Chapter Text
It started with a drunken kiss.
And well, wasn’t that how it always went with them when it all went extraordinarily well or poor? It was a good day? Go to the bar. Celebrate with a drink. The day went to hell in a handbasket? Go to the bar. Get smashed. Forget. Drown the world’s problems with high proof.
They were celebrating that night. There was so much to celebrate. Matt and Foggy had won their latest case and filed a countersuit that they also expected to win. Money was coming in (not a lot, but some, thanks to Foggy and his insistence that they not do every one of their cases pro bono). Karen was along for the joy of her bosses/friends/family finally seeming to mesh together as they once had, before whatever blowout they had had a couple months ago.
Everyone was looser than they had been in weeks. Foggy was in rare form, poking and prodding at Matt from the moment the workday ended. It was Foggy who convinced their reserved friend to join them that evening, despite Matt’s claims that he should call it an early night. Karen had wheedled to no avail. It was only after a five-minute, closed-door session in Matt’s office that Foggy had emerged triumphant, a bemused blind man trailing behind him. Karen was too pleased (and, frankly, too entertained) to be bothered with asking after it.
Karen never really understood why the pair liked Josie’s so much. The old barmaid was her usual grumpy self. She eyed the trio speculatively before handing over three glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
“No eel,” Karen remarked as she poured them each a shot.
“Eel?” Matt asked with blank curiosity, reminding her that he had not been along on that night when she and Foggy had closed down the bars.
“That’s right!” Karen laughed. “Foggy said you were out with some girl that night! Foggy! Foggy, tell him about the eel!”
Because she could not tell the story without laughing helplessly.
Foggy’s grin softened, went rueful.
“There was an eel in the bottom of one of Josie’s bottles,” he explained. “We think.”
“An eel.” Matt cocked his head, his curious approximation of looking at them. He felt for his glass, lifted it, and gave it a delicate sniff. “Huh.”
“Yeah, we were a little too drunk to consider the ramifications of drinking eel imbued alcohol,” Foggy admitted. He was looking at Matt oddly. “Nothing weird now, right?”
“Mm?” Matt’s head came up, a moment of incomprehension before he offered a disarming smile. “Nothing worse than the usual. No, ah… no fish. It’s fine, Foggy.”
“Oh. Good,” Foggy sniffed at his own drink, sipped, and then frowned at Matt. “You’d be able to tell, wouldn’t you? I mean. You can tell that stuff?”
It was an odd question. Karen glanced at Matt, watching the way he threw back his drink and held out the glass for more, his face utterly blank. He murmured a quiet “thanks” as Karen poured more whiskey into his glass.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I can tell.”
“Right,” Foggy drank his own shot. “You wouldn’t’ve just downed that if you thought it was bad, right?”
“Certainly not a second time.”
Matt held up his glass with what had to be the world’s most strained smile. Karen did not believe it for an instant. She did believe Matt wanted out of Foggy’s weird conversation. From the regretful twist of Foggy’s expression, he realized it too. He gave himself a shake and held up his own glass.
“We did good today,” Foggy declared.
Karen cut in, intent upon raising the mood again.
“Mr. Gorman will be able to sleep well tonight knowing his family will be taken care of,” she added. “You guys are rock stars.”
Matt laughed. Foggy blinked, then grinned, and the tension was broken. They toasted their win and fell into comfortable conversation.
It was not quite back to normal. Karen was drinking more than was healthy. It was easier to fall asleep at night when her body was losing to the effects of too much alcohol. Foggy was drinking a healthy amount, but he seemed to get more cheerful with each swallow he took. Matt rarely drank much. That second shot was beyond his usual. Even now he was not keeping up, having imbibed barely more than half of what either Karen or Foggy had.
Matt was drunk. Karen was probably not the best judge, being that she knew she was well on her way to being staggeringly drunk herself. Foggy was giggling and telling stories—she loved when he got into tales of himself and Matt in college. But Matt.
Matt was holding carefully onto the edge of the table and giggling each time Foggy said something absurd. It was strange, a little ridiculous, and curiously adorable. Karen had always considered Matt to be attractive (okay, she wanted to jump him and shove her tongue down his throat in her weak moments), and this goofy side to him was unexpected and charming.
She was still attracted to him. After everything that happened, after seeing Foggy and Matt fall apart, after staining her hands in blood. Karen still found herself creating stupid, childish fantasies. Mostly they were simple—a moment of weakness, lean across and press her lips to his. He would slide those long, strong fingers into her hair and pull and—
Karen shook her head and willed the feelings back. Physical attraction was fine. But Matt had never given her any indication that he would ever want to start a relationship with her. Plus, Foggy always pointed out that Matt was a notorious serial dater. At this point in her life, Karen was not sure she wanted to become just a notch in the bedpost of someone she cared about.
So she laughed at Foggy’s terrible jokes and listened to Matt’s silly giggling and told herself it was enough. For now, it really was. The nightmares kept her up, but here? In this place, with these two noble men? She was not sure there was any place she would rather be.
Josie cut them off after Matt was nearly asleep at the table. Head on folded arms, Matt looked flat out exhausted.
“You look like shit, Murdock,” Josie remarked. “You three. Out. Go home.”
“Hah! No comments on me! Did you hear that, Matt?”
“Hmph… I hear everything,” Matt mumbled, then giggled again. Not quite as close to a total shutdown as Karen had previously suspected.
“Yeah, yeah. Come on, you lightweight. Karen! Karen, get his wallet! He’s paying!”
“What? Hey!” Matt swatted at Karen when she, laughing just as much as her boys, groped around the side of his jacket in search of pockets. He was uncoordinated enough that she succeeded. She tugged his wallet out, against all his protests. “No—Foggy! This wasn’t even—give that back! You muggers!”
Karen laughed and opened the wallet. It was a simple leather thing, old and battered, and was nearly empty. There were two credit cards—one which she recognized as the company account—and a state issued ID. Non-driving, of course. She tugged it out and studied it. Matt looked much the same in the photo as he did every day, but for the lack of sunglasses in the picture. Karen rarely saw Matt without the dark lenses over his eyes, but in this photo, they were absent. He was aimed toward the camera, but his eyes were focused on some middle point of nothingness.
He looked strangely vulnerable in the picture.
Her distraction was such that Matt caught her wrist and managed to pry the wallet out of her hand before she could get to the money. Judging by the slimness of the wallet, there was not much in there anyway.
Not that it mattered. Foggy reached out and plucked the wallet out of Matt’s hand and started rifling through it. Matt yelped again and made a wild grab that came nowhere near Foggy. Karen kept laughing as Matt stumbled in a show of graceless lack of coordination and somehow ended up in a headlock under Foggy’s arm.
“You can pay your fair share,” Foggy informed Matt, pulling out a ten-dollar bill—folded in half once lengthwise—and slapped it on the table. He reached out and took the ID back from Karen, stuffing it into its slot, and returned the wallet. Then, retrieving his own money, he put down the rest. It covered Karen’s drinks as well.
“Foggy, you don’t have to,” Karen managed between giggles.
“It was my treat,” Foggy announced, and then added over Matt’s mild objection, “Matt just had to cover damages for having drooled all over the table.”
“What—I did not—I wasn’t drooling!” Matt seemed to lose much of his diction while drunk as well. At least he did not seem offended. He was smiling again (now that Foggy had released him) and swaying a bit unsteadily as he fumbled for his cane and put his wallet back into his pocket.
“Don’t worry,” Foggy offered. “It was a very attractive drool. Like a baby. Cute.”
“Drool is never cute,” Matt countered. He managed to unfold his cane without hitting anyone. Karen sidled up beside him, gratified when he found her arm and held on a bit harder than was typical. His balance was probably shot.
“You weren’t drooling,” Karen assured him.
“Thank you, Karen.” Matt flashed her a broad smile. “I forgive you for mugging me.”
She laughed delightedly and led him outside. Foggy caught up soon after, hooking an arm through Matt’s though it sent the man’s cane stuttering across the sidewalk. Matt tried to adjust, but it ended up tripping them all up. Foggy just laughed and took it in his free hand, and they were off.
“Man, I wish I hadn’t let my phone die,” Foggy groaned. “I need a picture of Matt Murdock drooling on a table at Josie’s for my Facebook page. It’ll go in the album of Matt’s stupid handsome cute face.”
Karen could hardly breathe for the laughter. It was not even that funny. Her hilarity stemmed from Matt’s blush and stammering objection.
“You—you promised you weren’t—weren’t posting pictures of me!”
“I took all those naked ones down—kidding! I’m kidding!”
Because Matt had torn away from Karen to try to wrestle Foggy into submission. Foggy was laughing too hard to get away, but Matt was too drunk to get a decent hold. The whole thing was a mess. All Karen could do was lean against a lamp post and laugh her head off while her two ridiculous bosses acted like idiots.
And that was where it all went south.
Karen almost missed it. She wiped tears from her eyes just in time to see Foggy catch Matt when the blind man tripped over nothing. And then Foggy was kissing Matt.
It was awkward and sloppy. Foggy had a solid hold on Matt’s biceps, but Matt was still caught half in the battle of before, one hand twisted in the side of Foggy’s jacket and the other thrown out for balance. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, unidentifiable in its intent. The man was impossible to read with those sunglasses always in place anyway. Either way, Foggy pulled back in response to the noise.
Foggy had misinterpreted that little whine, Karen decided. Matt made an aborted move, momentarily leaning into the other man, chasing down that lost moment for an instant before apparently thinking better of it.
The moment was lost.
Matt recoiled, hands coming up to shove himself away from Foggy.
“Ah, Jesus. Matt—I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking, I—”
“No, no—” Matt coughed, cleared his throat after that hoarse disaster of an interjection. “It’s fine. That wasn’t—I shouldn’t—Where’s my cane?”
The man was such a terrible liar. He was trying to brush this off, trying to pretend nothing had happened. The alcohol was not helping his cause. Matt actually cringed when Foggy held out his cane, flinching when the man’s hand caught his and eased the white stick into it.
“It was just an impulse, buddy.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Another obvious lie. Matt’s head was jerking around in strange, twitching little movements until he seemed to find what he was looking for. He turned, orienting himself back down the sidewalk. “It’s, uh… I think I had too much to drink. I don’t feel right.”
“We’ll walk you home,” Foggy said.
“It’s out of your way,” Matt was already moving, shockingly steady and smooth for someone as drunk as he was. “I’ll be okay.”
“Matt, you’re completely smashed!” Foggy protested, his laughter weak and forced. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t mess with your sense of direction!”
“I’ll call—text!” Matt was moving fast—faster than he should have been capable of given his state of inebriation—cane tapping rhythmically against the sidewalk as he left them. “I’ll text when I’m home! Good night!”
Foggy made a halfhearted move to follow but stopped after only a couple steps. Karen stared after Matt’s retreating back, watched him weave a moment, turn toward an alley that was not the right one, abort, and move back to the sidewalk. The impulse to follow him was strong, but one look at Foggy’s devastated face was enough to pin her in place.
“Foggy.” She really was too drunk for this. Too drunk and yet, the shock of it had sobered her just enough to realize that something had gone terribly wrong. Karen just was not sure what that was yet. “Foggy, what—”
“Shit,” Foggy hissed and flapped a silencing hand at her. “Don’t be an idiot, Matty.”
“He’s almost two blocks away, Foggy,” Karen said gently. She could not even hear the sharp tapping of Matt’s cane anymore, despite the emptiness of the street and its hollow, echoing feel. No way could Matt hear Foggy’s muttered warning.
“Yeah,” Foggy grunted. “I know.” He gave a halfhearted nod toward home. “He’ll be okay. Shall we?”
She nodded and fell into step beside him.
“What the hell was that about?” she demanded after a few minutes of walking in uncomfortable silence.
“What?” Foggy grunted. “Me being an idiot and kissing my completely heterosexual best friend? What the hell could possibly go wrong with that?”
Karen was quiet in the face of the bitterness. No matter what Foggy said to put her off, she did understand. Matt… drew people to him. His idealism hidden beneath a cool exterior bound up in a bow of gritty determination was an intriguing package. He seemed to like putting up a wall of untouchability. Having once seen beneath that, a night of vulnerability and breathless sobbing, Karen knew he was not nearly as unbreakable as he like to make people think.
She studied Foggy quietly. His expression was caught between anxiety and fury. She could almost hear the litany of stupid! stupid! stupid! chorusing around him. It was something she understood completely, even if she had never acted so foolishly on it.
For all that Foggy seemed the soft, gentle man of their group, Karen knew that he was far stronger than she or Matt could ever be.
That did not mean he did not deserve some sympathy.
“I think you’re wrong about the… the straight thing.” Of course, she might be better off waiting until she was completely sober for this. Words such as heterosexuality were a bit beyond her right now. But, well… she had committed. She managed a shaky smile when Foggy looked at her skeptically. “He was into it. Before…”
“He was drunk,” Foggy reminded her. “Matt doesn’t… he doesn’t drink like that. Usually. Says it messes with…”
He trailed off, frowning. He shook his head. Laughed. It was a bitter, irritated sound.
“You know, Matt always seemed to be able to pick the hot girls out of a crowd,” he remarked. “Always the ones who were trouble, too. You know, Marci went straight for him first.”
“Really?” Knowing what Karen did about Marci—and Matt—that surprised her.
“Well, yeah,” Foggy snorted. “Look at him. Marci didn’t look at me twice until I crushed her in mock.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Karen sighed.
“Tell that to my pathetic social life,” Foggy scoffed. He groaned, rubbed at his face briskly, and marched determinedly onward. “It doesn’t matter. Knowing Matt, he’ll swan into the office Monday like nothing ever happened. If I’m really lucky, he won’t remember what I did. We’ll be fine.”
That was somewhat alarming.
“If he’s that drunk, should we have let him walk home alone?”
“Hah!” Foggy snorted. “If he gets lost, it’s his own damn fault!”
“He could get mugged!” For all their joking earlier, Karen would never actually want to see one of her friends get assaulted on the street for their wallet.
“Yeah, he doesn’t look it, but Matt’s scrappy,” Foggy waved off her concern. “He’d kick the crap out of anyone stupid enough to get in arm’s reach. You know he boxes? You wouldn’t think it, him being blind an all, but he’s got a hell of a right hook.”
“Speaking from experience there, Foggy?” Karen had to tease.
“Ah… yeah,” Foggy smiled sheepishly. “Point of note: don’t ever try to grab Matt when he’s in full freak out mode. It’s not pretty.”
“Freak out mode?” Karen was still picturing a man barely capable of remaining upright while the world beat down upon him. Somehow, she did not think that was what Foggy meant.
“He’s got some stress issues,” Foggy shrugged. “Always has. Blew up at me once when I tried to make him go to the hospital—the guy had pneumonia and kept trying to manage his class load. Like the teachers wouldn’t give him a break. He got me once in the side before dropping like a damned rock. The hospital really freaked him out, though. I’m not really sure why. Just… the doctors had to keep him pretty drugged up until he was well enough to go home.”
“Jesus.” Karen was a bit surprised that Foggy was telling her all this. It seemed rather personal, like something Matt would rather not share with people. It just told her Foggy had drunk more than his current steadiness suggested. “So I shouldn’t worry.”
“Yeah. He can deal with his hangover just like the rest of us tomorrow,” Foggy looked up, and Karen realized they had reached her building.
“Oh.”
“Night, Karen. See you Monday.”
To round off the night, Karen caught Foggy’s arm before he could leave. He looked at her uncertainly, an expression that turned to pained surprise when she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. When she pulled back, he just stared at her tiredly.
“For the record?” she murmured. “You’re a heck of a catch, Foggy Nelson. Matt should be so lucky.”
She believed that. Though she was drawn to Matt—though the both of them were—Matt was not the one who had the kindness and stability that Foggy had to offer. He was more of a fixer upper. God save Karen from going into relationships where she would be trying to change her significant other.
Maybe Foggy would save her from them.
Karen smiled again, released his hand, and went up the steps to her apartment.
This was probably a bad idea. Karen was barely sober, certainly hungover. She probably looked like shit. The image in her mirror that morning had not shown a girl who was put together. Her eyes had been bloodshot even after she got out of the shower. Her hair was still wet, pulled into a low ponytail and leaving a damp spot on the back of her shirt.
She had forgone her usual attire in favor of the comfort of jeans and a sweater. Trying to force herself to look good was pointless on her day off, especially when her head still ached, and her stomach felt fragile. Besides, Matt would not notice.
“Matt?” Knocking on his door at nine AM when they had spent the previous night out late drinking too much was probably cruel. However, Karen did not trust that Matt would linger in his apartment too long when there were things to be done. She hoped that he would wait until at least this hour, given that most stores did not open until nine or later. “Matt, it’s Karen.”
The last time she had been in his apartment, Matt had brushed off her concern and her questions about his battered state. So too had he dismissed any inquiries about how trashed his apartment looked. She was still convinced someone had broken in and beat the shit out of him on Fisk’s orders. If Wesley had tracked down Karen, there was no reason he would not have done the same to Matt. And with Matt, he could have done a lot more damage and terrorizing without concern as to the blind man being able to identify him.
The idea of it still scared the hell out of her. Even with Wesley dead. Even if Matt seemed not to be bothered by it at all. The only times Matt seemed to be jarred from his steady calm were when something was happening in his personal life. Criminals and assholes never got under his skin.
Karen pounded on the door again.
“I know you’re in there!” She hoped he was in there. “I’m not leaving until you let me in, Matt!” She also hoped the neighbor woman did not poke her head out again. Fran. Foggy had called her Fran. The old woman seemed like she would be cranky.
It was impulse that had her reaching for the doorknob. She did not think the door would actually open. The fact that it did open made it all that more alarming.
Karen yanked her hand back, a sudden spike of anxiety setting her heart to pounding in her chest. She took a breath. She tried to reason it out.
Matt had been drunk. Maybe he forgot to lock it when he got home last night. Maybe he was not even home. Maybe he had been hungover and forgot to lock the door when he left this morning.
A shadow moved in the space left visible by the cracked open door, and Karen took another sharp step back, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a startled shriek. Her heart was in her throat when the door abruptly swung open.
There stood Matt, looking like hell.
For a moment, Karen was brought back to the morning after Matt’s accident, when he stood before her, beat all to hell. But this was different. His face was clear of any bruising, though there was a fading one on his forearm, yellow and brown and clearly the result of the healing cut in its midst. God only knew where that one had come from, but it seemed not to be bothering him.
Instead, the mess was all Matt. He was soaked, for one. Clearly, he had just gotten out of the shower. His hair was a sopping disaster on his head, and there were bold damp patches on his tee shirt where he had failed to completely towel dry. The sweatpants he wore were worn and damp in spots as well, something she was doing her best to ignore. She did notice he had put on socks, which seemed a bit odd, given that his haste had not allowed for much else.
His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and glassy.
“What did you need, Karen?” The question was impatient, but the voice speaking it was hoarse and tired.
She shook her head and stepped forward, noticing with some surprise that he reflected the movement, taking a startled step back.
“I brought coffee,” she said, holding up the basket with the two cups in an offering he could not see. Surely he could smell it. It was fairly strong. “From that place down the street you said you liked.”
He gave a bone-weary sigh and turned to move into the apartment. Since he left the door wide open, Karen assumed she was invited. She closed—and locked—the door behind her and trailed along behind Matt, pausing to set the drinks on the table, along with a bag of scones. She did not know if he liked those, but she figured it did not hurt to offer.
“I’m not… feeling especially well right now, Karen,” Matt dropped into one of the kitchen chairs wearily.
“Sorry if I interrupted your shower,” Karen did feel bad about that, at least.
Matt sighed. His hands came up to cover his face, holding there for a moment before he rubbed at it roughly. He finished by dragging his fingers through his dripping hair and then leaning forward, hand sliding cautiously across the table toward the coffee. Karen should have just given him one, but she was transfixed, almost morbidly curious to see a blind man functioning so easily and yet with such challenges before him. Matt’s fingers found the edge of the carrier, and he tugged the thing toward him gently. A light sniff at each of the drinks had him pulling out the one closest to him.
She had ordered it as she knew he liked it, right down to the extra espresso shot and low-fat milk. Even so, hers was not so different. Perhaps a lower caffeine content. Karen had no idea how Matt had picked out the right one.
“It was time I got out anyway,” he muttered as he pried the lid from the cup. He took a small sip and put the cup on the table in front of him. “Karen, not that I don’t appreciate the coffee, but why are you here? It’s a Saturday. It’s early on a Saturday.”
“I know you said you got home safe last night, but you were pretty drunk,” Karen reminded him. (As if he needed it. His wince suggested he was still regretting it.) “I wanted to be sure you actually were okay.”
“Hm,” Matt’s lips twitched in the world’s weakest attempt at a smile. “Yes. Well, here I am. Okay.”
“You don’t look okay,” Karen declared.
“I’m hungover,” Matt countered. “You’re lucky I’m not throwing this coffee up right now.”
“Is that why your eyes are so red?” Karen asked. “Involuntary tear reflex from vomiting?”
Matt really was the worst actor. He froze up solid the instant the words hit him. Karen congratulated herself on a clue well spotted even as her heart broke for her boss and friend. She had known Matt was upset the previous night. Anyone could see that. Foggy knew it, though he had tried to brush it off as Matt being his usual distant self.
Speaking of which, Matt was going to try to retreat again. He drank another sip of his coffee, grimaced, swallowed, and sipped again. It was clear he was regretting not grabbing his sunglasses. His attempts at tilting his head down and away were obvious and even worse to watch than that initial freeze.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Matt snorted, the bitterness in his expression surprising and reflective of Foggy’s own behavior the night before.
“I’m a good listener,” Karen offered again when he remained stubbornly silent.
“Sounds like you’ve drawn your own conclusions,” Matt shoved away from the table and, abandoning the coffee, went to his room with a smoothness that belied his familiarity of the space.
Not for the first time, Karen wondered how many times he had been back and forth in this place, learning the layout. She had seen him do it in the office when they started setting up the desks, chairs and tables. He had paced back and forth with his cane, repetitive movements mixed with odd periods of stillness while he almost absentmindedly clanked his cane against the metal legs of the chairs and conference room table. Said it helped him map out the space in his head. Like some sort of bat—like Foggy had said—using some human variation of echolocation.
He came back a moment later, zipping a hooded sweatshirt over his damp tee shirt. Considering how pale and exhausted he looked, it was no wonder he was cold.
“Foggy was pretty drunk last night too,” Karen murmured. “We all were.”
“Yeah,” Matt’s lip curled into a mockery of a smile, flashing into a sneer before dropping away to grim misery. “Yeah.”
“But you don’t believe it was just a drunk impulse,” Karen predicted.
Of course he didn’t. He would not be nearly this despondent for anything less. It was what had knocked him flat the last time she had seen this. The fear of Fisk and the horrors he could inflict upon them had done nothing to faze Matt. The only times he lost his temper were when Karen or Foggy suggested something that might put them in danger. He had been the one to wander into the lion’s den, completely oblivious to the hypocrisy of his behavior. He had been the one to get the shit beat out of him (which Karen still suspected had something to do with Fisk, no matter what Matt said. No one had that kind of damage inflicted upon them at no one else’s fault aside from their own). But the instant he had faced the possibility of losing Foggy’s support—and, to a lesser extent, Karen’s—he had fallen apart. He had soldiered on, yes, but Karen knew exactly how devastated he had been.
She saw that same devastation on his face now.
He was going for the fridge rather than the coffee. Probably for the beer he seemed to go for no matter what the time if his day was going poorly enough. Karen knew she was about to overstep her bounds, but she followed him to the kitchen and put her hand on the door before he could open it.
Matt’s left fist hit the door an instant later, the resultant slam making Karen yelp and jump back a step.
That she had not expected.
Heart in her throat, Karen stared at Matt incredulously. The violence was not something she had ever expected to have to reconcile with her otherwise restrained boss.
“Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “Matt.”
He yanked the refrigerator open… and pulled out a bottle of ginger ale.
“What do you want from me, Karen?” For all that he had been contained violence but a moment ago, now he was nothing but a ball of weary sweats-encompassed exhaustion. “It’s fine, okay? I’m fine.”
“Fine,” Karen echoed flatly. “Is that why you punched your fridge?”
“That is because I am sick, and someone decided I’m not a grown man who can make my own damned choices, wise or not.”
Karen watched him shuffle over to his couch and drop heavily into it. She glanced back at the refrigerator, at the surprising crease in the metal. Taking a deep breath, she determinedly followed, reaching the living space in time to see Matt drag a blanket from the back of the sofa over himself as he curled up on his side. Apparently, he was going to try to chase her away by attempting to guilt her.
“You dented your refrigerator door,” she told him.
“With the rest of the damage in this place, there was no getting the security deposit back anyway,” he retorted.
Karen sighed. Stubborn son-of-a-bitch.
“How is your hand?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Story of my goddamned life.”
It took a moment for that one to sink in. Mostly, Karen was shocked at the language. Matt was not one to shy away from cursing, but he did not swear as a general rule. Dropping that one had been startling in the sense that it was uncharacteristic. She almost missed the statement itself in her distraction over the irate curse.
“Do you need any ice?” she asked rather than address something that was going in a direction she had never intended. Heaven knew, if she followed that thread, she had a feeling she might get tangled up in something Matt would refuse to unwind.
Matt grunted, his head shifting in the slightest movement to decline the offer.
She sat across from him, pondering the empty space between the chair and the sofa. Hadn’t there been a coffee table here before? Karen seemed to remember there being a place where she set her cup, the water he had given her after giving her a shirt and declaring the bed hers for the night. Now there was only empty space and scraped wood flooring.
Karen recognized the damage. Her apartment had seen this kind of damage when the man in the mask—when Daredevil—had fought off the guy trying to kill her. Matt said no one had broken in. Maybe he had let them in. Whatever the case, she suspected they had thrown him around pretty good, wreaking havoc on his apartment and its furniture in the process. No doubt Foggy had cleaned up some of the mess while trying to cover for whatever it was that Matt was hiding about that encounter.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Karen,” Matt murmured.
His eyes were closed, a useless gesture probably meant more to convince her to leave than for any desire to close out the room. As far as she understood, Matt was completely blind. Foggy said he did not even get any sense of light and shadow, like so many legally blind people did.
“Foggy’s afraid he messed things up between you two,” Karen said softly.
Matt’s face crumpled, smoothed, and faltered again. Given that most people’s eyes were the source of their emotion and Matt’s general disability to show them as such, the man’s face was remarkably expressive. Just watching his mouth twitch and twist about presented a vivid picture of how he was currently feeling.
Karen slid to her knees beside the sofa, impulsively reaching to soothe the pain she saw in her friend.
She was taken back to that miserable night before Fisk was arrested. When Matt had fallen apart in front of her and shook so horribly in her arms. Grabbing him then had been all maternal instinct. It was the same now.
Karen ignored the awkwardness of their respective positions and pulled Matt into her shoulder. Though he tensed, initially resistant, Matt’s hand came up to grip hard at her arm, and he stayed there. He did not pull close, but neither did he push her away.
“It’s not necessarily a bad thing that Foggy likes you,” Karen offered. She could not quite believe she was advocating for Matt to venture into a relationship with, well… anyone else. But seeing this, all thoughts of jealousy fled, leaving only concern in their wake. Concern and a strong desire to get her friends back on an even keel. “I mean, you two already love each other. Anyone could tell that. And… nothing really has to change. If you don’t want to pursue… that.”
Matt laughed. Rather, he tried to laugh. It was a fairly pathetic attempt that sounded more like a sob. Karen combed gentle fingers through his drying hair, picking through the odd tangle and repeating the motion.
“You won’t lose him, you know,” she murmured. “No matter what you decide.”
It should have been strange, finger-combing her boss’s hair while he laid on a sofa. The whole position was a little unusual. Karen sat on the floor with her arms around Matt’s shoulders, half pulling him off the sofa and onto her own shoulder. He had an iron grip on her one arm—the one not attached to the hand fussing with his hair—his other arm lost somewhere in the folds of his blanket.
The wood floor was hard, but Karen was not planning to move anytime soon.
“Foggy said you don’t really do relationships,” Karen figured if she kept talking, eventually Matt would have to respond. “Never longer than a couple of months. Considering you two have basically been dating for the past—what? Four years?—you’re already ahead.”
Matt’s hand tightened briefly on her arm before abruptly releasing. He sighed and pulled away, rolling to his back on the couch and fixing his blank stare on the ceiling. His eyes were still red, but Karen was fairly certain he had not actually shed any tears this time. Now he just looked tired.
“You’re right, Karen,” he sighed. “It will be fine.”
“I know I’m right,” Karen watched him warily. This felt like another diversion. “So, what are you going to do? Should I be stopping to pick up flowers?”
He snorted. Karen bit her lip when she saw his eyes glass over abruptly. Matt swallowed, looked up—tried all the tricks—but the traitorous few tears fell, tracing down his temples into his hairline.
“I don’t know,” he said, voice thick with regret. “I can’t…”
Matt closed his eyes and shook his head.
“You don’t feel that way about Foggy.”
She was surprised. Absurdly, Karen was surprised that she was surprised. She had never entertained the idea before. Now that she had, though, she found she was certain Matt and Foggy would feel more than simple friendship for each other. From everything she had seen with these two idiots, she practically pegged them as soulmates. They were closer than brothers.
“Karen…”
No. She had not been mistaken when she watched that disaster of a kiss last night. Until he had been dragged back to his senses, Matt had been all for it. He had been drunk and off balance, but he had chased down that kiss when it ended. And if there was one thing Karen had figured out about this man, it was that he had an uncanny ability to identify people even without his sight. There was no way he had thought anyone other than Foggy was holding him last night. His pained plea just now was only proof.
“You do feel that way,” she breathed.
“Karen—”
“What’s the problem if you want him?” Karen was not going to let him weasel out of this one. Matt, she had recently learned, had secrets. He hid them well, through reticence and evasion, but they were there. She was striking upon one now. But this time? This time she was not going to let him get away with it. Not when Foggy’s feelings were at stake. She cared too much for both of them to let Matt do this again. So Karen latched onto that secret and dragged it forward too. “Is this about the fight you two had a couple months ago?”
“What?” Matt was suddenly alert, all traces of exhaustion lost in the darting of his sightless eyes. “No, that didn’t—”
“Or how you keep showing up to work hurt?” Karen pushed. Her own question brought forth a horrible thought. “Oh, my god. Were you seeing someone who was hurting you? Matt!”
“What the hell?!”
Matt lurched up, scrambling away from Karen even as he wheeled on her. She looked up at him, ever impressed by his balance and mobility. Karen had a difficult time imagining what it would be like to be functionally blind, but she did know that when the power went out in her apartment at night, she bumped into and knocked over things she knew were there. Matt never did that. Matt had just launched himself off his couch in a smooth, athletic movement and landed catlike on his feet to turn and glare somewhere around Karen’s left ear.
“Do you really think I’d just let someone hit me?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” Karen said honestly. “You’re secretive, Matt. You hide things. Most people hide things because they’re afraid or ashamed. Which are you?”
He recoiled, looking for the world like she had just slapped him. In a way, she supposed she had.
His mouth opened and shut a few times. Nothing came of it. For a long moment, Karen thought he would kick her out. After what she had said, it was well within his rights. Had their positions been reversed, Karen might have told him to go fuck himself, and she would not have felt any guilt over it.
But Matt was not the type to say something like that. He could get testy and temperamental—could be prickly as hell when it came to people he did not like—but he had a terrible tendency to be the first to run when either Karen or Foggy were involved. Even before the big fight which had nearly spelled the end of Nelson and Murdock, Karen had witnessed Foggy getting into Matt’s face. It was never the other way around. Matt would try to maneuver the situation in his favor, as any good lawyer did. However, if it became clear that he was in the wrong (which, admittedly, was rare), he would back away faster than a dog from a folded-up newspaper. (His face usually reflected that expression as well.)
“I-I-I…” The word stuttered out of him, a weak little thing. He gritted his teeth and forced the rest out, “I’m not afraid.”
“Ashamed then.” Because she was already walking that fine line. She might as well take it all the way.
Matt sucked in a furious breath. It was difficult to tell from where she sat. His back was to the window. In the morning light the shifting colors of the glowing billboard were not nearly so distracting. Even so, it cast his face half in shadow, his eyes hidden again. Karen wondered if he had done that on purpose.
“I’m not—” He faltered, winced, and seemed to fold in on himself. Karen watched, fascinated as Matt took a step back, stopped, and braced himself with another measured breath. “I’m not ashamed either.”
As far as she was concerned, one of those two statements was a lie. If Karen were to hazard a guess, she would say it was the first. Matt was afraid of something. Rejection? The potential loss of a friend? Both were great deterrents.
“I don’t think I was wrong, Matt,” Karen said bluntly. “And frankly, you sounded less like you were lying when you said you weren’t ashamed.”
He dragged a hand over his face, uttering a low, frustrated sound as he did. Karen sighed and pushed to her feet. She was not sure how well Matt could track her movements. Judging by the twitch of his head and a sudden shift to put the sofa between them, he knew a lot more than she would have originally thought to give any blind man credit for.
“I’m not going to attack you,” she murmured. This was not how she had wanted this to go. “Matt, I’m asking as your friend. I just want to help.”
“This doesn’t feel like help,” Matt grumbled.
“Something is bothering you,” Karen pointed out the obvious. “You’ll feel better if you tell someone.”
“I’ve got a priest for that.”
“You going to tell your priest that you kissed Foggy and liked it?” Karen challenged.
Matt grunted.
“Maybe.”
Karen grimaced.
“Is it the Catholic thing?”
Matt groaned.
“No, Karen. It’s not the Catholic thing.”
He flinched, rubbed at his temples. Karen picked up his ginger ale—his head gave another twitch—and brought it over to him. Matt’s shoulders climbed toward his ears, his entire body hunching in on itself with tension the closer she got, but Karen just touched the back of his hand and guided it to the bottle.
She was a bit surprised when he pulled his hand away before she could hand off the drink. Only by a minor miracle did she keep from dropping it to the floor in her surprise.
“I’ve been through this before,” Matt said, low and pained. They were close. His words washed over Karen like a physical thing, warm breath on her cheek. “It always starts out okay. And Foggy—he’ll probably last longer, because he’s Foggy, but his tolerance for me hasn’t been great lately.”
“One fight,” Karen protested.
“No!” Matt snapped. “No, it wasn’t just one fight. I did something, Karen—something awful—and he was right to go. He should have stayed away.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Don’t—don’t tell me how to feel, Karen!”
The snarl, right in her face, was alarming. That was thrice now that Matt had lost his temper in the course of a conversation. This time she felt it viscerally through her. It was terrifying.
This was not a man who let anyone do anything he didn’t like to him. She was an idiot for even thinking Matt would ever take a beating without fighting back. He might not be equipped to defend himself properly, but with his temper and strength—that refrigerator door was still dented—she would not want to start anything physical with him. No one would come out unscathed.
It took a great deal of effort to speak without letting her voice shake. She only mostly succeeded.
“Then tell me how you feel, Matt,” she murmured. “And I’ll stop guessing.”
They were so close that she could almost imagine those dark eyes were searching hers. That was impossible, of course. Matt was blind. It was obvious when his gaze roved over toward her temple and cheeks. It was less pointed when he moved in a step, right into her space.
Karen’s breath caught. It took every ounce of courage she possessed not to back away. Matt would not hurt her. She was certain of it.
“Is this something you know, Karen?” he asked. His voice was gruff and angry. She had almost expected it to be silky and threatening. Instead, he just sounded shaken. “You’ve said no. No, this isn’t going to happen. But he pushes. Of course he pushes. He’s male, and he’s been taught that no is just an obstacle to overcome. Even here, when it’s not just someone saying no to a loan or a date. It’s no, I don’t want to have sex with you. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
“Is this something you understand? Karen?”
She struggled to breathe. Because she did understand this. God, did she understand it. It hurt to even think about. Agony raged beneath her skin to think that Matt understood it.
“Matt—”
“How would you like it, Karen, if that was an entire relationship?”
He shifted again, too close. Too close. Karen had wanted this, had wanted to touch him, hold him, be held by him. Right now, she wanted to be away from him. Far away, where she could breathe again. But she was trapped, pinned in place with Matt breathing over her ear, his hands hovering over her arms, fingers brushing so lightly at the sleeves of her sweater that she hardly felt it. She hardly dared to move lest those hands suddenly decide to grab her.
“It hurts,” he murmured, still that hoarse utterance. It was the only thing which kept her from shoving her knee in his crotch for daring do this to her. That, and the awareness that she had been the one to push him to this. Karen stood frozen, heart pounding, almost shivering in anticipation of the unknown. “Always, this uncertainty, and it does hurt. Never knowing if this is the time when they’ll think that standing no is just a taunt. Is just a prudish thing. A Catholic thing. And when it happens, as it always does, you start to wonder what’s wrong with you. And it hurts.”
His voice cracked. Karen reacted without thought. She swept her arms up (and thank god that bottle of ginger ale was still sealed) and wrapped them around the man already so far into her personal space. Matt staggered as the move pulled him off balance, but he did not try to retreat.
He did not return the embrace. Karen dug her fingers into that mess of hair and held him as tightly as she dared. But Matt merely stood there, shuddering and stiff, his own breathing wildly unsteady.
“I couldn’t handle that with Foggy,” Matt said. All she could hear was the despair in his words. “I can’t.”
Karen could not say she understood. If anything, it raised more questions than she already had. What she did understand was that Matt was in pain. She understood that sometimes it was better to be silent and accept than it was to try to understand. Perhaps she should have made this realization fifteen minutes ago, prior to harassing her friend to the point of near hysteria. Karen hoped she could rectify the mistake now.
In the end, she put him in bed. She did not know what he had done the previous night, but it was clear that sleep had not been a part of it. The longer they stood there, the more Matt leaned on her. While Karen was by no means weak, neither was she strong enough to hold Matt’s surprisingly considerable weight.
“Do you want to be alone?” Wording the question that way was a bit manipulative. Karen would be the first to admit it. She felt a little bad when Matt opened his mouth, closed it, and then mutely shook his head. Still, she was glad she had not asked if he wanted her to leave. He probably would have kicked her out if she had presented an opportunity. “Come on. You need to sleep.”
He sighed and let her pull him into his room.
The room’s door had seen better days. It was back on its tracks, but there was a hole punched through it, making it irrelevant either way. It almost distracted from the fact that the bottom step (on Matt’s strange staircase to the roof) was horrifically cracked. It looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Karen did not dare ask again.
Karen deliberately ignored the problems of Matt’s apartment and shoved him toward his bed. She watched as he took a nosedive into his pillow, his hand coming up to pull his sheets half-assed over his shoulders before he went still. He must have been exhausted. Karen had doubted he would be able to sleep easily, but his breath was sawing softly out of him in the faintest of snores.
She stifled a laugh, even if she could not help her smirk. Despite Foggy’s stories, she had never believed him. Surely Matt Murdock did not snore. And yet here was proof. It was not loud. He was not a chainsaw keeping the neighborhood awake. She would not even be able to hear it in the next room despite the open door. But Matt was snoring.
Karen sat on the sofa, straining her ears to maintain proof of the curiously charming little noise.
The sizzling sounds of someone frying something on the stove woke her. Groggy and confused, Karen opened her eyes to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling. She considered the exposed beams for a moment before shifting her gaze down to take in industrialized windows and a gaudy billboard flashing advertisements across the street from her.
She could not believe she had fallen asleep on Matt’s couch in the middle of the day.
Huffing wearily, Karen squinted at her watch, shocked to see that it was nearly one. She must have been more tired than she thought. Also, Matt must have had the constitution of a brick wall. Considering she had been half as drunk and probably had gotten at least twice as much sleep, she could not believe she was the one lounging and Matt was the one cooking. How the hell was he even conscious?
Matt had two plates of fried eggs, hash browns, and toast ready by the time Karen dragged herself upright and to the kitchen.
“I don’t have any coffee,” he admitted as he put a glass of water beside the plate.
He had his sunglasses on.
Karen had never realized quite how much of his face those things hid. Not just his eyes, his eyebrows were barely visible above them. They changed the entire look of his face. He seemed sharper, as if the round of his glasses absorbed all the soft features and left only angles. The man was attractive with them on, to be sure, but she found she preferred the openness of his face without the mirrored lenses reflecting her own confusion back at her.
“Water is probably better at this point,” Karen demurred. “Thank you.”
She took the plates and glasses to the table while Matt put dishes in the sink and straightened things to how he wanted. He tossed a couple forks onto the counter as an afterthought, and then butter.
“I hope you don’t want jam,” he added as he finally joined her at the table.
“This is really good,” Karen said honestly. “I didn’t think you knew how to cook.”
“A lot of blind people can cook,” Matt said. There was no heat behind the words. He did not even sound testy. Somehow, he presented the sentiment as though it were not something he had repeated hundreds of times. Matter-of-fact and easy.
“No, I get that,” Karen smiled. “But the first time I was here you didn’t even have food in your apartment. You offered to order takeout.”
He paused, fork midway to his mouth.
“Ah… well. Admittedly grocery shopping is time consuming,” he said with a rueful smile. “I probably order out more than I should, just to avoid it.”
“How is grocery shopping the difficult part?”
Matt shrugged and picked at his toast, tearing it rather than putting it straight into his mouth to bite.
“ADA compliance only extends to the building and its employees,” he said. “The labels aren’t in braille. Most of the time it’s just easier to order online and have groceries delivered.”
Most of the time such things never really occurred to Karen. She typically only saw Matt in environments where he was familiar with where he was going and what he was doing. The office, where his paperwork either already in braille or transferrable to the computer and could be read on his refreshable display or through some sort of audio. He could get around the office without use of his cane. Anywhere else, he would grip Foggy’s or Karen’s arm and follow their lead with ease. His hearing had to be amazing. He usually seemed to know exactly where people were in relationship to himself.
Matt was remarkably self-sufficient for someone who could not see. Karen had difficulty getting through her own apartment when the power was out. But Matt had been blind most of his life and had adapted. He was also fiercely independent, apparently to the point where he did not know how to ask for help until he was breaking for the need of it.
Karen had an intimate understanding of this as well.
“Matt?”
He tilted his head at her, a gesture she had since learned was his way of showing people he was paying attention. The downward quirk to his lips said he had heard the hesitance in her voice, knew where she was going to take this, and did not like it. Karen did it anyway.
“Has anyone ever… hurt you?”
Matt put his glass down and sighed.
“Karen—”
“I just—I want to understand,” she rushed to say. “I mean, there are so many resources out there right now.”
“Are we really having this conversation?”
He was stressed. Karen had a flash of a fist against stainless steel, a snarled curse. The man has a temper. She had seen bits and pieces of it before, expressed as exasperated concern and mother-like domineering. But that had been back when he was not the subject of attack. It occurred to Karen that he was answering her question without words.
Matt would defend himself, violently if necessary.
But Karen still wanted to know.
“I think we should, don’t you?”
“I really don’t,” Matt said sourly. He dragged a hand over his face, groaning unhappily. “Fine. But if we do this here, you have to promise me this is where it stops.”
Karen blinked.
“What?”
“I’m not discussing this again,” Matt said firmly. “And I don’t want you and Foggy talking about this behind my back. Agreed?”
“You should talk with Foggy about this too,” Karen protested.
“Then that’s my responsibility, isn’t it?”
For something which sounded so reasonable, Karen suspected it truly was not. Because Matt played his cards close. He was going to skirt this issue with Foggy for as long as he could manage.
“If I agree not to share this with Foggy, will you promise to talk to him about it?” Karen countered.
“You don’t have ground to stand on here,” Matt retorted. “If I agree not to kick you out of my apartment here and now, you have to agree not to tell Foggy.”
Karen gritted her teeth. This was what she got for being friends with a lawyer.
“You should talk to him,” she said irritably. When his jaw tightened, she added, “Fine. Have it your way. But you have to answer my questions.”
“Then ask.”
Matt was clearly angry. It was a defensive sort of fury, all snap and snarl but no real bite. Karen had not meant for him to feel like she was attacking him. She was not sure how to put him at ease. She took a breath and released it slowly.
Maybe asking about rape outright had been a bit abrupt.
“Just to be clear on this: you’re not… completely straight, right?”
Matt pulled an exasperated face. He shoved his plate back and leaned forward on the table, looking toward her in such a way that, with his sunglasses, he looked nothing so much as a teenager who thought his parents were the stupidest beings on the planet. Karen tried not to take offense.
“I’m trying to rule things out here, Matt!” she complained.
“Ugh,” Matt grunted. “Let’s cut to the chase here. No, I’ve never been sexually assaulted. The priests didn’t diddle with the kiddies at St. Agnes. I dated a couple guys in college. I slept with one of them. I didn’t like it. What else do you need to know?”
“I just…”
Their relationship had always stretched the boundaries of employer-employee. From the beginning Matt and Foggy had been her heroes. Both of them. Foggy, with his unending optimism and compassion. Matt, with his indomitable spirit and hypocritical tendencies toward keeping others safe while ignoring his own needs. Karen loved them both, probably wanted Matt a lot more than he ever wanted anyone, and she was not sure how to balance this. So she did what she always did and blustered in with an awareness that Matt needed help, and she was willing to try to give it to him.
“Do you really think there’s something wrong with you?”
The question was not what she had really wanted to ask. However, as the words left her tongue, Karen was glad she had said it. Matt’s face went blank, his jaw momentarily slackening. And then he was curling in on himself like he could hide from her if only he could make himself small enough.
He fought it. Karen was startled by the visible tension in his frame as Matt tried to force his shoulders back and down. His head twitched, chin jerking toward his chest and lips curling in open disgust. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he just huffed in frustration. He rubbed hard at his brow, the hand dragging down and over his mouth, before letting the hand drop back to the table.
“You just go straight for the impossible shit, don’t you?” he grumbled.
“That’s not an answer,” Karen said stubbornly.
“I don’t have one—”
“Bullshit.” Matt jerked as though she had struck him. Karen glared at him, not caring that he could not see it. “That’s bullshit, and we both know it. You said it before: you start to wonder what’s wrong with you. So I’m just trying to figure it out, Matt. If there actually is something wrong, or if it’s all in your thick head.”
Holy shit. Karen covered her mouth, not quite able to believe she had just said that to her boss. The rest of her was too tenacious to back down. So she just swallowed and waited for Matt to recover from the latest blow and fumble together another bullshit answer.
“Jesus, Karen,” Matt managed a hoarse response. She lifted her chin and was silent. She was not going to give in because they were both uncomfortable. “Jesus… I—well, yeah, Karen. Of course there’s something wrong with me. Foggy knew that before he went and—”
He was trying to deflect. Karen hissed.
“I’m not talking in general, you asshole!” she snapped. “I’m asking if something happened to you to make you afraid of sex!”
“I’m not—” He was up and in full retreat mode. Karen stayed where she was, watching in distant fascination as Matt maneuvered his way around the apartment without the slightest show of difficulty. He snatched up his dishes, dumping the remains of his breakfast in the trash before dropping the dishes into the sink with nearly enough force to break them. Somehow, nothing shattered. “I’ve had sex, Karen. It doesn’t scare me.”
“But you don’t like the idea of having sex with Foggy,” Karen pointed out. “And you implied you don’t want to have sex with anyone else, so it’s not just an attraction thing. You can see why I would think you’ve been forced into—”
“I’m not helpless, Karen,” Matt snapped. “I’ve never been with anyone who has even been capable of forcing me.”
“Maybe talking you into something you weren’t comfortable doing then.”
Matt’s retort stopped before he got further than opening his mouth.
Bullseye, Karen thought grimly. But it took her to a far different conclusion than he expected her to find. Because he was suddenly anxious, moving around his kitchen with sharp efficiency. He did not even fumble for the pans, grabbing them and shoving them toward the sink with a controlled violence that Karen was starting to expect.
“No one ever made me do anything,” he said gruffly.
“But you did let someone talk you into something you didn’t want,” Karen predicted, because she had hung around slick talkers and lawyers enough to know better than to let Matt slip away that easily. She saw the answer in his face. Given his profession, Matt was not good at disguising his emotions. He was great at diversion, but not so much at straight up lying. “Oh, Matt.”
“It’s not like that.” But his protest was weak. Because it was, and he knew it. “Karen, I don’t—I can’t…”
He cut himself short with a curse. A loud bang startled Karen nearly out of her chair before she realized it was just Matt, kicking the cupboard beneath the sink. She figured it out when he took a couple staggering steps back and dropped, disappearing behind the counter, the only sign of what he had done being the thud of wood where Matt must have leaned against the cabinets on the other side of the kitchen.
Cursing herself twice the fool, Karen was on her feet and around the table as quickly as her feet would carry her. She was barely a foot into the kitchen—Matt on the floor, his head on his knees—when he stopped her.
“Don’t.”
Karen froze. Confused, because Matt could not possibly know what she had been intending, she inched forward cautiously. If she could just touch that shivering shoulder.
Matt groaned and dragged his hands down heavily against the back of his neck.
“Stop, Karen.” It was a muffled sort of demand.
“Matt,” she pleaded, because he looked so small there, hiding from whatever it was he thought he needed to flee.
“No.” The shaggy hair ruffled as his head twitched in the slightest of denials. “Go home. Now. I’m done.”
Part of her wanted to argue that they had an agreement. The rest of her knew what a terrible idea that was. She still did not want to leave.
“I can’t leave you like this.”
“You can. You will. Go away.”
Someone knocked on the door. Karen jumped. Matt moaned miserably.
“Damn it.”
“Want me to get it?” Karen offered. It was a bit arch, but she was getting frustrated. Matt had battled her all the way on this, and now, when she was so close, he was giving her the boot. She did not like seeing him so unhappy, but if that was what it took to get answers—and hopefully get him out of this weird self-denial thing he had—then she figured it was worth it.
“How about you leave and take them with you?”
Matt lifted his head a bit, angling toward the side as if he could hear straight through his refrigerator, two walls and a hallway to know who was at the door. The strange twist of his expression made it seem as though he really could. Karen lifted a curious eyebrow when the knocking came again, this time with a call.
“Matt? Buddy? Man, I know you’re in there!”
Foggy.
Matt’s head hit the cupboard behind him with a sad clattering thunk. The man was broadcasting Fuck my life all over the place. Karen shot him a challenging look.
“Want me to send him packing?”
Matt moaned again.
“…No,” it was barely more than a whimper. “No. Send him in.”
“Call me later?” Karen knew she was pushing her luck now. If Matt were capable of producing a withering glare, that right there would be it. It never failed to astound her how expressive that face could be with a third of it obscured by sunglasses. “Text me.”
“Get out, Karen,” Matt demanded.
At least this time it was less hostile. Mostly he just looked exhausted. Considering how little sleep he was operating on, not to mention the hangover he had to be suffering, it was amazing it had taken this long to get him to show it. Karen suspected if he took those glasses off, she would be able to see dark circles under bloodshot eyes. As it was, she could only judge by the paleness of his face and the weary set of his mouth.
“All right! I’m leaving,” she agreed. She paused before turning the corner to the hallway, looked back at the man still sitting on the kitchen floor. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to sink into the concrete. “You know it’s okay to admit you can be hurt.”
His head moved in that odd way she had only ever seen in Matt. It left her with the feeling of someone having just shrugged dismissively at her.
He wanted her to leave. He had said it, quite bluntly. As much as Karen wanted to defy it, to sit and talk until he listened or responded, she knew it would only make things worse. She really did not want to see firsthand the way Matt Murdock responded when backed into a corner.
So she went to the door, where the knob was jiggling in such a way to suggest that Foggy had grown tired of hollering and was trying to fit a poorly cut key into the lock. To save him the trouble, Karen grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. Foggy gave a half stumble as the door and key were ripped from his hands. He looked up at her in shock, clearly not having expected to see Karen in the doorframe.
“Karen! What are you doing here?” He winced even as the words came out. Karen smirked and took pity on him.
“I’m honoring some hungover asshole’s wishes and getting the hell out,” she announced, plenty loud enough for the asshole in question to hear. Something fell in the kitchen. A clatter of metal on concrete. Quieter, she leaned into Foggy and added, “He’s being a dick, but be nice to him. I think he had a rough night.”
That did not get quite the reaction she was expecting. Foggy shot her a sharp, furious look before shoving past her. Karen stumbled out into the hallway even as he slammed the door between them. The deadbolt slid into place loudly. Shocked, she could only turn and holler at the closed door.
“If you guys have another fight, let me know before Monday so I know not to come into the office!”
Unsurprisingly, there was no response. Karen sighed, checked to make sure she had her keys, and trudged down the steps to the street.
She got a text later that night from Matt.
I’m not afraid to hit a girl.
Startled and choking on incredulous laughter, Karen shot back a response.
I’ll hit a blind man.
Another buzz.
I know where you work.
She took that to mean his conversation with Foggy had not ended terribly.
A blind man with GLASSES.
Her phone buzzed a few minutes later. For a moment she was confused, staring at the words on the screen so incongruent with the banter. It took longer than it should have to realize the text was not from Matt.
It was from Foggy.
Office field trip next Sunday. New York Pride Fest. Matt wants to see the parade.
It was such a stupid thing. That parade comment was absurd. And yet, Karen could not help but smile.
The timing could not be more perfect.