Chapter Text
If he didn't get out of his apartment soon, Matt was going to crawl out of his skin.
Night was falling all over Hell’s Kitchen, in a thousand little ways — the sun-warmed brick and cement bleeding their heat, the neon lights buzzing on, the pace of the foot traffic shifting. A particular bang sounded from half a block away, telling him Maria the boutique owner was letting down the metal barrier that protected her front windows. Closing up shop.
Matt wasn't proud of the way his body twitched this time of night, of the way his knuckles itched. He was too raw, too soft, in his slacks and the dress shirt that he wore just to prove to himself that he was working, even if he had no office to go to, no law firm, no coworkers, no best friend, and no girlfriend, with or without the label.
He wanted to smother his jangled-wire skin in armor, to feel the hard shell of a devil's mask on his face. He wanted to turn the screams and sobs and shouts he heard in the night into action, into some kind of hope, instead of flinching at the sirens that always seemed to take too long. Or didn’t come at all.
But that wasn’t his job anymore.
The people of Hell's Kitchen were on their own now, the way they'd been for decades before and would be for decades hence. Their Devil had fallen — or was it risen? — and now all he would ever be was a blip. A pulp fiction novelty. A do-you-remember for senior citizens on their stoops who needed something to fill the hours.
The Devil was gone, leaving Matt Murdock alone in hell, boiling away in a wrinkle-free button-down with the sleeves rolled up.
It was better this way, he reminded himself.
But the chest in the closet was too close for comfort, the rooftop just one measly flight of stairs away.
Distance. He needed distance.
He stuffed his arms into his jacket, grabbed his cane, and headed down six floors, out into the street. In the rush of fresh air, he immediately realized his mistake — the weather was changing, a spring shower on its way. But going back upstairs, even for an umbrella, seemed like a bigger mistake, so he kept walking.
He’d stay close. He’d find someplace noisy and crowded and try to ignore whatever was happening beyond its walls.
Matt walked a few blocks before the rain started tapping at his head and shoulders. Just a sprinkle, but it would be heavier soon. He generally didn’t mind the rain, but sitting in wet clothes all night wouldn’t exactly be pleasant.
Of course, there was someplace very nearby that was warm and dry and noisy and crowded. Somewhere he could easily sit all night. But he shouldn’t go there.
He knew the art of taking punches, even enjoyed the back-and-forth of it, but he wasn’t actually a masochist. And only a masochist would choose that particular destination out of the dozens in this neighborhood.
But the rain was coming down harder now, and the door was right there, and he reached out and pulled it open with a decisive jerk. The sounds of the jukebox and the rolling pool balls increased exponentially in volume, and he followed the clink of the bottles to the bar.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Josie said as he sat down.
He gave her a nod and the hint of a sheepish smile, hoping she wouldn’t ask about them. They were everywhere here, in memory if not in fact, shooting pool and drinking the eel and toasting their latest victory, for which they’d likely be compensated in bananas.
“What’ll it be, kid?” Josie asked.
Your finest glass of the past, please. Actually, I’ll take the whole bottle.
Out loud, he ordered scotch. Neat.
Josie poured it for him without a word, and he said a silent prayer of thanks. Maybe after this first drink, he could handle it — hearing their names, explaining awkwardly that he hadn’t spoken to either of them in months. He didn’t know if Foggy still preferred sugary cereal for breakfast, or if he’d traded up to eggs or bagels now that he was spending his billable hours at a swanky firm. He didn’t know if Karen still kept that hand lotion that smelled of green tea and fresh breezes in her desk drawer, or if she still drank at least three cups of coffee every day.
He caught hints of them, traces — he couldn’t resist checking up on them occasionally — but he let them keep their details to themselves.
He had to prove that he could do this. That he could survive without Nelson and Murdock, without the Devil, without anything but himself. Maybe then some piece of it would start making sense again.
Maybe he’d understand once more what was good and what was bad. Maybe he’d understand why he burned his life down, and why it had felt inevitable, even right, while he was doing it, but so terribly, terribly wrong when it was all done.
And it was so much more than losing Elektra, though that was part of it. It was—
But this was a thought that was all too familiar. This was the beginning of the deeply rutted track in his brain, the one that went round and round and gave the hapless traveler a star-studded tour of all his mistakes. And he didn’t want to go there, not right now.
He let the sounds immediately around him filter in instead, let his subconscious awareness solidify into knowledge. Josie was uncapping beer bottles for a couple of customers on the other end of the bar. A pair of twentysomethings who carried the scent of stale movie theater popcorn were complaining about their boss. The TV was tuned to an old rerun of Seinfeld, and the bar stool next to Matt was empty. Across the room, Tom Belkin and a few of his buddies were racking up another round of pool.
Then the door opened and he stopped paying attention to anything else. Because a woman had entered, shaking the raindrops from her coat, letting her hood slip down from her hair. If he hadn’t been trying so hard to ignore the world outside these four walls, he would have known her by her footfalls. He would have heard her coming. Now it all crashed in on him at once — her scent, her heartbeat, the symphony of sensations that screamed Karen in his head.
He knew the instant that she spotted him sitting at the bar. Her breathing changed with a little hitching gasp that only he could hear. The fact that she didn’t immediately turn around and stalk back outside was a victory all in itself.
Her tread was slower than usual as she made her way to the bar, and she sat down beside him with a sigh.
“Hi, love,” Josie greeted her absentmindedly. She didn’t seem to react to the sight of the two of them together again. Maybe Josie had forgotten there was ever a rift. Matt’s entire life had undergone a seismic shift, but to Josie, maybe he’d just waited a bit longer than usual between visits to the bar.
How easy it could be, if only he was living in Josie’s version of his world.
“The usual?” Josie asked Karen.
“Sure,” Karen agreed.
With that business taken care of, Karen took in an uneasy breath. She was about to say something to him, the very first words since that night he told her the truth, and suddenly he couldn’t bear to hear them. He wouldn’t be able to handle her rejection. Not tonight.
So before she could utter so much as a syllable, he turned to her with his hand extended, and he imagined himself in a world where everything was simpler.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” he said. “I’m Matt.”
He was fairly sure that Karen’s jaw dropped. He waited while she froze for a few long, tense beats. This was an absolutely stupid idea. He had just added insult on top of injury. What was he thinking?
But he also didn’t rush to take it back.
“Are you kidding me?” she murmured.
“Just giving you an option,” he said softly.
His hand was still outstretched, and he was about to let it drop, to admit defeat and accept his lumps, when she took it. It was the first time they’d touched in months, and the tingle of it made his mouth go dry.
“I’m Karen,” she said, and pulled her hand away quickly. She grabbed her drink as soon as Josie set it in front of her and took a long swallow.
“So, Karen, what brings you here tonight?” he asked, trying not to sound as awkward — or as relieved — as he felt.
“Long day at the office.” Irritation simmered underneath her words, and Matt guessed her patience with this game was only going to last as long as her drink. But now that he’d started, he wanted desperately to keep her talking.
“You work nearby?”
“Yeah. I’m a...reporter at the Bulletin.” She puffed out a breath. “It’s funny to say that when I’m not actually working. It still doesn’t feel real.”
“Why’s that?” Matt asked, pleased that he’d broken through a tiny bit.
“New job. I’m just a few months in.”
“So what’s it like, being a reporter?”
Her posture relaxed ever so slightly. “It’s... challenging. A lot of it is just a slog, but when your story finally gets published, it’s worth it.”
“Any big scoops lately?”
“Uh, a few days ago I had a story about these nursing homes—”
“That were stealing the residents' money,” Matt interrupted excitedly. “I read that. I was so proud of—I mean, I thought the reporter did an excellent job. You. You did an excellent job.”
“Thank you,” she said, sounding both proud and shy.
“And before that, didn’t you also write that story about the lack of safety at some of the construction sites in the neighborhood?”
“That was me.” Karen let out a shaky laugh, like she couldn’t believe she was going along with this, but then asked, “What about you, Matt? What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“And you drink at a place like Josie’s? No offense.”
He chuckled. “I’m trying to do as much pro bono work as I can.”
“Oh,” she said, “so you’re a good lawyer.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?” he joked.
“Not to me.”
There was a quiet sweetness in her voice that made his cheeks feel hot. “I’m just trying to help.”
“Yeah,” she breathed.
“I’m not always very good at it,” he ventured, trying to gauge her reaction. “In fact, I think I screw it up more than I get it right.”
“I don’t know if I believe that.” Her words, too, were cautious.
“Well, you haven’t known me for very long,” he said, taking the exit ramp back into safer territory.
“Right.” She took another sip of her drink, and Matt wondered how much time he had left.
“So,” he said, “tell me how you caught the crooks swindling those poor old people…”
She was actually laughing.
Karen still couldn’t quite accept that this was where her night had ended up — sitting next to Matt Murdock on a bar stool at Josie’s, playing a game of make-believe. And actually laughing as she explained how she’d gotten a nursing home accountant to corroborate her reporting by cornering him at a drunk Shakespeare performance.
Her day had bordered on the crappy. The copy desk had caught a stupid mistake in one of her stories — before it was published, thank god — but she was beating herself up over it regardless. She was new to reporting, but she couldn’t afford to make too many mistakes, not with the way Ellison had stuck his neck out for her.
And then it was raining on her walk home, which always made her think of what-ifs and could-have-beens. Her route took her right past Josie’s, and tonight she couldn’t resist the pull in that direction. Anything would be better than her empty apartment. And, anyway, she could really use a drink.
She'd only been in a few times since the big blowup of Nelson and Murdock. When she met up with Foggy, he always suggested going somewhere else. But Karen had never been the type for forgetting. Sometimes she wanted to wade right through the pain, through all she'd lost and all she'd hoped for. Sometimes she wanted to hear the pool balls clacking and pretend that any minute now, she'd be tucking her hand in Matt's and walking him home in the rain.
But she never expected to actually see him.
She didn’t know why she’d gone along with his silly game. Maybe because he’d finally taken off his mask a few months ago, but she was still wearing hers, and pretending to be strangers would make it even again. Or maybe just because it was so appealing — the perfectly impossible idea that if they started over from scratch, they could get it right this time.
“Wait, was the accountant drunk or was Shakespeare drunk?” Matt teased, and she laughed again as she answered.
He’d been listening so carefully, and asking her questions that made it clear he’d read everything she’d published in detail. And, god, she wasn’t an idiot. She wasn’t.
She’d fallen for him because of nights like this, all through last winter and spring and summer. Sure, Matt had excused himself early sometimes, and yes, he no-showed pretty regularly, but there had still been plenty of nights where they’d talked and laughed, and he’d made it clear that she mattered to him.
Damn it, where had this Matt been for so long?
But she knew at least part of the answer. She could see it in his face. He didn’t have a black eye or a split lip or any of the flimsy-excuse wounds that used to make her wince. He looked good.
And when those good looks of his were paired with the version of Matt that actually gave a shit about her life, it was dangerous.
“That was a bold move,” Matt said as she finished her story. “I’m glad it paid off.”
“I’m lucky. Ellison—my boss, he’s pretty much given me free rein.”
“So you’ve found the perfect job.”
“It’s not perfect. I mean, the work is great… I feel like this is what I’m meant to be doing, but… my co-workers aren’t big fans of me. At least not yet.”
“What? That doesn’t seem right.”
She traced her fingers along her glass. “Well, I’m a newbie journalist in a senior investigative reporter’s office, I report directly to the top newsroom editor, who has taken me under his wing, and … I’m kind of kicking ass.”
Matt chuckled. “What you’re describing is jealousy.”
“I’m not used to that.”
“Your co-workers haven’t envied you before?”
She looked at him, trying to read his face. “No. At my last job, we were friends,” she said. “I know it's a cliche to say it was like a family, but... we took care of each other. Tried to.”
“Sounds great,” he said wistfully.
“It was. For a while, it was home.”
He shifted on his stool, and she wondered if this was when the bubble would burst. But instead, he said, “I know what you mean. I had a couple of friends like that once.”
She swallowed hard. “What happened?”
“I let them down.”
Karen didn’t know what to say. They’d been through it all before. She stared at her drink, almost empty now.
“I guess... it’s possible to get so focused on protecting people that you stop being there for them,” Matt said. “You stop even thinking it’s important.”
She nodded her head slightly, taking it in, trying to ignore the way her hands trembled.
“But I miss them.”
“I’m sure they miss you too.” She stole a glance in his direction.
He smiled disbelievingly. “I don’t know. They might be better off without me.”
“No, don’t say that,” she said quickly.
“I’m just saying I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t give me another chance.”
“They probably need time. They’re probably figuring themselves out, or something.” She made a face at the inadequacy of her words.
“Another round?” Josie asked loudly.
They both faltered, letting the question hang unanswered. Maybe it was time to call it a night. This game couldn’t go on forever, after all. But—
“I would, if you would,” Matt said, and the hopeful note in his voice was impossible to resist.
“OK,” Karen agreed, more doubtfully. She didn’t want to end up regretting this.
“OK,” Matt echoed to Josie.
Josie gave Karen significant eyebrows but didn’t say anything more out loud.
“Um...we’ve talked a lot about me,” Karen said as Josie turned away. “What about you? Any interesting cases?”
“Uh, yeah, actually.” He paused while Josie set their drinks down and they murmured their thanks. “I’m trying to help this family that doesn’t have a lot of options. Their son’s been paralyzed — they’re not sure if he’ll walk again. Their medical bills have been huge. The parents and their doctor blame a toxic material that was being used at a subway station that was under construction near their home. Apparently, the company’s stopped using it because it’s so dangerous, but they claim it had nothing to do with what happened to the kid.”
“That sounds like a story,” Karen said, her brow crinkling up.
Matt tilted his head, considering. “Let me talk to the family. They might want to bring some publicity to the case.”
“Here.” Karen rifled through her purse for one of her business cards and put it into his hand, trying not to blush as she touched him. “If they decide they want to talk, have them call me.”
He ran his fingers over the card and she saw the side of his mouth quirk up when he found her information presented in braille as well. It felt wrong, after her Nelson and Murdock days, not to have it. The Bulletin didn’t offer the option, though, so she’d gotten permission to order them herself online.
Matt tucked the card into his shirt pocket, over his heart. A slow ache grew up from her stomach like a vine and twined through her chest.
“Can I have another one?” he asked. “To keep?”
She smiled. “Are you asking for my number?”
“Maybe.” He gave her that old flirty smirk, and her stomach flipped like it was all new again, and he didn’t already know how to reach her. “Is that OK?”
She fumbled until she found another card. She didn’t touch him this time — she put it on the bar with a papery snap, letting him pick it up and tuck it in beside the first.
Karen blamed the little rush that gave her for the next question to come out of her mouth. “OK, that’s enough about work. What do you do for fun?”
“For fun?”
“That wasn't supposed to stump you,” she teased.
Matt laughed. “I work out. I read a lot. I guess I’m pretty boring.”
“No,” Karen reassured him. “I don’t exactly have a scintillating social life either. That might be another reason my coworkers don’t like me. I sometimes forget the life part of work-life balance.”
The crowd around them had been growing steadily thicker, and as more people pressed in to place orders at the bar, they had to squeeze together, until they were arm to arm.
Matt’s voice was very close to her ear. “Does that mean you’re not… I mean, there’s no one special?”
The words tickled down her spine, and she kept her own voice low, knowing he’d still be able to hear her. “Not at the moment. There was someone… last year… but it didn’t work out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s what he said, too. It meant a lot to me, but I haven’t quite decided what I want to do about it yet.”
“I understand.” Matt put his hand on her arm. “I’m sure he regrets…” He trailed off as her heartbeat sped up.
Matt’s nearness, his touch, his flirting — it was getting to her. She couldn’t deny it. But her pain was still there, too, just under the surface, liable to bleed through at any time.
“What exactly was your game plan tonight, Matt?” she asked, a prickly edge to her voice. “You came here on your own. Were you, uh, hoping to find someone to hook up with?”
He sighed and pulled his hand away. “I don’t know what I expected,” he said. “I just didn’t trust myself to be alone.”
“What do you mean?”
He hesitated, opening his mouth and then closing it, and all at once, she knew. He was here, shredding his bar napkin and making faux small talk, instead of punching criminals. He was here because he was struggling.
And, as always when she saw Matt hurting, her heart tore itself in half. She covered his hand with hers. “You came here tonight because you couldn’t go out tonight?”
“Something like that.”
“You miss it.”
“No. I wouldn’t say that,” he said in a rush. “I just… I hear things… at night.”
“I think—I think I get it.” Her hand was still on his, and she didn’t move it away.
“What about you? What made you choose Josie’s tonight?” he asked intently.
“I wanted to get out of the rain.”
“That’s all?”
“No. I guess I...wanted to remember.”
His thumb rubbed over the side of her hand and her eyes closed as the sensation rippled through her whole body.
A burst of laughter broke out behind them, making her jerk her hand away, and the moment was swallowed up by the loud chattering of a group that had formed a circle right near their bar stools. The place had officially crossed the line into too crowded.
“So, uh, what would you say if a guy you’d been talking to all night asked you back to his place? To keep talking,” he added hurriedly.
“I’d say no,” she answered, picking up her drink. She took the last swallow, letting him sweat it out because she deserved that. But she couldn’t exactly leave him alone, now that she knew he was struggling.
“I’ve got a new place,” she said when she put her empty glass down. “And a big bottle of whiskey.”
For this one night, maybe she didn’t have to be Karen the Murderer and he didn’t have to be Matt the Superhero. They could just be the two lonely, fucked-up people they were in this moment, and put all the rest of it down like so much baggage.
“Are you offering to share?” he asked.
“Depends. Are you offering to walk me home?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
And the way those words affected her made Karen very worried she was going to regret this, but she flagged Josie down anyway.
“You guys wanna open a tab again?”
“Uh, no, we don’t need to,” Matt said.
“I’m kidding. There’s no way in hell you’re getting another tab.” Josie was trying to look grumpy, but her eyes gentled when Matt laughed.
“It’s OK, Josie, it’s just for tonight,” Karen said significantly.
But there was no telling yet where just one night might lead.