Crash

12. IN WHICH KAREN MULTITASKS (AKA JUGGLES THREE EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED MEN PLUS ALL HER OWN TRAUMA)

The second he walks through the door, Karen flings herself at Foggy and pulls him close.

"You're okay." She's close to tears and can't stop squeezing him as tightly as she can. "You're okay, you're okay-"

"Karen." His voice is muffled into her hair; he wraps his arms around her and hugs her back. She can feel him shaking, feel his heart pounding. "I'm fine."

"I almost-"

Her voice breaks. She can't even think about it. Since she got the phone call from Foggy on the car ride over here, explaining what happened - her heart hasn't stopped pounding. She went to the bathroom and threw up the second she got off the line.

I can't lose him.

She knows it with a sudden, sinking certainty. Things were weird between them - before, and earlier today - but the second the possibility struck, she knew it in her bones; she loves this man, she cannot, will not, let him be taken away from her. And the thought of him out there, alone in the dark, the Hellhounds after him-

It makes her tremble, makes her feel so fucking helpless, makes her more scared than she's been in a long, long, long time. Not since Fisk sent Dex after her. That feeling of being hunted - it fucks with your head. But even worse than that is the thought that someone's after the people she loves.

She's shaking too, and she's trying so fucking hard not to cry but a salty tear slides down her cheek either way. It's only when the other two move up that she comes back to herself.

Matt - all done up in his Daredevil get-up - his jaw set so tense that it looks ready to shatter. And Frank - as she lifts her head a little, they lock gazes. His eyes are soft and concerned, and Karen feels a great surge of relief in her chest at the sight of him. Having Matt here helps, makes her feel physically safe; he can fight off practically any threat. The only problem is he's also a contagious, buzzing bundle of anxiety at the best of times; as much as she loves him, it can really stress her out.

Having Frank around, though, leaves her with a sudden certainty that everything will be okay. That no matter what they're up against, they'll find a way to fix it.

She pulls back a little. Puts a hand on Foggy's cheek and looks into his eyes. There's a nasty, swollen bruise on the side of his jaw, already purpling, and he looks so rattled that it makes a lump rise in her throat.

I can't lose him, I can't lose him.

"Let's get inside," she whispers, and he nods, and she wraps her hand around the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, and pulls him in for a moment, their foreheads pressed close together. He takes a shaky breath.

They walk inside. Matt and Frank follow, fussing over the door for a moment, looking out the window before drawing all the curtains. Karen leads Foggy to the couch and sits him down.

"They hit you." The anger in her own voice startles her.

"Not the first time I've been punched," he replies. He's aiming for lighthearted but it comes out so shakily that it makes Karen's heart ache. His hands are fisted tightly in the fabric of his pants. “Could’ve been worse.”

She doesn’t want to think about that. She reaches out, cards her fingers through his hair again, rests her hand on his back. Needs to feel him suddenly - warm, safe, alive. There are bruises on his neck, she notices in horror. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how this could all have turned out.

Matt enters the room and pulls his mask off. His hands are shaking too; his hair is sticking up in every direction. In the dim lamplight of her living room his eyes look huge and dark. He turns towards them and she sees his face crumple a little - now that the adrenaline’s fading, she imagines it must be hitting him, too, what a close call this was.

“So probably time for a group meeting, huh,” Frank grunts, wandering up behind Matt and folding his arms.

“Oh my God, Frank.” Karen’s hand goes to her mouth. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” He looks down and pulls a face as he must notice his entire left sleeve is dark with blood. It’s dripped onto the carpet, leaving small dark spots. “Shit, pulled my stitches.”

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Karen says, and rushes out before anyone can stop her.

She’s glad just to leave the room, even if it’s just for a second and just to the bathroom. She needs a moment - she opens the cabinet and pauses, closing her eyes, sucking in deep breaths.

Don’t you dare freak out. You don’t have time.

But for a second - for a second she needs to grip the edge of the sink, dizzily. She’s scared to go back out there and can’t quite figure out why. Not of the boys themselves, just - everything. Everything piling mountainous around her. The blood, the bruises. That same shell-shocked look on Matt’s face that can she see on her own in the mirror; we could have lost you, we could have-

And the three of them, all in one spot - it makes her nervous, suddenly. She couldn’t articulate why if she tried. It’s not even that she’s worried that they’ll fight. It’s something else, something filled with suddenly too much possibility. Too many dark, uncertain roads that they might travel down.

She wishes she could just - stay in here. Hide away and not have to deal with it.

But she’ll deal with it, same way she deals with everyone else. Deep breath, suck it up, game face on. Push it all to the back of her head, where skeletons are piling up in the dusty back of her closet.

She grabs the kit, pauses to make sure her hands aren’t shaking, and heads back out, returning to the bizarre sight of Frank shaking bicarbonate soda all over the stains on the carpet. The three of them all look up when she arrives.

She must not have done as great a job concealing her emotions as she thought, because they all get this look on their faces, like they want to go over to her and comfort her. She quickly hurries to Foggy’s side.

“Frank,” she says, “Don’t worry about that.”

“I asked him to,” Foggy says, “Look, I’ve given the fuck up when it comes to Matt’s apartment but I refuse to let bloodstains in the carpet become the norm for you and me.”

Matt huffs out a laugh. He comes up next to Karen, tries to take over - but she has to do this, has to make sure he’s okay, has to fix this - there’s a slightly awkward moment where both of them are fussing over Foggy, trying to inspect the swollen, split lip. Their hands bump together, and they both turn to each other. Even without eye contact, the tension is palpable. After a second Matt backs off and lets her take over.

“Red,” Frank barks suddenly, “Gimme a hand here.”

Matt turns to him - Frank’s leaning against the table, unbuttoning his shirt. Matt grabs the sewing kit and some of the swabs and goes over to him, and before Karen turns back to Foggy, she sees Frank reach out and grip Matt’s arm and mutter what sounds a lot like “Get your shit together, huh?”

It’s quiet, obviously not meant for the rest of them to notice. But she looks back at Foggy and sees him staring at them with narrowed eyes. They exchange a well that was fucking weird sort of glance.

“So,” Matt says finally, “They know we’re looking into them.”

“It was inevitable the second we took their case,” Foggy replies, wincing a little when Karen dabs at his lip. “But it’s weird to go after the lawyers. They must be pretty damn desperate to keep their secrets.”

“Well, we have a reputation for exposing shit like that,” Matt points out. “If they got wind of our names they might have panicked.”

“Seems to me,” Frank chimes in, “That if they’re desperate to keep it all secret then they’re either hiding something real big, or they’ve actually got fuck all and they don’t want people to know.”

They turn to look at him. He’s standing there shirtless and Karen bites her lip, trying not to stare. The blood from his arm has run in rivets down his side; her eyes track its path for a moment, over bare skin and lean muscle. Newer scars are littered amongst the old, ones from only a couple of months ago; raised, pinkish welts.

Foggy’s staring at him, too. He’s not quite as subtle about it. After a second he shakes himself and turns away, and Karen forces her gaze away too.

If Matt notices their reactions, he makes no mention of it. He stands there blindly mopping away at the blood with an alcohol wipe. He’s not looking at any of them; his head’s turned to face the wall so that he doesn’t have his back to anyone.

“Well, if they’re after us, maybe we can’t take this as slow as we’d like,” Foggy says finally. “They don’t seem like the sort to give up easily.”

“You’re right,” Matt agrees, “I don’t like the thought of either of you being targets. I need to move in on this.”

“Yeah, well don’t rush in half-cocked,” Frank warns, and now Matt turns towards him. “Something like this, you wanna know your target.”

“I’m not gonna stand around while they’re after Karen and Foggy,” Matt snaps. He moves to start sewing Frank’s arm up again and Frank grabs his hand; Karen can’t help but keep glancing over at them. There’s something kind of… off, about the way they’re interacting. She can’t place it. Matt doesn’t usually let people manhandle him; Frank’s not usually touchy.

But maybe she’s reading into things. Maybe Frank just doesn’t want a pissed off Matt jabbing at him with a needle.

“No one said to stand around,” Frank growls. He’s staring at Matt, intensely. “I don’t like it either. Two of them shouldn’t be alone.”

“I agree,” Matt says tersely, “But I can’t be with both of them twenty four seven.”

“You don’t hafta be,” Frank says.

Foggy clears his throat loudly and pointedly, and Frank abruptly lets go of Matt.

“Matt,” Foggy says, “It’s not on you to be our bodyguard.”

“I dragged you into this.” Matt’s voice is all tight and Karen can practically taste the guilt dripping off him. Not this again. “So yeah, it’s on me.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Karen says. “If it comes to it, I’ll…”

She trails off meaningfully. Matt’s shoulders are still practically up around the ears. Apparently Foggy’s rubbing off on her too much, she has to break the tension and decides the best way to do it is to declare, “I’ll shoot a bitch!” and supplement it with finger guns.

Frank turns his face away, biting back laughter. Foggy rolls his eyes.

“Karen.” Matt sounds very pained. “I don’t want you shooting anyone.”

“Shoulda seen the way I punched that guy in the dick,” Foggy pipes up, “We’re not entirely helpless.”

Matt really must be feeling like shit, because he doesn’t make the obvious blind joke, just shakes his head.

“I’m not gonna abandon the two of you to fight off a fucking meth gang, Foggy.”

“You don’t have to,” Frank says, with a mixture of irritation and long-suffering patience, “What happened to your whole all in this together schtick?”

“He’s right,” Karen says, “No one here’s a lone wolf. We’ll all take care of each other.”

Frank is staring intensely at Matt, and Karen’s getting the distinct vibe that he’s trying to silently communicate something to him. Unfortunately, when it comes to Matt, silent communication is not really a thing. Finally Frank gives a heavy sigh.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, “For God’s sake, Red, I’m trying to say that there’s two of us and two of them. Not gonna be hard to make sure no one’s wandering around on their own with a big fucking target on their back.”

Foggy stiffens.

“We don’t need babysitters,” he starts, a bit peevishly, and Frank shoots him a glare.

“You sure needed one a fucking hour ago.”

“Frank,” Karen chides - he shoots her an apologetic look - “Thanks. We do appreciate it. I think we’ll all be relieved if the heavy lifting on this one isn’t all on Matt’s shoulders.”

Foggy looks a bit guilty at that. Matt still looks like there’s way too much rattling around inside his head, but he doesn’t argue, and after a second Karen forges ahead.

“I followed up those leads on this Cerberus guy today,” she says. “He’s pretty much a ghost. No luck finding a real name. The only thing I managed to track down was an arrest record for a gang of illegal weapons dealers. One of the names they were supplying was Cerberus, but looks like the cops had no luck finding him either.”

“Any of those weapons dealers get away?” Matt asks.

Karen nods.

“Got the names,” she said, “I was going to look into them next.”

“Frank and I will look into them,” Matt says immediately. She can’t help her defensive bristle.

“Don’t sideline me on this,” she says, and Matt shakes his head.

“I’m not trying to. I just don’t want you running headfirst into danger.”

“We can have this fight another time,” Foggy says, tiredly. “At least we have a name and something to go on.”

Both of them nod, deflating a little; Karen’s not really angry, just - it’s been a long, stressful day and she already knows she’s not gonna get any sleep. Things feel weird with all of them here, like none of them can quite say what they’re really thinking.

After a second Matt takes a deep breath.

“One thing I’m not budging on,” he says. “We’re not leaving either of you alone. I refuse to risk it.”

Foggy presses his lips together, but he must be rattled from before, because he doesn’t fight it. Karen doesn’t ether - not right now, at least. She’ll wait and see just how literally he’s gonna take that statement before she starts upsetting him by arguing specifics.

Matt’s finished patching Frank’s arm up. When Karen looks at them, her eyes meet Frank's and she feels suddenly shy; she glances away quickly and gets up from the couch.

“I’ll find you a shirt,” she says, and leaves the room quickly.

When she returns Frank is standing alone in the kitchen helping himself to her coffee.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he grunts, and she waves a hand. She passes him the shirt - an old one of Foggy’s that she found in the dryer - turns away and tries very hard not to look when he lifts his arms to pull it over his head.

She hears voices from the bedroom - muffled, can’t quite make them out. Frank follows her gaze.

“He’s scared,” he says abruptly.

“Who? Foggy?” she asks - but Frank shakes his head, a funny look on his face.

“Murdock.” He hesitates, then adds, haltingly, “Really fucks you up. Losing people. It’s…”

He trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish. Karen swallows the lump in her throat.

Losing people. Kevin, Ben, Father Lantom. Ray Nadeem. Nearly Foggy. Nearly Foggy.  

“Think he’s gonna stay the night,” Frank adds then, “That’s where the conversation seemed to be going before, anyway.”

“Good,” Karen replies softly, “I… I don’t want any of us to be alone.”

Frank looks like he wants to say something, but seems to think better of it. He rubs his arm, pulls a face, and turns like he’s gonna leave. Karen reaches out and catches his wrist; he freezes, and she pulls her hand back a bit awkwardly.

“Frank.” She doesn’t know why his name comes out so shakily. “Thank you. For… for helping Foggy. I can’t tell you how much I-”

“You don’t need to thank me.” His voice is very gentle, but he won’t meet her eyes. “He’s important to you. And to Murdock. Was hardly gonna leave him in the lurch.”

“Helping with all of this, it isn’t… you do want this, right?”

“Think I want it too much,” he admits. “It’ll be okay, Karen. Whatever happens next, we’ll sort it out. Can’t be worse than Fisk, than some of the shit I’ve found myself wrapped up in. They’re low-life drug gangs. We’ll get ‘em.”

She nods, but there’s still something awkward about all this. He keeps glancing at the door to the next room, where Foggy and Matt are.

“Is everything okay?” she asks finally - the way he glances guiltily back at her makes her frown. “You’re acting a bit off.”

“I’m-”

She can practically hear the fine he bites off mid-sentence. He looks torn for a moment, and she tries not to feel hurt. He doesn’t owe her an explanation, after all. But after a moment he takes a deep breath.

“I… did something kinda stupid the other day,” he finally says. He’s not quite meeting her eyes, staring at the opposite wall instead. “It was a… weird, messed up night, and it was impulsive, and I don’t really know what’s gonna happen next. What I want to happen next.”

Well that isn’t vague and confusing at all.

“What happened?” she prompts softly.

“Just somethin’ stupid.”

“You didn’t kill-”

“Nothing like that!” he snaps, and then looks embarrassed suddenly. “Something with a friend. Might’ve - messed things up. Or not. I’m not sure.”

“Oh.” There’s a very awkward silence in which he is clearly loathe to give more details and she tries not to look desperately curious about what sort of friendship drama Frank Castle of all people might find himself embroiled in. She knows about the Liebermans, she knows he has a support group. He has his own social life that she isn’t part of.

“Well,” she manages finally, “If… if you care about each other, I’m sure you’ll work it all out.”

“Right.” He looks, if possible, even more awkward. “I should get home. Feed the dog, y’know.”

“Of course.” She feels flustered suddenly, but pushes her awkwardness away and reaches out to give him a hug. Frank returns it, readily, and for a second-

For a second she lets herself feel safe. Lets herself just - appreciate that she has this, that he’s here, that he’s sticking around, that he’s gonna make sure nothing happens to her and Foggy. If she can believe anyone will protect them, it’s him.

She barely realises she’s shaking until Frank’s arms tighten around her and he mutters, “You okay?”

“Not really,” she admits. “Better now you’re here, though.”

His shoulders tense. After a moment he pulls back - gently, carefully, something almost too formal in it. Karen stares at him quizzically, wondering if she’s done something wrong - but after a moment he smiles, then turns to go.

Matt’s just leaving the other room. His shoulders are slumped and he looks so exhausted that Karen’s heart aches for him.

“You’re staying here tonight?” she asks, and he nods. “I’ll get the sheets.”

“I can do it,” he says, “I know where.”

She doesn’t argue. He looks like he needs something to do. She heads into the bedroom and shuts the door and sinks down on the bed with her head in her hands. Foggy’s in the bathroom; she can hear the shower running.

Too much. All too much. Just - try not to think about it. Matt’s here. Everything will be fine. Nothing actually happened.

But she feels shaky and anxious, jumping at shadows. She goes to the drawer and checks the gun is there. Then checks again. Then once more, making sure it’s loaded. Her hands shake and she slams the drawer shut and balls them into fists.

When she closes her eyes there’s an odd, unsettling roar in her ears, like a thousand voices at the back of her mind screaming at once - her brother, or Wesley, or Ben - she shakes herself, unsettled, and gets to her feet.

It’s possible that she wants a drink before bed. That’s why she heads back out to the living room in her pajamas - only to freeze in the doorway.

She thought Frank was long gone by now. But the front door is open and he’s standing out in the hallway with Matt. They seem to be having a low, intense conversation, but she can’t hear what it is - and either Matt doesn’t care that she’s listening, or he’s not paying attention and hasn’t noticed she emerged.

Something’s - weird about it. Matt’s holding onto Frank's arm and speaking right into his ear and Frank’s letting him, staring at him with that same too-intent gaze as before. As she watches, Frank nods twice and then reaches up and wraps a hand around the back of Matt’s neck and kind of - jostles him, a strange, macho gesture that she can’t figure out. It seems affectionate more than anything, but that - that doesn’t make sense.

Then Frank’s leaving and Matt’s turning back to the door and Karen quickly power walks over to the kitchen to make her nightcap, not wanting to be caught. Her mind’s racing. Something’s going on here.

When she turns back Matt’s sitting on the couch, made up with sheets, lost in thought. He’s wearing some of Foggy’s old clothes and the sight makes something strange ache up in Karen’s chest.

“Hey,” she whispers, and sits next to him. “Want a drink?”

Matt shakes his head. Something’s troubling him, she knows him well enough to tell. It’s not hard to guess what it is.

“He’s okay,” she says, not sure if she’s trying to reassure him or herself.

Matt swallows hard.

“If Frank hadn’t been nearby,” he says slowly, “I would’ve been too slow.”

“Jesus, Matt. Don’t start with all that. Not everything is on you.”

“Some things are,” he replies, stubbornly. “Things like this.”

“Well, it didn’t go down that way. No point post-morteming the situation. I’m serious, Matt,” she urges, and bumps their shoulders together, “You can’t keep beating yourself up over stuff like this. It’s… it’s not healthy.”

Matt bites his lip. He looks a bit like he’s about to cry, and that makes Karen want to cry. She reaches out and pulls him close, buries her head in the crook of his neck, wraps her arms around him like she can hold him together if she only tries hard enough.

Matt starts to put an arm around her. Then he hesitates, and detaches himself, and pulls away. Karen bites her lip, fighting not to feel hurt.

“Get some sleep, okay?” she whispers. “I’m serious, don’t stay up watching the door. You’ll wake up if anything even comes close to the building.”

Matt nods, and smiles weakly, but she doesn't need super-senses to know it’s a lie. He’s not sleeping tonight. None of them are.

Still. She drains the rest of her drink and gets up to turn the light off.

“Goodnight, Matt,” she says, and doesn’t wait to hear his reply before she slips back into the bedroom.

Foggy’s lying in bed in the dark, facing the wall. He doesn’t move when she comes in, but she knows he’s awake. She slips in under the covers behind him, rests her chin on his shoulder, hooks an arm protectively around his waist. There’s too much to talk about and she has no energy to get stuck into it.

She presses a kiss to the back of his bare shoulder and he reaches a hand around to brush against hers. Neither of them will sleep tonight. But it helps, to lie here, together, and she feels a sudden fierce protectiveness for him.

I can’t lose this.

No more - no more of the fighting, of the tension between them. He needs her here. Needs her present. Here - together, cocooned, warm, alone - it feels safe, it feels perfect, but so, so fragile.

You can’t lose this. Don’t fuck it up. Don’t let anything fuck this up.

She closes her eyes. Pretends she’s stronger than she feels. Pretends she isn’t fucking terrified of what tomorrow will bring. Pretends she isn’t far too acutely aware of Matt, out there, on their couch, lying awake with his thoughts too.

13. FRANK GOES WITH THE FLOW

This is how they (very efficiently) sort things out:

“So this ain’t gonna be weird, right,” Frank grunts, before Matt leaves his place that other night. Dishevelled, bruised, his eyes far too wide and haunted. All Frank’s really tryna do is not stare at his lips. Although it’s not like Matt can tell, anyway. Still. It’s the principle of the thing.

Matt hesitates in the doorway. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking at the best of times, and God knows what must be going through his head now.

“It’s only weird,” he says slowly, “If we make it weird.”

“Very insightful.”

Matt gives him the finger. Frank huffs out a laugh. He sees Murdock’s lips twitch, and then he’s off into the night and Frank’s left standing there wondering what the fuck he’s gotten himself into. Like, really? Matt Murdock, of all people? He doesn’t know why he went along with it-

Except it’s been a long time.

A long time, and Matt - Matt gets it, kinda. Or at least, he’s pretty sure Matt’s not looking for something he can’t give. And there’s a point where the loneliness, the absence of touch, of intimacy, starts driving you fucking crazy. When you just need - some sort of human connection. Something to get you out of your own head.

Anyway.

Less than twenty four hours later he’s getting a frantic phone call, and Murdock’s voice is shaking so hard he can barely get the words out, and Frank’s heart sinks into his shoes at the thought of him just - freaking out, freaking the fuck out because he can’t lose anyone else.

Of course he goes to help Foggy.

Of course he follows them to Karen’s after.

Of course he offers to stick around.

For once in his fucking life, he doesn’t feel like he’s second-guessing every move he makes. They don’t talk about what happened, but Matt doesn’t shake him off when Frank puts a steadying hand on his arm, and Frank doesn’t shove him back when he gets in so close that it’d be awkward if they could actually see each other, and it feels like they’re coming to something like an understanding.

“You’re in a mood,” Frank observes.

Matt lets loose another Muay Thai style roundhouse kick, hitting the weighted bag with a thud that echoes throughout Fogwell’s. His arm’s still in a sling to stop him fucking his shoulder up more than it already is, and he wavers slightly, off-balance before he catches himself.

It took a lot for Frank to convince him that the Hellhounds were not, in fact, likely to go after Karen and Foggy in broad fucking daylight. To be fair, he doesn’t like the idea of leaving them alone either, but Karen had texted him. Told him that she needed to take Foggy out to breakfast and could he stop Matt hovering. Told him the two of them needed alone time, that there were things they needed to fix.

Frank’s fine with this.

He is; he saw the way Karen was looking at Nelson the other night. She loves him. Of course, after what happened, she wants to be alone with him. Who wouldn’t?

So what if he’s maybe pounding away at his own punching bag a bit harder than necessary? At least he wrapped his hands this time.

“A mood?” Matt demands.

“Yeah.” Frank glances over his shoulder at him. They’re both working up a sweat - being careful of their injuries - he watches as Matt lets loose again, kick after kick, pivoting back and forth on his toes.

“It’s nothing,” Matt says, after a strained silence.

Sure, Red, Frank thinks. It’s not because Foggy and Karen are out there somewhere just the two of them. It’s not ‘cause you’re worried. It’s not ‘cause you’re the one left out. It’s not ‘cause you probably saw them cuddling up to each other all last night and this morning.

He abruptly turns and moves towards the ring.

“C’mon,” he says, “Let’s spar.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Matt asks, even though he’s already following. “My shoulder’s still fucked.”

“What, you want me to tie one arm behind my back?” Frank drawls. “You’re fast. You’ll adapt.”

“Fifty percent power and we stop if anyone starts bleeding,” Matt warns, and Frank shrugs.

“Sure.”

He holds the ropes up for Matt, pauses and takes a look around. The gym’s nice; it has character, the weight of history. Old school in a way that makes him feel at home. There are tattered posters up around the walls, and he’s not an idiot, he saw the one with Murdock’s old man on it. Didn’t comment. There’s some shit you don’t need to bring up, don’t need to poke at old wounds.

They face off against each other. There’s something unsettling about Matt not having his mask on. It means Frank can see the way his brows are furrowed and he’s hyper focused on every little sound. He knows the second he makes a move, the other man will react.

He moves forward, fists up. It would probably be safer to wear gloves and headgear, but he finds, oddly, that he trusts Matt completely not to, y’know, knock one of his teeth out. He’s a bit less confident in his own control; his first jab is light, testing the waters, and Matt easily leans back and dodges it. A second later his foot meets Frank’s chest in a push-kick that sends him stumbling back a few paces, coughing.

“No fucking way that was fifty percent,” he grunts.

Matt laughs, lightly.

“Sorry. I’ll be gentle.”

He moves in. He’s at a pretty big disadvantage with one arm out of commission, and Frank parries his right cross easily, but has to back away from the two kicks that follow. He grunts when one of them catches him on the flank, and moves to the offensive; Matt backs up, and Frank can see him adapting and figuring out how to protect his weaker side; he’s light on his feet, twisting and ducking, keeping his head and his injured shoulder offline.

They circle and swipe at each other for a bit - playing more than anything else, falling into a comfortable rhythm. It’s nice, Frank thinks, to fight in a contained environment. He can feel the stress he’s been carrying around the last two weeks melting away. It’s still good to hit something, to take his mind off things - to focus on the strategy of it, the routine of throwing and blocking a hit.

It’s actually better to have to be so controlled. Makes him conscious that he doesn’t have to lose himself in the adrenaline of a fight, that he can choose not to go on the rampage if he wants.

Things shift a bit after they finish two rounds; Matt’s drifting, he can see, starting to go off in his own head again. Frank takes advantage of his distraction to grab him by the bicep and the back of the neck and haul him down, throwing a knee. Matt grunts when the first one hits him in the stomach; blocks the second with his forearm. They grapple for the moment - Matt tries to get him around the waist; they stumble back, trying to manhandle one another into a position where they can take control. That’s when Matt gets vicious; he strikes at Frank’s throat and Frank barely ducks before grabbing his wrist.

“Gettin’ nasty, there, Murdock,” he chides. “You’re seriously in a mood. Don’t take it out on me, huh?”

Matt scowls, shaking hair out of his eyes.

“I know Karen told you to get me out of her hair,” he says, abruptly, and Frank’s eyebrows rise.

That was a text message. Ain’t no way Murdock’s powers extend to, like, sensing electromagnetic waves travelling through the fucking air.

“Read minds now?” he says casually, and Matt’s frown deepens. He breaks his wrist out of Frank’s grip with a practiced twist of his arm.

“Read bodies,” he snaps. “I could tell since this morning she wanted to be alone with Foggy. She could’ve just asked me.”

Well. This is a situation Frank has found himself in. And, like, usually he’d be like fuck no to getting in the middle of Murdock’s love-triangle drama. He doesn’t know why he jumps straight to teasing instead.

“What, you jealous?”

“Fuck you, Frank,” Matt spits, and throws a punch that Frank blocks easily.

“It’s real fucking attractive being bitter and angry,” Frank needles. He is not sure what his goal is, here. A second ago it was just amusing seeing Saint Matthew all riled up. But now, the more he thinks about it-

Suddenly it just feels real fucking weird. The way he’s tangled up in all their pining. Something about Karen asking him to get Matt out of the way. Something about Matt being so upset about it. His own position in it all - off on the sidelines-

He’s not quite annoyed, not really, just feels a sudden surge of an emotion he can’t name, and he goes all-in too with a brutal uppercut that Matt barely side-steps.

They exchange a flurry of quick blows; Frank reels when Matt gets him in the nose, not hard enough to do any real damage but enough that he flinches back. He tries to take advantage of Matt’s weak side and grab him, but Matt loops a leg around his and sends him crashing to the ground; a second later Matt’s on top of him, swinging for his head, but with one arm out of the picture it’s easy for Frank to flip them over.

Matt grunts when he hits the ground and Frank hesitates, mindful of his injury - but a second later he scoots back and gets a leg up and Frank flinches.

For a second - the way Matt’s got his leg up, the look on his face - he’s certain he’s about to break the unspoken code of sparring and just fucking kick him in the groin. He’s about to get up and back off, because fuck that. But then Matt reaches up suddenly, and grabs a fistful of his shirt, and yanks him down into a biting kiss.

Frank responds instantly, hands going down either side of Matt’s head to hold himself up. His heart’s pounding. They’re pressed too close together, sweaty from fighting - too close, too warm. He feels frenzied and lets himself just - let go, just have this.

Maybe he was angling for this. Maybe not. Maybe Matt’s not the only one who’s bitter and angry. Neither of them talked about last time since it happened, about whether it was a one-time thing.

Matt’s hand shifts around to the back of his neck, pulls him in deeper, but Frank’s forced to break apart a second later when his injured arm buckles a little under the strain of holding all his weight up. They’re both breathing heavily. He takes one look at Matt’s face - flushed and wide-eyed - and has to look away again and shift so they’re not pressed against each other so closely.

“So,” he says finally, “I’m your jealous rebound.”

Matt looks away.

“If you don’t want to do this-”

“I want to,” Frank replies, perhaps a little too quickly. After a second he swallows hard, unsure what to say. His heart’s pounding and it’s not just from the kiss, it’s from how fast everything’s changing. How uncertain he feels. This is getting way too complicated and he knows it’s a bad idea, knows it’s the last thing he needs.

But here and now - within these walls - it feels like it’s only the two of them. Like everything else is far away and doesn’t matter.

“Maybe it is a rebound,” Matt says. He’s moving his head like he’s trying to figure out where to turn and after a second Frank grips his jaw gently and tilts his face to the right angle for them to look at each other. “Is there a problem with that?”

Frank hesitates. There are - a lot of directions this could go and he has no clue which one he actually wants.

But for now…

“Suits me just fine,” he hears himself say, and Matt loses some of the tension in his shoulders. He shifts like he wants to get up, and Frank clambers off him, offers him a hand. He thinks that’s it - they’ll just move on, pretend this didn’t happen like last time - but the second Matt’s on his feet he’s moving in.

Okay then, Frank thinks, and decides not to obsess too hard over it. It’s just - easier, for now, to let things happen. See where the pieces fall. He lets Matt back him up against the ropes, lets his own hands fall to the other man’s waist, steadying him. Lets him take whatever it is he needs.

Frank’s not rostered to work the next day, which means he gets to tag along to the law firm so that in case the Hellhounds decide to just fucking storm the place in broad fucking daylight, they have two people to fight them off instead of just one. Look, there are more impossible things that could happen.

He brings Pi, just because he knows it’ll make Karen smile, and spends most of the day sitting out in their waiting room reading a book and staring out the window at any suspicious looking passers’ by-

And also trying very hard not to stare to his left, where if he looks through the glass panel on Karen’s door he can see her bent over her work at her desk. Can let his gaze linger on the way her hair is falling down over one shoulder like a sheet of spun gold, tucked behind her ear on the other side. Her brow furrowed a little, chewing thoughtfully at the end of her pen, occasionally reaching down to pat Pi under the desk.

The problem is, if he stares to his right, he gets to look right into Matt’s office. They both greeted each other so fucking awkwardly this morning - not ‘cause of what happened yesterday, but because Foggy and Karen were there too - and now he sort of can’t really bring himself to look at the other man. Not when he knows that there’s a reddening bite mark hidden under the collar of his nice shirt. Not when he’s now got the insider knowledge of what his hair looks like all dishevelled from someone pulling at it.

So this is fun. He gets to just - stare straight ahead and wait for the off chance he gets to spring into action to defend them all.

Anyway. It’s Foggy he first encounters; he’s been at his own desk all day but he gets up now and starts to head out. He catches Frank’s eyes a bit awkwardly.

“Coffee run,” he says, and Frank gets up. Foggy rolls his eyes. “I don’t need an escort.”

“Take it up with  Murdock,” Frank replies, and follows Foggy out. The other man doesn’t like him, that much is pretty damn clear.

They walk out onto the street in a somewhat strained silence. Despite Foggy’s protests, he’s so on edge that it’s making Frank nervous - eying everyone they pass like he thinks they’re gonna jump at him, one hand up near his face ready to ward off an attack that isn’t there. When a loud motorbike roars past, he nearly jumps out of his skin. Frank can’t help feeling a bit sorry for him.

“You know it’s different for everyone,” he says abruptly.

Foggy glances over at him, suspiciously.

“What?”

“This shit. What it does to you. Some people freeze up. Some people just get numb all the time. Me, I get flooded with adrenaline. That’s a pretty common reaction. Your body wants to make sure that if it happens again, you’re ready to deal with it. Defence mechanism.”

Foggy’s mouth drops open. He doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“I’m… I don’t have PTSD, Castle,” he says finally, not looking in Frank’s direction. “I haven’t… I’m not a-”

“You’re a civilian,” Frank says patiently, “So it probably hits you even worse.”

“It’s not the first time someone’s tried to kill me.”

“Is that meant to make it better? Look, I’m just sayin’ - let us look out for you. It’s fine. Doesn’t make you weak.”

“I know,” Foggy snaps, a bit too defensively. Then, softer, “I know. But this - you don’t need to do this, Castle. I appreciate it, but - we don’t need to talk about it. I have people for that.”

“Good,” Frank replies, because quite frankly he was not exactly angling for a deep and meaningful moment, he just - it felt weird not to say something.

They reach the coffee shop. Foggy gets in line, fumbles with his wallet. There’s a picture of him and Karen and Matt inside and Frank can’t help but sneak a look at it; they look younger, there, less worn down. In a pub and flushed with drink with big, goofy smiles on their faces. Foggy’s in the middle, an arm slung around each of the others, pulling them so close their cheeks are nearly touching. Frank doesn’t think he’s ever seen Matt smile like that in person.

“What do you want?” Foggy asks, and Frank blinks and looks up at him.

“Huh?”

“What coffee do you want?” Foggy repeats, patiently. Then, when Frank starts to frown, “Look, you saved my life. Least I can do is shout you a drink.”

“Black,” Frank replies, for lack of any other way to deal with this situation.

Foggy orders. They stand aside to wait. The silence is excruciating. Foggy keeps just - darting him these little glances. Like he’s trying to size him up but doesn’t want to be caught doing it. Honestly, Frank’s got no idea what the fuck’s going on in his head.

“Hope this won’t go on too much longer,” Foggy says finally.

“What?”

“This - the Hellhounds stuff. Having to watch our backs all the time.”

So that’s what this is about. He doesn’t like Frank hanging around Karen. Probably around Murdock, too. God, he’d flip the fuck out if he knew what the two of them had been up to yesterday.

“Don’t worry,” Frank growls, “I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

Foggy looks startled.

“No - it’s not that,” he says. “Just - you must have better things to do with your life than hang out with your damn lawyers, right? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it. But I know you didn’t want to be pulled into all this again. A bit of peace and quiet, it’s a good thing. I think we all needed more of it.”

Now Frank’s the one who doesn’t know what to say. In the end he opts for an indeterminable grunt and is relieved when the barista calls them a second later.

They head back in silence. Frank sits in the waiting room, opens his book, closes it again, and broods over his coffee. He watches as Foggy delivers Karen’s to her desk, but looks away when her hand goes up to his cheek to pull him in for a kiss. Things seem to have settled between the two of them; near-death experiences can do that to you.

Then he watches as Foggy goes to give Matt his coffee, leaning over his shoulder to look at something he’s working on. He says something that makes Matt laugh and Frank’s heart squeezes once, tightly.

The fuck.

There’s just - something about it. The familiarity. The way Matt smiles and for a second looks like a normal guy, not someone carrying the weight of the world (or at least one little neighbourhood in New York) on his shoulders.

He’s just - sorry for Murdock. That’s it. He sees the way he doesn’t go back to his work until Foggy’s left the room entirely and shut the door to his own office. That sort of heartbreak’s hard to get over.

It’s getting late at night by the time they’re ready to leave. A decision was made at lunchtime that it’s Frank’s turn to camp out on the couch in case someone comes to attack them in the night. He makes his way to Karen’s office where she’s packing up; Pi yawns, lazily, and pads up to him.

“Hope this won’t be weird,” he says. “Me hanging around you guys all night. I can sit in the car if it makes Nelson feel better.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, looking up at him with a grin, “We’re not gonna make you sit in the car all night. Foggy will be fine with it.”

Frank hums. She puts down the papers she was packing away and moves to stand in front of him.

“I’m serious, Frank,” she says, “We appreciate it. If it wasn’t you keeping an eye on us, it would be Matt, and he - he can’t have that burden on him all the time.”

“Yeah,” Frank agrees quietly. She reaches up like she’s gonna touch his arm, then drops her hand again.

“You know I can take care of myself, though, right?” she adds, teasingly. “I’m not totally your damsel in distress.”

"At this rate Murdock and Nelson are,” he replies - she laughs a bit - “I know. I’ve seen you point a gun enough times to know you can use one. But it shouldn’t be on you either, y’know that? I don’t want you killing more people.”

Karen looks away, her smile faltering.

“I don’t want you killing anyone else, either,” she says softly. “I know you said you want this, Frank, but don’t - don’t throw away your chance to get out on our account.”

“It’s not like that,” he says firmly. She’s still not looking at him; he moves in a bit closer. Reaches out and tilts her face up towards him. “I have zero regrets about getting involved in this. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the people I care about. And I care a lot about you.”

Karen’s breath hitches. It - came out way too intense, and he regrets it instantly, because he can tell that she knows, from the look on his face, exactly what he meant. And he meant way, way too much.

He drops his hand quickly. Karen bites her lip.

“Frank…” she whispers, sounding very pained. “Foggy’s… Foggy’s just outside waiting.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says quickly, like he can fucking salvage this.

“I know, just… sorry, I can’t - do this, Frank. Not like that.” Her fists clench. “He… he needs me, right now. More than ever. Everything we’ve been through - he holds it together for Matt, for me, but it takes a toll - I can’t.”

It’s the way she’s biting her lip. It’s the way she won’t meet his eyes. It’s the slight tremor in her voice, like there’s more she wants to say but keeps swallowing back.

But suddenly - suddenly he knows, with shocking certainty, that she has feelings for him too.

He nods, feeling like he’s just been punched in the stomach.

“Of course,” he manages, and Karen turns away.

“I’ll - I’ll see you in a minute. We’ll just be outside.”

He stands there, not watching her leave as she walks out. Hears the door shut. Hears her say something to Foggy, out in the waiting room. Hears both of them start down the corridor. He stands there, fists clenching, trying to compose himself.

Okay. Okay. So he has a chance - had a chance, rather. Somehow that makes it even worse.

Foggy’s a good guy. God, he’s such a good guy - it’s irrational and wrong for Frank to feel so… so angry. Because hell, he’s not even angry at Foggy; he can’t bring himself to resent the man. Not when he knows how much he’s sacrificed for Karen and Matt already.

It’s at the timing. How things didn’t quite line up.

It’s at himself for wanting this so much, wanting what he can’t have.

It’s at the stabbing guilt that always hits him when he starts getting close to someone new - the reminder that he had this, once. Had it and then it was all torn away.

He’s not really thinking clearly as he turns and marches into Matt’s office.

It’s dark. Karen and Foggy turned most of the lights out when they left and apparently Matt doesn’t bother with his in the evenings. The room’s only dimly lit by the glow of the city lights out the window and the evening lights from the corridor and lifts outside. But Matt lifts his head as Frank enters, shadowy form silhouetted against the window.

“You hear all that?” Frank asks gruffly.

He sees Matt pull a face that must mean yes. Probably heard every excruciating heartbeat. Could probably, like, taste the awkwardness in the room.

He stands up when Frank moves towards him. Honestly, Frank wonders what sort of signals he’s giving off; he’s full of energy that he needs to get out somehow. Same sort of burning energy he used to feel right before going to kill a bunch of gang members, or spending the whole night just hitting a wall with a sledgehammer. He could punch a wall right now.

He doesn’t.

He grabs Murdock by the lapels instead and yanks him in.

It’s angry. It’s rough. He shoves Matt against the desk so hard that something falls off with a clatter; Matt shoves him back, hand coming up around the back of Frank’s neck and tugging him in closer - then running down his shoulder, down his back, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. Frank bites at his lip and Matt gasps a little.

“Your turn, huh?” he says, when they finally pull apart, mostly because humans need oxygen to survive.

“Maybe,” Frank growls, tightening his grip on him. Matt mouths at his jaw and he fights back a shiver. “This is kinda fucked up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Matt agrees, but seems to have no desire to stop.

Still. It’s not like Frank’s making it weird by, like, imagining it’s Karen or anything. That would be impossible, anyway. Matt’s too different - all rough edges, with his calloused hands and stubbled jawline. So fucking sensitive that even Frank’s breath against his neck when they break apart and he rests his head against Matt’s shoulder makes him tremble.

His anger fades, abruptly. He pulls back, but finds himself reaching out to cup Matt’s cheek in his hand, a gesture that seems too affectionate suddenly, too much like how he reached out to Karen before. He doesn’t know why he does it.

“Working late?” he asks.

Matt nods.

“You gonna be okay tonight?” Frank asks. He means it - as much as they both want to get stuck into the leads they’ve found, they figured one night to rest up their injuries was probably the safest way to play it. Which means Matt will be staying home - no patrolling, no going out to fight - and left to trust Frank will take care of the other two.

“I think so,” Matt says, slowly. “Are you?”

Frank hesitates - then nods. He’s calmed down; he’ll deal with this like he deals with everything else. Take a deep breath and try not to fuck everything up and hope it all settles.

Matt reaches up and folds his hand over Frank’s. He squeezes, once, and they pull apart.

So. This is - something. Frank doesn’t know what he thinks of this all, just - it’s nice having someone to go to. Someone who cares.

He wonders what Matt thinks of this. If it’s just a distraction or if, like with Frank, it feels like something else - something standing on its own two legs. But it’s late, and he’s so God damn tired, and all he can do for now is wait to see how the dust settles.

14. KAREN WITNESSES, SPILLS, AND PHILOSOPHICALLY CONTEMPLATES THE TEA

Ha ha ha okay, what the fuck? What the fuck?

They were waiting for Frank in the lobby. Then Karen had realised she left her USB on her desk. So of course she went back up to get it, only to freeze because the door to Matt’s office was wide open and-

Well.

She’s pretty sure they didn’t see her. Or - sense her, whatever. Pretty sure they were too distracted.

Oh my God. Is this really happening?

Thing is, suddenly a lot makes sense. How uncharacteristically open Matt’s been to Frank lately. The weird looks. The touches. She just - doesn’t know how all the puzzle pieces fit together. And she doesn’t know why she feels sick suddenly, except that-

A lot’s changed tonight. Jesus, two seconds ago Frank was-

Was what? Admitting his feelings for you? Then why the hell would he and Matt… what was even happening?

She walks back to Foggy in a daze. He straightens up, frowning at the look on her face.

“What is it?” he demands, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh my God,” she breathes. “I… we have to talk. At home. You won’t believe it.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you in private,” she replies. Foggy’s frown deepens, but a moment later the lift doors open and Frank walks out and strides over to them. If Karen hadn’t been looking for it, she wouldn’t even have noticed the way his collar’s slightly rumpled.

“Ready to go?” he demands, all casual-like, as though he didn’t have his tongue halfway down Matt’s throat like two seconds ago. What the hell. How long has this been going on?

Karen can barely look at him, but he can also barely look at her, which she puts down to the sheer fucking awkwardness of the conversation they had just now, and she nods. Foggy glances between them suspiciously, but he knows when not to push; he starts an enthusiastic conversation about what they want to order for dinner, and Karen could kiss him, she’s never been so fucking grateful to him for being so good at breaking the tension in a situation like this.

The car trip passes in a daze. She is dimly aware of the two men arguing over which Vietnamese restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen is the best, and Foggy trying to convince Frank that UberEats is in fact very convenient and not “fucking weird, I’ll just pick my fucking food up myself, why would I need some sort of unrelated middleman?” Pi rests his head on her knee and she fondles his soft ears, closes her eyes, tries not to spiral while thinking about how this will change everything.

Why are you so upset?

Because she is upset, she realises suddenly. She’s got this sinking feeling, like she’s - disappointed, maybe. There is no justifiable reason for it.

They reach her flat. Foggy drops back to her side as Frank leads the way up the stairs - one hand on the taser at his belt, like if someone springs at them from the darkness he’ll be all set to zap ‘em.

“You okay?” he whispers. “You’re being really quiet.”

“Just thinking,” she murmurs back, “I’ll tell you soon, promise.”

She squeezes his hand, rests her head on his shoulder. Feels, suddenly, very close to him. Up ahead, Frank glances back over his shoulder; when he sees them pressed close, he looks away.

Frank sets up shop on their sofa. He sets his tazer on the coffee table along with some sort of police-issue baton, shoves two knives under his pillow, and Karen catches a glimpse of a gun in the duffel bag he throws at the end of the couch.

“I’ve got a baseball bat in the bedroom,” Foggy says, watching him. “Frying pan in the kitchen. There’s a plunger under the sink.”

“I could absolutely fucking incapacitate someone with a plunger,” Frank grunts back. “Keep your frying pan. You need it more than I do.”

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” Karen offers. She still can’t look at Frank. Normally it’d be - nice, be exciting, having him over. Not now. Now it’s just super fucking awkward on like three different levels. ‘Cause of Foggy, ‘cause of Matt, ‘cause of her. “I might sleep early. I’m wiped.”

Frank nods. Foggy follows her into the bedroom; they shut the door and she sinks down on the bed and grips her hair in her hands.

“Well this isn’t uncomfortable at all,” Foggy says. “Like, I’m not ungrateful, but it’s just a bit surreal, isn’t it? The Punisher sitting out on the couch like a guard dog. Wait, no, he literally brought a guard dog.”

“Foggy,” she says, a bit weakly, and he sits next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asks, and he just sounds so - gentle, so concerned. She feels a sudden surge of affection for him.

“Don’t get loud, okay?” she says, with a glance at the door, mindful that Frank’s just on the other side. “You won’t believe what I saw when I went back up to the office before. I’m just - trying to wrap my mind around it.”

“You’re killing me here, Karen. What was it?”

“Frank. And… and Matt.” Saying it out loud is hard; it all suddenly seems very surreal. “Making out.”

Foggy stares at her.

“Sorry,” he says, “I think I heard you wrong. What was that?”

“Making out!” she hisses. Then, at his disbelieving look, “I’m serious, Foggy, they were all over each other! I couldn’t make this up!”

The series of emotions that pass across Foggy’s face as he processes this are incredible.

“What the fuck,” is the first thing he says, And then, a second later, “I don’t… understand.”

Karen throws her hands up.

“Me either!” she cries.

“No, like.” Foggy stands up. Then seems to realise he has nowhere to go, and sits back down. “They barely saw each other today. Matt was just in his office. What could’ve happened in the last twenty seconds of the day to…”

Karen turns blazing red and covers her face in her hands to hide it.

(I care a lot about you-)

(I can’t do this, Frank, not-)

Oops. That one might be on me. Frank was… was acting perfectly normal until we had that awkward conversation.

Thing is, she’s not about to tell Foggy. She feels guilty, but - he doesn’t need to know about shit like that. It’s not like Frank actually said anything outright. Karen just read it - in his voice, in the look in his eyes, in everything she knows about the man.

“I don’t think it was the first time,” she says instead. “Didn’t you notice how weird they’ve been acting the last two days? Hell, just this morning they would barely look at each other.”

“Matt doesn’t look at anyone.”

“You know what I mean. They’ve been strange since … hell, since that first night Castle came over for drinks. You must have noticed.”

“Kinda,” Foggy says, a bit miserably. “I don’t know.”

He’s… taking this way more sadly than she anticipated. She’d expected shock, maybe anger or disbelief. But he just looks really down.

“What is it?” she prompts, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Foggy bites at his lip.

“I know it’s… it’s not the same thing, not the same kind of secret, but - Jesus, I’m so sick of finding out shit about Matt from third parties and not from his own mouth.”

She feels an ache of guilt; it’s stupid, it’s not like Foggy would’ve been any happier if she hadn’t told him. Still; she knows what he means. It’s a shock - to discover by accident.

“I don’t think he really knows what he’s doing,” she offers.

“No wonder he was asking about what Castle looks like the other day,” Foggy continues, as though he hasn’t even heard. “Seriously - just. What the fuck.”

Karen frowns.

“They’re not together,” she points to. “I think. I don’t know, Frank said something the other day-”

“What, he talked to you about it?”

“Well, he just said he’d done something stupid with a friend! And that he wasn’t sure where things were going. I only just realised he probably meant Matt.” And then, firmer now, “But I don’t think they’re dating.”

“Why the fuck would they not,” Foggy says miserably, “At this rate I’ll believe anything! Matt just… jumps headlong into poor life choices. Date the Punisher, fucking marry him, I won’t be surprised. Maybe they’ll elope to Australia! I wouldn’t put it past him! Honestly, though, just the other day he was telling me he’s not over Elektra, so who fucking knows!”

“Wait, what?”

This time it’s Foggy who goes red.

“I don’t know,” he says, a bit too quickly, “It was - confusing. It was a weird conversation.”

They’re both hiding something from each other, she can tell. Not a big something, just - shit they don’t want to start so soon after they made up. Part of her wants to tell him about Frank and what he said tonight, wants to be honest, but things are so up in the air that she doesn’t want to make things worse unnecessarily.

“Fuck, though, Castle,” Foggy says again, when it seems too much silence has passed without him continuing to express his disbelief. He gets up and starts pacing. “Matt and Castle. I… I always thought if he-”

He breaks off, abruptly.

“What?” Karen asks.

“Nothing.” His face is flushed, now. “Just. There was Elektra, and then - no one, for a long time, not until Claire. Not until you. Matt… doesn’t really do long term stuff much.”

“I don’t think they’re together,” Karen repeats, slowly, but there’s something in what he’s saying, something between the lines.

“How do you know?” Foggy insists.

Karen bites her lip.

They should be happy for them, she knows. Or at least, she should. Two of the guys she’s closest to? If they can make each other happy, why not? Especially when Matt usually avoids human connection like the plague, and she knows Frank’s hurt runs right to his core… for both of them, moving on should be a good thing.

But she’s not. She just feels a low, sick disappointment.

And the way Foggy’s pacing… the look on his face… there’s something in it.

“Is it because it’s Castle that you’re unhappy, or because Matt’s seeing someone?” she blurts out, without thinking about it.

“What?” Foggy whirls around. “What’s that mean?”

Karen swallows. Gathers her thoughts.

“Are you jealous?” she rephrases.

A funny look flashes across his face.

“What? No!” There’s something way too defensive in his voice. “Why would I be-”

Karen must be giving him a disbelieving look. He folds his arms, then unfolds them.

“Look,” he says, flustered, “Elektra fucked him up big time. She was this… this person who ‘got him,’ the only person who understood or whatever, but you know what else she got? She got all murder-happy and then fucked off out of his life and left him more broken than ever. Castle’s the same way.”

Karen looks away.

“Why would I be jealous?” Foggy continus, softer. “Me and Matt aren’t… it’s not like that. It never has been.”

Karen bites her lip. Thing is, with her it has been. With both of them. It was like that.

“Are you okay?” Foggy prompts then. “You’re taking this kinda weird too.”

“Just confused,” she says. “Should we bring it up with them?”

“No,” Foggy decides, “I wanna see if Matt tells us on his own.”

Oh, Foggy. You’re setting yourself up for pain.

“He won’t,” she points out, “You know he won’t.”

“Well, let’s see,” Foggy insists, grimly.

He sinks back down on the bed next to her. Their shoulders brush, but the silence is awkward. Karen just - still can’t wrap her head around this.

See, the thing is, with Frank… maybe it is a rebound. He was into her. But she’s out of his reach. Maybe it’s selfish, or petty, or just fucking vain and arrogant to think that way. But it’s possible.

But Matt?

Foggy’s right, he isn’t - he isn’t dating at the moment. His head’s not in a good spot. He hasn’t shown the slightest interest in anyone. Hell, he barely interacts with anyone else apart from the two of them and maybe his mother. So what… so why…

She doesn’t know what to think of this. All she knows is that, y’know what, maybe her question was projecting, because she’s jealous.

She’s jealous.

It’s unpleasant and a little embarrassing to realise, but that’s what the emotion is. And she’s pretty sure Foggy might be too - she doesn’t want to push, but the note in his voice… he’s always been kinda weird with Matt in a way she doesn’t want to call out. In a way she’s found she doesn’t actually mind, because she’s weirdly close to Matt too.

But here they are now.

And the bigger problem is, she has no clue who she’s jealous of. Both of them are too close to her, too much history and possibility. Too many could have beens. She has Foggy now, it shouldn’t matter, to either of them. But somehow it does.

After all, how do you get over an almost?