Chapter Text
Home.
That was Matt's first thought. He walked through t he door of the newly re-rented Nelson & Murdock and took a long inhale through his nose. Like his apartment, like the church, like the stale sweat and leather smell of Fogwell's gym—this office was home.
"Dustier than we left it," Foggy said. He moved past Matt in the doorway and plunked down a heavy box of case files. "Would've been nice if the landlord had cleaned it. Even once."
"Why bother? Not like anyone else was going to rent this palace," Karen said.
She was busy taping up a cardboard sign to the door: "Nelson & Murdock: Attorneys at Law." The real sign was in a box somewhere. Matt made a mental note to order some vinyl lettering for the glass window.
Foggy opened the blinds and coughed at the sudden burst of dust. "You know, I said that exact same thing the first day we rented this place. A palace."
Karen pointed at her head, then at Foggy's. "Mind meld."
"We are so in sync it's scary."
Matt laughed, then immediately winced.
His ribs were still healing. It was taking longer than usual, too; probably due to the wave of exhaustion following the events of the last few months—and the last few weeks, especially. Just two weeks before, he'd been in Fisk's penthouse, interrupting Fisk's wedding to Vanessa. The whole thing was a blur of glass, blood, and bone. Someone had broken two of Matt's ribs—either Fisk or Dex. Matt wasn't sure which.
"You okay?" Karen said, turning toward him.
Never missed a thing, that one. Matt angled his head toward her. Her heartbeat was slightly fast; it wasn't the first time, either. Since they'd re-established Nelson & Murdock two weeks ago, her heart rate had spiked nearly every time she saw him.
He couldn't blame her. She'd seen him in action as Daredevil; she knew how scary he could get. How dangerous his life could be. Matt's very existence was a source of fear.
Every once in a while, Matt's mind strayed, thinking of other possible reasons for her spiking heart rate. More... pleasant ones. But he quickly shut down that train of thought whenever it arose.
"Fine," Matt said.
She crossed her arms. "So are we back to lying to each other, or...?"
Matt propped his cane up against the wall and clutched his ribcage, then crossed the room to stake a claim on the south office. "Okay," he said. "I can hear the splintered pieces of my broken ribs scraping together, and the sound sets my teeth on edge."
Fogy snorted, then turned to Karen. "Sorry you asked yet?"
"I don't need a hospital," Matt added, anticipating Karen's next question. "They're set already. Just need time."
Karen gave him a look that Matt could only assume was severe. "Show me."
"What?"
"Prove they're not that bad."
Matt laughed. "There are better ways to see me with my shirt off, Miss Page."
Stupid. What a stupid thing to say. He wanted to take it back the second he said it.
Karen flushed, and Matt could feel the heat rising in her cheeks; still, though, she persisted. "Let me see."
Foggy chuckled. "You heard the woman, Murdock. Let's see those abs."
"Ribs," Karen corrected.
Matt hesitated, then sighed. He untucked and lifted his shirt to reveal the severe bruises wrapped around his torso, like a perverse embrace. He could only imagine the purple and black splotches, like blossoming irises across his skin.
Karen's heartbeat spiked again at the sight. Without saying anything she left the office; Matt could hear her walking down the hallway and knocking at the financial office next door.
"She's looking for an ice pack," Matt said, before Foggy could ask.
"She'll have a hospital grade first-aid kit within the week. Mark my words." Foggy turned back to Matt, then whistled low. "Doesn't look good, buddy."
"I hadn't noticed. Thanks."
"Seriously." Foggy shook his head. "You bruise like a peach."
"How about you fight Fisk next time? Then we'll see who bruises."
Foggy ignored this. "This is sad. Like, genuinely." He clicked his tongue. "You look like a punching bag. A sad, broken punching bag."
Matt opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by the office door opening again. Karen was back, carrying what smelled like a lunchbox ice pack wrapped in paper towels. "It's the best they had," she said, and held it out to him."
Matt waved her off. "I'm fine."
"Nice try." And she pushed past him, pressing the ice pack against his ribs. Matt jumped at the sudden cold against his skin, and tried to ignore the little tingle of warmth as her fingertips brushed his ribcage.
"Okay, fine," Matt said, trying to keep his voice level. "I've got it."
And he put his hand on top of Karen's on the ice pack.
For a half-second they stayed that way, one hand atop the other; then Karen suddenly jerked back, pulling her hand away like she'd been shocked.
There was a very awkward beat of silence; Foggy was turning his head slightly, looking back and forth between the two of them. After a moment or two he cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. "Well," he said. "Let's go grab the rest of the boxes. We got shit to do today."
Matt turned to him, eyebrows raised innocently. "Can't. I bruise like a peach, remember?"
"Huh?"
"You said, and I quote, that I 'look like a punching bag. A sad, broken punching bag."
Foggy sputtered. "I didn't mean—you can still—"
"And a punching bag isn't really capable of carrying boxes up the stairs, is it?"
Next to him, Karen was laughing silently. Matt grinned at her, then turned back to Foggy. "Chop chop, Nelson."
Foggy grumbled and flipped them both off. "I knew we should have hired movers."
"Where's the fun in that?" Karen said.
Foggy walked toward the door, still grumbling, then paused in the entrance. He turned around, and Matt knew Foggy well enough to surmise that he was giving them both a shit-eating grin. With the air of someone relishing in revenge, he said, "If I get back up here and you're canoodling, I'm gonna fire both of you."
Instantly, the temperature in the room seemed to rise several degrees. Matt could sense Karen very carefully avoiding looking at him.
"Canoodling?" Matt said, and forced a laugh. "Really?"
Karen sighed. "Foggy, we broke up a year ago."
"Right," Matt said, his laugh dying on his lips.
Something stirred in his stomach—something sour and bitter and vaguely cold. Something in him was calling out—saying something—but if there was one thing Matt was good at, it was tuning out unwanted sounds. Voices that were irrelevant; voices that were hopeless; voices that were too late. A year too late. And too dangerous and broken for Karen to ever want to listen to.
"Still." Foggy did an 'I'm watching you' gesture with his fingers. "With Fisk gone, it's only a matter of time before the drama starts up again. And I am not getting sucked into it."
And he slipped out.
In the sudden quiet, Karen laughed again. Her voice sounded breathy, almost nervous. "If it means anything," she said, "you're my favorite ex. By far."
Matt tried to laugh, too, but found the sound stuck in his throat. "Yeah, uh... ditto."
Her heartbeat stuttered slightly. Matt pretended not to notice.
She moved past him, presumably to open one of the boxes—but as she passed, Matt caught her by the elbow. It was almost unconscious; a reflex, to catch her. To hold her.
Karen's breath hitched, and Matt could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry that things... ended the way they did. Between us." Almost unconsciously, Matt moved his thumb across her skin. "I'd change that if I could."
Karen paused, her heart beating loudly, and bit her lip. "I know," she said. her voice dropped lower. "So would I."
Matt let her go, and listened as she walked into the corner office and shut the door behind her.