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Do you think…
She walked down the path with a purpose in every step. The trees rattled to her right; the river slogged along to her left. It wasn’t often she was able to do this. Hell, it wasn’t often he let it happen.
…we could ever get back to the way we were?
Not that she blamed him—it was probably a good thing they kept these meetings to a minimum. He was busy with his… business. And she did not want to be associated with any of it.
Before I screwed it all up?
And he didn’t want her to be associated with any of it. Still, she was glad he found the time. She looked forward to their little talks. He always tried to keep it light. Small. Unemotional.
Matt…
She liked to think that she helped keep him grounded to what was real—what was possible in life. Maybe not happiness… but friendship. Understanding. A distraction that allowed him to forget the shit that was given to him. He’d called her pure for it, once. And she wasted the rest of their time laughing her ass off. Mocking him while she did. But he’d laughed right along with her. They hadn’t had a damn care in the world.
I don’t have the answer to that.
And, in a strange way, their talks kept her grounded. To what was important. To what she cared about.
So much has happened since then.
Who she cared about.
I’m not even sure what we had…
…was what it seemed.
She stopped for a second, taking a deep breath, pressing the palm of her coffee-laden hand hard into her forehead. It always helped ward off the headache, she’d learned. Taking a moment before crossing the line.
I know I hid a lot of things.
She looked up at the cloudless sky. There was a flock of birds dancing in the blue void.
That’s a hell of an understatement.
She exhaled, cracked her neck, and continued forth.
I lied about everything, Karen. I ruined everything I had—my job, my relationship with Foggy, my…
Her pace quickened to get to their usual bench—before the toddler and her big happy family got to it.
… what I could’ve had with you.
I was selfish.
Reckless.
She sighed as she leaned back into the wood—the father would have to survive another five minutes to get a reprieve.
Ungrateful.
Karen had waited five months for one.
I lied too, Matt.
One like this, at least.
But that’s what I’m trying to say—
God knows she needed it.
God, I don’t think that—
Matt, please.
No, I don’t care. What you said you did hasn’t changed the way I feel about you.
It never will—
She let her head hang back onto the edge of the cement planter. Closed her eyes to block out the sun.
Don’t lie to yourself. Lying’s what got you here in the first place.
She’d long given up the game of trying to find him. He always, somehow, slipped through her sight.
I won’t li—
Don’t—you said that already. You remember what happened after that?
Stop making promises you can’t keep.
It always frustrated her. I have nothing else to hide. Nothing that’s dangerous. It shouldn’t.
Maybe I met with a Russian spy recently, but that’s it.
But it did.
I swear to you. With all that I am.
Karen, I—
I…
I can’t answer this—you—yet.
I’ll think about it.
It was so— “Hello, Karen.” Karen jolted in her seat, almost spilling hot coffee into her lap. She looked to her right to watch a behemoth of a man sit next to her. “Frank,” she half-greeted, half-sighed in relief. He gratefully took the cup she handed him. “I wake you?” he rasped, before chugging half of it. Black coffee. Straight. She didn’t know how he did it. Still didn’t know how. That bugged her too. “No,” she laughed, cupping her own as the chill got to her. She looked him over—as much as she could, at least, under the hood and the heavy black trench coat he seemed to live in. Her heart immediately fell at the angry red-purple skin that crawled up his neck, even above his collar. It fell further with the stitches below his cheekbone—further with the massive black eye covering the left side of his face, revealed in all of its glory when he faced her. She found herself speechless. She couldn’t help staring. God, she was somehow more speechless than she had been when she sat down. And that was saying something. “Ah, it’s not that bad.” Then again, she wasn’t the one who usually started the conversation. “You should’ve seen me last Sunday. Heh, I’ve always hated Sundays,” Frank Castle mused, peering at her with a smile. His top lip was busted, too. “And why’s that?” she asked. It was on the mend though. At least there was that. He squinted, then leaned in a little. “It’s a lie,” he whispered. She heard herself giggle at his severity. “God’s day of rest and all of that—it’s complete bullshit. You learn anything from me, Karen Page, learn that.” He drank more coffee, then immediately deposited the container into the trash can beside him. “Really, though,” he drawled, leaning into the arm of the bench. Away from her. “Had a meeting with the kid from Queens.” He shook his head. “It did not pan out well.” “Kid?” she said, concerned. “The latest addition to the pajama-wearing club.” He sighed. “Spider-man.” Her back straightened. “Really?—But you just said he was a—” “He is,” he said, sounding remorseful. Sad. “Just a kid. Couldn’t be older than 16. Mad that I ‘bombed’ his neighborhood half a year ago.” He shook his head again. “He was strong—real strong, even if he couldn’t throw a proper punch. Had powers. Crawled up and down walls, shit like that. Threw an AC unit at me when I told him that I had tried to stop the kid that set the bombs…. like it was a paper ball. Broke my left hand in the process, again.” Frank chuckled, holding up his thickly bandaged left hand. It looked like it was covered in duct-tape. “He has spirit. Literally kicked my ass out of the borough. And if that ain’t a message, then I don’t know what is—” “Wait—you’re not… ” she put her coffee on the planter. “You’re leaving?” Frank paused for a second, looking at her. Analyzing. “I think I’ve done my part here, Karen,” he said. “Kicked up enough shit for two lifetimes. Five, even. There are other places to roam—other places to put a bounty on my head.” Again, he chuckled. She remained silent. The side of his mouth twitched before he looked away. “I can’t stay here. There are other assholes that can make up the difference. Sword girl. Cage. Hornhead—he’s here. He’ll dick around as long as—” “Yeah, yeah, I know. Frank, I know .” She exhaled sharply, collecting her thoughts. Warding off the headache. “I… just, please, don’t leave me hanging this time.” He was silent for a few seconds. “You worrying about me?” “Yes, I worry,” she practically hissed. “Don’t,” he said, staring at her as if she were crazy. “Don’t worry about some insane piece of shit like me—” “No, no—you don’t get to decide that—” “It’s unhealthy, Karen, putting your hope into places it shouldn’t be—” “—you don’t get to tell me—ah, shit—” She got up to retrieve her cappuccino from the inside of the planter. “Let me—” “No, sit down and shut up Frank,” she snapped, walking around and shoving her hand in. “God, what is it with people like you? Thinking that people don’t care about them—don’t care if they don’t get less than four hours of sleep last night—don’t care if oh, it’s only a broken rib this time—” she glanced up to see the passersby glancing at her and the back of Frank’s idiotic head. She glared back at them. They could all kiss her ass. “It matters,” she stated, lowering her voice by less than a fraction. “You can’t just make it not.” She took a deep breath. “Think about that guy who you worked with—his wife that you cared for while he was in hiding. Think about that teenager that broke into a hospital full of cops to br— for you . Think about that vet that helped you out,” she leaned in and whispered out, “when he could’ve just called the cops on you.” “Karen,” he grumbled, inhaling. “You don’t need to do this. I’ll try to reach out. When I can. But I’m not the one that deserves your worry —” “Really, Frank, you don’t deserve —” “I can’t change who I am. Not now. I’m too far in the shit for that to ever happen.” “Okay, sure, but that does mean that you can’t find peace? ” “Ah, shit—” “Maybe just a little bit of happiness in the life you have left—” “No,” he asserted, standing—looming over her. “I have made too many enemies for that. Sure, I might have some moments. But they—they’re temporary. They’ll come from you sometimes and most of the time it’ll—it’ll come from violence—and maybe, just maybe, a few times it’ll come from people who have fewer shitbags in their life.” He lowered his voice further. “And I know I don’t deserve much else. I kill people.” He wet his lips before staring hard into the river. “I don’t do it for my country. I don’t do it to because of self-defense or to be some good-samaritan. No.” He looked back at her with a dead stare. “I do it because it needs to be done. And I do it because I need to. And, as much as I hate to say it, you take one step closer into my life, you will be put in the cross-hairs of some fuck-up that wants revenge, and I can’t have that because… because…” She stared at him helplessly. “It doesn’t—” “—Because that will rip you from the people that need you—Karen.” He pointed sharply at her sternum. “Think about it—not about me—think about them—think. About. Them. Think about Nelson. Think about the blind man, no —” he continued over her when her mouth opened in defiance. “Put your energy into him—” he grabbed her shoulder when she began to turn away, “—not into me, you listen, put it into him , because he is not a hopeless cause—he fights for something more than himself, but he needs help—” She gritted her teeth before yanking her shoulder out of his grasp. “You. Don’t. Know. Anything—anything about our relationship—” “I know he’s a pain in the ass and I know he’s a slippery piece of shit that’ll avoid confessing to anything he actually feels,” he stated, squinting. “That much is obvious by the walk alone. He’s quiet, stoic—he’s tough as nails but he’s nothing but soft inside—but he can’t let anyone see that because he is afraid of that shit. Might be the only thing he is afraid of—so he lies, he argues, and he hurts in order to keep it all hidden to make himself seem normal. He is incapable of being cautious—the only time he’s safe or comfortable is when he’s taking risks—it’s not rocket science. I know men like him—I knew a man like him. It doesn’t mean shit that he can’t see, but he is blind to his actions and blind to how they affect other people—but he cares about it when—” “Shut up.” She took a step forward to shove him away. She should’ve been surprised when he took a few steps backward, but she was too pissed for that. “You don’t get to justify your stupid shit with his stupid shit—” she put two fingers on the bridge of her nose because her head hurt and became even more furious when she felt them get wet. “You asshole, I’m trying to help. YOU. Matt has something to be happy about—he has a job that allows him to help people—he has a best friend that makes him laugh his ass off—he’s—look at you, Frank! Do you use your mirror for anything other than bullet wounds? Do you—” “Jesus, Karen, think about yourself for one goddamn second, would you? You want something stable? You won’t get it giving a shit about me.” “So what? You just want me to forget?” He hissed out loud and looked away. She wiped her face before continuing to glare at him, wanting an answer. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying… God, just don’t care as much. For both our sakes.” She sniffed, wrapping her arms around herself to guard against the chill, minding the coffee now spreading over the concrete. She didn’t even remember when she dropped it. “You got an explanation on how to do that?” Frank sighed, looking around in that irritable way that he does. He then glared in her direction, his mouth twitching, the finger thrumming against his leg. He finally held an arm out. “Come here.” She wet her lips, staring for a second, indignant. Then she went, and was pulled in for a sturdy hug, which she returned. She glared into his chest, clueless on how she should feel. She felt him leave a kiss on her forehead, like before. She, again, felt clueless, like before. “Just remember you have a life.” She nodded at that, for his sake, and he let go, and she let go too. All she felt was numb, but numb is better than any alternative. “Ma’am,” he huffed, “you’d have a man on his knees.” She snorted and shook her head. She glanced up at the man in front of her. “Could you walk with me, at least?” “Yeah, Karen,” he sighed, “I can do that.” She jerked towards the ground to pick up the coffee cup and throw it away before beginning to walk along the path, Frank Castle at her side. After a while, she drew in a little closer and laced her fingers into his. It took a second, but he returned the action. “What happened to the pit bull you talked about? Max?” she asked. “The Irish took him, but I made ol’Hornhead turn him free before he made off with my dead weight,” he said, “along with the other dogs in that shithole.” They continued like that, and the numb feeling went away as they talked and laughed and shared each others company. At least until Frank stopped dead in his tracks, staring ahead. It took a second for her to trace wait he saw. The man on the empty path ahead of them seemed to blend in with the scenery, really. He was wearing circular glasses and a black overcoat to hide his normal attire. Anyone would think that he was just an ordinary guy staring out into the Hudson—at least before he dragged his white cane forcefully across the ground and started to stiffly tap his path away from them. She suddenly felt a rough pat on her shoulder. "Goodbye, Karen," Frank grunted out, before taking his hand from hers, and walking back from whence they came. When she looked back, he was already a long ways away. She just stood there for a moment, frozen, realizing that this was happening. Then she understood that, yes, this was happening, and felt a fire burn in her gut. She ran at the blind man. “Did you follow me?” she yelled to him. He didn’t respond. “Did you follow me?” she asked again, five yards away from him. He was walking awfully quickly for a blind man, Jesus. “Would you believe me if I said no?” Matt finally asked, his voice as dry as the desert. She thought for a second as she fell into step alongside him. “No.” He stopped abruptly, making her stumble over herself to follow in kind. “Mrs. Carrera, the women who filed a divorce on Monday?” he prompted, leaning heavily onto his cane. “She asked me to meet here since she didn’t feel comfortable going to our office for the second time in a week. 10 am sharp.” “And you decided to stay 30 minutes after the meeting?” “It’s a nice walk, Karen. Even a blind man with shitty senses can appreciate it.” Whatever that was in his voice, she didn’t like it. “Look, Matt, Frank—” “Frank Castle is in Hell’s Kitchen, and I didn’t even notice.”
Ah, shit.
“Give him a day, Matt—” “What’s more is he’s in a relationship with one of my partners at—” “He’s leaving, just—” “—my workplace—” She froze at his suggestion. “—and I had no clue whatsoever. Now, if you can tell me what I should make of that, then—” “Don’t make anything of it,” she snapped. “I’m not in a relationship with him—” “Oh, Karen, all signs point to the former,” he drawled, emphasizing by hitting the ground with the cane. “Why I was with him… isn’t your business—” “What is my business,” he practically growled, “is the fact that you just met with a former, dangerous, wanted client of our law-firm without notifying the rest of us. There’s also the fact that you just met with Frank goddamn Castle, who is in my cit , doing whoever the hell knows—” “Leaving.” “—and, somehow, you, Karen, don’t have a problem with that—” “You know what I have a problem with?” she asked, barely biting back the urge to yell. “You seem to think that he’s oh so much worse than any of the rest of us— so much worse than you, Matt.” “Yeah?” he laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He nodded at her, his knuckles popping from their grip on his cane, before walking forward again. “Just think about it, will you?” she said, following. Think about what he’s gone through— think about what you’ve gone through. You’ve spiraled before, Matt, I’ve seen it—” He turned on her, his teeth bared, almost spitting, “I have seriously premeditated homicide upon two people in my entire life, Karen. Two. People. I have gone through a lot of shit, but I have never crossed the boundary of killing the assholes decide to make bad choices either momentarily or for a living. I have never wanted murder to become a habit—I do what I do to put assholes in their place. The Punisher? He sends them straight to their Day of Judgement because he, honestly, couldn’t give a damn, and he can’t find anything better to do with his fucking time.” He shuddered out a breath before irritably rubbing the blackened eyes hidden beneath his glasses. She stared at him. That numb feeling was creeping back over her. “You amaze me, Matt Murdock.” He laughed, sounding disgusted. “Yeah? Okay. I’ll see you later Karen.” She watched him stalk off to the shade of one of the trees to their right. He vanished in front of her own eyes. The fire in her gut was dying. It was replaced by something hollow.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“I swear to God that I’ll be able to get you the money soon!” “Sure thing, Mrs. Ryans! Say hi to little Anthony for me!” “Thank God for you, Mr. Nelson!” “Call me Fogg—” Foggy winced as the door slammed behind her. The three people in their waiting room slowly looked from it to him. He shrugged his shoulders. He knew that they’d have to replace the door eventually. (As so happens when your old office’s old-new tenants are dickbags to the space). (Seriously though. There had been no reason for his former/current office’s wall to have been caved in the way it was.) “When will my meeting be?” Mr. Goh asked, tired as ever. Ms. Mendoza shifted uncomfortably in the seat next to him. Foggy smiled in his direction before looking down at his watch. He grinned harder to keep it afterward. “Ah, just give me five minutes, sir, and we’ll get cracking!” he said, putting the cheer on to the best of his ability as he started creeping away as silently and inconspicuously as he could. “You need to buy a clock for here,” Mr. Gho responded, deadpan, before leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. “It’s on the to do list, don’t worry—” he shut his door behind him, “—just stop my partner from throwing them out the window every other week, and we’ll be all set.” He sighed and risked another look at his shiny watch of nostalgia. It was, as per usual, followed by a grumbled curse and half-hearted regret. Foggy walked over to his desk to shuffle around his lake of paperwork, soon finding his phone under Mrs. Ryan’s everlasting gift of Eviction Notice. He dialed and waited a few seconds. “Foggy?” Ah, he could always bask in Karen’s ability to pick up her phone. “You were supposed to be here 15 minutes ago, Page! Here, bearing with me through the meeting with Mr. Gho?” “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry—” “Taking notes while I ponder why he intimidates me? Although, I’m not complaining if you’re bringing that Everything Supreme bagel I’ve been yearning for since last Tuesday.” There was a little laugh on the other end. “No, sorry Foggy. I’m… uh, I’m a little ways away right now. I’ll get there as soon—” “Hold on,” he interrupted, “why do you sound like that?” There was silence. “Karen, what happened?” The silence continued. Foggy’s mind groaned internally and externally. “Did it have to do with Matt?” he guessed, squeezing the bridge of his nose as hard as he could. An inhale. “...Yeah… yeah it did.” The groaning continued with more enthusiasm. “Okay, well what—” “Matt will probably tell you soon enough.” “Great,” he muttered, covering the mic of his phone while he thought. He fast-walked to the window to get a sense of his clientele. You’ll be fine, Franklin Nelson, a voice echoed in his brain, eerily similar to both that of his mother and his authoritative Aunt Suzie. It’s just 50-year-old, four-and-a-half foot tall miner from Singapore who definitely doesn’t care about the location of your head, whether it be on your neck or on a platter in front of him. “Alright,” he said after a moment, putting the phone back to his mouth. “Take an hour, Karen, clear your head—” “No, Foggy, I’ll just take the subw—” “Really. I mean it. How many times have I said we can’t show emotion to this guy?” There was that laugh. He smiled for her. “I think this fear thing is getting a little out of proportion, counselor.” “Hey, it isn’t fear, we’ve talked about this. It’s. Just. A weensy bit of apprehension.” She chuckled at that. “Thank you, Foggy,” she said after a pause. “See you in an hour, Page.” She hung up. Foggy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pressing his phone to his chest. Then he dialed again. “Foggy?” another, entirely different voice answered. “Matt—” “Hold on, just give me a minute.” The call ended. He groaned loud enough for both the Devil and his office to understand his frustration. There was shifting and a murmur in the waiting area, but Foggy decided to ignore it. It wasn't like his clients heard his pain or anything. He checked his watch again, then decided that, yes , he’ll spend the remaining two minutes of his free time holding his head in his hands instead of trying to sort out his partners’ third and totally fruitful attempt at a relationship. Half a year had passed since Matt had decided to resurface. During that half a year, he’d rebuilt bridges with Karen and Foggy at a snail’s pace, later admitting that he hadn’t wanted to cause them any more pain. Which was kind of rich, coming from him. But, at the same time, it was sad as hell. It had taken a while for Foggy to realize that his friend’s habit of isolating himself was both a method of self-defense and self-destruction; one that Matt’s masochistic self was all too willing to resort and cling to. The realization had come just after the nightmares started; it came just before his daily flashbacks of their last conversation at the police station before his descent into martyrdom. The one where they ended Nelson & Murdock soon became its partner, along with their first argument about Daredevil—along with all of the weird-ass sensitive shit he remembered Matt going through in their college days. The understanding part of it had dawned with the loneliness of having his best friend buried 80 feet in the ground. Even though Matt had taken a step from being the stereotypical lone-wolf asshole to a shamed server of penance, Foggy could see that he was still hesitating to become a full part of their lives again. Even through fighting the State of New York for the existence of Nelson, Murdock, & Page (since New York was petty a-freaking-f, it was against code for Karen, a paralegal, to be a partner to a law firm; there was a helluva throw down on her behalf), they saw Daredevil more than Matt outside of the office. He didn’t even snark much in their highly professional lawyer meetings, which was a triple-M brand for crying out loud. Karen had gone as far to say that she forgave him for his douchebaggery, but, for a time, that comment seemed to have made whatever mental shit Matt was dealing with worse. After going MIA for a hot second, they had witnessed him walk into the middle of a meeting with a client—semi-delirious with a piece of rebar impaled through his hand. Even after cowering at the threat of tetanus, he’d full-heartedly refused to go to the hospital, stating the ol’ “too many questions” anecdote. Karen had then ordered “take your head out of your ass” like the saint she was, putting enough force in her commandment that they’d been able to drag his ninja-ass to the ER. After the whole episode, the two had had multiple discussions about their relationship; the majority of which Foggy had remained blissfully uninvolved in. It was obvious that Matt was still head over his heels about her (Foggy has caught him cheerfully smelling her office supplies no less than 3 times), but painfully aware of his history of horrible decisions. Karen’s feelings on him, however, were less obvious (which wasn’t hard to accomplish when compared with the literal embodiment of anger issues), but it was clear that she still cared for him. They announced a few weeks later that they were going out again, but taking it slow, trying to avoid labels. Two months passed. They, as a couple, made progress—and it showed. Both of them were happier. Karen didn’t storm out of the office as much. Matt looked less beat to shit with each passing week. They managed to get the old office back; paying clients actually walked through the door a few times. Foggy actually had the time to think about his proposal speech—he actually had the chance to really consider whether or not changing his last name to Stahl was worth it, even for the greater good. His doctor had even complimented him on how much his astoundingly high blood pressure had dropped. Things were improving; Page, Nelson, and Murdock were, as individuals and as a team, becoming grounded. And, as far as Foggy’s expert eye could see, his two partners had become intimate over the past week. But here they were. Here Foggy was, witnessing, as the benevolent watchers above have charged, the other metaphorical shoe seeming to metaphorically drop. About thirty seconds passed before he heard the damn door slam open before slamming back shut. He moaned again before hauling his ass out of his seat, bellowing, “If you guys break the hinges of that door, I’m billing you! And, let me remind you, damages have not, and will never be, payable through anything else accept monetary—” Foggy yanked his door open and almost head-butted his blind-idiot-jackass-ninja friend. “Can we talk for a second?” is all Matthew said before barging his way into his office. “Yes. Of course,” Foggy responded. He took a moment to stare oh so happily out into their waiting area. “I don’t have any other obligations to attend to at the current moment anyways,” he snarked under his breath, because yes, Matthew, you are screwing with my schedule. Then he continued, like the professional he was, “Mr. Goh, make that ten minutes. My partner and I have to discuss a personal matter that’s highly important to the future of this firm—” he closed the door, “—and our collective sanity. Matt—” He turned around to watch his partner pace angrily around the small space, manically starting and stopping to gesticulate his frustration. His attire had seen better times—Hell, it honestly looked like he was trying to mimic their undergrad days, which was a horrible, terrifying sign. There was a coffee stain on his shoulder and one of his pockets was hanging out of his pants. His tie was still stuck sideways across the front of his chest; probably from around running like a maniac. The side of his cane was dented—which, honestly, was pretty normal. But it both highlighted and was highlighted by everything else.
“Matt.”
His shiners were peeking out from under his glasses, and his lower lip was cut and puffy and actively bleeding. Matt had to wipe the thin stream off of his chin. There was a bit of blood smeared by his ear too, as if rubbing it in more would hide the stain of a head injury. Jesus, he was a mess. “Stop that. You’re going to knock something over.” Matt did not stop. Instead, he started speaking. “I thought. I thought that I—I—I was getting. Getting. I thought that I was making myself more— more— clear— and reasonable— and transparent—I—” “Matthew Michael Murdock stop walking pacing in my office so help me God.” Matt stopped pacing, turned towards him, and said, “I thought I was getting better, Fog—I thought—I worked on keeping my—keeping my life from ruining yours and hers and fixing how I fi— I— it felt like I was getting better—” “Just. Stop.” Matt froze for about two seconds. Foggy used them to the best of his ability. “What in the world is going on Matt? Why did—” “Do you think that I—that Daredevil—is comparable to Frank Castle?” Foggy stared at him for a few seconds. “ What kind of—what are you asking here?” “Do you think we’re alike?” He spat out the word as if someone had shoved rotting feces in his mouth. “That our actions… correspond, and are similar enough to—” “The Punisher. The man who continues to practice all manners of violence throughout New York? Yet has avoided doing so in this specific area of Manhattan?” Matt’s face twitched. “Yes.” Foggy frowned. “I think that you two share a great many methods of beating the shit out of people.” His friend started opening his mouth but he spoke over him, “However, he does not share the experience of being a trained ninja and bouncing out of bloodied alleyways like a ping-pong ball. And you,” he pointed at said friend, “don’t steal resources from the criminals that you just killed so that you can practice gun violence against an unending and enraged wave of gangs and felons.” “Okay, but—” “What in the hell is going on here? I just called Karen—” Matt stepped back, hands on his hips, and chewed on his bottom of his lip. “You guys were shitting sunshine and happiness two days ago—what the hell happened this time?” “She tell you?” he asked. Foggy blinked at him. “No. But now,” his face promptly went to his hands, “I have a distinct feeling that it has to do with Castle.” There was a momentary silence. “Yeah—” “God. Damn. It.” “She’s been meeting with him, Foggy—” The fingers of his hands started pressing onto his eyelids so that they could more effectively clutch his throbbing brain. “—he has her wrapped around his finger—” “How exactly do you know this? Were you—” “Following her?” Foggy peeked out so Matt could sense his lifting eyebrows. “No.” The muscles of his face must’ve expressed his skepticism too. “No, Fogs, I didn’t—it was an accident. Same time, same place. It was a total coinci—shit, your lack of faith bites, you know that?” “It isn’t the most outrageous doubt, Matthew.” “Both of you have made your boundaries outstandingly clear, and, believe it or not, I respect you guys enough to follow them.” “To the best of your ability,” Foggy corrected. “Sorry man, but sometimes, you really have no clue when you’re doing something invasive. Or freakily stalker-ish.” Matt grimaced. “Fine. Fine. But this isn’t one of those times—I literally walked across her and him strolling by the Hudson, hand in hand—” Foggy’s face went to its proper place in his hands again. “—I have no clue what I should think anymore. Do you think this is karma? Do you think this is—” “Do not bring up God, Matt,” he ordered, muffled, “or I’ll kick your ninja ass out of this room.” There was the click of his mouth snapping shut. Thank you, Lord. Sometimes Matt did learn after the first time. “Look,” Foggy started again, “I don’t think you should worry about Karen being— wooing Castle.” “You sure about that?” Matt snapped, a panicked, jealous edge to his voice. “It seemed pretty damn close to wooing.” “Yes. The two of them don’t—they aren’t like that—” “Sure.” “They aren’t.” “Well, counselor,” Matt jeered, yanking his glasses off of his face to reveal vexed and unfocused eyes, “show me some evidence the two of you have been hiding away and maybe I might—” “Jesus, Matt, you have all the evidence—” “Bah,” he grunted, waving Foggy away. “No, listen, have you and your sharp-ass senses, at any point, sensed something like that?” Matt scoffed, jerked his head towards him and put a hand on his hip. He rolled his jaw before bitterly admitting, “Yeah, actually. I get a faint whiff of him and his gunpowder on her sometimes.” Foggy sighed, feeling a hushed confession once again rattle around in his brain. It was surrounded by a late night of paperwork, pulled into light after Daredevil was let off the hook. “Not—not recently.” It was accompanied by a distinct flavor of angry dumbfoundedness; followed by grudging acceptance and a memorable aftertaste of alcohol mixed in coffee. “Not since…” Of course Matt picked up on it; it didn’t matter how hard Karen could try to hide it. “—not since she—we talked about where we stood with… with—” He’d been trained to pick up on that shit when he was a little kid. “But still—” “Where’s the time, Matt?” Foggy asked, splaying his hands. “Where’s the time for them to go out with one another? How could they with all the shit Castle does these days? Along with the time Karen spends with us?” Foggy frowned. “Where’s the incentive? Do you really think… that Karen would do that to you? After everything that’s happened?” Matt shook his head. “It’s not a matter of doing something to me. No one’s perfect—” “Matt—you’ve told me that you can tell when people go at it—have you been given any indication that that is the case?” He remained silent for a few seconds, staring into nothing. “I don’t think so,” Foggy continued, “because if you had, I’m pretty damn sure you would’ve done something about it.” Matt groaned, and his face contorted as he began rubbing his face. “The fact still remains—” “I think you’re blowing this out of proportion—” “Am I, Foggy? This is the Punisher we’re talking about—” “Yeah, yeah, I know, Frank Castle—” “—a mass-murdering, psychopathic—” “—practically a terrorist. I know. But, I want to remind you, here, about your attendance to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named’s trial.” Matt groaned more before dramatically sliding down the wall he was next to, his own hands plastered against his face. “I’m sorry for that—” “I’m not asking for an apology, I’m making a point. Shut up for a second and let me explain. You weren’t there the vast majority of times that our firm came into contact with that guy—and I get why: we were having problems, your alter was having problems, you were having problems, you didn’t want to be recognized from all the fisticuffs you had with him, all of that, yes, not the point. I didn’t even interact with him that much—Karen did. From the start, Frank Castle and Karen had a connection. Now, whether or not that’s a good thing has yet to be decided—Matt shut your mouth, I’m not finished—but, they look out for each other. And, as you know, Karen is not some damsel in distress. Much like you, her horrifyingly acute smell for corruption, fraudulence, and the right thing to do constantly gets her into bad situations, where, also like you, she refuses to budge until retribution is at hand.” He looked at where Matt was listening to him on the floor. “Did you hear about the attack on Senator Ori? It happened while you vanished from the face of this earth.” The man shook his head. “Well, she went to interview him about our Second Amendment situation, and, in the process, got involved with a whole conspiracy. Terrorism, I think it was. She was taken hostage by the wack-job that planned to bomb the place… and… Castle came after him. He kept her from getting hurt… or killed.” Foggy sighed and rubbed his forehead. “And she, in turn, kept him from getting arrested—”“What’s your point Foggy?” “My point is—” he snapped, “—it’s…” he took a moment to collect himself, “...don’t take their relationship at face value—don’t assume you know what that is, because, while I hate it as much as you do, Karen knows exactly what she’s doing and why she’s doing it. She won’t forgive you if you try to force her out of… of this situation.” Matt was silent on the ground. “She’s empathetic, Matt, and she’s damn stubborn once she makes her mind up.” Foggy sighed, relenting. “She has decided that Frank Castle is worthy of her attention, and whatever opinions we have about him won’t change that.” “He murders people, Foggy,” Matt said quietly. Foggy threw his hands up. “You’re telling me!” “He’s a victim of circumstance… but, he twisted himself into believing that he has the right to take lives—” “Okay, if I asked you to stop going out at night, again,” Foggy insisted, “what would you tell me?” Matt was silent for a second. “I’d tell you that I have a responsibility to keep people from getting hurt,” he exhaled. “That I listened to people suffering for years, but did nothing. I’d tell you that I’d be damned if I let myself do that again.” “Well… Karen thinks Frank is suffering. Hell, I’m sure he is. No one comes back whole after witnessing their entire family being gunned down. You,” he pointed, “were the one who convinced me to take his case in the first place.” “I know—” “And if you could change that, would you?” Matt bowed his head. “No. He didn’t deserve to be Reyes’ scapegoat. But I’m not clueless to what he’s been doing all over New York—in Queens, Brooklyn… all of his bloodshed.” Matt licked his lips, his fingers curling into fists on his knees. “His actions have become meaningless; crime is as much of an excuse for him to kill as it is a justification. The way he’s devoted himself to hunting out people and gangs has made him even more of a reputation than what he had before—which was exactly what he was aiming for. It’s a cycle of death. Of murder. Something that he’s more than happy to participate in. So, no, I’m not scared Karen doesn’t know what she’s doing, but—she…” he took a deep breath, “... she doesn’t realize how close to the edge he is. She doesn’t realize how much he enjoys killing—” “And you do?” Foggy asked skeptically. Matt laughed unhappily. “I can smell it, Fogs. The adrenaline he gets. The way his heartbeat speeds up but his breathing levels out. Before, he was doing it for the sake of vengeance, but now… he’s made it his job. His legacy. He wants criminals to know that he’s hunting them—that the Punisher is coming for them. He’s… obsessive about it. Abusing it. And it’s put a giant target on his back—” he held up his hand, “—an even bigger one than mine. People want to pull his intestines through his throat over the corpses of his dead family for it—” Foggy winced, a sound of disgust escaping his throat “—yeah, Fogs, I heard some idiot say that… And I’ve even heard worse. “Maybe…” Matt shuddered, “maybe Karen can relate to him, and maybe she’s what can save what little trace of humanity is left in him… but I don’t want her close to that.” He exhaled sharply. “I doubt he’d ever hurt her intentionally—he has a code, and even if he is unhinged, he has stuck to it so far—but if they’re seen together—if he makes one mistake, she—” “It’s not your decision to make,” Foggy said, hating himself while he did. “That’s her choice.” His friend cocked his head towards him. Normally, Foggy would make some comment about how Matt had no right to be listening to his heart right now. But he let the silence hang this time. Sometimes Matt did learn. “I can’t stand it.” “Well, buddy, I don’t know what to tell you.” “I can’t stand him.” “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the NYPD will chase him out of the city.” There was a scoff. “Or the FBI. Or Homeland—hey, if you’re listening, I still believe in you guys! Keep up the good work!” A laugh. Foggy plopped himself down next to his friend. “You have to work this out, Matt. You can’t let this guy get in the way of you two.” “Really, counselor?” he said, that unnerving smirk starting to edge onto his features. If Foggy hated anything in his life, he really hated that smirk. “I’m not telling you to go beat the shit out of him.” It fell away just as quickly as it appeared. “I’m saying you can’t let what he is continue to tear what you two have apart.” Foggy thought for a second. “Remember Burke?” A completely human groan eeled out of the body next to him. “Compromise.” “Hey, you’re the one who wanted to get a minor in philosophy.” “I…” There was a deep sigh as Matt removed his glasses and rubbed his face. “...I should call her.” “You should find her,” Foggy said frankly. “I’m pretty sure she finds the bloodhound half of you endearing.” “Fogs—” “I’m only half joking, Matt.” He made the attempt to stand up and failed the first time. He made it the second time (with only a minimal amount of grumbling) and offered his hand out. “Seriously.” Matt looked his way with those handsome-duck eyes of his. He began to smile too. Just a little, but Foggy noticed. Matt allowed him to help haul his ass up. He got a hug for his effort. “Thank you, Foggy,” he hardly whispered. “No problem buddy.” Foggy watched his friend collect himself and calmly scamper out of the office. Sighing, he snatched the forlorn set of glasses from the ground as he stepped into his doorway. “You better be here by your 1 o'clock!” he yelled after him, scanning the rough-looking office. A smile found its way to his lips. Everything will work itself out, he thought with pride. “Mr. Gho, I’ll see you now.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Karen decided that she was done with feeling hollow. She decided that she was pissed instead. She’d learned a long time ago that anger in the place of helplessness and guilt gave her focus—a focus that made her useful, voiding the unceasing barrage of bullshit that liked to parade in her head. It gave her a sense of direction; a reason to continue on. Anger was useful. Anger was meaningful. And now, once she figured out what the hell she was pissed at, she’d be right as rain. After pausing at the steps of the C Train, she decided that she would take Foggy up on his offer to clear her head. Today was a stark, beautiful day—the air cool without windchill, the sky cloudless—endlessly blue. The day, and what it represented, deserved to be appreciated. She, in forward march towards the general direction of their office, was now appreciating it. It was sure as all hell better than appreciating the trainwreck that just happened. No, her anger wasn’t directed at Frank. Any feeling she’d ever had for Frank Castle was never anger, just… pure, utter frustration. Sure, he had his own, completely justified reasons for making her frustrated. She understood why had to be such an evasive son of a bastard, but it grated on her like the unending sound of nails on a chalkboard. Yes, his life was the metaphorical and literal edge of death, but would it kill him to admit that— She stopped for a second to drag in a breath of cool air. Snarl a little bit too. Yeah, it would probably kill him to admit that. To admit anything for that matter. The harsh slap of the deli door she’d stopped in front of brought her back to reality. She continued forth upon the trash-bag-ridden sidewalk. Was it Matt she was angry at? Yes. Partially. The mess of emotions she had stored for one Matthew M. Murdock didn’t even breach the bounds of anger. It was like a floating mass without definition; without end. The enigma that is Matt Murdock and his actions gave said mess only temporary, overblown labels, and, as much as Frank Castle liked to preach about stability, Matt was a disaster in all the ways that Frank was stable. She shook her head, walking around the line of urine which originated from a leashed golden retriever ahead of her. God, the two of them were so hard-headed sometimes. The last thing she needed was for the two of them to be in such close proximity again. And that sentiment was to be held true indefinitely. The dog barked at her as she passed. Maybe she couldn’t blame him for hating a man like Frank Castle. It wasn’t hard to do, really—it was easy to hate him. Karen paused at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green. A sedan ahead was blowing its horn at the taxi that crawled its way across the intersection. But still, why, why, didn’t he at least try to recognize that Frank wasn’t some raving lunatic? He, like Matt, like Daredevil, had reasons for doing what he did—he had crap that pushed him into being the way he was. And, instead of giving up and letting himself drown in the lake of shit that life had put him in, Frank was still continuing to fight his way out. He was still screaming. He was still fighting to keep his head above the surface. Matt should at least realize that. Because if it wasn’t true, Frank would’ve just killed her to get to Grotto. She sighed as she crossed the street, less force in her step. She was only fifteen minutes away from the office. She had been so, so sure the other night. She’d been sure that what they had together—could have—was good. It just about broke her heart to doubt her conviction now. ...On his account, at least. Matt seemed so genuine. A group of guys congregated on the stairs of a brownstone looked her way as she passed. One whistled, another catcalled. She glared at them until she got to the corner, discreetly flipping them all off. One of them laughed behind her, finally noticing as she stepped behind the building. The problem with Matt—genuine, selfless, sensitive Matt—was that he could be such a gigantic, selfish, goddamn prick sometimes. She squinted at a cross-street before continuing straight, the hoard of trash bags lined along the curb only growing in number. Sure, maybe he doesn’t know any better than to be an invasive jackass—maybe he can’t help it—but she didn’t know if she had what it takes to maintain a healthy, good relationship with someone who— She faltered in her step, staring blindly ahead. —who cared so much about where and what she was doing to the point that— Karen shouted, almost breaking her ankle when someone pushed past her on an empty sidewalk. The judgement of “Asshole!” passed halfway through her lips as she stumbled to regain her footing. She realized the absence of her purse and the stinging of her arm.
Are you fucking kidding me?
She began to give chase to the cascade of long, brown hair ahead of her, heels clicking noisily against the ground. She hauled it to the alleyway that the girl turned down—to the chain link fence she was climbing on. The girl was smiling at her.
Smiling.
Karen thought about the gun in that bag. Her goddamn gun. “Hey!” she yelled savagely, grabbing the girl’s ankle and yanking her off. The girl screeched at her while scrambling up to her feet. “What the hell—” the girl tried to punch her, and she missed. Karen used one hand to grab her wrist and the other to snatch the purse on her arm, “—is wrong with—” A presence suddenly appeared at her back, a hand grabbing the lower half of her face as its shadow loomed past her. It was followed by memories. Terrifying memories. Suffocating memories. She bit the goddamn hand and shoved her elbow behind her. It buried itself beneath a guy’s chest. A sting in her neck and an anger-filled gasp by her ear followed it. She reached back up and shoved her fingers into the guy’s face; raked her nails down his forehead and his eyes and his cheeks. The other hand abandoned the wrist it had held to tear away the hand grabbing her face, allowing her to shriek and yell and scream as loud as she possibly could. She hurled herself out of her attacker’s grip, a snap sounding near her ear, and tackled the girl lunging towards her, hauling them both back into the fence. The girl screamed as her face was forced into the metal; Karen used the momentum to lurch forward at the guy that had grabbed her—the guy in a hoodie that had called her a piece of ass—the guy that was currently reaching out to catch her again. She ducked below his arm to punch him where it hurt before striking the palm of her hand into the space between his mouth and nose. She didn’t watch him fall back; she grabbed her tote from the ground to smack the frothing girl across the face before she could find her footing with a metallic clunck. The girl stayed on the ground. Karen stepped away from the fence, taking a second to breathe. Her neck burned; the palm of her right hand and the knuckles of her left stung. She blinked before shoving her hand into the bottom compartment of her purse and turning around. Five other men surrounded her in the alley. She panted there for a second, taking a step away from the guy groaning on the ground, clutching at his face and his member. A shiver was crawling up her spine. Memories circled in her head, making her think of being hunted. Being prey. “Think about this,” she heard herself say. She thought about the vacant street; the fence at her back. “Think about this.” She looked up to find windows under a grey sky. Windows meant that someone could be watching or listening.
Anyone.
“Damn, son,” one of them said, looking at his crying compatriot. All of their mouths were covered with blue handkerchiefs. The girl had had one around her neck. “Guess there was a reason why we brought three of them.” Three of what? They started closing in. She pulled the gun out, dropping her bag at her side. Ignored the burning in her neck. “Do you think I’ll just give up?” she yelled. “That I won’t defend myself?” “Please, Blondie,” one of them snarked. “You ain’t fooling no one.” She aimed at him. “Try me,” she hissed. “Bitch,” he took another step forward, “please.” Her lip curled before she shot him in the hip. He went down, and the rest of surged forward. She got only two more shots off, but both missed. The gun fell from her hand when they pushed her against the fence. She punched and scratched and screamed and cursed to unholy Hell. The yelling was cut off when someone got their hands around her throat. The thrashing when the others restrained her hands and got her on her knees. Someone grabbed her hair and yanked her head to her shoulder, exposing the length of her neck. The burning point on the opposite side increased to full-fledged agony with the movement, making her cry out. She heard someone laugh, and she started screaming again in anger, struggling to break free. Then her voice was joined by another, and she was thrown to the wet ground by a force of momentum. It was quickly followed by a dulled gunshot, then by a weight harshly falling onto her calf. She looked back, and lifeless, lolling eyes met hers, with blood curving from the hole in his head down his pale cheek. There was a clatter, followed by a familiar, low, “Shit.”
Frank.
She felt a heel shoved into her abdomen, and she gasped. The shadow above her disappeared in a matter of milliseconds, replaced by the sound of fists meeting flesh. She looked up and saw the lone remaining attacker hurl himself at a man in a grey suit, who was beating the shit out of his friend. Before the guy even got close, the man whipped around and delivered a devastating backhand to his face. It was like watching someone hit an off button. “Matt, you idiot,” she breathed as she watched him, his face uncovered, hurl himself at the now sagging form. The guy slammed against the ground, and Matt knelt on top of him, driving his elbow into the face with a sickening crack. He followed with another punch to the side, another to the front, a spurt of red, a yell and another to the front and a crunch— “Matt!” she said again, louder, getting to her feet. His head snapped towards the yell instantly. Then he hurled himself at her, and she was in his arms, and she had to grasp at the fence to keep them both from falling. A ragged exhale passed by her ear. “You’re okay,” he whispered, grasping at the back of her head. Their foreheads connected, and she closed her eyes at the touch. “You’re okay.” His fingers were sticky and sickly warm. She could see the blood on his suit. Feel it in her scalp as he held her head. She felt his heart racing on her chest. “I’m fine—” “You’re okay.” She could see Frank staring at them, away from them. His face was blank. Vacant. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. She watched him blink before slowly leering down at the man next to his feet, his hand going to his back— “Frank,” came the sharp demand next to her ear. The Punisher’s head snapped up, hand still at his belt. “There’s something in her neck.” He stood still for a second longer, looming. Then his hand dropped, twitching, while he marched over to them. “Hey,” Matt said gently, his face now in front of hers, worry splayed across his features. “Let me…” She let him tilt her head to the side, and she felt him softly touch a bloody finger on the base of her neck, just above her collar-bone. “It’s buried pretty deep.” He turned. “Your hands are cleaner than mine.” Frank stepped next to her. “Here?” A calloused finger further up her neck made her hiss and flinch away. “Yeah. You need to get it out—” “Now?” was the grunted reply. She watched Matt walk away, bending to pick something up. “Yes.” Frank’s lips twitched as he looked at her, analyzing. “Sorry Karen,” he said. She shook her head, trying to keep from hyperventilating. Trying to keep the memories out of her mind. "Just get it out,” she said, gritting her teeth. Frank’s chest obscured her vision, so she closed her eyes to help block out the pain. She heard a pained groan as pressure was applied. Then, the smack of someone’s back hitting against the wall as she dug her fingers into Frank’s bicep to keep from yelling in pain. His coat was padded; he wouldn’t mind. “Who do you work for,” she heard in the dark. “No one!” A punch. “Don’t lie to me.” “Screw you!” Another. She hissed as she felt something slowly needle its way out of the inside of her neck. “I,” was the low snarl, “want you to think very carefully about your next words. Or those lacerations on your eye will be the least of your worries.” A bubbly laugh as the stinging increased. It was three-quarters of the way out. She could swear her nails were beginning to dig into his flesh. “You think I’m afraid of you man?” The spit of a loogy, paired with its impact. “HAH! You’re nothing!” She gasped in relief, the pressure inside of her neck disappearing. “Can’t even look at me straight! Cross-eyed piece of—” “Oh, the things I could— ” She took a step back, looking at Frank’s hand numbly. It the broken end of a needle. “—Okay. Okay. Sure. I’m nothing. I don’t scare you.” Scuffles of fabric against a hard surface. Her gaze wandered to where Matt stood: he was practically vibrating with rage as he held one of her attackers by his throat. It was her first attacker; his left eye was bleeding profusely from the red gashes she’d left in his face. Now, his feet were hitting the wall, inches off the ground, and he didn’t seem to be the least bit afraid. Karen briefly wondered what sort of shit he was on as she watched Matt lean forward to whisper in his ear: “But he should.” She watched the guy’s gaze flick to where they were standing. Where Frank was standing. “Yeah.” The guy started hyperventilating in Matt’s vice. “You recognize him...” “That’s the—the Pu—” “... don’t you?” “No—” “So you know…” “—no no no no no—” “...what he’ll do to you is much worse than what I will.” “Oh my—” “And that is saying something.” “—oh please God no—” Frank turned, and the needle fell from his fingers. Karen didn’t feel the need to catch it. It disappeared into the dirty ground. “God won’t help you,” the Devil hissed into the guy’s ear. She saw his lips curl upwards at the gargling that came from applying pressure. Without the mask, she could see his eyes. They, so often kind and sad, were as venomous and hungry as a viper’s. She hated it. “ghck—please—hurg—please—” “Oh, you don’t want to die?” Matt asked, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t want to die.” Frank scoffed, taking a step forward. “PLEASE, I don’t want to—” “THEN WHO SENT YOU TO DRUG HER?” Matt practically screamed at him, thrusting a syringe in front of his face with his free hand. “I DON’T KNOW—I DON’T—” She inhaled, clutching at the fence to keep her standing. The words knocked around her head, making the suspicions concrete and real. She felt her heart trying to beat out of her chest. Was it fear? Was that what she was feeling? Matt yelled, driving his fist into the heaving abdomen. The guy cried out and his body thrashed, unable to do anything in the iron-grip he was caught in. His hands crawled and gripped the arm pinning him. “NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” “Shit,” Karen gasped, looking anxiously to the end of the alley, trying to get her shit together. They were doing this in broad daylight. Her throat was hoarse from screaming—someone must’ve heard her. Someone other than the two vigilantes in her corner. “PLEASE—please—it was some guy that killed our boys—” “Who?” “SOME GUY—he came into our meet—shot the head off of Boss and five of his bros—” “WHO?!” “I DON’T KNOW!! I don’t—I don’t know, I don’t know—” The cops had to be coming by now. This was one of the better parts of the borough. “What did he look like?” Frank growled, taking a step forward. His face blanched once Frank spoke. “Oh my God—Oh my—” “Answer the question,” Matt hissed. “I DON’T KNOW MAN! HE was wearing something over his FACE—Like, like a SKI MASK—IT WAS CUT OFF BENEATH HIS NOSE—HE WAS WHITE—” “That all?” Frank asked without inflection. “No scars? Tattoos—” “NO. NO. I swear, I swear—” “Is that all you know, rodent?” he sneered, reaching behind his back. “YES! Yes! OH GOD, please I’m TELLING the TRUTH—” “Is he, Red?” She looked towards Frank. Red? her mind snapped, focusing. “Please—” He knows. “please—don’t—” How fucking typical. “I don’t know anything else, I swear, I swear—” Matt slowly slid the guy down the wall, glaring and tense. “—sweet Jesus, on my mother’s grave I swear—” The guy’s feet hit the ground as he nodded in confirmation. “I didn’t want any part of this—” Matt bared his teeth, shoving at his sternum “—I swear— ” he swayed back like a ragdoll “—just let me go—” “Not on your life,” Frank snarled, a gun in his hand, aiming— “NO.”
BANG.
Karen flinched as the shot echoed through the alley; flinched as she watched a body go down. Matt, his face clear and full of rage, hurled himself at Frank. They were yelling again. Fighting again. The gun got knocked out of Frank’s hand, clattering against the opposite part of the alley. Matt was being held against the wall, but he slammed the side of his hands down into the muscle of Frank’s neck, who shouted and released him. They both went to the ground, struggling. Her focus then switched to the body crawling away from the thrashing limbs, establishing a limping gait for the street. She gunned it towards her attacker and brought him to the ground. “I’m not,” she hissed, trying to pin him as he squirmed, “done with—” she groaned as an elbow hit the side of her cheek, knocking her to her back. The guy tried to scramble to his feet, but Karen grabbed his ankle, and he fell to the floor again. “What was in that?” she screeched at him. “What did you try—” “Get OFF me BITCH—” he responded, pushing her off the top of him. She put a hand out, but her arm moved the opposite direction of it. She yelled with the jolt that traveled to her shoulder. She watched him get to his feet again, brush against the wall, then—
BANG.
The guy relaxed, and his body fell, blood spitting from the hole in its head. Milliseconds passed as she watched him go down, turning with the impact. She saw his face: all the bleeding scratches to the ugly hole between his eyebrows. She watched those eyes loll, one reddened and broken, next to the youth of his cheeks and a tattoo of teardrops. The body collapsed to the ground, lifeless. She inhaled, using her right hand to help crawl up the wall and turn. She faced Frank, who was completely still, staring apathetically at the corpse. His gun was still held in place, frozen in the air. Matt was on the fence behind him, quiet. His head was angled disturbingly against the rim of a trash can. There always seemed to be a coin flip when the two of them fought; Daredevil hadn’t won this one. The Punisher’s eyes flicked towards her, his expression unchanging. “You okay?” Karen inhaled, staring, rubbing at her aching throat. She felt empty. “You followed me,” she stated, biting her bottom lip so hard it hurt. She felt disturbed. “I heard you yell.” She glanced back at the body, and the face of Lewis Wilson came to her. She felt guilty. “You killed for me.” The bodies of those men in the diner. “I did.” The remnants of a head after he’d beaten it to death. “Stop.” Frank’s eyes on the night that he killed the Blacksmith. “—Don’t, please,” she pleaded. “Not that. Not for me.” His head slowly tilted, analyzing. His mouth moved, and she could almost hear “the fuck?” he muttered. She wet her lips, sniffing. Her throat rebelled at every breath, and her wrist seemed to be on fire by the way it burned. “I don’t deserve it,” Karen exhaled, “nor do I need it. Or want it.” She watched him swallow before he stiffly lowered his arm to holster his gun. He blinked. “It had to be done,” he stated, his jaw clenching. Karen shook her head and lowered her eyes. No, it did not, went without being said. There was a loud hiss and a clatter behind them, and she watched as Frank’s expression shifted; his eyes became impatient and his mouth settled into a line of contempt. Matt was uncoiling from the fence, one hand clutching the flushed side of his face, the other pushing against the ground, moving him forward. “Did you—” he groaned. “It had to be done,” Frank repeated, his head swinging to glare at him. “You—” “You get that, Red?” Frank made no move as his rival approached him, stalking, his head cocking sharply. Matt’s hand left his face as he straightened to his full height, although he remained several inches shorter. The mark of the metal rim was still impressed upon his temple. “You…” They stood in front of each other, tension sparking. “You piece of shit,” Matt breathed. “Heh.” Matt snarled and delivered one harsh blow to the side of Frank’s face, making him stumble to the side. “Stop,” Karen hissed. For a second, Frank did nothing; just breathed, bent over. He spat blood on the ground. Straightened. Cracked his neck. “Heh,” he laughed again, before delivering his own with the hand covered in duct tape. “Stop!” she repeated as she watched Matt stumble as well. She took an unsteady step away from the wall. There was a moment of stillness as they considered each other. Then they launched themselves at the other simultaneously, tearing and punching and dodging and yelling. “He was young—” “He tried to dose her—” “You KILLED him—” She felt herself running to them. “YOUR LADY, you piece of shit—” “He had a life to live—” Frank had Matt in a headlock. Matt was kneeling, punching the side of Frank’s unguarded face. “You just gonna let that happen, HUH, Red? You gonna let them get away with that—” Matt howled and threw him off. He lunged towards Frank’s prone figure, but got kneed in the gut. “—gonna let them drug her—” kick “—and take her—” kick “—and bag her—” punch “—you’d let them DO that, do that to KAREN, and YOU don’t think they DESERVE what’s comin’ to them, you STUPID—” They were fighting and stumbling over bodies. “WHO the HELL do you think you are—” Matt kicked Frank away from him, then advanced ducking and punching “—how the FUCK can you even think that I don’t want to BREAK all of their damn—” She got to them, putting her body in between theirs, throwing out her hands and screaming “STOP!!!” Both fighters separated as if a pane of glass had spontaneously apparated between them. They backed away and started pacing. Circling like boxers in the ring. “We don’t have TIME for this,” she yelled at them. “The goddamn cops are about to get here—” “There’s plenty of time,” Matt hissed, his heaving shoulders outlined by the light from the street. “Shut the hell up Matt. We need to go—we need—” “You think you deserve her, Red?” Frank demanded, the fence at his back. “After this shit?” Karen’s eyes widened. Her voice got caught in her throat as fury bubbled in her blood. Matt was quiet for a moment, just as speechless as her. “And you do?” he finally asked, bitter. His fingers dabbed a trail of blood on his face. “Because you kill people?” “Shut your GODDAMN MOUTHS,” she yelled, feeling— feeling insulted. Objectified. She turned her back on Matt to stomp over to Frank. “Never said that Red—” Frank was bullshitting over the top of her head before she shoved him with her unhurt hand. His back collided into the rattling fence. His intense stare shot to her in surprise. She had his attention now. “You don’t get to decide that,” she breathed, her voice wavering. God, she felt like she was repeating herself. She hated repeating herself. “You don’t get to—I do. This is my goddamn life and my goddamn choice, do you hear me? Are you listening, Frank? You don’t get to wander in and out of my life like a ghost and then say that.” “Karen—” “She said you were leaving—” Matt called from behind her. “Shut up Matt—” she snarled, not turning around. “Why are you still here, Frank?” “—for once in your goddamn life—” “You should—” “Karen,” Frank said. Everything around them stopped. They were alone, her and him. “Wait a second. Just let me—” Her and Frank Castle. “Who are you,” she asked fiercely, “to decide what I deserve?” “Not you, Karen—I wouldn’t do that—” “Who are you to decide what he,” she pointed behind her, “deserves?” “—I never—he—” “After all of that crap about not ‘throwing it all away’—” “—I meant that—” “—all of it after I just tried to help you, even after I listened to what you said and avoided doing anything more—” “—you can’t do anything more than—” “What the hell am I supposed to think after you try to smash his goddamn head in?” “Shit, those were love taps, Red knows that—Hey, don’t you know that Red?” “You know, that’s another thing too. ‘Red’? You knew this whole time, didn’t you?” “Karen, it’s not about—” “And you didn’t even mention it—” “Hey.” “—you still tried to shove me into his arms—” “Hey.” Frank took a step forwards, making her back up. “Stop for a moment—that wasn’t about you—I wouldn’t say that about you—I was talking about him. Yeah, I knew. Okay? I knew. I knew who Murdock was the moment he opened his goddamn mouth. Doesn’t mean anything—he needs to get his priorities straight—he needs to get his shit together—” “—He is getting his shit together—he—he—” “He can’t even knock me around like he used to, Karen—” “You don’t know, Frank. It’s different now—” “What’s different? Somethin’ tragic happened to long-johns over there?” “Frank—” “His near-death experience sure did break my heart when I heard about it, but I’m finding it hard to give a shit ‘cause I’m gonna be heading out soon, and I don’t know if I can leave if—” “Stop Frank—” “Does that look like he has his shit together?” Frank shouted, pointing. “Does it?” She noticed silence from Matt’s side of the court as she looked back. And Matt… Matt was quiet—and not remotely focused on them. He looked somewhat dazed as he touched the still-red side of his head. “Cat got your tongue, sunshine?” Frank goaded menacingly in the quiet, contempt and challenge oozing out of his voice. She readied herself for Matt’s counter; braced herself to get in between them again. But he didn’t retort. He stiffened. “Matt?” she asked, heat still in her voice. “Shh,” he said, holding his hand out as his head tilted upwards. She just barely kept from going off on him—the way his eyes were frantically jerking around in his skull was what saved him. Twenty seconds passed. Karen and Frank simmered the entire time. Neither spoke, just watched; they quietly handled the feeling that something was wrong. “It can’t be…” he finally murmured, his face lax. “What is it, Matt?” His head straightened at the sound of her voice. He whispered something unintelligible, taking an unsteady step forward. They waited a moment in silence as he failed to repeat himself. “What—” she began to say before he suddenly burst out, “We need to go,” as he rushed towards her, taking her wrist and pulling her away from Frank. The harsh, unexpected contact ignited another flash of anger in her. She stumbled a few steps before she planted herself to the ground. He staggered from their stopped momentum. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she spat at him, pulling her captured wrist to her chest. He inhaled, and the red in his cheeks began to deepen in color. “We need to go,” he repeated, his voice higher and louder than usual. “Let go,” Karen demanded. She tried to yank her arm out of his grasp, but his grip was as strong as iron. “Karen—” She saw Frank tense in her periphery. “Let go of me Matt—” He released her and grabbed a hold of her shoulders and brought their foreheads to touch all at once. He was breathing hard and fast into her face, and she felt as if her right eye was twitching from how hard she was controlling the urge to slap him. “Please just trust me,” he said quietly, his voice pleading and commanding at the same time. “You are way out of line,” she hissed back. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his face contorting into lines of frustration. “I can’t protect you from this.” “Get. Off.” He opened his eyes and relaxed his hands, which hovered in the air once she jerked away from them. “We don’t have time—” “You think we’re done here?” Frank asked, a dangerous note in his voice. “Yeah,” Matt snapped, “we are. You can stay Frank, I don’t give a shit.” “What are you talking about Matt?” Karen asked sharply, taking notice of the slight tremble in his hands. “I, ah,” he swallowed hard as he loosened his tie from his neck, “heard it happen before.” His voice came in a rush; embarrassed, raw. He blinked, and his eyes drifted towards the sky. “Felt it… happening.” He inhaled, his breath ragged. “The Attack on New York.” Wet his lips. “The Incident.”
Impossible.
“I can feel it. Now.” “You’re not being serious,” she whispered. “It’s getting stronger.” His head twitched to the side. “What are you saying Red?” Frank demanded, his voice low. “There’s something coming right now,” Matt continued, his voice growing louder, “and I—I don’t know if—if I can—” He shook his head. “We need to go.”
The Incident. The Attack on New York.
“Because something is coming back.” Karen’s brain slowly wrapped itself around the statement. “They’re coming back.” “Oh… oh shit.”