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New York in summer is practically the tenth circle of hell.
This is a statement that Foggy has been making at least twice a day since the temperature first spiked above eighty degrees back in May, and now that it’s mid-August, Karen and Matt are getting very, very sick of hearing it.
Today is no different.
“Manhattan in summer is the tenth circle of hell,” Foggy declares dramatically as he kicks the office door shut behind him. His suit jacket is draped over his arm, his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his tie loose around the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.
Karen makes a noise that’s half-agreement and half-irritation. Matt guesses that she does not approve of Foggy kicking the door shut as he does every single time he enters the office but has long given up trying to convince Foggy to stop. “Coffee?” he hears her ask, already anticipating Foggy's response.
“Coffee? In this heat? Just kill me.”
That’s been his answer for the past three months. Karen is generally even-tempered, but the heat makes her cranky too, so she fills a mug with ice water and clunks it on Foggy’s desk with a passive-aggressive thump . He makes a noise of thanks that tapers into a groan of heat-induced agony, and Karen stalks back to her desk.
Matt's grinning like an idiot, because the Foggy and Karen Morning Show is his favorite form of entertainment, and Karen makes a noise of annoyance when she sees the look on his face. “Shut up, Matthew,” she says irritably.
He spreads his hands as if to say, Who, me? , schooling his expression into one of contrived innocence.
Karen sighs in a long-suffering sort of way and drops into her desk chair, pulling a stack of files toward her.
“I need a vacation,” she mutters, and Foggy perks up.
“Did someone say vacation?” he calls out.
The smile slides off Matt’s face, replaced by a look of trepidation, as Foggy gets up from his desk and moves to stand in the doorway of his office. “Are we going on vacation?” he asks, now clearly excited.
“No,” Matt says, at the exact moment Karen says, “Hell yes.”
“Sweet!” Foggy crows, pumping his fist in victory. Matt groans and buries his head in his hands.
And that’s how it starts.
---
By the end of the day, they’ve hit a bit of a roadblock. Every hotel, motel, rental cottage, and Airbnb in the entire Northeast is booked through Labor Day. The only one who is pleased by this information is Matt, who, as Foggy tells Karen, evidently has a vendetta against leisure in any form.
“No worries,” Foggy says with a shrug. “We can just book something for mid-September. It’s always just as hot, but it’s technically the off-season, so we’ll get better prices. We just have to tough it out a few more weeks.”
Matt is no longer pleased. “But we might — we might have a case.”
“It’s a long weekend, Matt, not a gap year backpacking Europe. It won’t kill us to take a few days off.”
“Can we even afford this?”
“Sure, buddy. The Kowalski payout just came in. Plus, I still have HCB money saved up. We’ll make it work.”
Matt’s running out of ideas. “The weather might be bad?”
“Then we’ll stay inside the cottage and play board games. It’ll be fun!”
Karen must sense that Matt is genuinely uncertain about the proposition, rather than just being ornery for the sake of it as is usually the case, so she steps in. “Matt, is there a reason you don’t want to go on vacation?”
There are many.
He hasn’t left the city in so long that he’s afraid he’d get completely overwhelmed and turn into a mess of sensory-stimulation-induced agony. He’s never been a fan of swimming, especially in the ocean — his hearing gets distorted, and the current pulls the sand from under his feet and makes him lose his balance.
Most of all, the thought of leaving the city unprotected for more than a night makes his stomach twist. He’d never forgive himself if something happened and Daredevil wasn’t there to step in.
“Is it a sensory thing? Or is it related to your, um, night job?” Foggy asks.
“Both.”
“You feel like you shouldn’t take time off in case something happens?”
Matt nods. He thinks Karen and Foggy exchange a glance, and then Foggy gives a little sigh.
“Alright. How about you take a few days to think about it — maybe see if your super-pals can take over for a weekend — and let us know.”
“Yeah, I can do that,” Matt says, studiously ignoring Foggy's use of the term super-pals. Karen and Foggy both nod, evidently satisfied enough, although their excitement seems to have waned a bit.
They all return to their desks and work in quiet for the rest of the afternoon, but Matt misses the enthusiastic chatter of vacation planning that had filled the air not long ago, and he starts to make a plan.
---
His first stop that night is a fire escape at the edge of Hell’s Kitchen. He drops down from the roof, landing loudly on the metal platform, and hears a muffled curse from inside and the squeak of the window sliding open.
“Jesus, Murdock, you scared the shit out of me. The hell do you want?”
He smiles a devil-smile. “Nice to see you too, Jess.”
“Whatever. Come on, get in here before someone sees you. God, you’re a dork.”
He’s missed her.
---
Jess takes a bit of convincing, but she finally relents when Matt promises to get her a new scarf to make up for the one he ruined during the Midland Circle debacle.
“I’ll tell you the dates for sure when we book a place,” he tells her as he climbs out the window.
“Yeah, whatever.” She pauses, and he thinks he detects the slightest trace of sincerity seeping into her voice when she says, “Have fun. You deserve a break.”
“Thanks, Jess.”
She grunts. “Leave me alone before I change my mind.”
He scales the fire escape and swings smoothly onto the roof, and as he crosses the rooftops, he can’t keep a smile from tugging at his mouth.
They’re going on vacation.
---
Matt feels inordinately proud of himself when he announces to Karen and Foggy the next day in the office that he’s decided that a vacation is a great idea. Their excitement is obvious — Foggy cheers, arms stretched victoriously toward the ceiling, and Karen claps her hands, and it’s enough to erase any lingering doubts about his choice. He can’t even bring himself to remark upon Karen’s questionable decision to abandon all legal work for the morning in order to find a weekend rental.
They decide to stay from Thursday through Monday — that way, they avoid the worst of the Friday-night traffic out of the city and only have to close the office for two business days. By noon, they’ve found a place: a quaint beachfront cottage in a seaside Connecticut town. It’s secluded enough to provide peace and quiet from neighboring rentals, but a short enough walk to the town center.
It’s still three weeks away, but anticipation already hums through the office, giving Karen’s voice a pleased lilt and putting an extra spring in Foggy’s step. Matt keeps his office window open and imagines that the breeze smells of salt and sea.
Three weeks.
---
The days drag slowly; it's miserably, unrelentingly hot, and the heat’s throwing Matt off balance on patrols. He wonders if he isn’t distracted by the upcoming vacation — in the week leading up to their departure, he’s unfocused enough that a mugger lands a lucky punch, giving him a spectacularly colorful black eye that takes Karen fifteen minutes to cover up with the stash of concealer and foundation in her bottom desk drawer.
Matt realizes on Wednesday, the day before they leave, that he doesn’t even own swim trunks. This revelation prompts a great deal of teasing (from Foggy) and an impromptu shopping trip (in which Foggy tells Matt that the Hawaiian print shorts Foggy handed him are a respectable solid black; he’s halfway to the register before Karen rescues him and switches them out). Matt adds a few pairs of Bermuda shorts to his shopping cart — he’s never been one to wear shorts, but he doesn’t think jeans would be very comfortable on the beach. Karen picks out a sundress, oversized sunglasses, and a large, floppy hat that seems to bring her great joy. Foggy finds a shirt to buy that’s printed with bananas, according to Karen, who can’t stop giggling at the sight of Foggy proudly exiting the fitting room in said shirt.
“Is there an avocado one?” Matt asks.
There is.
Matt leaves the store with three pairs of shorts, one pair of swim trunks, and an avocado shirt to match the one Foggy had bought. He's ready.
---
Karen’s driving, and she picks them both up early in the morning — the timetable she’d drawn up a few days prior had them leaving the city by nine o’clock, no exceptions, and neither Foggy nor Matt really wanted to tempt her wrath.
Her little car is packed full; Matt sits in the passenger seat, and Foggy’s in the middle of the backseat, directions on his phone. Karen’s often said that she doesn’t like driving in the city, and this morning is no different — her fingers drum against the steering wheel, belying her tension, as traffic crawls along. But once they’re out of the city, she relaxes, turns the radio on, and rolls her window down a bit, letting the breeze play through her hair.
They talk about what they each want to do over the weekend — Karen’s top priority is time on the beach, strolling along the surf, and Foggy’s interested in doing wine tastings on the Connecticut wine trail. Matt’s mostly content to do anything; he listens to them talk and adds his opinion as necessary. But when the conversation lapses, he listens to Foggy hum along to the radio, Karen joining in. The sun is warm on his face, and he feels the breeze turn salty as they travel up the coastline. He rests his head against the seat and breathes in the ocean air and the scents of Karen’s perfume and Foggy’s aftershave and the Chardonnay in the cooler in the backseat, and thinks that he would like to be here forever.
---
Thanks to Foggy’s excellent navigational skills (“Repeating what Google Maps tells you isn’t a skill, Foggy,” says Karen, and Matt has to agree), they find the cottage without incident.
“It’s perfect ,” Karen says when she steps out of the car, happiness coloring her tone. She grabs as much luggage as she can carry and hauls it onto the porch, finding the key under the mat per the owner's instructions and opening the door.
Foggy and Matt follow close behind, and Matt can tell by Foggy’s pleased hum that he finds the accommodations to be satisfactory. Matt focuses for a moment to get an idea of the place — he hears a refrigerator running in the next room, but he doesn’t detect a dishwasher. Judging by the breeze airing out the house, Karen’s opened a few windows, and he hears her poking around upstairs.
Foggy notices him taking it in and starts describing the cottage. “Kitchen’s to the left — on the small side, but it’ll do. Bathroom’s past that, and I think that’s the only one in the house. There’s a couch along the right-hand wall, and the staircase is just beyond that. It’s a nice place, man — got that kitschy beach vibe, but in a charming way, you know? Let’s head upstairs. Pretty sure Karen’s already unpacking.”
All told, it takes them about an hour to settle in. By the time Matt and Foggy have unpacked, Karen’s practically vibrating with anticipation, having finished a good twenty minutes before them.
“I’m starved,” Foggy says. “Is there anywhere to eat nearby?”
“I packed sandwiches,” Karen answers. “Beach picnic?”
She looks between them hopefully, and Matt shrugs. “Sounds good to me.”
Evidently, Karen had been counting on them to agree, because she already has sunscreen and beach towels packed in a tote next to the cooler. She foists the cooler off on Foggy and picks up the tote, and they’re off.
The weather is perfect, sunny with the temperature hovering around eighty degrees, and the instant their feet hit the sand, a wave of relaxation washes over them all. The beach is nearly empty, and they spread out towels and sprawl on the sand.
“What’d you pack?” Foggy asks.
Matt jumps in before Karen can answer. “Pastrami on rye from the deli, and potato salad, and… lemonade, I think.”
Karen rolls her eyes. “Show-off,” she huffs, but she’s smiling. She tosses him a sandwich, and he catches it without turning his head.
“You and your super-nose,” Foggy says fondly. “What a dork. Matt Mur-dork.”
Matt tips his head back and grins, and Foggy and Karen trade a smile.
---
After lunch, Karen touches up her sunscreen and heads for the waves.
“Just to get my feet wet,” she’d said, but within minutes, she’s knee-deep in the surf, the hem of her sundress soaked. She doesn’t seem to mind, though.
Foggy and Matt tidy up the remains of lunch, and when they're done with that, Foggy grabs the sunscreen and starts on his face. Matt's weighing his options — as much as he hates the feeling of sunscreen, sunburn is much worse — when Foggy breaks into his thoughts.
"So what do you want to do while we're here?"
Matt… honestly doesn't know. "Um. I've never really been on a vacation like this, so I'm pretty open to ideas."
Foggy considers this for a minute. "Yeah, makes sense. But listen. If you don't want to do something, just — just say so, alright? I get it, and I know Karen does too. We want it to be fun for all of us, including you."
Matt is touched by his concern. "Thanks, Fog. I appreciate it."
Foggy claps him on the shoulder, and they sit together in companionable silence until Matt hears a splash. "Did Karen — "
"Yep, she fell in."
"She okay?"
Foggy laughs. "Oh yeah. She's waving. Think she wants us to join her."
Matt can hear her calling out, breathy with laughter. "Well, who are we to refuse?"
He stands and follows Foggy to the sea.
---
The rest of the day passes without incident — they linger at the beach, then spend a couple hours at the cottage to rest before walking to town for dinner. Thanks to Matt’s super-nose, they find what Matt assures them is the best restaurant in town.
By the time they leave the restaurant, the sun is edging down the horizon, and Karen points out an ice cream shop down the road. None of them can say no to ice cream, so they each order a cone — Karen gets strawberry, Foggy opts for chocolate peanut butter cup, and Matt sticks with plain vanilla.
“You didn’t even get sprinkles, Matt! Vanilla rolled in sprinkles is the best!”
Matt makes a face. “Sprinkles taste like candle wax.”
“Look at his face,” Karen whispers loudly, and Foggy laughs.
“You’re doing the wrinkly turtle face, Matt.”
“I am not — I do not have a ‘wrinkly turtle face,’ Foggy.”
“You so do, though. Look, Karen, it gets even more turtle-y when he’s irritated.”
“It does! ”
“See, Matt? Even Karen thinks so.”
“Be quiet and eat your ice cream, Franklin.” He tries for annoyance, but doesn’t quite get there.
They end up on the beach to watch the sunset and finish their cones.
“I used to go to the beach with my family when I was a kid,” Karen says suddenly. “Not for long, just — just a weekend in the summer. But we’d always do this. Ice cream on the beach as the sun goes down.” She falls silent, maybe a bit lost in memories, then adds, “The sky is beautiful tonight, Matt.”
“Describe it to me?” He makes it a question, even though he knows she’d never refuse.
“Okay.” She clears her throat. “The sun’s about halfway below the horizon, and it’s — it’s a really rich orange color. It looks like it’s melting on the water. There are some clouds in the sky, the kind that look like rows of combed cotton, and they’re this vivid pink, almost neon. The sky looks like it’s on fire at the horizon, but it fades to blue, almost gray, farther from the sun.” She stops and looks at Foggy. “How’d I do?”
“Not bad at all, K,” Foggy replies. “You’ve got a way with words — you should be a journalist or something.”
She laughs gently. “Been there, done that. I like my job, anyway.” She bumps her shoulder against Foggy’s, and he nudges back.
“That was lovely, Karen,” Matt says honestly. “Thank you.”
She nods once, ducks her head — maybe blushing a bit — and then straightens up to take a bite of her cone.
They stay there together until the sun goes down.
---
The next day — Friday — Foggy declares that it’s the perfect day for a winery visit. Over breakfast, they find a winery a half hour away with a restaurant adjoining and lavish gardens that Foggy deems perfect, and soon they’re in the car again, in the same positions as on the drive up.
Foggy insists on choosing the music, which elicits twin groans from Matt and Karen, and he selects Spotify’s playlist of ABBA’s Greatest Hits.
“Matt has a soft spot for ABBA,” he says by way of explanation. “It’s hilarious.”
Matt can’t deny it. “Their music is aurally intriguing,” he admits, which only makes Karen laugh harder.
Their first stop at the winery is the tasting bar. Karen and Foggy quickly realize that Matt probably can detect more about any given wine than a trained connoisseur, to their great amusement. They make a game of it — interrogating him about everything he can taste and doubling over in laughter when he says things like, “The detergent they use on the sample glasses,” and “Salt from the ocean on the grapes.”
When Matt tells them quite seriously that he can taste a bug that had wound up in the grapes as they were being mashed, Foggy says, gasping with laughter, “You’re making shit up now. Karen, he is definitely just making shit up right now.”
Karen shakes her head, covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “Matt, you should become a wine critic. You’d be unbelievable.”
The vineyard employee working the bar evidently overhears this and comes over to engage Matt in detailed conversation about the wine; Matt somehow manages to keep a straight face as he discusses notes of elderberry and chocolate undertones , and when the man finally leaves him alone (having handed him a business card), Foggy lets out a breath.
“I thought I was going to die, I was trying so hard not to laugh.”
“Matt,” says Karen, still breathy with laughter, “I think he thought you were an undercover critic. You probably scared the daylights out of him.”
“Telling you, buddy, you’ve missed your calling," Foggy says. "‘Matt Murdock, wine master.’ You could have your own Food Network show! This is the best idea I’ve ever had — Karen, you’re fired as our office manager, you’re now Matt’s agent. Please call Gordon Ramsay immediately and get Matt his own show.”
“Foggy, Gordon Ramsay isn’t even on Food Network,” Matt protests.
“Damn.” But Foggy presses on, undeterred. “Ina Garten, then! You know, ‘If you can’t make your own vanilla extract, store-bought is fine’ — you’d be a great match!”
“Foggy, Foggy,” Karen gasps. “Can you imagine Matt in an apron? And chef’s hat?”
“He’d rock it. Matt, you’d rock it. Forget your late-night Pilates, this is gonna be your new alter ego — Matt Murdock, Food Network Star!”
“Foggy,” Matt breaks in, laughing. “I can’t cook anything more — more complex than pasta.”
“Bullshit, Matt! Have you never seen Ratatouille ? Anyone can cook!”
“Isn't that — isn't that the one with the rat pulling on the guy’s hair?”
“Yes, Karen, and don’t take that disrespectful tone, we’re talking about literally the best movie ever made —”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Matt interjects.
“Blasphemy, Mr. Murdock. Utter blasphemy. Come on, it’s great!”
“Foggy, people are staring.”
They are.
“We shall continue this discussion over lunch,” Foggy proclaims. “Lead on, Miss Page. As I was saying, Ratatouille is the greatest cinematic masterpiece of our time…”
---
They spend a good portion of the day at the winery — after lunch, they stroll through the elaborate gardens and then investigate the gift shop. Foggy and Karen take great pleasure in seeking out and describing the tackiest wine-related merchandise the shop has to offer.
(“It’s an apron, Matt, and in hot pink cursive embroidery, it says Who, What, When, Where, Wine. What’s not to love?”
“The price tag, I’m guessing?”
“$39.99? It’s worth it, I’m getting it for you. Merry Christmas, Happy Birthday, et cetera, this covers all gift-giving occasions for the next two years.”
“But I can’t even read it.”
“Use your crazy super-fingers! He’s making excuses at this point, Miss Page.”
“He most certainly is, Mr. Nelson.”
Matt gives up. Foggy buys the apron and gets hand towels to match.)
---
Karen walks into town on Saturday morning in search of a newspaper and pastries. She comes back bearing a newspaper, pastries, and Exciting News.
The Exciting News is this: she came across a bicycle shop that does rentals by the day, and she’s convinced that their vacation will only be complete if they go on a Company Bike Ride.
“I like this idea, Karen, I really do,” says Foggy. “There’s only one problem.”
“I’ve thought of that! Because guess what — they have tandem bikes.”
“So?”
“So,” she says, fondly exasperated, “Matt can come too! If you want, Matt,” she adds uncertainly.
“I’ve never ridden a bicycle before,” Matt says, and he senses Karen wilt a bit, so he adds, “But I’m sure I could figure it out. Since I won’t be steering, it can't be too hard.”
Karen perks back up and turns to Foggy for his input. Foggy is distracted.
“Could you steer if you wanted to? Hypothetically. Of course. Wait — do you think you could drive? I mean, you can probably sense traffic better than we can — although traffic lights would be an issue, I guess —”
“Foggy.”
“Right, right. Sorry, Karen. Hey, if Matt’s down, then so am I.”
And that settles the matter.
There’s a bit of a learning curve, but soon after they rent the bikes in town, they’re on their merry way. There are plenty of bike trails along the shore, and Karen has chosen a fairly easy one, so they quickly fall into a rhythm.
Karen takes the lead, occasionally pedaling hard to sail ahead, then circling back. Matt’s surprised at how enjoyable it is — Foggy and Karen occasionally remark on the view, but Matt doesn’t need sight to take in the beauty of the day. He hears his friends’ heartbeats, strong and steady. Foggy’s humming a bit, and every few minutes Karen sighs happily; her hair ribbons out behind her, warmed by the sun. Matt tastes salt spray and pine, and the heat of the day is tempered by the sea breeze.
After a long, gentle incline, they stop at the head of the trail on a hillside overlooking the water.
“The perfect spot for lunch,” Foggy remarks, and Karen hums in agreement, already setting out a blanket.
“What do you think, Matt?” Karen asks when the food is mostly gone.
“I really like it,” Matt answers. “It’s something I probably never would have tried, so I’m — I’m glad I got the chance.”
His answer pleases her; she ducks her head and smiles, says, “That’s great. I’m glad. And before we get back to town,” she adds, “I need a picture of you two on that bike to get framed for the office.”
She gets a picture — she takes several, in fact, each more comical than the last, and Foggy takes a few of her posing on her bike and laughing as she looks into the camera to even the score.
“Perfect,” Foggy finally pronounces, and Matt has to agree.
---
Of all the things they do over the course of the weekend, Matt likes the evenings best. The mornings are peaceful — they drink coffee at the kitchen table together, reading the paper and talking about nothing — and early afternoon is devoted to whatever outing they’ve chosen for the day.
But evenings are his favorite — by four in the afternoon each day, they’re on the beach under a giant umbrella they’d found in the cottage, with towels spread on the sand. Karen’s always the first of them in the water, but it’s never long before she coaxes Foggy to join her.
And every time, Foggy turns to Matt to see if he’s alright with Foggy leaving — it’s probably just an unconscious habit of Foggy’s to check in, but it means the world to Matt, every time. Matt says yes, have fun, don’t let Karen drown you , and then he listens to them goofing around until they start calling to him, and how can he say no to them?
He doesn’t go in far, still not completely comfortable in the water, but Foggy and Karen never seem to mind.
Eventually, like clockwork every day, Karen returns to the sand and goes beachcombing. Karen, Matt and Foggy learn, loves beachcombing. And she’s good at it, too — usually, Foggy and Matt head back to the sand to have a drink while she walks along the surf, and after a half hour or more she comes back to them bearing handfuls of the treasures she finds — oddly-shaped pieces of driftwood, interesting rocks, beach glass, seashells.
When she’s satisfied with her findings, they pack up and head back to the cottage to clean up before walking into town for dinner. They stick with the restaurant they’d tried on the first night, and each day, their meals seem even more delicious than they’d been the evening before.
And then comes the best part, in Matt’s opinion (though he thinks it’s Karen’s and Foggy’s favorite part of the day, too): they go to the ice cream shop to get cones right as the sun is starting to sink over the ocean. Matt orders the same thing every night, to Foggy’s dismay: vanilla in a waffle cone. Karen always chooses either strawberry or peach, and Foggy goes for the most interesting flavors — there’s an apple pie flavor (“with pieces of real pie crust, Matt!”), and even a popcorn-flavored ice cream with pieces of sponge candy, which Foggy waxes rhapsodic about for the entirety of the evening.
And they take their cones and head down to the beach, and Foggy and Karen take turns describing the sky to Matt, and they stand together even as the air turns cool with the coming night.
Yeah. Evenings are definitely Matt’s favorite.
---
It turns out that Karen’s intense beachcombing had a purpose beyond mere hobby. When she gets back from her daily walk on the beach on Sunday, their last day, she deposits most of her findings in the plastic bag she’d designated for the purpose, then turns to Matt and Foggy. “I have something for each of you.”
“Since when did we hire a magpie as our office manager?” Foggy says to Matt, and Matt tips his head and grins.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Miss Page?” he asks as she places something in his hand — a flat, rounded stone a couple inches long and smooth as silk.
“Caught me,” she responds, voice light. Matt’s fiddling with the stone, and she says, “It’s a nice clean white color, Matt, but I thought you’d appreciate the texture.”
“It’s lovely,” he says sincerely, rolling it in his palm. "Thank you."
“And for you, Foggy.” It’s several pieces of beach glass, some of the largest she’d found.
Foggy grins, saying, “Hey, thanks, Karen. They’re green, that’s —”
“Your favorite color.” She’s bouncing a little, happy with herself. “I do listen to you sometimes, you know.”
“Aw, I know, I know.” Foggy ruffles her hair, and she ducks away, laughing. Matt just smiles, and he slips the stone into his pocket. He’s conscious of its slight weight resting against his leg for the rest of the evening, and every so often he takes it from his pocket and rolls it between his fingertips.
Karen had insisted that Matt and Foggy both wear their avocado shirts to dinner, and she takes a picture of them outside the restaurant against the backdrop of the ocean. She’s in her new sundress, with her sunglasses and floppy hat as accessories, and they try (and mostly fail) at taking a group selfie until a tourist family sees their struggle and offers to take it for them.
Karen ends up in the middle, sunglasses perched on the brim of her hat, and they have their arms around each other. “Museum-worthy,” Foggy declares when he sees it.
“Describe it to me,” Matt says, and Foggy does.
---
Matt expects to be the first one awake on Monday morning, the day of their departure, but the door to Karen’s bedroom is open, her sheets long cold, when he gets up. There’s coffee ready in the coffeepot, and as he pours himself a mug, he hears Karen coming up the steps outside.
She jumps a bit when she opens the door and sees him there, but relaxes immediately. “Thought I’d go for one last walk on the beach before we had to leave. I watched the sunrise. It was nice.”
There’s a touch of melancholy in her voice, he thinks, and he turns around to get her a mug. “Find anything?”
“Nah,” she says softly. “Not today.”
He hands her the mug, and she takes it with a murmured thanks. She sips the coffee and sets it down, and Matt’s known her long enough to know that she’s preparing to say something, based on the way her breath catches a few times in her chest and her fingers fidget against the counter.
So he waits.
“I’m going to miss this,” she finally says. “I haven’t been on vacation since — well. Years and years. And this weekend, it was —” She stops.
“Wonderful,” Matt finishes for her after a moment. “It was wonderful.”
Karen gives a tiny laugh. “It really, really was.” She pauses, considering, then says, “Matt.”
He tilts his head.
“Thank you, for — for agreeing to this. I — I’ll miss it,” she repeats.
And Matt knows exactly what to say.
“We’ll come back next year,” he tells her, wholly honest. “Make it a tradition. ‘The Annual Nelson, Murdock, and Page Beach Vacation Extravaganza.’ We’ll get shirts.”
“Shirts, huh? Well, in that case…” She’s practically glowing with joy now; it’s radiating off her in waves, a drastic shift from a moment prior.
“It’s a pretty persuasive offer, isn’t it, Miss Page?”
“It is, Mr. Murdock.” She takes his hand and squeezes lightly. “It really, really is.”
---
The drive back to the city is subdued, even with Foggy’s ABBA playlist in the background, and when Matt steps onto the Hell’s Kitchen sidewalk, he breathes in the familiar scents of the city and finds himself missing the sea.
The office is quiet the next day, on their first day back to work, but there’s a lightness to the air that had been absent for quite some time, and when Foggy sets a stack of papers on Karen’s desk a few days later, Matt hears an unfamiliar rattle.
“New desk decor?” he asks.
“Vacation pictures,” she answers happily, and Matt smiles.
When he returns to his desk, he opens the top drawer and takes out the silk-smooth stone, turning it over in his hand. It’s cool and solid and grounding, and it smells ever-so-faintly of ocean breeze and vanilla ice cream.
Next year, Matt thinks, and savors the thought.