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- IPA -
It’s weird having Foggy in her apartment, and she hates that. She hates that they’ve grown so far apart, that he’s standing in the middle of her living room trying and failing to be comfortable. There was a time where they would be laughing within moments of him stepping in her door--now, there’s something off that neither can quite name. He digs his hands deep in his pockets and looks around the room as she goes straight for the fridge, digging out two beers. It’s something dark, definitely not her favorite, but Frank likes it so she always keeps some on hand. Just in case.
Foggy joins her at the kitchen island, loosening his tie. He accepts the beer with a hesitant smile. “Thanks.” He takes a sip and grimaces. “Damn, Karen. You like this stuff?”
“Not the typical Josie’s swill, huh?” she jokes, smiling softly.
His face lights up at the memory. He lets out a chuckle. “Good point. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
He leans on the counter next to her, smile diminishing. He looks hesitant to speak and she sighs. “Come on, spit it out, Foggy.”
“It’s just...Matt, you know?”
Karen takes a swig of her beer, gaze slipping away. She knows about Matt. She knows that three days ago he’d appeared on her doorstep, alive , and the first words out of his mouth were Karen I’m so sorry in that self-torturing way of his and she had almost slammed the door in his face, but the relief was too strong and she invited him in, instead.
“Yeah...I know.” She knows they had talked for hours and she was still so angry at him, but he was alive and he was trying. He’d called her every day since, even if she didn’t pick up.
Foggy knocks her elbow with his gently. She aches at the familiarity of his touch, the unnerving intimacy in his gaze. “When did our life become this nuts, huh?” he sighs.
Karen looks up at the ceiling and feels a familiar rush of emotions come over her. She takes another long pull, holding the bottle by the neck. When she speaks her voice is sad but hard.
“I wish I knew.”
- ROSES -
After the fifth day of her screening his calls, Matt shows up again. He looks much better, clean shaven and dressed in his typical (day job) suit, glasses perched on his nose. Karen looks through the peekhole at him, then lets her head fall against the door with a sigh.
“Karen?” he calls, knowing. Because of course he does.
She rolls her eyes and opens the door, frowning at him. “What are you doing here, Matt?”
He steps inside, tilts his head in her direction. “I just wanted to...check in.” He doesn’t say anything about the missed calls, doesn’t need to. The both know she’s avoiding him, avoiding this . She shifts on her feet, then goes to grab her coat.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she says, because having him here again, in her space, filling up the doorway to her apartment is making her more uncomfortable than she’d like to admit.
He nods, then turns towards the window curiously. “...are those roses?”
She barely spares them a glance, soft petals a bright white against her dark curtains. “Yeah. Come on.”
He nods and follows her out, and doesn’t mention them again.
- TOOTHBRUSH -
It doesn’t escape Karen’s notice that she’s had more superhuman vigilantes in her apartment in the last few weeks than she has regular people. Jessica Jones is sitting on her couch and they’re half a bottle of whiskey deep. It’s a Saturday and Karen’s head is lolling against the back of the couch. She’s pleasantly warm and loose, but she’s still thinking of Matt. They both are.
“I just can’t...believe him.” Karen turns to look at Jess, frowning. “Gone for...how long? Five months? He doesn’t know what a--what a phone is?”
She and Jess had become friends shortly after Matt’s “death” through an unusual turn of events that started with Karen pursuing a story about a wayward PI and ending with them drunk at Josie’s. Jess scoffs and throws back the rest of her drink. “Tell me about it, Blondie. We’re on the same page. I’m hitting the head.”
Karen hums as her friend stands, closing her eyes. Jess trails off into the bathroom and flips on the light. Karen waits a couple seconds and then pours herself another drink. Her eyes catch on the roses and she smiles slightly.
Jess comes back and gives her a slightly amused look. “Better be careful with the toiletries in there, Page. Razor, toothbrush…someone might suspect you gotta boyfriend, or something.”
Karen laughs, loud and harsh, and sloshes her glass dangerously as she waves. “Shut up, Jess.”
The dark haired woman only grins ruefully and pours herself another as well.
- BOOTS -
The next time Foggy is in her apartment, it’s better. It’s a warm Sunday afternoon and he’s brought Marci and they’re having a nice time. Marci, for all of her elegance and class, loves Karen’s small apartment. She spends a long time perusing the bookshelves, talking about some of her favorites she finds nestled there.
Foggy’s more relaxed too. He tells Karen that he and Matt are on the way to friends again--not quite there, probably not for a while, but getting there.
“Have you--have you talked to him?” Foggy asks, watching Marci walk around the room. “Lately?”
Karen shrugs, looking away. “He calls. Sometimes I answer. Sometimes I don’t. I’m glad he’s alive, Fog, I really am, but...I’m not ready. I’m still so angry at him.” She’s always had a hard time getting over grudges, and this is no different. Matt had gone from someone she trusted wholeheartedly, to someone she barely even knew. Between the woman in his bed, the secret identity, faking his death for months...it’s hard for her to forgive something like that so soon.
Foggy reaches over, takes her hand with a small smile. His eyes are all easy understanding and patience. “I know. I think he’s does too. I just want you to be happy.”
Karen smiles at her friend, then lets her gaze slip to the pair of boots she’d half-kicked under the couch just before they’d arrived. Her smile widens before she can help it and he follows her gaze curiously. A new expression crawls across his face and he squeezes her hand. “Got a friend?” He questions lightly, but his eyes are worried. It seems like Jess isn’t the only one who has some understanding of her private relationships.
Karen smiles and pulls away, standing. She ignores his question in favor of his statement. “I’m happy, Foggy. I just don’t know if letting Matt back into my life is going to keep me happy.”
Marci hums in agreement from across the room before she can help herself, and Karen can only laugh. Foggy spares one last glance at the boots, military grade, black, with mud on the bottom, and changes the subject.
- GUNPOWDER -
She knows he’s coming this time. Matt had called her yesterday, asking if he could stop by, hoping they could have coffee.
She appreciates that he’s trying, even if it’s a little too late. Foggy’s words come back to her, just before they had parted at his last visit. Just keep an open mind, Karen. That’s all we can do. He’s hurting too.
When Matt steps through the doorway she doesn’t care to hide anything. There’s a gun leaning in the corner of her living room, where Frank had left it after cleaning it the night before, the flowers are sitting in front of the open window, and the boots have been lined up next to the door.
He sits on her couch, folding his cane that he doesn’t need. She sits in her armchair and watches him, unsure of what to say first. He beats her to it: “Have you been shooting something?”
Of course--he can probably smell the gunpowder or something equally ridiculous. “Not me,” she says casually, then takes a sip of her coffee. The worst part about Matt is that he doesn’t typically show what he’s thinking; it’s like watching a drop of water in a puddle. A small ripple of emotion on the surface that grows until he realization dawns on his face.
“You’re seeing someone,” he says slowly.
Her phone rings. His unseeing gaze snaps to her phone on the coffee table. Karen reaches down and silences the phone. “Yes.”
Silence. He pauses. “I’m...happy for you.”
“Thanks.” Karen drinks her coffee, and the phone rings again, shrill. She debates picking it up for a long time, long enough for it to go quiet again. Matt looks like he’s regretting his decision to come over. Finally, she picks up the phone and types out a text.
I’m okay. Matt’s here. Call soon.
He waits until the phone is on the table before he sighs. “Look, Karen. I don’t know what else to say. I’ve apologized and I’ll keep apologizing if you want but--I don’t know what you want."
What does she want? Does she want to be mad at him forever? Does she want him to grovel, or beg for her forgiveness?
“I don’t, either,” she admits. “It’s hard, being this angry at you.”
He looks surprised at the admission, and then understanding crosses his face. He looks away; the curtains flutter in their silence. “I hope one day, we can go back to how things were,” he says after some time.
Karen nods, feels the sadness well up in her like a fountain. She shoves it down, watches as he stands. “Me too,” she agrees.
Matt seems to understand he’s being dismissed. He forgoes using the cane and tilts his head in her direction. “Goodbye, Karen.”
She doesn’t answer and the silence follows him out. Matt reaches the sidewalk outside and takes a death breath, his mind pulled in a million different directions. He listens habitually to the sounds of the city, ears straining to hear anyone in need of help. What he hears instead is two heavy boots coming to a stop, and a soft chuckle.
“Hey there, Red. Looks like the rumors are true.”
And if Matt wasn’t sure before, he is now. Frank Castle steps up beside him, minus his typical coppery-blood smell. “Frank,” he greets, surprised but polite. “I wasn’t expecting you...here.”
“Weren’t ya?” Frank’s tone is light in a way that’s both a warning and a joke. “Well, good seein’ ya.”
His large form brushes past, and the door clicks behind him. Matt listens until he reaches her door, listens to the lock unclasp, hears her gentle hey and the rustle of clothing as they embrace.
You okay? He mutters as the door closes.
Matt knows he shouldn’t be surprised--Karen has always had a penchant for getting herself as close as possible to danger. What surprises him more, really, is the soft way in which Frank is speaking to her--enough that Matt feels as if he’s intruding just listening.
He pulls his collar against the wind and sets off down the sidewalk.
- FRANK -
Frank steps inside the doorway and immediately folds her into his arms. He knows it’s hard for her, these interactions with Matt. She’s told him as much, laying in bed together, her eyes tired and sad.
“You okay?”
She lays her head on his chest, fully aware Matt could be listening. “Yeah. Did he see you?”
He tries hard not to smile. “Yeah.”
“Did you do it on purpose?”
Frank hesitates. “...yes.”
Karen sighs, but it’s fond. “Frank.”
He leans down, presses a kiss to her jaw in apology. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”
She shoves at his shoulder, but immediately after pulls him in for a kiss. Her eyes are warm. “I missed you, even if you are an asshole. I hate sending you away when Matt or Foggy comes over.”
He closes the door and pulls her in by the hips, kissing her neck, her cheek--doing anything he can to chase away the dismal shadows lingering on her face. “Hmm, part of my charm. You know, most of them suspect already...or so you say.”
It’s hard to focus with him like this, hot breath on her skin, the rough texture of his hands creeping under her shirt. “And?”
“And…” He looks a little bashful, like he’s asking for the world. His gaze slides away. “...next time I could just...stay.”
She pulls back to look at him, surprised, but with heat. “You want to?” He meets her eyes and ducks his head, nodding. Karen smiles slowly, wide. “There could be consequences.”
“We’ll face them,” he tells her confidently. Then softer, “Together.”