Chapter Text
The unboxing of Nelson & Murdock took much longer than the first time they'd opened up shop—largely due to the fact that they actually had clientele and case files now. An entire history to unpack and dust off and display again. This time, though, they had Karen with them; and the time felt shorter than it was.
At the end of the day they clapped the dust from their hands and wandered back out into the hallway. Foggy closed and locked the door behind him, then affectionately patted the doorframe.
"Third time's the charm," he said. Matt opened his mouth, ready to argue that this was only the second time, then closed it again. Foggy was probably counting the time he'd thrown the sign into the trash after learning about Daredevil.
That counted as a new beginning, Matt supposed.
"Well?" Karen said. "You guys up for a night at Josie's?"
Beyond up for it," Foggy said, already walking toward the stairwell. "I'd consider it an insult if you thought otherwise. Let's go."
When he was out of sight, his footsteps echoing up the stairwell, Karen turned to Matt and offered her arm. "Here," she said. "For... you know."
Matt gripped his cane a little tighter and caught hold of Karen's arm. And if her heart sped up slightly when he touched her skin, he didn't say anything about it. A fluke, surely.
And so all three of them found themselves in the corner booth of Josie's bar, nursing cheap beers and tossing back peanuts.
Matt swirled his glass of O'Melveny's, taking in the dizzying array of sensory input before him. There were seventeen heartbeats in the building, and four more on the street just outside. He could smell the mixed sweat of everyone in here, mingled with cologne and caked talcum powder and the mold growing under the counter. He could taste the nauseating mixture of dozens of drinks and stale pretzels. And he could feel every sweltering rise in body heat as Josie's customers imbibed glass after glass.
"You okay?" said a soft voice near his ear. Karen was leaning over, her lips almost brushing his skin. Matt shivered, and allowed himself to focus solely on her. There was something calming about her—something clean in her scent, the apple-blossom shampoo mixed with the heady, warm smell of her skin.
"Yeah," Matt said. "Now."
Foggy frowned. "You know, I never really thought about it before, but this place must be hell on earth for you."
"Yeah, but it's our hell on earth," Matt said. "Besides, it's not much worse here than anywhere else in the city."
"Is it loud?" Karen asked.
Matt suppressed a pained laugh. "That's one way of putting it. Usually I'm used to it, but..."
"But it's been a while," Karen said.
"It's been a while."
He hadn't been here in nearly a year—and in that time, his entire world had changed. Nearly ended. He'd been crushed beneath Midland Circle; he'd lost his senses and gone partially deaf and agonizingly rebuilt his way back to the man he was now. He'd lived in solitude and played dead and battled with the very heart of this city—
And he'd returned.
"So... anyone up for a game of pool?" Foggy asked.
Before Matt could say anything, Karen froze, then took in a quick breath, like a gasp. "Wait... you—I—" She growled. "Murdock!"
Matt grinned.
"You knew! That whole time, you knew how to play. And I—and you let me—"
"Sorry," Matt said.
"I feel like such an idiot!"
Foggy threw back the rest of his shot, then slid out of the booth. "Not only does he know how to play, but he might be the best player in the world. Definitely in New York. It's actually infuriating."
Karen was flushing warm, with embarrassment, with laughter, with memory. Matt nudged her playfully with his shoulder, and in response, she dropped his hand atop his—just for a moment. Just long enough for their fingers to brush together.
Then she slid out of the booth and followed Foggy.
"I'll rack 'em up," Foggy called over his shoulder. "Come on, Murdock, get your ass in gear."
The skin on Matt's hand was still tingling from where Karen had touched it. He hesitated for a moment, took a shaky breath in, then followed them across the bar.
###
The cue ball hovered on the edge of the pocket for a single, hopeful moment, then dropped heavily inside.
"Shit!" Foggy and Karen said simultaneously. Matt grinned and took another swig of his beer.
"Oh, like you never scratch," Karen said.
"Never."
Foggy gestured at the table, backing away. "Fine. Your turn, Lord Showoff. Put us out of our misery."
Matt chalked the end of his pool cue and shook his head. "Two against one. And still losing. Very sad."
Foggy reached into the pocket to pull out the cue ball, and when his hand emerged, his middle finger was lifted high. Matt laughed and took the ball from him, tossing it up and catching it again.
Karen walked closer to the table, hovering her hand above each ball in turn, turning to make sure Matt was paying attention. "Five, six, seven. Fourteen, fifteen. Eight."
Tilting his head, Matt considered her carefully. She crossed her arms.
"Are you checking my heartbeat?"
"Can't let you take advantage," Matt said. Her heartbeat was steady, truthful. He took his place at the head of the table and put the cue ball in position.
"No, we can't have that," Karen said, her voice a shade lower than usual. Matt took a long breath, ignoring the teasing register of her voice, and turned to the task at hand.
He bent low over the table and tilted his head; considering the slight angle from the table's wobbly leg, the minor bump on the surface from an old patch job, and the warp of his pool cue.
He remembered, suddenly, another moment over the table—Karen leaning over him, her apple-blossom shampoo so bright and clear, the gentle lilt of her heartbeat. The touch of her hand over his as she guided him.
"Any day, Murdock," Foggy called. Matt cleared his throat, shook his head, and took his shot.
Clack. Click click clack.
Fourteen, fifteen, and eight flew into the pockets, in perfect succession.
Karen and Foggy groaned loudly. Matt tapped his cue stick appreciatively against the floor and grinned at them both.
"Good game," he said. "Wanna re-rack, Fog?"
"What, so you can slaughter us again?" Foggy said. "I'm getting another drink." And he stumbled off toward the front of the bar.
Karen turned to watch him leave, then moved closer to Matt. Their arms brushed together slightly. "I can't believe I tried to teach you," she said. "Almost two years later, and I'm still embarrassed."
"Don't be. You were a good teacher."
Karen snorted, then picked up her beer and swirled it around meditatively. "Maybe you should be teaching me."
"Oh?"
"Clearly you've got some sort of magic ninja technique. How else would you beat the 2010 Fagan Corners Pool Champion?"
Matt raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"No. That's not a real thing. But I am pretty good." She stepped away from him, tilting her head slightly. Matt could hear her heartbeat rising again. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Teach me."
Matt's own heart was beginning to pound. "Well... if you insist, Miss Page."
He walked behind her and carefully rested his hand on the small of her back, trying not to notice the way her breath hitched slightly at his touch. Passing her the pool cue, he reached into the nearest pocket and pulled out a couple of balls—one of which, he assumed, was the cue—and set them on the soft fuzz of the table.
"Okay, Mr. Murdock," she said, her voice airy and soft. "Correct my technique. Where am I going wrong?"
Matt tilted his head, listening to her body, feeling the micro shifting of her legs, the sounds of her fingers gently tapping the table felt.
"You've got great technique," he said. "I don't know that you could improve on it."
"Bullshit."
"Without super senses, anyway."
She turned her head back slightly, and Matt could feel the soft rush of her breath on his skin. "Then show me. What do you feel that I don't?"
He felt the heat in her skin, each racing beat of her heart. Every day, he felt her presence next to his. The lively dancing of her fingers on her laptop. Her soft humming as she sipped at a hot cup of coffee. He heard the soft lilt of her voice—more musical when she said his name.
"Give me your hand," he said, reaching around. She placed her hand in his, silently, and Matt resisted the urge to spread her fingers through his—to savor the feel of her silken skin against his rough and scarred palms.
He guided her hand down the cue stick, carefully, running it along the grain.
"Feel that?"
"No," she said, slightly breathless.
"It's warped—just a hair to the left. So you have to compensate." He left his hand atop hers, waiting for her to pull away.
She didn't.
"Okay," Karen said. "What else?"
He took a slow breath, his head over her shoulder, trying to focus on the game and not on the pulse he could feel through her neck. "It's about precision," he said. "Finding the exact spot—where to strike, how much pressure—"
It was, now that he thought about it, not all that different from fighting muggers in the street.
"How much pressure?" Karen asked, curling around to face him.
Matt swallowed. "Just... just enough."
"And how do you know what's enough?"
"It's instinct," he said softly. Her face was barely an inch away from his—her eyelids were fluttering slightly, almost closed. "I just... I feel it. And I know."
"You know... what?" she whispered.
Matt opened his mouth to say something, lost in the feel of her, in the sound and the smell and the closeness. He imagined running his hands along the velvet of her neck, up the curve of her spine—imagined her hair draped over his skin, soft and thrilling and fragrant—imagined her hands running up his arms to his shoulders, to his face—
"Whoah!"
Foggy had returned. He was standing across the table from them, a glass in hand; whiskey, by the smell of it.
"Foggy!" Matt straightened immediately and took a few steps away from Karen.
"Didn't, uh... didn't mean to interrupt—whatever this is."
"Nothing. It's nothing," Matt said.
Karen turned toward him, like she wanted to say something, but she stayed silent.
"Didn't look like nothing," Foggy said. His voice was halfway between excited and accusatory. "Déjà vu. Are you guys—is this—"
"No," Matt said. He took the pool cue and placed it firmly in the holding case on the wall. "Just... just..."
"Teaching," Karen said. Her voice was slightly unsteady; she quickly cleared her throat. "He was teaching me."
Foggy was silent for a minute, head swiveling between the two of them. "That... doesn't exactly sound not flirty to me—"
"It's not," Matt said firmly.
"—but you do you, I guess." He moved closer, walking between them and sinking down into a chair against the wall. After a beat of hesitation, carefully avoiding facing in Karen's direction, Matt followed suit. Karen did too, though Matt could tell she was watching him carefully.
Foggy lifted his glass, studied it for a moment, then took a swig. "You ever think about those times?" he said, voice thick and unsteady. Clearly, he was already very buzzed.
"What times?" Karen asked.
"Back then," Foggy said. "The golden days. Nelson and Murdock—and Page, obviously. Avocados at law. Back before..."
Before Fisk. Before Dex. Before Daredevil had shattered their world, launching in and destroying the things they were so carefully building.
"Before things changed," Karen said softly.
"Yeah," Foggy said. He took another swallow. "I mean, things are good now. They're great. Me and my two best friends, booze and pool, taking names and kicking ass—"
Karen snorted. "You and I aren't doing any ass-kicking."
"No, but we take the names," Foggy said. "That's the important part."
Matt laughed softly. "Maybe we should call it a night—"
Foggy waved him off and downed the rest of his glass. "But those were good times," he said, his voice beginning to take on a slightly slurred quality. He slung an arm around Matt.
"Great times," Karen agreed.
"But," he said loudly, "they could have been better. Could have been way, way better."
"Oh?"
He nodded, lifting his empty glass to his face to eye it closely. "You ever think about what would have happened? If things were... if we were..."
"Foggy?" Matt said.
"Honest," Foggy said, the word cutting through his slurred haze. "If we were all honest, right from the start. You and your Devil-ing—"
"Not so loud," Matt said.
"—and Karen and all her—all her stuff too—"
Matt raised an eyebrow. "And you, Fog?"
"No need. I'm honest. Honest as a cucumber."
"That's not a thing," Karen said. "You're drunk." And she laughed, though it sounded a little forced.
Foggy sighed and put the glass on the counter behind him. "We would have bulletproofed our office ages ago. And we'd have first-aid kits in every room."
"Already on it," Karen said, and Foggy gave Matt a meaningful look.
"You two would be dating," he said. "No breakups, no weird Elektra shit. Just... happy." He shook his head. "Man, you guys suck at being happy."
"All right," Matt said. He stood up and heaved Foggy to his feet. "Karen, you want to call Marci? I think he—"
"No. 'M fine. Can make it home myself."
Karen chuckled. "I'll call a cab," she said, already walking off and pulling her phone from her pocket. Matt listened to her soft footfalls for a moment before turning back to Foggy.
"Why are you so drunk? I thought we were just having beers."
Foggy shook his head. "You guys... are so... stupid."
"Excuse me?"
"Drives a man to drink," he said. "Stupid... so, so stupid. Think about that, Matty. Summa cum laude my ass."
Across the bar, Karen was gathering the rest of Foggy's things as she spoke on the phone with the cab company. Matt supposed he should call her a cab, too. Or maybe he could walk her home. She didn't live far.
"Can't see it when it's right in front of your face," Foggy said.
"I can't see anything right in front of my face."
Foggy turned to him suddenly, putting both hands on Matt's shoulder. "Don't be stupid," he said. "You know what I'm talking about. Stop being—stop being so—"
"So what?"
"So Matt," he said. "Catholic-guilt-having, always-bleeding, ridiculous-angsty-tragic—"
Matt's patience was growing extremely thin. "Foggy—"
"She likes you," Foggy said, his voice suddenly almost clear. "Really likes you. And you like her. No more being stupid, okay? No more—no more self-flagellation. Just... go for it, man."
"You're drunk," Matt said firmly. Near the front door, Karen was waving her arm, signaling the cab's arrival. Matt slung an arm around Foggy and walked him past the pool tables and barstools and dart-players. "Let's get you home."
Matt and Karen helped Foggy into the cab, then stood under the awning and listened to it pull away. And, when it was out of sight—at least for Karen—they turned toward each other.
"You want a cab too—"
"I could walk you home—"
Each of them broke off and chuckled, a little nervously. Matt was suddenly very aware of Foggy's absence—of the vastness of the sky above them; of how free and open the world was, now that it was just the two of them. How much night there was left ahead of them, if they wanted it.
"You first," Karen said.
Matt closed his eyes. "I'd like to walk you home. If that's all right."
Karen was quiet for a moment. "Yeah," she said finally. "It's all right."
And, rather than reaching for his arm to guide him, Karen grabbed his hand.