Later, with Matt's coaxing, Karen managed to finish a bowl of broth. And, although she insisted that she wasn't hungry for anything more, she consented to join Matt and Foggy at the table for supper and barely protested when Matt put small portions of sautéed greens, mashed sweet potatoes, boiled rice, and broiled chicken on her plate.
"Just eat as much as you think you can keep down," Matt said. "Nobody's telling you you've got to finish it."
"You realize," Foggy said, through a mouthful of chicken, "that I am probably never going to be able to show my face at that grocery store again. That cashier took one look at what I put down on the counter and stared at me like I was a pod-person."
"You should have said you were your twin brother, Philip," Matt smiled.
Karen made a noise that might have been a sniff or a very faint laugh. Foggy gave her a quick grin before turning his attention back to Matt. "Right. With this physique," he clapped his hands to his torso for emphasis, "I should be able to pull off posing as my non-existent brother, the health-nut, without a hitch." He took another bite of chicken. "Though I have to admit, if you keep cooking like this, healthy might not be so bad."
"You have a stash of Twinkies and Cheez-Its right by your pillow on the sofa, don't you?"
"Excuse me for not being sure if I'd like kale."
"And now that you know you like it, you're going to dump the junk food?"
Foggy deliberately lifted a forkful of kale to his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "Not when I paid good money for it," he replied virtuously. "That would be wasteful."
This time, Karen definitely laughed. "You guys," she said, with a catch in her throat. "I missed you. You don't know how much." Without warning, she clapped both hands to her mouth.
"Karen?" Foggy was half out of his chair, reaching toward her. "Are you..."
Karen took a couple of deep, slow breaths. "Stomach just did a flip," she groaned.
"Here," Matt rose to his feet. "Let's get you to the..."
She shook her head. "It's okay," she said weakly. "I think it's going to be okay. As long as I just... sit here and don't try getting up."
"Hang on," Foggy said. "One sec..." He walked over to the kitchen sink and rummaged in the cabinet below for a moment. "Here we go," he said, holding up an empty plastic ice cream tub. "Keep one of these with you for the next little while," he said, placing it on the table next to Karen. "Hopefully, you won't need it, but if you do... no harm done." He grinned. "Don't look at me that way. When I get a stomach virus, I have to tough it out without two dedicated nurses at my beck and call. How do you think I manage with some of the nastier symptoms in an emergency?"
"You know," Matt said, "you could have called me if you were that bad."
"Right. Between taking over my caseload and running around in red tights, when exactly would you have hypothetically found time to play Florence Nightingale? And you can wipe that guilty expression off your face, too. If you'd insisted, I'd have yelled at you to think of the clients and get out of here."
Matt shook his head, but he was smiling. "Foggy... I don't know if you've noticed, but those clients didn't stand by me at a grand jury hearing that appeared to be open-and-shut against me. They didn't take me in when I had nothing but the clothes on my back and ten dollars in my pocket. They didn't jump off a pier to save me from—what probably would have been—a posthumous murder rap."
"What?" Karen broke in.
"I'll fill you in later," Matt promised.
He turned back to Foggy. "Granted, my not thinking of the clients contributed in no small part to our firm's foundering. That being said... I haven't worn the red tights in weeks and the city's still standing."
"You're not thinking of giving up...?"
Matt shook his head. "No. Once my ribs are healed I'll be out there again. But, to answer your question, I started out as Daredevil to avenge Dad's murder. I kept on because I wanted to help people when the system couldn't. I just... think there's something wrong with my priorities, if... if you're one of the people who needs help and I'm looking farther afield, is all." He ducked his head, an old reflex from when he could still establish eye contact.
After a moment, Foggy patted his arm. "Yeah, well, if I need you, I'll tell you. Most of the time, I can handle a stomach virus without an audience." He smiled. "Hey. Thanks."
Wordlessly, Matt covered Foggy's hand with his own.