some kind of hoax…
“We thought it best not to move him,” the nun answered. “Two of the sisters here worked in medicine, before receiving the call to religious life, so I promise you he has been well cared for.”
It sounded suspicious, no matter how badly she wanted it to be true. How could it be better to care for him in a convent than to move him to a hospital, if he was so badly injured that he had been mostly unconscious for ten days?
But still, it wasn’t impossible. And what reason could there be to make up such an unlikely story? Her hope revived, almost despite herself. She knew she couldn’t rest until she saw for herself.
“Where is your convent, sister? I’d like to come and see him.”
“Yes, of course.” Sister Mary Helen gave her an address. “And can you tell me how to reach Mr. Nelson?”
“I’ll call him myself. He’ll want to come with me, I’m sure.” Were men allowed to visit convents? Karen had no idea. Well, they had taken a man inside as a guest, that seemed like a good sign.
“You will both be welcome,” the nun assured her.
“Good, thank you. And thank you so much for calling.” The reality (possible reality) of the situation was starting to sink in, now that she was getting over her surprise. She began to tremble, the lump rising in her throat again. “I…we…thought that he was dead,” she managed, her voice suddenly husky. “This is…the best news possible. Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She hung up, and buried her face in her hands. Was it true? Was Matt alive? If it did turn out to be some kind of trick, she didn’t know how she could bear the disappointment. She breathed deeply, fighting to still her trembling and calm herself. She would know soon enough. But first, she had to tell Foggy.
She picked up her phone and sent him a quick text.
I've just heard some news about Matt
CALL ME
While she waited for a response, she turned to her computer and verified that the address Sister Mary Helen gave her did, in fact, correspond to the convent of the Holy Nativity. So far, so good.
When her phone rang, she snatched it up immediately. “Foggy?”
“Karen! What’s happened? Did they find him?”
“No. Well, I mean, if this is for real then yeah, he’s been found. But not at Midland Circle.” Her throat was growing tight again, and she swallowed. "And…he’s alive, Foggy.”
There was shocked silence, and she hurried on. “I just got a call from a woman, she said she’s a nun…” She repeated the whole conversation to him.
“Holy shit,” said Foggy quietly, when she was finished. “You know it sounds…unlikely, right?” She could hear the hope in his voice, even as his words tried to be skeptical.
“I know, I thought the same thing. But it’s possible, isn’t it? And what’s the alternative? That someone made up a story in order to lure me to a convent, in the middle of the day?”
“The address checks out?”
“Yes. I’m going, I have to know. Are you in?”
“Hell, yes. If it is a trick, you shouldn’t go alone. And if it isn’t…” He broke off, and she heard him take a hard breath and exhale raggedly.
“Yeah,” she agreed softly. “I was crying a little when I texted you, I feel like I’m barely keeping it together right now. Do you want to come here, and we’ll go together?”
“I’m on my way,” he answered thickly, and rang off.
* * * * *
Standing outside the convent door, Karen felt suddenly nervous. Now that the moment of truth was almost upon them, her heart was hammering in her chest. She took a deep breath and rang the bell, then stepped back and drew close to Foggy, clutching his arm while they waited.
After a minute or two, the door opened to reveal a middle-aged nun with brown eyes.
“Can I help you?” she asked pleasantly.
“I’m Karen Page,” said Karen, “and this is Foggy Nelson. We’re here to visit your…guest? I spoke to Sister Mary Helen earlier.”
The woman smiled at them. “Please, come in.”
She led them down a wide hallway to a closed door, and knocked softly. The door was opened by another nun, this one older, and their guide said, “Matthew’s visitors are here.”
The door was opened wide, and Karen’s eyes flew to the bed inside the room, and the man who lay there, asleep, covered by a blanket up to his chin. She froze, not even breathing, as she took in the sight. His face bore fading bruises, and ten days’ growth of beard, but it was Matt.
A small, choked sound broke from her, and she tried to rush into the room, but the nun in the doorway stood her ground, placing a surprisingly firm restraining hand on Karen’s shoulder.
“Quietly, Miss Page,” she said, her voice soft but stern. “I won’t have him disturbed, he needs to rest.” Karen barely heard, her eyes still fixed on Matt.
“We won’t wake him,” said Foggy, beside her. His voice was shaky, and the hand he reached out to hers trembled. She spared him a quick glance, and saw that he was staring at the bed, his expression stunned. She looked at the nun, still gripping her shoulder, and nodded, feeling dazed.
“We’ll be quiet,” she promised. The nun stepped back to let them in, watched them slowly approach the bed, and then withdrew, apparently satisfied. She closed the door behind her, leaving them alone.
Karen held Foggy’s hand tightly, looking at the recumbent figure in front of them. She could feel relief and amazement and joy gathering in her chest, the pressure building until her vision blurred with sudden tears. The small choked sound rose in her throat again, and she turned toward Foggy and buried her face in his shoulder.
For the last ten days she had tried to fend off her grief, keeping hope alive as long as she could, then throwing herself into her work as hope faded. Now that she knew Matt was alive, all the emotion she had suppressed came flooding out, and she sobbed uncontrollably, muffling the sound in the fabric of Foggy’s coat.
His arms wrapped around her, and she felt his chest heave as he, too, began to cry, as quietly as he could manage. They clung together for several minutes, both of them shaking with tears, until finally their sobs tapered off to sniffles.
Karen lifted her head and wiped her eyes, and Foggy gave her a watery smile. She glanced at Matt, and saw with relief that he was still asleep. She took a pack of tissues from her purse, took one for herself, and handed one to Foggy.
Then she looked around the room for the first time, seeing a bare wood floor, white walls, a window with plain white curtains. There was a small table beside the bed, with a bible, a rosary, and a bottle of water on it. It was a plastic sports bottle, an incongruous splash of color in the bare room, but no doubt it was easier than a glass to drink from, for someone confined to bed. Another table against the wall held medical supplies. There was a chair pulled up close to the bed, and another in the corner.
Karen sat down beside the bed, taking off her coat and hanging it over the chair back. Foggy brought over the other chair and sat down next to her, taking off his own coat. They were both silent, looking at Matt.
His face was white beneath the bruises, his body unnaturally still under the blanket. A shiver of fear crawled up Karen’s spine, and she leaned forward to hold a hand in front of his nose and mouth. For a moment she felt nothing, and she moved her hand closer, nearly brushing his lips, her heart pounding.
Her palm warmed. He was breathing, too shallowly to raise the blanket over his chest, but it was enough. She let out her own breath and sat back, nearly crying again with relief.
“Karen?” asked Foggy softly.
She managed a smile. “I just…I couldn’t see him breathing. And he’s so pale, I suddenly thought…I had to make sure.”
Foggy nodded in understanding. “It’s scary, seeing him like this,” he said, and Karen was reminded that this wasn’t the first time he had seen Matt injured and bedridden. “It’s why I wanted him to stop,” he went on quietly. “I mean, there were other reasons, too. If anyone ever found out who he was, his career would be destroyed. Maybe mine, too. But this…” He looked somberly at Matt’s battered face. “This, right here, is what I’ve been the most afraid of, ever since I first found out.”
Karen thought about that. She had known Matt’s secret identity for several months now, but unlike Foggy, she had been able to try and come to terms with the truth without having to worry about Matt’s safety at the same time. It was only ten days ago that she had been faced with the fact that Daredevil was going into action once more, knowing that Daredevil was Matt. And then there was no time, no chance to talk, he was just…gone.
She had told herself that once he came back, they were going to talk about what they both truly wanted, from their lives, and maybe from each other. But he didn’t come back, and she was left to the lonely contemplation of might-have-beens.
What would happen, now that he was alive again?
What did she want to happen?
Losing him had made her painfully aware of just how much she still cared for him. But that didn’t make the question any easier to answer. It didn’t undo the past. And his feelings, what he might want, were more than she could guess, after the events of ten days ago.
It hurt, to realize how little she knew him in some ways, how excluded she still was from this part of his life. Telling her the truth had been like opening a door, showing her a whole, vast room that he kept hidden from the world. But rather than letting her come inside, he had kept her in the doorway. He had told her what was in the room, and then closed it back up again, staying on the outside with her and claiming he wasn’t going back. And when he did finally go back inside, he had slammed the door behind him, shutting her out.
But really, was she any different? She had hidden rooms of her own, locked so tightly that not even daylight could creep in around the edges.
She sighed deeply, and caught an enquiring look from Foggy. “Do you ever wish that things were…I don’t know. Less complicated?” she asked.
“Oh, god, yes,” he said, with an answering sigh. “I’m sure my life would be simpler if I had decided to be a butcher.” He gave her a little smile, and she smiled back. She had heard the Butcher Story several times, when she, Foggy and Matt had still worked together.
“But you wanted to be a lawyer,” she reminded him, nudging his shoulder. “You chose the complicated life.”
“Yeah, I did. I never expected this, though.”
They both looked back at Matt.
His eyes were open.
“Matt!” Karen gasped. “Oh my god. Hi!”
He turned his face toward her, blinking slowly, and she reached out to touch his shoulder. Beside her, Foggy gently touched Matt’s leg.
“Matt, hey, buddy.”
The pale lips curved slightly. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. He coughed weakly.
“Here, I’ll give you some water,” said Karen, picking up the gaudy sports bottle. She slid one hand carefully behind his head, and held the bottle to his lips with the other. He sucked in a mouthful, swallowed, cleared his throat, and drank again.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice raspy and faint.
“You’re welcome. Let me know if you want more.” She put the bottle back on the bedside table.
"You're here," he said then, with a wondering smile. "Karen. Foggy."
The blanket twitched, and she realized he was trying to raise one arm. She pulled down the covers to help him, then stopped and stared as his bare chest and arm were revealed. He was wrapped in bandages like a mummy, and wherever his skin showed it was livid with bruises.
“Oh, Matt,” she breathed. Foggy said nothing, but he pressed his lips together tightly.
Matt opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Karen cut him off. “Do not say you’re fine,” she said, suddenly fierce, “or so help me…” She broke off, the threat unfinished, shook her head, and gently covered him back up, lifting his arm to rest on top of the blanket.
Matt smiled again. “Not fine,” he admitted, his voice slightly stronger. “But. Better now.” He reached toward her, and she took his hand, careful of his bandaged knuckles. He sighed, and squeezed her hand weakly.
“The others,” he rasped. “All right?”
Foggy answered. “Yeah, they all got out in time, before the collapse. Detective Knight got hurt pretty bad.” There was no need to tell him right now just how bad. “She was helping Claire and Colleen, and they had to fight a guy with a sword. But he’s dead now, and she’s in the hospital recovering, and everyone else is fine.”
Matt sighed once more. “Good.”
Foggy went on, “Jessica, Luke, and Danny told us what happened, when they got back to the police station. So we know…well, as much as they could tell us.” He caught Karen’s eye briefly. They both still had questions, that only Matt could answer. But now clearly wasn’t the time. “The building collapsed straight down, so there wasn’t much collateral damage. But it’s a big mess, the city’s still working on clearing the rubble.”
“It’s being blamed on building without proper permits,” Karen added. “Officially, Midland Circle collapsed because it was badly built and structurally unsound. Luckily, it happened at night when nobody was there.” She couldn’t entirely keep the bitterness out of her voice—for the last ten days, the pain in her heart had grown sharper every time she heard someone say how lucky it was that no one had been inside.
Matt rubbed his thumb over her fingers. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.
“You did what you had to do, I know that.”
“I hurt you. Hurt you both. Sorry.”
Well, he had. What could you say to that?
“Tell you everything…” he went on, with an effort. “…later.”
“No hurry, Matt,” said Foggy. “Get your strength back first. You’re alive, everything else can wait.”
“Everything,” he repeated, squeezing Karen’s hand. “Karen. No lies, this time.”
Foggy gave her a puzzled look. “I thought he told you the truth before?”
“The big truth, yeah,” Karen answered. “But I think he still wasn’t being completely straight with me. When we had coffee a couple of weeks ago, he told me he didn’t miss…this life. Tried to convince me he was happy just being Matt Murdock, and the city was better off without Daredevil.”
Foggy lifted his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. “Matt. Buddy. Why?”
“Trying to convince myself,” he said laboriously, the words coming slowly. “Karen. Telling you…what I wanted to be true. Wasn’t true. Sorry. Can I…try again?”
His face was more open and vulnerable than she had ever seen it before. She realized that in his weakness, she was finally seeing him with no defenses, no evasions or doors closed against her. Whatever he said to her now, she could trust. And he was asking for another chance.
“Okay, Matt,” she said softly, reaching out with her free hand to stroke his arm. “Once you’re more recovered, whenever you’re ready, I’ll listen.”
He sighed. “Thank you,” he breathed, and closed his eyes. She thought he might have gone back to sleep, but then he asked faintly, “Water?”
“Yeah, of course,” she answered, taking up the bottle again. He tried to help this time, reaching his hand up to guide the bottle, and holding it while he drank, his fingers touching hers. After she put the bottle back on the table, he tugged at her hand, and she allowed him to pull it toward him and rest it against his face, her fingers brushing his cheek, his bearded jaw pressed into her palm.
His expression was wistful, a little sad, and it caught at her heart. She remembered the quiet, almost resigned way he had said “You deserve better,” the night he had come to her office. She smoothed his hair with her free hand, and his eyes fell closed again. This time they stayed closed, and soon his grip on her hand relaxed. She carefully tucked his bare arm back under the covers, leaving his hand curled on his chest.
Then she turned to look at Foggy. “Well,” she said softly, at a loss for words.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
After a minute of silence, she asked, “Do you have to get back?”
“No. I wasn’t sure what was gonna happen here, so I cleared my schedule for the rest of the day. You?”
“I’ve still got some work to do, but I can do it just as well later. I work late most nights anyway. Right now, I’d like to stay here with him a while longer.”
“Me, too,” said Foggy.
They sat together in comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts, watching Matt sleep. He didn’t wake again, and eventually the older nun came back and they decided it was time to leave.
“He woke up for a few minutes, and we talked,” Karen told her. “Do you think he’ll remember, the next time he wakes up?”
“If he doesn’t, I’ll tell him,” the nun promised.
But Karen wasn’t satisfied. She wanted him to have some tangible proof that she and Foggy had been here, that his friends knew where he was. She was wearing a bracelet that she had often worn when they still worked together, and she unfastened it and held it up.
“Could I leave this here?” She asked. “Can I…can I put it on him?”
“Yes, if you like,” the nun asked, tipping her head curiously.
“If he’s wearing it he’ll feel it as soon as he wakes,” she explained, “And he’ll know it’s mine.”
She wasn’t at all sure that he would actually be able to recognize it—as far as she could remember, he had never touched it before. But maybe his enhanced senses had noticed it somehow. And even if he didn’t recognize it as hers, finding a strange bracelet around his wrist would still hopefully remind him that she had been there. Anyway, she would feel better knowing he had it.
“Hang on,” said Foggy. He fished his keys out of his pocket, and removed from the key ring a small plastic dinosaur. “I can put it on the bracelet, like a charm.”
Karen smiled. “That’s perfect, that should definitely tell him it was us.” Once the dinosaur was attached, she pulled back the covers and carefully fastened the bracelet around Matt’s wrist.
“Thank you,” she said to the nun. “Are you Sister Mary Helen?” Her voice sounded familiar, now that she wasn’t too distracted to notice.
“Yes. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner.”
“That’s all right, I probably wouldn’t have heard you anyway.” Karen smiled, and Sister Mary Helen smiled back understandingly. “Thank you again for calling me. This is…I don’t even know what to say.”
“There’s no need to say anything, or to thank me. I’m happy that Matthew’s friends have found him. We’ll keep him here until he’s well enough to return home.”
“And can we come visit again?” asked Foggy.
“Of course. Come as often as you like, as long as you don’t overtire him.”
“We won’t,” they promised.
Evening was closing in as they left the convent. Karen was filled with quiet happiness, all her turbulent emotion from earlier calmed into a feeling of peace. She had no idea what sort of relationship she and Matt might have going forward. There were still too many things left unresolved between them, too many questions she didn’t know the answers to.
But now, they had another chance to figure it out. This time, she wasn’t going to wait too long, thinking she had all the time in the world. As soon as he was well enough, they would talk.
For today, though, she could bask in the knowledge that he was alive, and recovering, and that she could visit him whenever she wanted to. She couldn’t help smiling, and when she glanced at Foggy she saw that he was smiling, too. Matt was back, just when they thought they had lost him for good. For now, that was enough.