When The Rest of the World Walks Out (Daredevil Fanfic)

[Dragonbat]

Two days before the end of the year, Matt moved into the Plaza Hotel. On December 29th, one of the clinic nurses politely but firmly informed him that he’d been with them for over a week and could convalesce on his own now. “Normally, we would have released you sooner,” she admitted, “but sending you away right at Christmas would have been harsh and then we decided that you might as well stay on until it was time to remove your chest tubes.”

Matt’s fingers flew unconsciously to his torso. Under the thin fabric of the scrubs he’d been issued—a darned sight less embarrassing than a hospital gown—he could feel the thickness of the taped gauze bandage covering the spot where the lower tube had gone in. The area was still a bit tender, though a good deal better than it had been.

“You’ll have a scar after it heals,” the nurse advised him. “For now, keep taking the painkillers and ice when necessary, as you’ve been doing here. Continue with the stretches and breathing exercises. You’ll probably want to keep sleeping with your torso elevated; a recliner is usually a good idea.”

“And lie on my injured side, right?” Matt asked. It had sounded counter-intuitive when the nurse had suggested it to him here, but it did make breathing easier.

“Yes, if you can manage that.” He heard the smile in her voice. “Depending on the chair, you might find it difficult to get comfortable in that position, but you might want to spend some time lying on your side during the day, if you need to rest. Now, it normally takes at least six weeks for broken ribs to heal completely. You’ll probably be able to resume normal activities...” She stopped. “Well, normal for most people,” she continued, “a bit sooner.” Her tone grew more serious. “Physical activity is good for you and there’s no reason why you can’t do most of a regular workout. The exercises you’ll need to avoid are those that place a lot of pressure on your ribs. Ab crunches, pushing and pulling heavy objects—that would apply to weight training, by the way.”

She sighed. “As we’ve mentioned before, you’re not the first person of your... vocation that we’ve treated here. Perseverance is good. Working through pain—within reason—will help you. But hold off on, um, field work... until you don’t have any pain to work through.” There was a hint of good humor behind her sternness. “You’ve been delightful company, Mr. Murdock, but we don’t want you back here in a hurry.”

Matt smiled. “I understand.”

Now, leaning back in the recliner in the hotel room, Foggy’s even snores audible from the suite next door, Matt’s forehead was creased in thought. Even if he had been inclined to ignore the nurse’s advice, his costume had been reduced to smoldering rags by the explosion that had destroyed his house. He’d need to make a new one before he went out to patrol again. He thought of the time and trouble it had taken to sew the suit in the first place. He’d stitched his original costume by hand and the repetitive work had nearly bored him to tears. Having to rip out uneven stitches, or worse, discovering that he’d miscalculated and made the sleeve widths uneven had set him pummeling his frustrations out on a heavy bag, before gritting his teeth and resuming the task. He’d purchased a sewing machine for subsequent costumes. It, too, had been in the brownstone and was probably melted slag by now.

That settled it. He was going to start looking for work as soon as he could provide a valid address and telephone number to a prospective employer. He didn’t know what kind of job he’d be qualified for and he didn’t much care, but he was going to start contributing something to the rent and he was going to find some way to procure a sewing machine and some red fabric.

With these thoughts uppermost in his mind, and a painkiller adding to his drowsiness, Matt drifted into a dreamless sleep.

[Dragonbat]

They went back to Foggy’s apartment the next day. “I’ve still got this place for another month,” Foggy said, shifting the stack of collapsed cardboard boxes from his storage locker in his arms, “so there’s no real hurry to pack everything up.” The elevator doors parted at their floor and the two emerged.

Matt smiled. “No, but let’s do as much as we can,” he suggested. “It’s probably a good idea to make sure that we get everything essential ready to go now. Spider-Man’s schedule can be erratic and the window of opportunity for his help can be a bit narrow.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t mind?” Foggy asked seriously. “I mean, it’s not that I’m ungrateful. I didn’t know where I was going to find a mover in less than a week, forget what they would have charged. But...”

“We came to an agreement,” Matt replied. “He knows someone in need of paralegal services—a woman in Forest Hills who’s running into some zoning issues. She’s turned her home into a seniors’ boardinghouse and apparently, she has a neighbor trying to make trouble about it.” He extended his arms for the boxes and Foggy slid them over so that he could get his key out. Matt continued talking. “I told him I’d trade him a few hours going over the municipal bylaws and seeing if she’s in compliance or—if she isn’t—whether there’s any way that she could be without too many hassles, in exchange for his helping with the move.” He smiled as Foggy turned his key in the lock. “I’d still take any breakables by car,” he added. “Spidey’s preferred method of transportation can be a little... rough.”

“Tell me about it,” Foggy replied. “At least you were unconscious when he brought you to the clinic.” He pushed the door open, disturbing a pile of mail. He sighed. “Probably more bills than job offers in there,” he muttered, stooping to gather the envelopes. “Here,” he deposited them atop the pile of boxes. “You might as well set everything down by the sofa. See if you can separate out the junk mail from the important stuff; maybe we can use some of it for packing. I’m just going to check the messages.”

“Sure.” Matt walked over to the sofa and slowly eased himself onto the cushions as Foggy heading for the answering machine in the kitchen. He retrieved the pile of mail and started sorting. A moment later, he heard a tone and a familiar voice began to speak.

“Foggy, it’s been over a week since last I’ve heard from ye. I hope all’s well. Call me.” Another tone. “Foggy, I haven’t the understandin’ of why ye’ve not called me. Honestly, it’s feeling like the same old song, it is. Please call.” Another tone. “On second thought, Foggy, ye needn’t be after calling me. Not for the next little while. I wish ye well.”

A moment later, Foggy returned to the living room. “I guess you heard.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. You and she probably would have been good together.”

“We weren’t going out,” Foggy said, joining him on the sofa. “We were... sort of getting to that point.”

Matt smiled. “I know. You told me. And Foggy, it wouldn’t have been a problem if you had been. Glori broke up with me weeks ago. I can’t really blame her. I was still trying to process Elektra... and Heather... and,” he shook his head, “I think on some level, I knew that I was probably dating Glori on the rebound. I started pulling away... looking for excuses to break dates. Yes,” he smiled sadly, “Daredevil was part of it. However, there’s a difference between being out with someone, overhearing a crime in progress and hoping that the next sound you hear will be a police siren, or the Fantasticar, versus overhearing a crime in progress and hoping that you’ll get there first. Still,” he admitted, “I might have tried to chase after her. If I hadn’t gotten her break-up cassette on the day that I received the grand jury summons.”

“I never knew that.” Foggy was stunned. “Talk about lousy timing.”

“Maybe it’s just as well,” Matt sighed. “If she’d been meaning to mail me that tape, held off a couple of days, and then found out about my situation, knowing Glori, she probably would have insisted on standing by me, not because she wanted to, but because she wouldn’t have wanted to deliver one more bit of bad news. Continuing the relationship out of pity or some... I don’t know... misplaced sense of duty would have been...” He took another breath. “...much worse. I’m just sorry that your looking out for me scuttled your chances.”

“Hey. If it’s meant to be, it’ll be,” Foggy said with forced cheer.

The phone rang then, startling the two men. “Do you suppose...?” Matt let his voice trail off meaningfully.

Foggy laughed. “It’s probably just a telemarketer. I’ll get rid of him.” Even so, Matt noted that he sprang from his seat and nearly lunged for the phone.

He snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

Of course, Matt couldn’t see the change in Foggy’s expression, but he could hear his sudden intake of breath and the spike in his heart rate. An instant later, he felt his own autonomic responses follow suit, as he heard Foggy’s incredulous exclamation.

“Karen?!”

[Dragonbat]

References: Daredevil Vol. 1 #230. Some dialogue in this chapter written by Frank Miller and lifted directly from canon.

Chapter 11

Matt forced himself to stay seated on the sofa instead of jumping up to pull the receiver out of Foggy's hand.

"Karen Page?" Foggy was saying. "Golly, you're the last person I was expecting to hear from. How's it going?"

Matt strained to hear the voice on the other end of the phone, but although he could pick up general agitation, the individual words eluded him. The connection wasn't the greatest; static was crackling on the line, to say nothing of the traffic in the background—both outside Foggy's apartment building and coming through over the telephone line.

"Matt?" Foggy was saying. Matt half-rose from his seat, then stopped, frowning, as Foggy continued. "Well, Matt's come on hard times, Karen. It's a long story. No, I'm sorry; I can't say where he is right now—"

Matt couldn't believe what he was hearing. "What?"

Foggy held up one hand. "Love to see you, Karen. How long are you in town? What, right now? Well, I'm sort of tied up... moving soon and I have to pack." Karen was talking again, apprehension plain even through the static and interference. "Well, sure, if it's important. Where?" Foggy's heart rate spiked for an instant, then returned to normal. "Boy, that's a rough part of town. Are you sure? Sure, Karen. For old times, like you say. I'll be there in a few." He replaced the phone in its cradle.

"Old times," he said, more to himself than to Matt. "Geez, it wasn't so long ago..."

"Why," Matt's angry voice cut into his musings, "didn't you let me talk to her? Or tell her I was right there?"

Foggy took two steps toward the sofa. "Because for the past few weeks, Kingpin has had you followed and tried to have both of us killed. We still aren't positive that he's lost interest in me and if he thinks you might still be alive, we can't rule out the possibility that he's tapping my phone in case you call."

Matt was silent. "Yes, fine," he said in a more subdued tone, "but I can come with you to meet her."

Foggy sighed. "Do you really think that's wise?" he asked. "Look, you're in disguise. Either she'll recognize you, probably shout your name from across the room and run toward us, making your presence known, or she won't and she'll wonder why I brought you along. Then we'll have to tell her who you are. And if Kingpin is still having me followed, then..."

Matt shook his head. "I never meant my paranoia to rub off on you," he said softly.

"It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you," Foggy pointed out. "She wants me to meet her in a café corner of Audubon and West 170th."

"Washington Heights?" Matt frowned. "I see what you mean about a rough part of town."

"Yeah. I think—and let me know if you've got a better idea—I should meet her there and give her a quick recap of what's been going on, once I'm sure we're not being overheard. After that, I'll either call and ask you to join us—don't pick up the phone; you'll hear the message play—or bring her back here." He walked over to the sofa and placed a hand on Matt's arm. "What do you think?"

Matt gave a slight nod. "I couldn't quite make out her half of the conversation, but she sounded nervous."

"She was. I don't think she's in any immediate danger or she wouldn't be asking me to meet her in public, but you're right. She's got to be in some kind of trouble."

"Then I should go with you." He started to get up quickly, but stifled a gasp as his ribs protested the sudden movement and he sank back to the sofa. "Damn it." The hand on his arm tightened. He shook his head. "I'm fine. Relatively speaking."

"Yeah," Foggy smiled sympathetically. "I'll be careful. See you soon. Either back here or in Washington Heights."

Matt gave him a pained smile.

As soon as Foggy left, he clenched his jaw, hauled himself laboriously off the sofa and made his way toward a straight-backed chair to start on his stretching exercises.

[Dragonbat]

The first thought Foggy had when he entered the seedy café and saw her sitting there was that she actually looked like she belonged in this neighborhood. Karen was pale and haggard; her hair was disheveled and her coat—a bit on the light side for New York in January—would have been the better for a dry cleaning. Then she looked up, saw him, gave him a tremulous smile and waved him over and Foggy forced himself to smile back as he approached her table.

"Have you ordered, yet?" he asked her. "Let me order you something. My treat."

She started to shake her head. "I don't..." She checked herself. "Actually, some coffee would be lovely. Thank you, Foggy."

"Are you sure that's all you want?" Foggy asked. "Seriously, I can spring for a burger, if you want. Or salad. Do they have salad here?"

She shook her head. "Just coffee."

"One cream, two sugars, right?"

This time her smile was a bit warmer as Foggy walked up to the counter to order. A bit more like the young woman he remembered, the woman he and Matt had both fallen hard for... before he'd married Debbie. And Matt had taken up with the Black Widow. And Heather. He sighed. He'd told Matt that it hadn't been that long ago, but it sure felt like a lifetime. When he made his way back to the booth, he was carrying both the coffee and a strawberry milkshake for himself.

[Dragonbat]

Karen was looking about nervously as he approached. She relaxed when he sat down and reached gratefully for the coffee mug. Foggy waited until she lowered it before asking, "Um... How're things? I mean..." I mean, what happened to you in Hollywood after those first couple of pictures? Why are you back in New York? Why are you shaking like a leaf and half-ready to run every time someone passes by this booth? He looked away as Karen wiped her nose on her coat sleeve—something she never would have done in... Hell, he guessed they really were the 'old days' after all.

She smiled weakly. "I must look like hell," she murmured.

She did, but he immediately denied it. "You look like you just walked out of a fashion magazine," he replied.

She laughed then. "You need to get your eyes checked," she said and for a moment, he could see the old Karen bubbling below the surface.

"No," Foggy persisted, "I mean it. You look great."

She took a gulp of coffee. "Flatterer. Thank you for meeting me here, Foggy. I..." She closed her eyes. "I..."

Foggy leaned forward, all joking gone. "Karen... what happened?"

Karen set the cup down and exhaled in relief. "I thought you'd never ask, Foggy," she sighed. "It's... well, I... I..." She picked up the cup again, but didn't drink. Instead, she held it in both hands as though trying to draw some warmth from its contents. "I suppose you know about... no, you wouldn't have seen my movies. Let's just say that I've messed up my life about as badly as I could. Let's just..." She studied the pattern in the Formica table, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm a junkie," she said finally. "And I've got to find Matt or I'll be murdered."

If Foggy hadn't made a career out of taking what his clients told him in stride, he'd probably have reacted with a greater degree of shock. As it was, his jaw dropped for a moment, but he recovered quickly. She moved then and the light hit her profile, accentuating a bruise he hadn't noticed before.

"What happened to your mouth, Karen?" he asked quietly.

She shook her head. "That's Paulo. The man I'm with." She touched the bruise absently. "He's pretty awful."

She had a black eye, too, he realized. It wasn't some kind of eye shadow, as he'd originally let himself think. But more than her injuries, it was her calm acceptance of them that nearly sent him over the edge, as white-hot rage roiled within him. His hands clenched into fists as he all but snarled, "I'd like to get my hands on that rat..."

To his astonishment, Karen held up a hand. "Don't. Just... don't, Foggy. I just need to know where Matt is. He... I can't tell you why. But he's the only man who can save me."

He was about to reassure her, to tell her that he knew exactly why she thought that Matt could save her. Then he remembered why Matt was still back at his apartment under protest and he decided that he could play his part a little bit longer. For the benefit of anyone who might be sitting nearby, listening to their conversation, he said, "Matt's disappeared, Karen. A lot has happened. Our law firm went out of business. Matt... Well, Matt's been acting crazy for some time now. Then... he was charged with criminal misconduct."

Karen turned her face away, but not before Foggy saw tears in her eyes. Sorrow, horror, and... something else. "Not Matt," she whispered. "No."

"It was a frame," Foggy continued. "By gangsters, I think. We did our best to fight it, but we lost. Then Matt's house blew up and he moved in with me. But now... Matt's vanished.

Karen buried her face in her hands. "Oh, no Foggy. No. It's... it's all my fault."

He felt his heart begin to pound as her words sank in. She couldn't mean... but unbidden, facts whirled in his mind and slowly, began to settle. Karen knew Matt was Daredevil. Somehow, Kingpin knew it too, now. Karen had come back to New York now, scared and desperate and... while she was aghast at what he was telling her, she didn't seem to be surprised. And why would she think that she could have done something to cause this? Was there some side effect to whatever she was taking that might make her delusional in some way? Or... "Tell me what you mean by that, Karen," he said, trying to stay calm.

She flinched. "Nothing," she said, not meeting his eyes. "Just talking like a junkie. Doesn't mean anything." She started to stand. "Look, I better go."

He was tempted to let her. If she had done what he was trying hard not to suspect she'd done, then Matt was better off without her. He could tell Matt that she hadn't been there—no, Matt would know he was lying. He could say she hadn't wanted to stay long and had had somewhere to go.

He could tell Matt what he suspected and that he hadn't wanted to bring Karen back.

The light hit her face again highlighting her bruises, startling sickly purple against her pale face. And he heard himself saying with clear conviction, "Back to the guy who punched you? No." He took her arm, shocked to realize how thin it was through the coat sleeve. "You're coming home with me, Karen."

She turned frightened eyes to his, then. "No," she protested. "Foggy, you're sweet, but no. Paulo... he'll kill you. He'll kill both of us."

There it was. He had an out. Karen was trying to protect him. Matt might even buy that he'd been too spineless to insist, when the truth was... The truth was that if he let Karen walk away now and found out later that Paulo had... done something to her, or that she'd OD'd or...

Weeks earlier, he'd fought down his worry over what he was getting himself into and convinced Matt to stay with him. And yes, there had been consequences for that decision, but he didn't regret them. At the end of the day, maybe he wasn't half the hero that Matt was... but sometimes, a man had to rise to the occasion if he wanted to be able to look himself in the mirror afterwards.

No matter what Karen had done... might have done... he couldn't let her go off alone into the night, anymore than he had Matt.

Still holding onto her arm with one hand, he clapped his other to her shoulder. "I won't take no for an answer, Karen. You and me, we're family. Matt's family. Come on."

Slowly, she looked up, meeting his eyes for the first time since he'd handed her the coffee. Tears filled her eyes. She tried to blink them back, but they ran down her cheek as she nodded.

Foggy pulled her into a hug and held onto her until she managed to attain some control. Then he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and they slowly walked out of the café.

[Dragonbat]

Chapter 12

In Foggy’s apartment, Matt waited impatiently for his friend to return. He was getting a clearer understanding of what Foggy must have been going through on that afternoon, over a week ago, now, when Matt had gone off to deal with Kingpin. In fact, had Foggy given him the address where he was going to meet Karen, Matt couldn’t be sure that he’d still be sitting here waiting, danger or no danger, ribs or no ribs.
As much as he knew that he needed to lie low for a time, there was something in him that bristled at having to stay behind. It was the same thing he’d been struggling with for more than half his life: if you back down, if you slack off, even if you know it’s because you’re tired, everyone else is going to think it’s because you’re blind. Foggy definitely didn’t think like that, but Matt didn’t want to give him any reason to start. His high school guidance counselor had called it overcompensating, but Matt knew that he wouldn’t have come nearly as far as he had if he hadn’t pushed himself. Kids from Hell’s Kitchen seldom made it to college, let alone law school.

To have managed to not only get into college but get into law school, to have managed not only to get into law school, but to have stayed the course and graduated magna cum laude, and to have achieved it while blind... yes, part of it had been to make his father proud. Most of it had been to make his father proud. Part of it had been for the little kid who’d been targeted by the neighborhood bullies because he wouldn’t play with them. When things had been really bad, Dad had told him that one day, he’d show them all. And yes, getting as far as he did had given him no small sense of satisfaction on that score. But there had also been a refusal to give up in the face of the odds stacked against him. He never had. He never would. He just wished that sitting here, waiting for Foggy to return... with Karen didn’t feel like giving up.

Karen... How many years had it been? He’d tried to put her out of his mind when she’d left him for Hollywood. He’d thought he’d moved on. He’d dated other women. He’d nearly married one of them. But now, hearing Karen’s voice, even though it had been muffled when it leaked out of the telephone, had brought all the old feelings back.

She was in trouble. She was in trouble and all he could do was sit here on the sofa and wait and hope she was all right. Ironically, she’d left him largely because she hadn’t wanted to spend her life doing something similar while he was off being Daredevil. He’d understood that. It had been the main reason that he hadn’t gone after her—not even when he’d moved down to San Francisco for a year. He’d thought about it. Even though he’d been with Natasha at the time, he’d thought about looking her up.

True, she hadn’t been that close by. Almost 400 miles separated San Francisco from Hollywood, but he’d traveled over 2500 miles to get to the West Coast from New York. Another 400 miles would have been nothing. But he hadn’t. She’d never called, never written. He’d assumed that it had been because her feelings for him had run as deep as his for her and that, once she’d decided that she needed to leave, she’d wanted a clean break. He’d never considered whether she might have moved on from him. She might be married now. With kids. She’d make a wonderful mother. Maybe the reason she was back in town wasn’t because she still loved him, but because she needed his help as Daredevil.

Matt rested his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand. Whatever her reasons, if Karen needed him, he was going to be there for her. He frowned as his fingertips encountered stubble. That wouldn’t do. She’d think he was letting himself go. He had to shave before she got here. He got up carefully and headed for the bathroom.

[Dragonbat]

Foggy did his best to keep conversation light during the taxi ride back to his apartment. He’d never been this paranoid before these last few weeks, but he wasn’t quite ready to bet their lives that they weren’t being followed, that the taxi driver wasn’t on Kingpin’s payroll, that someone wasn’t waiting outside his building to check if Matt was going to show up. He didn’t like having to be this careful, but he knew how necessary it was. It wasn’t lost on him that Karen hadn’t questioned his precautions. She’d said that people were after her, too. Perhaps she was used to looking over her shoulder by now.

It wasn’t until they were taking the elevator up to his apartment that Foggy finally cleared his throat. “About Matt,” he said in a low voice. “He’s there. In my apartment.”

“What?” Karen gasped. “Why didn’t—?”

The elevator was already passing the third floor. The doors would open again on the fifth. “He’s in disguise,” Foggy interrupted her. “Brown hair, color contact lenses. People are after him, too. We decided this way was best. I just wanted to prepare you...” He let his voice trail off as the doors opened. He poked his head out and looked quickly up and down the corridor. Then he beckoned to Karen and she followed him out of the elevator.

“Thanks for being careful,” she said shakily. “I-I was in Mexico before all this. I was going to visit a...” She hesitated. “...A friend,” she said. “Well, okay. Not a friend.” She looked miserably at the ground. “M-my supplier. I needed a fix.” She flinched when Foggy wrapped an arm around her. “I got to his room and he was... he was dead. Shot. Someone was bending over his body, still holding the gun. And then he pointed it at me. I was lucky. He missed. I ran. I’ve been running ever since.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Foggy tried to reassure her. “We’re almost there. Come on.”

Karen nodded and moved forward a few steps. Then she froze. “I can’t,” she said. “Foggy, I can’t see him. You don’t know...”

“Karen...”

“I can’t face him, Foggy!” Although she was still speaking softly, panic seemed to lend volume to her voice. “Not after what I did to him. I can’t. I have to go.”

Foggy’s voice hardened. “Where? Back to Mexico? Back to the guy who gave you that shiner?” He hoped Matt could hear this. “Karen...”

“It’s my fault that people are after him!” Karen snapped. “Don’t you get it? I needed a fix. That was the only thing I could think about. I needed something so I could feel good and not remember how wrong things had gone for me. I had to get the stuff. I didn’t care what I had to do. Only... I didn’t have any money. I’d already pawned everything of value I owned. I had nothing worth anything except...” Her voice broke. “Except something Matt told me in confidence a long time ago.”

Well, that confirmed his suspicions. Foggy closed his eyes. “I think I know what it was,” he said heavily.

“Y-you do?”

Foggy nodded. “Yeah. It took a little longer for him to share it with me, but... yeah.”

“Then you know I can’t face him!”

“I know you don’t want to face him,” Foggy said, “but Karen... I’m sorry. From what you’ve told me, I can only imagine what you’ve been going through, these last few years. Scratch that. I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through, not really. I know that. But one thing I’ve been hearing loud and clear is that you’ve been running away for a very long time. You ran away from Matt when you couldn’t deal with... what he told you.” He didn’t miss her involuntary nod. “You ran away from Hollywood when your film career didn’t happen. You ran away from Mexico when—”

“What was I suppose to do?” Karen demanded with a hint of her old spirit. “Let that gunman shoot me?”

“Of course not,” Foggy said, motioning to her to lower her voice. “I’m not saying you didn’t have a good reason every time. But Karen... isn’t it time to stop running now? You’re not alone. I’m right here, standing next to you.”

“But... Matt... Foggy, I—”

“I know. You’re going to have to tell him,” Foggy said. “Something this big... you’ve got to. And honestly? I don’t know how he’s going to react. But I do know this: he loves you. He always has. That’s going to count for something.”

“And I love him. That’s what makes this so horrible.”

“Yeah.”

She gave him a tremulous smile. “I... I guess if I’ve come all the way from Mexico looking for him, I’d better see him.” She shook her head. “And if he hates me after I tell him what I did, it’ll be no more than I deserve anyway.”

Foggy pulled her closer. “I don’t think he could ever hate you,” he said. “But whatever happens, I’m going to be right there with you.”

Karen screwed her eyes shut and nodded, but despite her best efforts, when she opened them again, he saw that they were brimming with tears. It was only another few steps to the door of his apartment. As Foggy fumbled for his key, he hoped for the best, even as he steeled himself for the worst. The problem was that he was hard-pressed to determine what was going to be ‘best’ in this situation.

[Dragonbat]

He heard them talking as they came down the hall. Karen sounded tense, almost hysterical. Foggy was calmer, but his voice was a little too controlled. As Matt listened, he understood why. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. So. That was how the Kingpin had found out. Matt hadn’t been sloppy. He hadn’t been careless. Or, if he had been, that hadn’t been the problem. Karen had... she had... she had to have been in a far darker headspace than he’d ever been for her to have done something like that.

Matt thought about what he’d gone through in the months following Elektra’s death. How he’d lashed out at, or withdrawn from those closest to him. What he’d put Heather through... How much had his treatment of her factored into her final decision? It was all well and good to say that he’d been coming apart inside at the time. He’d been grieving. He hadn’t been thinking clearly. That still didn’t alter the fact that she’d been hanging on by her fingertips and he’d practically danced on her hands.

He hadn’t thought about consequences when he’d been in that state. Heather had paid the price. He hadn’t thought about consequences when he’d gone abroad, going above and beyond (or so he’d convinced himself) to track down a lead, ignoring what Foggy had been trying to tell him about the state of their practice. The firm had paid the price.

Foggy had put his heart and soul into that law firm, far more than Matt ever had. Losing it had nearly killed him. But when Matt had called him—almost before the sign painters had finished scraping ‘Nelson and Murdock’ off of the office door—because of the grand jury summons, Foggy hadn’t hesitated. In the weeks that followed, he hadn’t voiced a single recrimination, hadn’t played the martyr, and hadn’t once reminded Matt that he was lucky Foggy was even willing to talk to him at this point, much less help him. And Foggy hadn’t just phoned in his defense, either. With all of the evidence against him, right up until the verdict, Matt had been sure that he’d be looking at five to seven years in prison. If he was lucky. Foggy had stayed awake till all hours, researching every possible angle, every possible precedent, and every lead— no matter how slight— that might give them an advantage. And in the end, Matt had been disbarred, but not incarcerated.

Foggy had done all that and then, after the trial, he’d gone and done so much more. When anyone else would have walked out, Foggy had stood with him. Not just by him. With him. Whatever Karen had gone through, whatever she was going through now, Matt knew from immediate past experience just how badly she needed someone in her corner.

But Karen had...

All right, Matt. Pretend she’s your client. How could you argue the case, hmm? He thought about it. Karen had been frightened and desperate and people who were desperate did desperate things. Didn’t he have enough experience on that front already to understand what she must have been going through? She might not have been fully rational; drugs could mess up a person’s mind. Not to mention their judgment. Didn’t the fact that she’d sold his secret for a fix only bolster that argument? Compassionate grounds: Karen had nearly been killed in Mexico, from what he was overhearing. Somebody named ‘Paulo’ had given her a black eye. Thinking about that made his blood boil. When he got his hands on that guy, he was going to... He was going to admit that if he was trying to find reasons to justify helping her, he’d already made up his mind that he was going to.

They were at the door. He heard Foggy’s key turning in the lock and he got up to greet them.

Karen was in trouble and she desperately needed his help, despite... or perhaps especially... because of what had happened. Turning her away would be almost like brushing off every way that Foggy had come through for him. But more than that... More than that, he still loved her. Maybe that argument would never fly in a court of law, but then, he wasn’t bound by those rules anymore now, was he?

The door opened and they walked in. Matt took a step toward them—toward her—and spread his arms wide. Karen fell into them, crying out his name and Matt held her tightly, ignoring the protest from his healing ribs. He still loved her, he was going to help her through this, and for this moment, that was the only thing that mattered.

[Dragonbat]

“I still don’t see how you can just... brush off what I did to you so easily,” Karen repeated. She ran her finger along the rim of her empty mug of tea.

“I can refill that,” Foggy offered, reaching for the teapot on the coffee table before them. Karen shook her head.

Matt smiled easily. “Over the last little while,” he said slowly, “I think I’ve come to realize that Fisk may have been able to separate me from everything he thinks is important, but...” his smile widened, “...not everything that’s really important. The funny thing about it is that I needed to be separated from all of it to realize how little it mattered.”

“But... your home... your career...” Karen protested. “Matt, I never meant to—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Matt’s voice was gentle. “Listen to me. I’ve defended enough clients in court on drug-related charges to recognize that the need for another hit—and with heroin, it is a physical dependency, not just a psychological one—can be strong enough that you’re willing to do anything in order to get it. Things that you’d never do if you didn’t have the addiction.” His smile dimmed. “Which brings me to a question. And I need you to answer me honestly. Before you do,” he reached over and sandwiched her hand between both of his, “I want you to know that whatever you decide, I am still going help you. No strings attached; I just need to know how things stand.” He slid closer to her. “Karen, do you want to get off of the drugs?”

“Yes!” She hesitated. “But... the withdrawal... I’ve gone through that before... a little. It was bad. Really bad.”

Matt nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here to help you through that, as much as I can.” He squeezed her right hand in his left and brought his right hand to her shoulder. “If I could take the withdrawal pain on for you, I would. I hope you know that. I can’t. But I can promise you that you aren’t going to go through it alone. I’ll be right here with you.”

“We both will,” Foggy spoke up resolutely.

Matt smiled. “Right. Karen?”

“Yes.”

Matt exhaled. “All right. How long has it been since you got your last... hit?”

Karen hesitated. “I don’t know, I didn’t look at my watch. It might have been late morning or... or early afternoon. I don’t know. I remember the sun was pretty bright. ...I think. Oh, I don’t know.” She sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Matt said. “I’m just trying to remember the timeline. Once the withdrawal symptoms kick in,” he said slowly, “the first two days are going to be the hardest. Whatever symptoms you’ve had in the past when the junk was leaving your system are going to be worse. I can’t sugarcoat this. It’s going to hurt. You probably won’t be able to sleep. Sweats... anxiety...” He squeezed her hand again. “Once again, you are not going to be alone while you’re going through this. At least one of us will be here in the room with you at all times. After two days, the worst of the pain will have passed, though you’ll still be experiencing some, and probably a few other symptoms like nausea and lack of appetite. Usually, by the sixth day, you’re mostly out of the woods. You still won’t feel one hundred percent okay, but you’ll be getting there. Then we can start looking at some kind of support group.”

“Support group?” Karen repeated. “Isn’t that what the two of you are going to be doing? I thought you were going to be helping me!” she said frantically. “How can I go talk to total strangers? I couldn’t!”

“Easy,” Matt said, still holding her hand and remembering that one of the first symptoms of heroin withdrawal was increased agitation. “Easy. I said that we were going to help you and I meant it. We are going to be here with you, while the drugs work their way out of your system. But after that, you might find it helps to talk to people who’ve been through the same things you have. That doesn’t mean either of us are going to just hand you over to them and walk away. We’re both here for you now and we’ll both be here for you then. But it’s one thing for me to have researched the symptoms of withdrawal well enough to list them and hold on to you when you’re in pain. It’s another thing to truly know what going through withdrawal feels like. There might be a time when you need to talk to someone who’s experienced it.”

“But if not,” Foggy broke in, “nobody is going to force you to go. It’s your choice all the way.”

“I haven’t felt like I’ve had a lot of choices lately,” Karen murmured.

“Yeah, well that’s changing. Meanwhile, let’s just focus on the next couple of days, yeah?”

Karen relaxed slightly. “Okay,” she said, sounding like she was trying not to cry. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you lie down?” Matt suggested. “Try to sleep now, before the pain starts to hit.” He turned to Foggy. “I’m going to need to sleep on the recliner for the next few days, as it is. I guess Karen can have the bed?”

“Sure,” Foggy said easily. “I’ll just put fresh sheets on. Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

“Oh, no!” Karen protested. “Foggy, I can’t turn you out of your bed. I’ll take the—”

Foggy laughed. “I’ve been sleeping on the sofa for nearly a month, now. You’d be turning me out of my bed if you took it. And Matt can’t sleep in a bed until his ribs heal; not comfortably, anyway. The bed’s yours and welcome to it.”

“Well...” Karen said slowly, “If you’re sure...”

“I’m sure. Look,” Foggy suggested, “why don’t you take a shower while you’re waiting? I’ll lend you a shirt to sleep in and there should be some laundry soap under the sink if you... I mean, there are some things you’re wearing that you probably want to wash,” he said awkwardly. “If you know what I mean.”

“Not sure I can think about that right now,” Karen admitted.

“No problem,” Foggy said, changing tracks quickly. “I was planning to head down to the Laundromat tomorrow anyway. I’ll just throw your things in with ours. I don’t think I’ll get ‘em mixed up,” he said, coaxing a bit of uncertainty into his voice.

Karen giggled. “Thanks.” She took a deep breath. “Okay. A shower does sound good. Thanks.”

After Foggy showed her where the bathroom was, he waited until he heard the water running before he told Matt, “Try not to prepare her too far in advance. She’s got a rough couple of days in store. I don’t think it’s going to do her much good worrying about what comes after it when she’s might just need to focus on getting through one hour at a time.”

Matt nodded. “I should have realized that. Thanks for being so... good about all of this. It’s going to be a hard few days for all of us.”

“I couldn’t very well do anything else,” Foggy replied. “And I know. We’ll manage. How are your ribs holding up?”

“Sore,” Matt admitted, “but nothing I can’t handle at this point.” He frowned. “You don’t have any prescription-strength painkillers in your medicine cabinet, do you? Opiates in particular?”

Foggy thought for a minute. “No, it’s all over-the-counter stuff. Aspirin, cough syrup, Pepto-Bismol... there might be a few prednisone left over; you remember when I had that really bad laryngitis and a trial date coming up? The doc gave me ten and told me I could stop taking ‘em once my symptoms cleared up. It’s a steroid, not a painkiller. Do you need something?”

Matt shook his head. “No. I was just checking. If you did, I was going to suggest you lock them up or get rid of them.”

For a moment, Foggy didn’t understand. Then he drew in a breath sharply. “Right. I didn’t think about that. But since you’re bringing it up, what about you? Didn’t the clinic give you anything?”

Matt shook his head. “They offered, but meditation and Ibuprofen seem to be handling whatever the epidural didn’t.” He sighed. “I’m still in a bit of pain,” he admitted, “but nothing I can’t deal with.”

“Maybe you could teach some of that to Karen.”

Matt nodded. “Possibly, but it takes time to master. It won’t help her through this.”

“No,” Foggy smiled. “But then, that’s where we come in, right?”

Matt smiled back. “Right.”

[Dragonbat]

In a seedy room in Washington Heights, an angry man paced the floor impatiently. “Stupid skirt should have been back hours ago,” he muttered. “If she thinks she can run out on me, she’s got another think coming.” Still mumbling to himself, he picked up a small attaché case that was leaning against the rickety wooden desk, deposited it on the bed and opened it. Inside, embedded in custom-cut foam, was a disassembled gun.

As he set about fitting the pieces together, he was muttering, "I warned you to come right back, Karen Page. Guess it's up to Paulo to teach you a lesson..."

[Dragonbat]

Chapter 13

That night, Matt dreamed he was fifteen again and back in the hospital. He was recovering from the surgery they'd done on his face to restore the damage caused by the radioactive waste—the cosmetic damage, at any rate. He'd felt every cut, every stitch, every jab, despite the amount of anesthetic they'd administered. He'd screamed his pain and fear out on the operating table, writhing in his restraints. Eventually, the surgery had stopped. The pain had remained. Hours later, his face was still throbbing and burning, the agony as fresh as if he were still under the knife.

Not long afterwards, one of the doctors had come in and told him firmly that his cries were disturbing the other patients. "And really," he'd continued tartly, "a boy your age shouldn't be carrying on quite so much. There's no way you can still be in that much pain."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't in Matt's skin. But then he'd heard voices in the hallway and realized that Dad was talking with the doctor now. If he kept screaming, it would only upset Dad. So, he'd clamped his teeth together and tried to control himself.

Dad hadn't been fooled. He'd spent about a minute in the room with Matt and then stormed out, yelling at the doctors. Matt had heard the doctor saying that Matt was already on stronger painkillers than normally warranted after this kind of surgery. Dad would have none of it. "You get him on something better!" he'd demanded.

They had. Even that hadn't fully masked the pain, but at least he'd been able to stop crying, most of the time. When he slept, though, his control slipped. The nurses later told him that he moaned in his sleep. He hadn't believed them. Hadn't wanted to.

But tonight, he was dreaming that he was visiting his younger self in the hospital, doped to the gills on morphine, scared, alone, in pain... and moaning. As he sat next to the bed, keeping his younger self company, the moans grew louder. After a moment, he realized that they weren't coming from the bed beside him at all, but from the room next door. There had to be another patient there. Maybe there was something he could do to help them.

He started to rise from his chair, but it felt like he was trying to move through syrup. He was slow, sluggish, and the moans were getting louder. He struggled to move faster, another step, another...

He was awake. He was in Foggy's living room, leaning back in the La-Z-Boy recliner, surrounded by the lingering scent of fabric softener, the old-paper smell of the textbooks on the bookshelf, and the fragrance of the tea that had spilled on the rug earlier. A few feet away, Foggy was snoring on the sofa—a sound he'd grown used to during their four years rooming together at Columbia. During their first semester, the noise had been annoying. By their last, it had been almost comforting.

He smiled, but the smile fell away when he realized that he was still hearing the moaning from his dream. It was coming from the other room. Karen.

He wanted to bolt from the recliner into the bedroom, but he reminded himself that, thanks to his own condition, he needed to take it a bit slower. Remembering the tips that the nurses had given him at the clinic, he eased himself carefully out of the chair. Then he strode quickly to the bedroom.

[Dragonbat]

Karen was lying on her side, curled up in a ball, clutching the hem of the bedspread in both hands for dear life. She was biting down on the spread, whimpering. Matt caught the sour smell of perspiration on her forehead.

"Hey." Matt approached her carefully, keeping his voice low. "Hey, it's going to be all right."

Karen quivered under the bedspread. Matt heard her sudden intake of breath, as though she was getting ready to scream. Instead, there was only a dry sucking sound.

"I know," Matt whispered. "I know it hurts. I'm right here for you." He went around the foot of the bed and sat down behind her on the mattress. "I'm right here."

Karen didn't move, but her heartbeat slowed marginally. Encouraged, Matt lay down beside her, remembering as he did so that the nurse had recommended he spend some time resting on his side. "I'm here with you," he whispered, stroking her hair gently. "You're going to get through this. You're going to be okay."

"It hurts," she croaked. "S-so bad. Feels... like I'm dying."

Matt didn't doubt it. "I'm right here," he said again. "You're going to be okay." Words. Stupid, useless words that couldn't do a thing for her pain. Maybe there was something else he could try. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere..."

He should have expected that answer. He took a deep breath. "Karen... I'm going to try something. I don't know if it's going to do any good, but I don't think it'll make things worse. If I'm wrong... if you want me to stop, tell me, okay?"

In most cases, Matt would never say that his radar sense was superior to the vision he'd lost. The ability to pick up shapes and contours and know when he was about to hit a wall would have paled had he been one to brood on what he had lost. Faces, colors, the ability to watch a movie and know what was going on when the actors weren't talking... But lying in bed next to the woman he loved in the wee hours of the morning, when it had to be pitch-black in the room, even had his vision been perfect, his eyes could never have caught Karen's slight nod. His radar sense did. He got up carefully, pulled back the blanket, and lay back down. Gently, he ran his fingers over her back, wincing a bit in sympathy when he felt the tightness in her muscles.

Thanks in no small part to the lessons he'd learned from Stick years ago, Matt had more than a passing knowledge of acupressure. When his own body had ached after a particularly strenuous training session, rather than allow him to follow a lighter regimen for a few days, the elderly sensei had directed him to lie down. Matt remembered feeling Stick's fingers pushing down on his muscles like steel pegs. And then, his pain had vanished.

"There are a lot of things you can do, once you understand a few things about pressure points, kid," Stick had said. Then they'd gone on with the training. But later, much later, Stick had given Matt more instruction in acupressure massage—instruction Matt was now grateful for. He found the right places on her back and pressed down gently, the techniques coming back to him from those long ago days. Under his ministrations, he felt Karen slowly relax. He kept going, he didn't know how long. He focused on the feeling of her loosening muscles under his fingers, on the scents of lavender-mint shampoo in her hair and Irish Spring soap on her body, on the way her rapid, shallow breathing gradually slowed and lengthened.

It wasn't until Matt was sure that she had finally fallen asleep that he withdrew his hands from her back. For several long moments, he lay next to her, listening to her heartbeat. Then, carefully, so as not to disturb her, he got up and made his way back to the living room, where the recliner awaited him.

[Dragonbat]

When Foggy awoke several hours later, it was to the mouth-watering aromas of eggs, bacon, and coffee. He found Matt in the kitchen, standing over the stove.

"Morning, Foggy," Matt said without turning around.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Matt snorted. "I've been living alone for years and there is way too much salt in most takeout and processed foods." He flipped an egg onto a waiting plate, added two strips of bacon and shoved it at Foggy. "Here."

Foggy blinked. Then he fished a knife and fork out of the drainage tray and sat down at the table. A bit nervously, he lifted a forkful of bacon to his mouth. Then, "Matt... This is good. I mean, really good. Like 'better than the Farmer's Breakfast at Peel's, down on Bowery' good."

"I'm glad. Karen's going to need to eat something," he lowered his voice a drop, "whether she wants to or not."

"Ah." Foggy frowned. "I didn't just eat her breakfast, did I? You could have said something."

Matt shook his head. "No, I figured as long as I was making breakfast, I might as well do it for the three of us. I'll put up more eggs when I know she's awake."

"Oh. Wait." His frown, which had disappeared with Matt's explanation, returned. "I didn't just eat your breakfast, did I?"

Matt cracked another egg into the pan. "I figured if you came in here before I sat down, it was yours. Mine'll be ready in a minute." He hesitated. "You really like it?"

"Isn't your lie detector working?"

Matt didn't say anything until he had his own bacon and eggs on a plate and joined Foggy at the table. "Just fishing for compliments, I guess," he admitted. "I haven't really cooked much for other people. I worry that, with my sense of taste as keen as it is, what's flavorful for me might be bland for everyone else."

Foggy's fork scraped the plate. "That's one worry you can put to bed," he declared. "Seriously."

Matt smiled. "Well, good, then." He took a sip of coffee and made a face. "I wasn't expecting decaf to be quite this... Uh... you don't have herbal tea, do you?"

"No. I guess I can pick some up when I go out to do laundry, if you like." Foggy chuckled. "I don't know why I even have that stuff. Debbie used to drink it. I think I might have kept it around when I still thought there was a chance we'd reconcile."

"Please. Actually," he hesitated for a moment, "maybe I should make a list. Karen's going to need food that's both healthy and easy to digest, at least for the next few days."

"Got it. Let me put some real coffee on for us."

"Better not for awhile," Matt said slowly. "I admit I don't know everything there is to know about drug detox, but I think when someone goes into rehab, the staff keep them away from all addictive substances, including caffeine. Maybe that's not strictly necessary. Like I said, I'm not an expert. But I think that, for the next week or so, maybe we could try to stick to decaf in here." He shook his head apologetically. "I know that's asking a lot."

Foggy let out a breath. "Well, it's not like there aren't any coffee shops around. I guess I can go out if I really need a cup that badly."

"Peppermint tea is usually good for staying awake," Matt replied. "I'll probably be going through a lot of that myself." He smiled. "Okay. I'll write up that list in a few minutes."

"Matt?" Foggy ventured. "Do you want to do the shopping after I get back from the laundry? I mean, you aren't planning to stay cooped up in here for a whole week, are you?"

Matt shook his head. "I'm not thinking that far in advance, to be honest. I do want to be here for the first couple of days, until Karen's over the worst of the withdrawal. Once that happens, the next step would be to get a support group in place to help her avoid relapse, and we can deal with other stuff as it comes up."

"You mentioned a support group last night," Foggy remembered. "Where would you find something like that?"

Matt took a gulp of decaf. "I'll make some inquiries," he said. "I know there's a church not too far from Fogwell's in the Kitchen. They run a homeless shelter and a soup kitchen, or they used to. I'm not sure if they have rehab services too, but odds are that if they don't, they'll know who does. It's a starting point, anyway."

Foggy nodded. "Sounds good. When were you thinking of going?"

"In a couple of days," Matt said, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen door. "She should be past the worst of the pain by then."

"Matt..." Foggy stopped, thinking it over. Matt was more focused now than he had been in weeks. Ever since his life had gone to hell, he'd been drowning in depression and self-pity. He'd started coming out of it when Foggy had asked him to teach him how to defend himself. He'd rallied when Spider-Man had asked him for legal assistance. And now, Karen. It made sense. Whether as a defense attorney or as Daredevil, Matt had dedicated himself to helping people in need. Kingpin's actions had rendered him incapable of providing that assistance in either guise—something that had likely contributed to his breakdown. In trying to be there for others... for him, for Spidey, and now, for Karen, Matt was slowly, surely, pulling himself out of whatever dark place he'd retreated to when everything around him had collapsed. He needed to be there for Karen as much as Karen needed him to be there for her.

Fine. If extending himself for other people was helping him, then Foggy wasn't going to try talking him out of it. Still, he had been through far too much recently. Foggy took a deep breath. "If you need a break, let me know."

[Dragonbat]

After Foggy left, Matt remained in the kitchen. Yesterday's paper was on the table and he hadn't read it yet. More for something to do than out of interest, he ran his fingers lightly over the page, reading the news.

When he heard the bedroom door open, he smiled and got up to make another batch of eggs. He would have added bacon, but in her condition, she probably wouldn't be able to keep it down.

Karen walked past the kitchen doorway in the direction of the bathroom.

The butter was sizzling in the pan and he was just about to crack open the first egg, when he heard a noise he wished he hadn't: the sound of the door of the medicine cabinet sliding back. He turned off the stove and headed for the bathroom.

"Karen?" He tried the door. Locked, but a wire hanger would take care of that. He got one from the closet in the bedroom. Less than a moment later, he heard the latch click and pushed open the door.

Karen was lying on the bathroom floor, the contents of Foggy's medicine cabinet—at least the contents that had remained after Matt had taken out all of the over-the-counter-medications the night before—scattered around her. Karen was sobbing and pawing through the mess.

"Karen." Matt knelt next to her. "Karen, I'm right here."

"Matt...?" Her voice was a hoarse croak. "I just... I need something. Hurts... hurts so bad..."

As he had the night before, he stroked her hair. "I know," he whispered. "I know. Hang in there." He pulled her up and into an embrace, ruthlessly ignoring his own pain. She needed him and he was damned if he was going to let his busted ribs stop him from being there for her. "You're not alone. You're going to get through this. It's going to be okay."

Shaking, Karen buried her head in Matt's shoulder. "I can't," she hiccupped. "I thought I could beat this, but I can't. Hurts too bad. Please, Matt. I just need a little fix to help me through. Just a little one."

"Karen..."

"I'm dying, Matt! Help me!" Her anger drained and she wept brokenly once more. "Please..."

He ran his fingertips gently over her back and found the pressure points again. He wasn't sure how long he sat with her, stroking, rubbing, massaging, and rocking her gently until her sobs quieted and she relaxed in his arms.

"You should eat something," he said softly.

"Don't think I could," Karen murmured. "Feel like I'm gonna..." Still on her knees, she lurched for the toilet bowl, barely making it in time to void the contents of her stomach. When she was done, she slid back to the floor with a whimper.

Matt sat next to her and gently combed her hair with his fingers.

[Dragonbat]

Getting the both of them upright was a challenge all its own, but Matt managed it. He filled a glass of water from the sink and coaxed her to drink it. He waited until he was sure that she could keep it down before he helped her get back to the bedroom.

When Foggy returned, he found the two of them lying on the bed, Karen curled up under the blankets, Matt on top of them, curled around her, one arm draped protectively around her waist.

At first, he thought that they were both asleep, but then Karen moaned and Matt pulled her closer to him.

"I'll be in the living room," he said finally. "Tell me if you need anything."

Matt nodded. Karen twitched.