Crash

17. IN WHICH KAREN IS MCSTRUGGLING

Karen's not sure why she doesn't want to go home.

They've just spent way too much time cooped up together in that apartment lately. Her, and Frank, and Foggy, and the thick tension of their secrets. She's spent half the time feeling like there's a scream lodged up in her throat that she can't get out. She doesn't know what it is, just that it's unbearable.

Not that this is much better.

She's just met with a contact, an investigative reporter friend who'd done some work looking into the gang they're hoping to ally with. Now they’re sitting looking over the files. In her car. In a McDonalds parking lot. On the plus side, she has a twenty pack of Chicken McNuggets that she’s steadily working her way through. The stress eating is real.

Luckily the fact that they’re both reading is preventing her from having to look in Frank’s direction, because Jesus Christ is that hard lately.

It sucks being jealous.

It sucks even more because she knows, she knows she has zero reason to be. Not when she has Foggy. But like she told him - it’s complicated, and she can’t help it, and it’s eating her alive.

Frank shifts in his seat. She glances at him. They make eye contact and he suddenly clears his throat and leans forward.

Shit, Karen thinks. She’s been trying not to give him an opening.

“Hey,” Frank says, all hesitantly. Her heart clenches a little. He sounds vulnerable. This is dangerous.

Don’t panic, she thinks.

“Hey,” she replies, very casually. “What’s up? You find anything?”

“No, but.” He shifts again, fiddling with the lid of his coffee cup. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“What?” she asks, like her heart isn’t hammering as enthusiastically as Thor himself.

“This might be kinda stupid, but... Are we okay?” There’s something painful about hearing Frank of all people reduced to sounding so awkward. “You’ve been… weird lately.”

Karen closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Shoves another chicken nugget in her mouth to buy a little bit of time.

This is it. Moment of truth.

She could lie through her teeth. She could pretend nothing’s wrong. She could do what Foggy suggested and wait for the others to tell them what they’ve been doing.

But this is Frank.

Frank, who she trusts. Who trusts her. Who she’s never wanted to lie to. Even now, it’s killing her not to have the answers. What are they gaining from this?

It’s none of your business. Don’t rock the boat. But neither of those are good enough reasons, and she takes a deep breath.

“I’ve got to admit something,” she says. “I probably should’ve told you right away, I just - it seemed awkward to bring up.”

“What is it?”

“What’s going on with you and Matt?” she asks, and Frank’s lips twist. “I, um. May have seen you guys together.”

“When?” Frank demands.

“After we had that awkward chat in my office. Before he got sick and was gone for two days.”

She sees the realisation dawn. His cheeks turn red; his gaze shifts uncomfortably away.  He opens his mouth a few times, then closes it again. Finally, he swallows hard.

“Well,” he says, voice very strained. “You are right. That is… really fucking awkward to bring up.”

“Sorry.” She bites her lip. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to-”

“No, you should know.” He shakes himself, and his shoulders slump a little. “Nelson know too?”

“Yeah.”

“That why you guys been so fucking weird around us lately?”

“Probably,” she admits. “He… he didn’t wanna bring it up. Was hoping Matt would tell him first.”

Frank snorts.

“In what universe is Murdock ever voluntarily gonna share something personal?” he says, and Karen can’t help her laugh, and after a second Frank laughs too. The tension breaks a little. He gives her a strained smile and she manages to smile back.

It’s just Frank, she thinks, relieved suddenly - there’s nothing to be scared of. At least she’ll get some answers.

“So are you guys…”

“I don’t know what we are,” he admits, and lets his head fall back, gazing up out the windscreen at the evening sky as it darkens to dusk. “Look, I…. some of it ain’t my place to tell. I don’t want to spill all Murdock’s secrets.”

Secrets? Karne thinks, with another pang of jealous hurt. After everything that went down with Fisk, she and Matt had gotten closer. It’s a bit of a punch in the stomach to realise there’s shit he’s been telling Frank that he wasn’t telling her.

“Anyway,” he says - not quite meeting her eyes - “We had... a bad night. Mission didn’t go well, the Hellhound we were interrogating wound up dead, we barely got out with our lives. We were both feeling like shit and we just-“

He breaks off. Karen doesn’t say anything; she’s waiting for him to go on, but he seems to take her silence as something judgmental. When he continues his voice is flustered, defensive.

“You just - need someone sometimes. And since my wife... and his girl Elektra... it felt like there was no one else.”

No one else. It’s like a stab in the chest. Yes, it’s objectively true, but it just feels - wrong.

“But we understood each other. Understood the shit that no one else can if they haven’t been there, y’know? So it started as that. And then we just - didn't stop." He darts a little glance at her. "Look, we had our differences in the past, but… I think we get each other now. He ain't so bad."

"Right," she murmurs.

"And now - I don't know where things are going with us, but they're definitely going somewhere. Guess I care about him."

"Guess," she manages, teasingly, and somehow it breaks the tension, makes him laugh a bit.

"Yeah," he says, and a tiny smile tugs at his lips. It's - sweet. She can see from the look on his face; he does care. He cares a lot. She's never really seen that look before-

Except, sometimes, when it's been just the two of them, in their quieter moments. When a comfortable silence falls and they're just enjoying each other's company.

She swallows hard.

"I'm glad," she says softly. It's not a lie. "Matt... needs someone to have his back. And it's good that you have someone too. You guys have both spent a long time alone."

"You're not..." he trails off; she lifts an eyebrow and he adds, a bit awkwardly, "I know he's your ex. Probably a bit weird."

"I mean, I can't say I saw it coming, but at the end of the day I just want both of you to be happy."

It comes out flat, like it's the sort of thing you're just supposed to say. She doesn't mean it to, because it's true. She cares about them both. She's hated seeing Matt like this the last few weeks. It's just-

Just-

Frank's giving her a speculative look. Now she's the one who can't meet his eyes.

"What about you?" he asks. "Are you happy?"

She opens her mouth, but the words choke up in her throat. She knows what the right answer is.

Of course I am. I have Foggy and you have Matt. We all have someone. Fisk is gone and we are okay and-

Everything should be fine, we should all have everything we want-

But every syllable suddenly seems to taste like ashes on her tongue. Her chest is so tight she can hardly breathe. She doesn't know why, doesn't know why, doesn't know-

Yes, she does.

"Frank..."

It comes out pleading and pained. She sees him bite at his lip.

"Whatever it is," he says, "You can tell me."

She squeezes her eyes shut. The car suddenly feels very small and suffocating. And she trusts Frank, she does, but what she thinks she's about to admit feels suddenly so vast, so capable of crushing them beneath its weight.

But if she doesn't say it now...

It feels like there'll never be a better time than this. And it's been building up for so long that it feels inevitable it must eventually come bursting out.

"I love Foggy," she blurts out, and it comes out high, nearly hysterical, but once she's started she can't stop. "I do. More than anything. But I want what I can't have."

"What's that?" Frank asks, and she swipes a hand across her eyes.

"You're gonna make me say it? You, Frank. Of course it's fucking you. And Matt. And... and I feel like shit because Foggy's enough, he is, he should be, and I hate myself for wanting more than that. But I can't help it. I guess I... I never quite got over Matt. And you and me..."

She trails off. She doesn't dare look at him. It's hard to breathe past the lump in her throat.

Frank takes a shaky breath. But after a moment his warm hand lands on her arm, and squeezes gently, and she feels a little of the weight lift.

"Karen..."

"It can't work," she says, abruptly. "Whatever you're thinking-"

"I don't know what I'm thinking," he says, and she bites her lip.

"I know. Just - this is the way things are, and it's... it's too fucking complicated, and I need to just let it go. It's no one's problem but mine."

"They're more complicated than you think," he says, cryptically. She casts him an odd look, but after a second he shakes himself. "Look, Nelson's a good guy-"

"I know," she says miserably, "And Matt and I have both hurt him a hell of a lot, so - we should just forget I said anything. I don't know if he'd understand if I tried to tell him. I'll get over it. I have to. I don't want to lose him or hurt him."

Frank looks torn, like there's something he wants to say but can't find the words. But before he has the chance to try, his phone suddenly starts buzzing.

"Sorry," he starts, and Karen starts to tell him it's fine, when her own ringtone trills from her purse. They exchange a startled glance and fish the devices out.

"It's Foggy," she says, and Frank holds his own up.

"Matt," he replies, puzzled.

A jolt of fear strikes her. They'd left the two of them back at the office, and her first thought is that something bad has happened. She scrambles to answer.

"Foggy?" she says. "Everything okay?"

"Karen." She can tell right away that something's very, very wrong. His voice is strangled and tight, like he’s trying not to cry, and she can hear how fast he’s breathing even across the line. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“Are you okay?” she asks, urgently. “Where’s Matt? Did the Hounds come after you-”

“Slow down, Red,” Frank’s saying next to her, “I can barely hear what you’re sayin’.”

“Matt left,” Foggy says, and takes a deep, shaky breath. “Jesus, I barely know where to start.”

“Are you okay?” she insists.

“Yeah,” he manages, and the fist around her heart unclenches a little. “Well, physically, sure, emotionally it is very much a maybe. Look, I - we had a fight. I just got so pissed off with all the secrets and I told him I know about him and Castle-”

“Jesus Christ, Matt,” Frank says beside her, “You sure know how to pick your moments. Calm down, okay? It can’t be that bad…. look, slow down, that won’t happen.”

“-and admittedly,” Foggy barrels on, “I was kind of being a dick about it all, but I didn’t expect - he just suddenly told me he loves me, Karen.”

Time stops.

“Wait, what?”

“Not like, I-love-you-like-a-brother love,” Foggy babbles, “Like full on I’m-into-you love.”

“Okay-”

“Like Jim-and-Pam-pining-after-you-for-like-five-years-love.”

“Look-”

“Like I’m telling you, it’s not a fucking new thing, Karen! Since college! College!”

“Why the fuck would you leave?” Frank demands suddenly. “Wait, don’t answer that. Alright, just take a deep breath, no need to lose your entire shit about this. We’ll sort it, alright? Where are you now?”

“Foggy, just slow down,” Karen says. Her heart is racing, things suddenly seem way too... too...

Too possible.

Stop that, she tells herself, not now. Not yet.

“I don’t know what to do with this.” His voice is pleading. “First Frank Castle and now... it’s too much. It’s too much all at once.”

“Take a deep breath. We’ll work it out, okay?”

“How are you so calm?” Foggy demands, and Karen’s silence tells a whole story. There’s an awkward pause. “Don’t tell me you saw this coming.”

“You didn’t?” she asks softly, and he starts laughing hysterically.

“Fuck. Fuck me. No, I fucking didn’t. Not in a million years did I expect he’d be into me. This is a mess.”

“Let’s talk about this in person,” she urges. “Where are you now?”

“The office, still. I am paralysed with shock, Karen. I’m sitting on the fucking floor.”

“Okay. We’ll come get you.”

“We?” A frozen pause, a dawning realisation. “Don’t tell me you’re still with fucking Castle.”

“Yeah,” she admits, “Matt just called him. Foggy, I told him we know. We gotta discuss this all together. All of us. We’re all tangled up in it.”

“I know,” Foggy admits, miserably. “Better to get it all out in the open.”

“I’ll see you in a sec, okay? I love you.”

“Love you too,” Foggy whispers.

Karen hangs up and pauses. Rubs her hands over her face, takes a deep, shaky breath.

It’s true, she isn’t surprised. She always suspected - borderline hoped - never knew for sure. She doesn’t know if this makes things easier or harder. She sure as hell doesn’t know what Frank thinks of all this. But it feels a bit like all the pieces are coming together. She just doesn’t know if this makes things easier or harder.

And what about me? she thinks, struck by a sudden bolt of doubt. Matt loves Foggy, but...

They’ve felt closer lately. But it’s hard to tell with Matt sometimes.

Frank lowers the phone. She jolts, wishing she’d listened in on the end of his conversation. They exchange a glance.

“Well,” Frank says.

“This is a mess,” Karen says, and runs a hand through her hair. “Where is he?”

“Fogwells. Nelson still at the office?”

She nods.

“Office is closer. We’ll head there first.” He sounds so matter of fact that it’s quite extraordinary, and Karen’s eyes narrow.

“You knew!” she cries. “You knew he liked Foggy.”

“Yeah,” Frank says, “He told me early on. Can’t say I expected him to just full on blurt it out, but Murdock’s life choices are usually questionable at best.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” she mutters. “And you… you’re fine with that? Since the two of you are...”

“Like I said. Don’t know what we are. Besides,” he adds, “He ain’t the only one who’s interested in someone else.”

Karen bites her lip, looks away. Fights the blush rising on her cheeks. She puts the car in gear and starts them back towards the office.

“What do you think Nelson’s thinking?” Frank asks, after they’ve been driving in silence for a while.

“He had no idea,” Karen says.

“So he’s not… he never said anything about-”

“I don’t know how he feels about Matt,” Karen says. “I thought… I don’t think he’s ever realised it, if he does like him. I think to him Matt’s always just been - out of reach.”

“Yeah,” Frank murmurs, “He has a way about him.”

“But when he found out you two were together, he wasn’t happy. Anyway, we shouldn’t speculate. The only one who knows what he’s feeling is Foggy himself,” she says, and Frank nods. She forces herself to focus on the road, tries not to let her head go into overdrive.

The office is dim and quiet. She enters first, Frank limping behind her, still slow from his injuries.

Foggy is, indeed, sitting on the floor - legs sprawled out in front of him, leaning back against the desk. His tie is loosened, his hair hanging in his face. He looks up when she comes in, and her heart clenches as she sees how wrecked he looks; eyes red, lips wearily downturned.

“Karen,” he says, and she lowers herself down beside him and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He tucks his head in the crook of her neck and she presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “You okay?”

“Hanging in there,” he replies. “God. It’s just stressful, y’know?”

“What are you thinking?” she asks softly.

His eyes slip shut for a moment. But he’s clearly had the time it took them to get over here to mull it over. When he speaks his voice is measured.

“I can’t lie, Karen. I wasn’t… I didn’t think of Matt like that. Not - not since the very first time we met, when I realised how very firmly he was out of my league.”

“Foggy,” she chides.

“I know, I know. But honestly, it was pretty fleeting. Since then I’ve just seen him as my best friend. You know how much I care about him. But the last few days - yeah, things felt different, but I don’t… I can’t label it, Karen. It’s all too confusing.”

“You don’t need to label it,” she whispers. “What do you want?”

He opens his mouth, only to hesitate as Frank enters the room. Both of them look up, and an awkward silence falls.

“Hey,” Frank says, and Foggy swallows hard. Karen sees the conflicted emotions that play out over his face. She knows the two of them have been getting along better lately, but still - everything’s so damn complicated. She doesn’t know where to even begin with this.

“Hey,” Foggy replies. “So I figure Matt told you what happened.”

Frank’s face softens a little.

“He’s very upset,” he says. “Thinks he’s ruined everything. As usual.”

“He hasn’t,” Foggy says instantly. “No matter what happens - he hasn’t.”

“You sure?” Frank says - Foggy stiffens - “Unrequited feelings are a relationship killer if I ever heard one.”

For some reason that's when it hits Karen. This could actually tear them apart.

She's been hoping for the best case scenario, operating on the assumption that no matter what they'll find a way to balance all this. But she remembers, suddenly, how they were back after the Hand and Castle, back when Foggy and Matt had that massive falling out and decided to call Nelson and Murdock quits.

She hadn't realised until then how much the two of them were the heart and soul of everything.

She gets up and goes over to the window; Foggy glances after her in concern, but she just pauses, resting her forehead against the cool glass, closing her eyes for a moment.

"There's nothing in the world," Foggy replies fiercely after a moment, "That could make me abandon Matt. Nothing. Everyone in his life has left. I won't be one of them. No matter what he does, no matter what he feels."

Frank grunts.

"You think it's easy for him to be around you, though?" he points out.

"Yeah, well, he's fucking you, so clearly he's not that attached."

It comes out way, way too fucking bitter, and Karen looks around in time to see Foggy wince. He knows it and Frank knows it and it's way too telling. But Frank just smiles a bit.

"I think you and Karen needa have a chat about this," he says. "Privately."

Foggy looks over at her, and she glances away, feeling suddenly too vulnerable. She knows Frank's right, knows she needs to be open with him about everything she's feeling so he has a space to figure his stuff out as well. They've all been hiding too much for too long. But the thought is terrifying.

"C'mon," Frank says, jerking his head towards the door. "I'll get you lot home to talk then go find Matt. Everything will look better in the morning."

"Easy for you to say," Foggy mutters as he clambers to his feet.

"You think I'm not embroiled in all this too?" Frank points out. "Like you said, we're fucking."

A fleeting movement outside the window catches Karen’s eye. She turns and frowns at the sight of a black car pulling up at the end of the street. As she watches, a cluster of men climb out and begin to head around to the back lane behind the building. One, two, three… half a dozen of them, in leather jackets and overcoats.

The Hellhounds. Of fucking course they'd pick tonight of all nights.

Dread crawls down her spine. It takes her a shocked moment to process it - not again, not again - then she swallows hard and whirls around.

"Guys. They're back."

"Shit," Frank hisses, and rushes to the window. He stares out, grimly - Foggy moving up beside him to peer over his shoulder. Karen bites her lip.

She knew they couldn't put this off forever. She just thought they'd have more time. Now, she can't help her shiver of apprehension as she looks over Frank's bruised face - his swollen eye, the pools of black and blue over his skin, the way one arm is still wrapped protectively around his ribs.

They're not exactly in fighting shape.

The men are coming towards the building, moving with purpose. She sees Frank's shoulders heave.

"Got a gun?" he demands abruptly.

"Don't you?" Karen asks.

"Yeah. In the car. You can thank Murdock for that one."

"Mine's in my bag." She snatches it up from the floor and passes it to him; he's a better shot. Her heart's pounding, but she feels strangely detached and calm.

Foggy, on the other hand, is looking the exact opposite of detached and calm.

"Should we call Matt?" he asks, with barely contained hysteria.

Frank shakes his head.

"No time to sit around and wait for him. They're near the car," he says, heading for the door. "We gotta get around the back, go around. Our priority's to avoid a fight here." He takes two steps and pulls a face that Karen knows means that moving hurts like hell and he's trying very hard to hide it. "Shit."

Karen reaches out and squeezes Foggy's hand. Her heart's slamming, but everything around her seems very focused and clear. It's been a while since she was the one in the line of fire, but even now she's more scared for the two of them.

"Follow me," Frank barks, "Do everything I fucking tell you."

"Frank," Foggy says uncertainly, "You can barely stand."

"I've fought in worse condition than this," he says, and takes a shaky breath. "Look, there's a lot of 'em, but the lights are off up here. They ain't here to kill you, they probably want to trash this place, see what you got on 'em. If we can get out quick and quiet, we got a chance to slip away."

Karen nods. She keeps hold of Foggy's hand as they follow Frank down the corridor; dark and gloomy, lit only by the nauseating green glow of the exit sign and the elevator lights. A door slams somewhere on the floor below them; she feels Foggy jump and her own heart leaps.

"Fire stairs," Frank says, coming to a halt outside the door. "You know where this leads?"

"It exits down the back," Karen confirms.

"Great," Frank says, and yanks it open.

What happens next is decidedly not great. As he opens the door they all freeze as an alarm begins to scream; shrill, high blares that echo through the entire building. In any other situation, the look on Frank's face would be priceless.

"It's a fucking alarmed door," he says.

"We didn't know," Karen says, exchanging a startled glance with Foggy.

"Haven't y'all ever had a fucking fire drill?" Frank demands.

Karen shakes her head helplessly. Jesus. Jesus Christ. Of all the situations in which their lack of a fire drill could lead to their downfall, this was not the one she anticipated. It isn't even a fucking fire, it’s a meth gang after them. What the fuck even is this.

"Maybe it'll scare them off," Foggy suggests, "Like a burglar alarm."

"I appreciate your optimism, but there goes the element of fucking surprise," Frank says, and begins to limp aggressively down the stairs, one hand clutching his side, the other holding the gun at the ready. They rush after him.

The wailing of the alarm is getting to her, making the hair prickle down the back of her neck.

"Frank," she says, raising her voice to be heard, "Are you gonna kill them?"

Frank's face is unreadable. In the harsh fluorescent light of the stairwell the shadows under his eyes and in the wells of his cheeks are nearly black.

"I'm gonna do whatever the fuck I have to to protect you two," he says fiercely.

"You don't have a mask on," Karen points out.

He doesn't reply. She bites her lip, feeling sickly overwhelmed by just how much he's willing to give up to protect them.

They pelt down the stairs. Frank pauses at the door at the bottom. He holds out a hand, ushering them back; Karen clutches Foggy's wrist tightly. He opens the door and peers out, gun raised, then beckons.

They slip out around the back of the building. Her worries about the mask ease a little; it's dark as fuck out here; there are no streetlights, just a shadowy courtyard where their recycling bins are. They creep through the shadows, Frank moving first, sticking to the sides of the yard. Sweat trickles down her spine.

They reach the gate leading out towards the road when Frank suddenly swipes a hand at them. Instinctively, Karen pulls back, dragging Foggy with her, her heart leaping up into her throat.

The two men must have seen them from the road. They lunge through the gate and set upon Frank; too close to fire but swinging at him with clubs. He gets one shot off but misses; one of the guys launches themselves at him and he's forced to move in close to get out of range of the end of the baseball bat the guy's swinging.

Karen winces as she watches Frank stumble, a glancing blow to his shoulder sending him off balance. He's moving sluggishly and she realises he's in much worse shape than she thought; he grabs the guy's arms and they grapple for a moment, but the man knees him in the stomach and he doubles over with a hoarse yell. The other guy's moving up behind him.

"Shit," Foggy hisses, and starts to surge forward-

But a second later Frank’s straightening up, and with a furious roar he smashes his fist up into the nose of the guy holding him. The man’s head snaps back; Frank drives a knee up into his groin and spins around.

The other guy swings the club at him; Frank’s arms go up, protecting his head. He stumbles under two blows, his arms and shoulders taking the worst of it before he dives in and grabs the guy’s arm, immobilising it while he brings the butt of the gun he’s still holding down on the back of his neck.

The man crumples. Frank kicks him once more, for good measure, and then turns and fires at the other guy, who’s starting to lever himself to his feet. Karen bites back a scream; the bullet passes through his left thigh and he falls back with a cry.

Frank pauses, breathing heavily, shoulders heaving. There’s blood dripping from his nose and his face is twisted into a feral snarl. He looks up at them - backed against the wall, eyes huge - and gestures with the gun towards the gate.

“Go, go!” he snaps, “The fuck are you waiting for? Get to the car!”

They rush out the gate. There’s the car, across the road, gleaming under the streetlamp. It suddenly seems a million miles away - the night sky around them a black void, the air a fragile silence waiting to be broken.

The coast seems clear. That’s why they start to run, adrenaline making them reckless.

The gunshot shatters the world around them like a dropped glass. It takes them a second to register; it comes from directly across them. From a dark silhouette that has suddenly popped up from behind their car; a woman, holding a pistol aimed right at them.

Foggy shoves Karen behind him.

Frank promptly shoves Foggy behind him.

The bullet arcs across the side of his body; spins him a full 180 degrees. He falls back. It’s his head hitting the ground which makes Karen’s heart leap into her throat.

“Frank!”

It comes out a raw scream that she barely even registers is hers. Foggy yells too - a startled, wordless noise that Karen’s never heard from him before.

The gun clatters from Frank’s hand. Karen moves instinctively, ducking forward and picking it up. She aims. She fires.

Blindly, without thinking about it - again, and again-

(Wesley flashes into her head. That startled look on his face,how the force of the bullets drove him back in his seat, how his white shirt blossomed with red-)

Again, and again-

The woman ducks back. The windows of Karen’s car shatter. Then she staggers away, clutching her shoulder - turns, and runs into the shadows.

Karen’s heart is pounding so fast that she can barely feel it at this point. She feels empty and floaty. She turns, slowly, to find Foggy staring at her - hands clapped over his mouth, the look in his eyes unreadable. She swallows, mouth very dry.

“Come on,” she says.

“Karen…”

“We’ll talk about it later.” If she stops and thinks about this, she knows she will fall apart. “We need to get out of here.”

She turns and crouches by Frank. His side is bleeding sluggishly, and he’s reaching up and touching his head. His eyes are dazed and his gaze unfocused. She gently brushes his hands away and touches his head. Her fingers come away sticky with blood.

“Get him up,” she orders.

She shifts to wrap one of his arms around her shoulders; Foggy takes the other.

Between them they heave him upright; he lets out a choked groan and Karen bites her lip; his side, where it’s pressed to hers, is warm and wet with blood.

We got this, she thinks, we just need to get to the car. Just across the road.

“Come on,” she says.

They start to walk. Frank’s dragging his feet unsteadily; Foggy’s bearing most of his weight, arm around his waist and bodies pressed close, as Karen clutches the gun. Her hand is shaking now, just a little, and with every step her lungs seem to squeeze tighter until she can barely breathe.

Get to the car. Just get to the car.

“Karen,” Frank murmurs suddenly.

“Don’t talk,” she replies, “Just stay conscious. We’re nearly out, alright?”

“M’fine,” he replies. This is unconvincing for multiple reasons, chief of which is the fact that he still can’t stand upright on his own.

They pause briefly for Foggy to shift his weight a little; Karen glances down at Frank’s side. The bleeding is steady but slow. She’s pretty sure the bullet just grazed him - it’s the head injury she’s more worried about.

“Why’d you fucking jump in front of the bullet?” Foggy says abruptly.

“They were gonna shoot you,” Frank replies. He managed to muster the energy to raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah, well they actually shot you!”

“Not the first time.”

“It wouldn’t have been for me either,” Foggy points out.

Karen’s about to tell them both to shut up, because they are really stressing her the fuck out here, but a moment later Frank sighs.

“I said I’d protect you.” His voice is so quiet Foggy has to lean in close; even Karen barely catches the words. “Wasn’t joking.”

“Idiot,” Foggy murmurs, and reaches up and swipes some of the blood from Frank’s face.

They reach the car. Karen fumbles for the car keys, gives up when she realises what a fucking disaster her handbag is, and reaches through the broken window to unlock the doors from inside. She’s just pulling the door open when she hears footsteps and yelling behind them.

She lets go of Frank and spins around. Beside her, Foggy yelps as he’s suddenly holding all the other man’s weight.

Two more guys are running towards them. Only one of them’s lifting a gun, and Karen doesn’t even think about it. She fires frantically in his direction. The air’s split once again, three shots before the gun in her hand clicks emptily-

But it’s enough, she’s got one guy in the leg and he crumples back. The other one sprints at them, swinging a tire iron.

“Karen!” Frank yells hoarsely next to her - he’s slumped on the ground against the car, trying to heave himself up and failing.

Karen ducks. The iron slams down onto the roof of the car right by her head and leaves a dent that would’ve shattered her skull.

Let’s be honest, she has no idea what the fuck she’s doing here; in that split second of panic when she realises she has no weapon, no martial arts training and is the only line of defence between some giant gang motherfucker and an injured Frank, she acts on sheer, blind panic and instinct. This involves going directly for the balls.

The guy yells and doubles over when she charges him, headbutting him in the stomach and slamming her palm into his groin. Then Foggy’s next to her - he yanks the guy away from the car, sending the tire iron clattering to the ground, and delivers a solid punch to the face. The guy reels sideways; Foggy moves in, hitting him again and sending him to the ground. He kicks him once more for good measure, then turns to Karen.

For a second they stare at each other - eyes wide and white, hair hanging in their faces. Then Foggy shakes himself.

“Go, go!” he cries, and Karen jolts into action.

Frank’s trying to struggle to his feet; she turns and gets him under the arms, hauling him up. They deposit him in the backseat; Foggy scrambles in after him and Karen takes the driver’s seat. Her hands are shaking so hard she can barely get the key - which thank fucking God has decided to materialise at the top of all the shit in her bag - into the ignition. She yanks at the handbrake and gets the car in gear before tearing off down the street.

“Holy shit,” Foggy gasps. “Shit. Shit.”

It takes three streets before it hits her that they’re out - they’re not being followed, no one’s firing at them - and she realises she’s shaking all over. She looks up in the rear view mirror. Frank’s slumped against Foggy’s side, both of them staring out the window.

“Put your seatbelt on,” she says, automatically.

Foggy sits up a bit and turns to fuss over Frank, who still seems a bit dazed. For a second, in the ropes of light that pass across his face from passing streetlamps, Karen can see the concern in Foggy’s eyes, the worried furrow in his brows. He’s frowning, but his hands are very gentle. It’s the same look she’s seen when Matt comes into work with visible injuries.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, and Frank grunts.

“Yeah. Not bleeding out or anything.”

“You need to get to a hospital,” Karen says. “You hit your head really hard.”

“No hospitals.” Frank struggles to push himself upright; Foggy levers him back against the side of the car and lifts up his shirt, grimacing at the wound.

“That definitely needs stitches,” he says. “Matt used to go to Claire, but she’s not in town any more. What about Maggie?”

“Maggie?” Frank asks.

“Matt’s mum,” Karen says, and sees the face Frank pulls. “Look, we don’t have much other choice-”

“Here’s what we do,” Frank says. “You guys call the fucking police, because I’m sure half your neighbours already have. That O’Mahony guy you told me about, Karen - he’ll take care of you, right? Don’t tell them the specifics, just that you took a case that pissed off the Hounds and they came after you. If Murdock wants to do this inside the law, I think it’s time we let them in on it, at least a little bit. Then you guys drop me off at Murdock’s and go to the station.”

“You really think we should call the cops?” Foggy asks.

“You gotta sort this shit out. This isn’t Daredevil beating them up in a back alley, they showed up at your workplace.”

“I trust your plan,” Karen says quietly, and after a second Foggy bites his lip and nods.

“Matt’s gonna freak out when he hears what happened,” he murmurs, and Frank snorts a bit.

“Some punch you threw back there,” he says. There’s something almost fond in his voice that makes Karen do a double take.

Foggy laughs a bit hysterically.

“Not gonna lie, I think I broke my hand.”

“It was effective, though,” Frank says. “Next time go for a palm strike. Does just as much damage.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Foggy replies.

Karen can’t help but smile. She thinks, despite everything, things might be okay. Or at least, not awful. They’re all alive - Foggy pulling out his phone now to call the police, Frank getting out his.

“I’m gonna text Murdock to head back to his apartment,” he says, and looks up. His eyes, still a little unfocused, meets her in the rear view mirror. “Hey - tomorrow we’ll all talk.”

“Okay,” Karen whispers, and looks over at Foggy. She can’t quite read the look on his face, but he nods too, and even gives Frank a small smile.

“Things always look better in the morning, isn’t that what they say?”

“They can hardly get worse than tonight,” Frank says grimly.

After everything that’s happened, there’s something a bit surreal about the bright lights of the police station, about the bustle and chatter, about being surrounded by efficiently moving bodies that aren’t trying to kill them.

This has happened enough times by now that it’s almost becoming routine. Karen sits there - a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a steaming styrofoam cup of coffee beside her - and watches her hands shake, and feels a hysterical laugh bubbling up in her chest.

She barely remembers what they told the cops. She barely remembers what Brett said he’d do. She barely remembers what they’re waiting for - sitting here, side by side, in their fluorescent orange shock blankets, in a clinical little waiting area with plastic flowers on the coffee table.

Foggy reaches out, next to her, and takes her hand. His are cold and clammy and shaking just as hard. She looks across at him.

“You’d think after everything we’d get used to this part,” she says. Her voice is trembling, too. “Somehow every time it just - feels like a dream.”

“Karen.” The look on his face is very pained. “You shot two people tonight.”

“I know.” Now she feels the laugh coming on, but it seems so fucking inappropriate, and she swallows it down. “I know, I - it hasn’t hit me yet. I don’t think any of it has.”

But it will. Frank’s blood, sticky on her fingers. The sound the tire iron made as it hit the car. The shattered glass on leather seats.

She doesn’t know how Matt does this - night after night - the violence, the fists and guns and knives coming at him. Thinks, for a bitter second, no wonder he’s so fucked up.

Foggy’s hand squeezes hers. It’s warmer now. After a moment he lifts it to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles, and something loosens in her chest, like a knot being pulled free - some deep, subconscious fear that he might hate her, now, after seeing her lift a gun and fire like it was nothing.

She should’ve known she couldn’t scare him away that easily.

"And here I thought tonight couldn’t get any worse,” he says, and she gives a little scoff.

“Talk about bad timing, right? But Foggy… we need to talk. About what happened before, about all of this.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Foggy says, and when Karen opens her mouth he shakes his head. “It’s… if I’m honest, it’s not just Matt, Karen. It’s you and Frank, too. I know, alright? I’m not blind, I’m not stupid, I - I can see how you two are together. I can’t ignore that.”

She swallows, hard. But he hasn’t run away yet, and when she leans against his shoulder he doesn't pull away.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay, I… I need to sort my shit out too, alright? So let me be honest, then, and… and I never wanted to admit it, to myself or anyone, but I’m jealous, okay? I’ve been jealous since the second I saw the two of them together. I’m so jealous it makes me sick.”

Foggy’s watching her, his eyes very intense.

“I wish I wasn’t. I wish things weren’t this complicated. But they are, it’s… it’s always been different, with the two of them. But the more I try to deny it, the worst it gets. I don’t know what to do, but I… I don’t think ignoring it is helping.”

“Thank you for being honest,” Foggy says finally. It scares her that she can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“This could ruin us,” she tells him, bluntly, and he looks away, fingers still tangled in hers.

“Leaving it could ruin us,” he points out.

He looks so tired. She bites her lip.

“I… I don’t want you to feel like you have to just go along with this. I don’t want you to feel like you have no choice, that what you want doesn’t matter. It’s not like that.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he admits, “Or what I feel. Everything’s just - spiralling out of control.”

“We’ll work it out,” she whispers. “But you and Matt need to talk.”

“I don’t know what to say to him,” Foggy says, and Karen leans her head against his shoulder. “It… it changes everything. I think I’m still processing it.”

“You’ll figure it out,” she whispers, and reaches up, cupping his cheek. “And you… you have my permission to do anything you need to to figure this out.”

Her heart’s pounding. She doesn’t quite know what she means by that, what she expects or is hoping for. But Foggy doesn’t question it, just nods, and runs a hand through her hair before kissing the top of her head. She rests her head on his chest, closes her eyes.

The doubt will overwhelm her if she lets it. She has no idea what tomorrow will bring. She’s exhausted just at the thought of all the questions the police are going to ask. It’s a long, long night ahead.

18. IN WHICH FRANK WANTS TO SLEEP FOR A THOUSAND YEARS

“So I’m not about to drop dead?” Frank grunts.

“Not yet,” Matt replies, grimly.

His hands come down from where they were pressed lightly to Frank’s temples, leaving a lingering warmth. Frank closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

It’s reassuring to know he’s not gonna die from, like, internal brain bleeding. That was a close fucking call, and for all his reassurances to Karen and Foggy, he’d been worried. But he trusts Matt to know what he’s doing, to detect even the most miniscule changes in heart-rate, blood pressure, metabolism.

Matt moves off to the bathroom, doubtless to get the first aid kid, and Frank makes himself comfortable on the couch. He’s still shaky with adrenaline, and more tired than he can say, and everything hurts. New bruises where he got hit today as well as all the old shit that still hasn’t healed. Torn stitches, swelling in more places than he can count, fractured ribs that ache when he breathes too deeply.

He feels like shit. More stressed than he’s been in a long time and upset, suddenly. Not like he hasn’t been hurt before, but-

It piles up.

It piles up and now it’s almost, almost too much.

But something about Matt’s apartment is weirdly settling.

The dark, the quiet, even the sporadic neon flashes of light from the billboard through the window - there’s something quiet, churchly about it, something that makes it easier to stay calm. Like he’s drifted off into the stage between waking and sleep. After the wailing of the fire alarm and the gunshots, it feels a bit unreal.

Matt heads back over to him. Puts the first aid kit on the table and kneels in front of Frank, reaching out to open his shirt gently. Frank bites back a wince at the first dab of an antiseptic wipe on his skin.

He wants to sleep without worrying about all the shit he’ll have to deal with upon waking up. He’s rattled and in a lot of pain and it’s not just that it hurts, it’s that it’s been constantly hurting for the last, like, week, and he wasn’t lying to Foggy before - you get sick of it. It wears on you.

Not only that, but he can’t forget the look on Matt’s face when he arrived at the door to find Frank waiting outside. There was a lot of blood, he could probably smell it a block away. Something about that hurt - how frantic he’d been, how worried. Even now, he’s far too quiet, head lowered as he dabs gently at the deep cut on Frank’s side.

Frank reaches down and grips Matt’s chin, tilting his head up a little.

“Quit that,” he says.

“What?” Matt asks, making a passing effort at eye contact and managing to get it sort of ninety percent right.

“Beating yourself up for not being there,” Frank says, and knows he’s spot on at the face Matt pulls. “It’s not your fault.”

“I was meant to be there with Foggy,” Matt says, voice tight. “I was the one who ran away. If you guys hadn’t gone to pick him up, he would’ve been there alone when the Hellhounds came, and it would have been my fault.”

“Don’t start with what ifs,” Frank grunts, “They don’t get you anywhere useful.”

Matt makes a disgruntled sound.

“Tonight was a shitshow from beginning to end,” he mutters darkly.

“You can say that again,” Frank says. In all the chaos he nearly forgot that right before the ‘guys with guns after us’ crisis they were having the ‘Matt and Foggy’ crisis. At the time it’d seemed like the peak of all possible problems.

Matt continues cleaning his wound, then stitching him up with neat, methodical motions. Here they are again. Frank lets his eyes slip shut, tries not to focus on the pain of needle moving through flesh.

Suddenly, he’s very glad Matt can’t actually see him - not really. He feels wrecked and weak. He doesn’t want to think about how covered in bruises he is, how ugly his face must look spattered dark with scabs and dried blood. There’s something too vulnerable about it that he hates.

And the thing is-

Matt makes him feel safe, too. Just not having to sew himself up, just having someone else there, someone who gets it - a warm surge of affection rises in his chest. He doesn’t want to lose this, to lose him. Tonight was so bad it feels like it came close to breaking him. He can tell himself that just making it out alive is enough, but part of him still feels like he’s been beaten into the dust and doesn’t have the energy to get up.

“You okay?” Matt asks quietly.

“Not really,” Frank says after a second. It’s a relief to admit it. To feel like he can. Matt smooths a bandage over Frank’s side and pauses, resting his head against Frank’s leg; a warm, steadying weight. Frank lets his hand drop to the other man’s hair, fingers carding through the thick strands.

“It was bad tonight,” he admits. “I’m sick of being injured. Sick of being hit while I’m down, again and again and again. I felt useless. Nothing like lying there feeling as fucking helpless as I was when my family-”

He breaks off. Thinks of Karen, that iron coming towards her. Thinks of the bullet coming at Foggy. Feels sick.

His heart’s beating faster. Matt squeezes his knee and Frank runs a hand through his hair.

He wants to - needs to - protect them, all three of them. He has far too much to lose, and it’s terrifying to realise how close he’s gotten without realising it. When it was just Karen, it was one thing. He didn’t think anyone else could ever be that important to him. Guess he was wrong.

“You need to rest,” Matt says. “Heal.”

“You’re one to talk,” Frank points out, and heaves a sigh. “But yeah, you’re right. If I can say one thing it’s that Nelson’s tougher than he looks. Both of ‘em held their own.”

“They shouldn’t have to.”

“Yeah, well. Not got a choice any more. But - I was scared.” He doesn’t mean to admit it, but when it slips out it’s like a weight off his shoulders. “Scared I was gonna watch them die in front of me. Scared I wouldn’t be able to stop it happening…”

He trails off, voice breaking.

Matt rises and sits on the couch next to him. Wraps an arm around him and presses a kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder. Frank curls into him, lets himself be held.  The shared understanding wraps around them like a blanket; of everyone, Matt knows this fear. It’s nice just not to be alone, to let himself feel like he doesn’t have to hold everything together, that someone else can help him keep the pieces in place.

“I didn’t kill anyone tonight,” he muses after a moment. “Wasn’t as hard as I thought. Karen, though - tonight’s gonna mess her up.”

Matt stiffens. When he speaks his voice is thick and as dead-exhausted as Frank feels.

“Everything keeps getting worse,” he chokes out. “I thought it’d end with Fisk, but it hasn’t. It feels like it’s never going to. I don’t… I don’t know how long we can keep going.”

Frank doesn’t know how to reassure him. There are a thousand trite things he could say, but somehow he knows, tonight of all nights, none of them will get through. Instead he tangles his fingers in Matt’s and hopes even that small contact can be some reassurance.

After a while they get up. Matt checks his wounds again, rubs ointment on bruises, bandages cuts, then goes to get Frank a drink. Frank pulls on a clean shirt; it smells like Matt’s soap, is comforting in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Matt’s standing in the kitchen, idly stirring a mug of coffee; Frank finds himself limping over to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head on the other man’s shoulder.

It’s too intimate, maybe. But it’s close to midnight, now, and the shadow and silence of the apartment feel safe, and he thinks he needs this. Needs Matt to hold him close, to feel like maybe if the two of them can only hang onto each other, neither of them will sink away into the dark.

Matt turns in his arms and leans in to kiss him. His hands are light on Frank’s shoulders, his lip is still swollen from two nights ago. Every bruise throbs but Frank can ignore it, just for a moment - can lose himself in Matt’s warmth in his arms, in the comfort of being held, in the rise and fall of the other man’s ribs as he breathes where Frank’s hands are settled on his sides.

When they pull apart, he pauses, studying Matt’s face - in the sharp shadows and neon glow of the billboard outside the window, he looks very tired, and very sad. Frank reaches up and cups his cheek.

“What is it?” he prompts.

Matt swallows, hard. He starts to shake his head, but Frank grips his arms, doesn’t let him turn away. After a moment he takes a shaky breath.

“Seems stupid when we have bigger problems,” he begins, but Frank shakes his head.

“Don’t start with that shit, what is it? You’ve had a bad night. Doesn’t matter that you weren’t in the firefight. The rest of it was still shit.”

“I am so,” Matt admits, “So fucking sick of being scared that I’m going to lose everything. It’s like I’m dragging an anvil around waiting for it to drop and crush everything. It’s never gonna end.”

“It will,” Frank says, but Matt shakes his head, and the resigned despair on his face is like a stab to the chest. Frank reaches up, cups his cheek. “Red, listen to me. It will.”

“I don’t think so,” Matt says, “It - it feels so God damn hopeless, and I can’t - this thing with Foggy was just the icing on the cake. I’ve ruined everything.”

“How do you know that?” Frank demands, “You ain’t even talked to him yet. Not properly.”

“He doesn’t feel the same way,” Matt says, miserably, “So yeah, I’ve ruined everything.”

“You barely gave him a chance to think about it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Matt snaps, “He’s had about eight years to mull over it. I… I was stupid, I thought… there was a little while, after we brought down Fisk, that I thought maybe… but I was an idiot to hope. He started dating Karen soon after, anyway.”

“You dated Karen,” Frank points out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Matt asks, but Frank can’t put it into words, not yet, the way the pieces are starting to fit together in his mind. After a moment Matt’s shoulders slump. “I don’t know how this ends, but I… I was the one who fucked it up.”

“This might be hard for you to believe,” Frank says, “But you trust my judgement, right?”

"Generally,” Matt replies, a bit suspiciously.

“Then believe me when I say this: not everything in the world is your fucking fault, Murdock. You got it? Stop running away. You’re not the problem. You’re not gonna ruin things just by looking at ‘em.”

Matt opens his mouth to argue; Frank reaches up and presses a finger to his lips.

“Shut up for a second, I don’t wanna hear it. Look, I… I beat myself up everyday about the way things went down with my family. I still miss them, more than I can say. That shit, it doesn’t go away, won’t ever. But I… I’m not unloveable ‘cause of it. Neither are you. Took a hell of a lot of therapy to get to that point, but - you can move forward, Murdock. If someone as fucked up as me can do it, so can you. And I promise - just being yourself, just having feelings, it’s not gonna ruin everything with Nelson, with any of us. It hasn’t. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that,” Matt says quietly.

“I can,” Frank insists. “You needa trust that you can’t run us off that easily. Some of us are in it for the long haul. Hey,” he says, when Matt starts to twist away, “Hey. You trust me?”

Matt hesitates - then nods, and it breaks something a little in Frank’s chest, something that’s been fragile and taut all night, that needs at least one thing to feel okay. He pulls Matt close, their cheeks pressed together.

He needs to sit down in a minute. Everything hurts and he can tell tonight’s gonna be a bad one and he needs a fuckload of painkillers, he needs the world to stop spinning so damn fast. But for now - they breathe, just breathe, they’re alive for now, that’s enough.

Frank must sleep for about twelve hours straight.

Matt’s bed is obscenely comfortable, and he’s so exhausted that he just passes out. He’s surprised that he doesn’t have bad dreams - not until the very end, right when he’s on the brink of waking up. Even then, they’re not the same sort of terrors he used to get, watching his family turn to blood and bone in front of him again and again and again. They’re just filled with a vague, shadowy unease; he’s hurrying Foggy of all people through dark streets, knowing someone’s after them, trying to get him indoors before they can be found.

He wakes up feeling unsettled, groggy, and so fucking sore he can barely move. He makes a variety of interesting and animalistic noises as he heaves himself out of bed, and Matt appears in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and Frank glances up at him. He doesn’t look like he got much sleep last night; dishevelled and unshaven with dark bags under his eyes - but he smiles a bit when Frank’s gaze lands on him. “You sound like you’re giving birth in here.”

“Fucking hell, Murdock,” Frank snaps, and reaches out. “Give me a damn hand.”

Matt wraps an arm around him and heaves him up.

“I’ll make coffee,” he offers, as he manoeuvres Frank towards the bathroom. Frank leans over and kisses his cheek, or tries to; it lands more on his neck and Matt huffs out something like a laugh.

Maybe Foggy was onto something. Things do feel better in the morning - all the bad stuff feels distant. It won’t forever, but for now, for a few moments, it’s nice to pretend maybe things aren’t that bad.

It’s a bit harder to pretend once he actually sees himself in the mirror.

He knows how bad he looked after all that scaffolding fell on him the other day; now he’s even worse. A mix of new and old bruises has turned him an unattractive, mottled mixture of yellow and purple, all over his face and arms. When he lifts his shirt to check the damage, the rows of stitches are reminiscent of Frankenstein’s monster.

At least Matt can’t see it, he thinks. But he can imagine it, probably, with everything his senses must be picking up.

It hurts even to lift his arms. Brushing his teeth is a fun experience, but Frank powers through it, then drags himself, sloth-slow, out to the living room, where he collapses on the couch and hopes to God that he doesn’t have to move for the rest of the day. Touch wood.

Matt brings him a mug and a plate of toast.

“What time is it?” Frank asks.

“Just past noon,” Matt says. “Karen and Foggy were at the police station half the night, I think they only just got up too. Karen texted me.”

There’s a funny note in his voice. Frank feels a flash of pity. Of course this is gonna be awkward as hell for him until they talk through all this.

“She say anything else?”

“Just that they’re fine, that the police are looking into the Hell Hounds and that we should all take the day off work.” He shifts, a bit uncomfortably, then adds, “She asked if I’m okay.”

Frank raises an eyebrow and Matt frowns.

“Don’t. I’m fine, but. I think Foggy’s coming around to talk soon.”

Fine is apparently Matt-speak for fucking terrified. Frank reaches out - a Herculean effort giving that it involves leaning thirty centimetres forward - and squeezes his arm.

“Good,” he says firmly, “You two need to hash this out. Don’t be scared, he’s your best friend.”

“That’s what makes it scary,” Matt mutters, “There’s too much to lose.”

“You’re not gonna lose anything. You’re just gonna talk and figure this out. No matter how things go down, we’ll all still be here.”

He doesn’t like the look on Matt’s face. But after a minute Matt nods, and shakes him off, and jerks a head at the stairs.

“Gonna go have a listen on the roof. Make sure nothing’s going down we should know about.”

It’s actually a half decent excuse for getting out of there, so Frank allows it.

“Sure,” he says, and watches Matt flee the room like his arse is on fire. Shaking his head, he turns back to his breakfast.

He doesn’t quite know what to expect from today. Last night feels like a fever dream. He locates his phone on the coffee table and checks his messages.

Two from Foggy - Finished at the station; headed home. Then another, home safe.

Karen’s sent three.

Hey, how are you feeling? Matt said you’re okay?

Staying home today. Police are looking into the area. No bodies found there last night; guess the Hounds got their own out of there.

Foggy’s on his way over.

He feel a flash of affection, glad that she’s alright and checking on them. Then concern, because he knows today will be hard for her too.

He types a quick reply. I’m alright. Can you go get my dog and bring him over here?

He wants to see her. They need to talk. Better if they’re all here, but poor Pi’s been cooped up since yesterday.

It only takes her a second to reply.

Of course. See you soon.

He smiles, but it fades after a second. The four of them, all in one place - he doesn’t know where things are going to go, and he’s not usually one to get nervous, but something’s different about the other three, especially when they’re all in one spot. Too much history. But he’s not one to run away from things. They can’t avoid this. Gotta rip the bandaid off.

There’s a rap at the door..

“Hey,” Nelson’s voice yells out.

“Come in,” Frank calls back.

Foggy must have his own key. He lets himself in, hesitantly, like he’s dragging his feet. He looks as scared as Matt did this morning, but the startled deer look fades when he realises it’s just Frank sitting on the couch - then quickly morphs into horrified concern.

“Jesus, Frank,” he says. “You looked bad the other day, but…”

“Thanks,” Frank replies, flatly. “Glad you’re here to tell me I won’t be winning any beauty pageants since Murdock can’t provide that valuable information.”

“No, I’m serious. Jesus. Jesus Christ. Please tell me that looks worse than it feels.”

Frank just shrugs.

Foggy shuffles towards him. His hand rises like he wants to reach out and touch Frank, but he doesn’t. His eyes flick up and down him, taking in every bruise, every scrape. Frank frowns, puzzled - Foggy looks genuinely pained. To be fair, he really, really looks like shit.

“They’ll fade,” he offers after a moment of slightly awkward silence. “Just a lot of bad bruises. Head feels alright today, at least.”

Foggy’s lips twist. He perches on the end of the couch, watching Frank out of the corner of his eye, a funny look on his face.

“You saved my life last night,” he says, abruptly.

Oh, God.

“Don’t get sentimental about it,” Frank grunts.

“I’m not, just - it means something. It does,” he insists, defensively, “I don’t know, maybe you and Matt just do this all the time, but… you jumped in front of a fucking bullet for me, Frank.”

“What did you expect me to do? Just let them shoot you?”

Foggy shrugs. He bites his lip, looking away. The silence is a bit awkward, but the usual simmering, annoyed tension between them isn’t there. Foggy just looks very tired.

“Didn’t do such a bad job yourself protecting me,” Frank says finally.

Foggy snorts.

“Trust me, it was sheer blind panic and adrenaline. Very little strategic thought was involved.”

“Karen okay?” It comes out too soft, too tender, but Foggy doesn’t seem to mind.

“We both didn’t sleep well last night,” he admits. “We haven’t had much of a chance to debrief. Guess we were waiting for you guys. I… I think it helps that there weren’t any bodies. We don’t know if anyone actually died. But it’ll bring stuff back for her.” He looks away, hands twisting together in his lap, and adds softly, “I don’t think I’d have the balls to shoot someone.”

“Ain’t about balls,” Frank replies. And then, inanely, “It’s good. That no one died.”

God, it comes out so clumsily - Foggy glances over at him, but he must be able to tell Frank means it. He smiles a bit.

Frank doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so unsure of himself. Usually, despite how many doubts are whirling in his head, he’d stay silent. It’s not like this is Karen, or even Matt - not like he usually voluntarily opens up to people. But things feel different suddenly, after last night. Now that it’s just the two of them.

“I wasn’t that useful last night,” he says.

Foggy nearly chokes on his own spit.

"Sorry,” he says, “Did you forget the part we talked about two seconds ago where you literally jumped in front of a bullet for me?”

“After that.”

“Yeah, because you got shot.” His voice is rising, “And hit your fucking head, like - it’s a miracle you weren’t unconscious! Are you seriously trying to apologise for not being able to get up and bodily defend the two of us when you were so injured but you could barely move? I’m sorry, but that’s just not happening. I won’t accept it.”

He says it so easily, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Frank finds himself swept up in the other man’s certainty.

“Matt’s rubbing off on you,” he continues, passionately - “Look, we’ve had our differences, but I’m fucking glad you were there. You got us out. You led us to safety. You took care of two of those guys. If it’d just been me and Karen, I - I don’t know what I’d’ve done.”

Frank looks down. He doesn’t quite know what to do with this.

“Thank you,” Foggy says then, with such sincerity that it makes Frank feel all strange, suddenly, all warm and way too aware of his heart, his breathing. “It’s good you’re here. You’re getting shit done. We’d all be floundering without you. You’re, like, a very hardcore ex-military mother duck. I mean that as a compliment.”

Frank snorts. He feels very fond of Foggy suddenly - he can see why Matt likes him. He makes everything seem so easy, so clear - like when he’s around it’s somehow easier to breathe. He shoots the other man a small smile, and Foggy smiles back.

“Where’s Matt?” he asks then.

“Up on the roof,” Frank says, jerking his chin towards the door, “He can probably hear us.”

Foggy’s smile fades. He gnaws at his lip, staring up at the door to the roof with trepidation.

“Alright?” Frank asks.

Foggy shakes his head.

“I don’t know what I’m doing any more than he does,” he murmurs. “I - don’t know how to deal with this. Don’t know what will happen when we talk. I’ve been… I spent all night trying to figure out my thoughts and not getting anywhere. Things are… complicated.”

Complicated, Frank can’t help thinking, means there’s something to think about. It’s not a straight up no.

“Your friendship is too strong for something like this to ruin,” he offers.

“There are worse secrets he could’ve told me,” Foggy agrees, “That isn’t saying much, though.”

Frank shrugs. He sits up, managing to keep a straight face despite the havoc it wreaks on his ribs, and claps Foggy on the shoulder.

“I trust you to figure this out,” he declares.

“Wish Matt trusted me,” Foggy mutters.

“He does.”

“He didn’t tell me about the two of you.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t trust you,” Frank replies. “He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin everything. So he hides things so people won’t get caught in the fallout. He trusts you,” he repeats, and Foggy manages a little smile.

He gets up off to the couch and heads for the stairs. Pauses, head lowered, and takes a deep breath. Then looks up.

“Matt,” he calls.

It takes a minute, then the door opens and Matt appears. He looks strangely vulnerable - arms wrapped around himself, hair mussed from the wind outside. Watching the two of them from the couch, Frank suddenly feels like he’s observing something too private.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” Foggy replies. They can barely look at each other; Matt’s hiding behind his glasses again. “I’m just gonna say it straight up, we gotta talk. C’mon.”

“Where are we going?” Matt asks, and looks over at Frank. “You gonna be okay here?”

“Karen’s bringing Pi around,” Frank says, and snorts. “I’ll be fine. I’m not a fucking old man, I won’t fall over and not be able to get up!”

Matt turns back to Foggy, who’s got his hands shoved in his pockets now like a nervous schoolboy.

“Fogwells,” Foggy says.

“What?” A vulnerable, startled flash crosses Matt’s face. “Why there?”

“You said ages ago you’d teach me to box.”

Matt looks like he really has no clue what to do with this. Foggy takes a deep breath, and determinedly heads for the door. Frank doesn’t need super senses to tell he’s shitting himself, too - that every word uttered is like navigating a minefield.

Matt comes down the stairs slowly. He pauses and looks over at Frank like he can give him answers.

“Good luck,” is all Frank offers, and reaches out to squeeze his hand.

He watches them leave, thoughtful. Foggy’s gotta have a plan here, he just has no clue what it is. But he wasn’t full of shit before. He does trust them to figure this out. He has to.