Chapter Text
How many things had to go wrong before you could realistically qualify something as a disaster?
Karen isn't sure exactly, but tonight was supposed to be about them. The three of them.
And so far, it had been nothing but a nightmare.
Okay, so maybe a nightmare was an over exaggeration.
Karen was doing that a lot lately – exaggerating things – but that wasn't her fault, was it? That was hormones, or whatever.
Right about now they were supposed to be tucking into a delicious curry (vegetable Madras) her favourite, since she'd decided to go veggie. But now instead she finds herself hunched over on Matt's bathroom floor, hair pinned back, while he runs gentle circles over her shoulders, listening to her voice bounce around the inside of his toilet bowl. Glamorous.
"I've ruined our date haven't I?" Karen sighs out defeatedly. Matt chuckles, eventually kneeling down beside her out of pity. Or it feels like pity.
When it's finally safe to lean back she props herself up against the pleasantly cool tiles to face him.
"Of course you didn't," he says. But he has to say that doesn't he? Especially now that Karen has an awful habit of bursting into tears at the drop of hat. "We can go another night," he reassures her, "when you feel better."
Karen looks up at him, trying her best to express her thankfulness but his face is only successful in making her feel more guilty. It's enough that he's taken the night off the streets for her, no doubt sacrificing some innocent person's safety by way of his absence, and now she can't even stand the smell of their favourite curry place.
"I don't know what happened… I uh, I just… I could smell…" Truthfully, she'd smelt it before she could see it; the barrage of mixed spices hitting the back of her throat like hot smoke; the odor of frying onions — a smell she normally loved — causing her stomach to twist in knots.
"I think it might be the hormones," Matt offers.
What's new? And how come Matt knows more than her anyway? She's the pregnant one.
"You've been researching." It wasn't a question.
He shrinks back shyly, his lips twitching into a smile. "It helps," he says, moving to cross his legs under himself, clearly starting to feel the hardness of the floor on his knees. "With the thing we talked about.."
Karen sighs.
The feeling useless thing.
They had talked about that. Actually, Karen had lost count of how many times they'd talked about that.
"Matt…" she gives him a look. But she isn't angry, she can't be. Because aside from how well he suits that concerned dad look, the fact that he cares so much makes her chest physically ache.
"I know, I know." He rolls his eyes and brushes his fingers through his hair. "I'm trying."
She knows he is. Being Matt Murdock is a struggle, after all.
From the beginning, he'd known everything. First, by proving two negative pregnancy tests wrong, then by hearing every heartbeat, every movement, every microscopic fluctuation in hormones and blood pressure, and the rest. And yet, he'd been powerless to do a single thing to help any of the unpleasantries that came with it. And in the process, he'd overlooked his own value as usual, forgetting how when he was around, Karen was safe in the knowledge that everything was okay, like being constantly rigged up to interactive ultrasound; and a good looking one at that.
Speaking of which, he'd made an effort in that department tonight — and apparently that was only adding to her guilt — choosing to wear that maroon shirt she insisted he buy a few months ago because it clung just right around his chest and waist...
And now she's looking at him lustfully, the way no woman should ever look at a man from her un-lustly position sprawled out around the base of the toilet.
"What do hormones have to do with my sense of smell anyway?" She eventually replies, flustered.
Matt moistens his lips. "Well,… it, erm. It can heighten things. Or, so I've read. Taste too."
"Interesting. And there I was thinking Daredevil junior had gifted me some of their dad's powers."
Matt bursts into a grin. "Ah ha. Yeah, I don't think it works like that."
"Shame."
"You should really eat something, though. Keep your energy up." Matt's expression quickly morphs back into something closer to quiet concern as he holds out his hand for her to latch on to. She takes it and he pulls her up. "I'll make you some food if you want. Name it. Anything you like."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
She thinks for a moment but draws a blank.
"What about pancakes?" He suggests. Her weakness – he knows it. " ...Blueberry pancakes?"
Karen's eyes grow wide.
"But it's 10pm."
"And…?" Matt frowned. "Is there some kind of pancake curfew I don't know about?"
She chews her lip. "No…"
"Well then."
Karen tries her best to contain her giddiness over the prospect of Matt, not bruised and broken and stumbling in at early hours for once, but instead, donning an apron and spatula. She nods out an 'okay' as Matt disappears into the kitchen and she hears him rummaging for a frying pan while she takes the opportunity to slip into some more comfortable clothes and freshen up with some mouthwash which she's sure he'll be grateful for.
A minute or two later she hears the oil sizzling, and she smells the batter as soon as it hits the pan, the hunger-inducing scent of it drawing her closer until she's standing at Matt's back, getting under his feet, impatiently waiting for him to turn out the first one.
Apparently her caveman instincts kick in then because she finds herself more than considering eating them dry, piping hot, straight out of the pan, at the sacrifice of her fingers.
Matt interupts her intrusive thought.
"Syrup?"
"Uh , yeah." Of course syrup. She pours some on. A generous amount. Maybe she could just...
"Matt…" she says tentatively. "Is it bad that I want… syrup and chocolate?"
"You want —" Matt's nose crinkles. He knows that she means that cheap, chemically chocolate sauce that's normally reserved for ice-cream — Matt wouldn't touch it with a barge pole. "Okay.." he agrees hesitantly, handing her the bottle over her shoulder.
"You think I'm disgusting don't you?"
"No judgement here," he shrugs. He's lying. He had all the judgment.
Karen doesn't care though; she squeezes the chocolate sauce out to generously cover her already syrup soaked pancakes, grinning in satisfaction at her creation before she sticks her fork apologetically into the resulting mush.
"Mm-hmm," she nods. "A masterpiece, really Matt. Your finest work."
He laughs. "Really?"
"The best pancakes I've ever eaten…"
"Wow."
"I can taste…Mhmm. Everything's so…"
"What can you taste?" He's humouring her, probably, and patronising her? Slightly. She should be offended, but his hand is on her back, sliding round to rest on her still very small bump and she can't really think straight through the warm fuzzy feeling that's filling her.
Happiness. She's pretty damn sure that's happiness.
"The blueberries are more…" Suddenly her wordiness evades her. "Blueberryish?"
"Blueberryish?"
"Mm-hmm. And the chocolate is…."
"Is it chocolately-er?"
"Yes!" Karen says seriously.
"You know there's no actual chocolate in that chocolate sauce right?"
"Shhh," she hushes him. "Don't ruin it." He was always doing that; ruining things with facts. Who even cared? She has pancakes.
She turns just enough to awkwardly plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Thank you."For this."
He purses his lips. "It's just pancakes."
"No I mean…" she gives him that look again. "You know what I mean."
He exhales against her, kissing the sensitive spot just behind her ear.
"Anything for my girls."
Karen's eyes shoot open again. "Girls?" She grips his shoulders, searching for truth in his face. "Girls, pural, girls?" But he's already wearing a look of impenetrable innocence. "You can't know that can you?" She presses "can you?"
He shrugs and smiles sweetly, almost as sweet as her pancakes. "It's just a hunch."