"[Charlie] seemed incredibly experienced. He's really, really talented and just has a lovely quality. He's very tender, and present and open and just great fun as an actor. And he's just so charming and such a decent guy. He's a very good kisser." - Claire Danes
notes: this chapter is brought to you by karen's various terrible wigs in ddba s2
summary: you have the first normal night you've had in months. and then you get home.
The pitcher has one good pour left. You splash a little beer into your glass before splitting the rest between the three coworkers who’d joined you at the bar up the street from your office. You’d bonded with Aleah, Sean and Mara in the past few weeks over a project that asked way too much of each of you. Tonight you proposed drinks to celebrate the end of it, and they’d eagerly accepted.
“Oh my god," Aleah announces, "I’ve waited for like five songs for this playlist to get better. I can’t keep getting hurt like this. I’m saying something.” She gets up, slightly clumsily, from the table and Mara follows, giggling. They both make their way to the bar in the center of the room, and to the conveniently cute bartender working there.
You laugh with Sean at them as they walk away, and an amicable silence follows, though he’s looking at you a little too often for it to be entirely casual. Finally, you laugh out a “what?”
He blushes and laughs out his own “nothing” before looking everywhere in the bar except for you. “Oh, hey- do you want to play pool?” He asks, nodding over your shoulder to the table in the corner.
An unease settles over you at the familiar feeling of impending competition. You tell yourself you’re on your own now. No one is staring out at you with a disapproving gaze. Nothing is about to be rewarded or withheld based on whether you win or lose. You’re not going to be locked in your room. You’re not going to be locked in the house. Your mind is your own. You got out.
“We totally don’t have to, though,” Sean tacks on, probably seeing your expression shift with your thoughts.
“No, let’s do it!” you say, pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind, because a game of pool genuinely does sound fun right now.
You walk past the bar toward the pool table by the window. As you pass, you see Aleah holding the bartender’s phone, and she and Mara arguing over which songs to add to the bar’s playlist.
“Fair warning, it’s been a while since I’ve played,” Sean says, holding both hands up as he walks backwards in front of you towards the table. “I’ll most likely suck.”
“Oh yeah, me too,” you laugh.
Bullshit, Dex thinks, smirking as he watches you through his scope on the other side of the street. He’d found a convenient parking spot. He can see most of the interior of the bar through its wide windows.
He doesn’t know exactly what you’re saying, but from body language he can tell you’re clearly being self-deprecating about your pool skills. And he knows you’re lying. Bet those fuckers had you up all hours practicing anything that could feed their sick egos. He can also tell you’re lying by the way your shoulders scrunch up ever so slightly toward your ears.
He wasn’t following you. Yes, he’d checked in on you around the end of your work day, just to make sure there wasn't anyone tailing you. And there wasn’t. But then he saw you walk out with a group of people, in the opposite direction from your subway station. He hadn’t cleared the streets that way. You always walked to the subway.
You’ll be fine, he’d tried (and failed) to reason with himself as his head had begun to fog up. From his vantage point on top of a nearby building, he’d seen you walk into the bar on the next block.
Really you’re fine, he’d tried telling himself again, but by this point his focus was lazered to the bar and he couldn’t tear it away if he’d tried.
So he’d done a sweep of the surrounding streets as the familiar buzzing in his head began to subside. He’d watch you inside for a few minutes, just in case, he'd told himself.
He’d been telling himself that for two hours.
He needs to check his other spots for task force. But it’s like he’s glued here.
And now he’s watching you kick your extremely unremarkable-looking coworker’s ass in pool and make it look like an accident.
He can tell you’re holding back, just not enough to let him win.
After you sink the 8-ball, the two of you high five. Your hands linger together for half a second too long and suddenly Dex is thinking about whether he can land a knife in this guy’s temple from the car if he angles the shot correctly.
He’s reaching towards the knives on his belt, just to hold one, when the car’s alarm beeps once and the doors unlock. Shit.
He quickly hops out of the car and melts into the side of the nearest building.
Dumbass, he thinks to himself as he begins the walk to another one of the task force’s usual spots. He should have known that lady would be back for her car soon enough.
── .✦
You walk up to your apartment feeling positive about your situation for the first time since getting to New York. You’d successfully invited coworkers (can you say friends now?) to a bar and had a great time. You’d even flirted a little with a completely unoffensive guy. Yes, the city is still in a state of explosive tension, but you feel like your tiny corner of it is maybe starting to even out a little.
Except for Bullseye. And the knife. And the bloody screw you found by your bed in the middle of the night.
Okay, maybe your first positive social experience has you feeling pretty optimistic. But even the optimism, in and of itself, feels like a win.
You turn your key in the lock, open the door, turn on the lights, and nearly jump out of your skin.
Karen Page is standing in the middle of your apartment, wearing a black wig.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you scream.
She looks absolutely livid. Ready to explode. You’re not scared of her, though. You’re pissed, actually, and a little confused.
You both start talking at the same time.
“Why are you wearing a fucking wig??”
“What the hell are you doing here? I told you-“
“I got offered a transfer and I took it-
“And then I hear you were attacked in the goddamn street-“
“I’m fine, I wasn’t hurt-”
“Which is also a bad sign!“
“Gee, thanks.“
“It's not funny. You’re in danger-“
“I can’t live in fear just because you pissed some people off-“
“That’s my shirt.”
She stops talking and makes a point to look down at your outfit.
You take a deep, exhausted breath and really look at her for the first time. She looks different. She’s gained some muscle, and maybe you’re only thinking this because you know it’s true, but she looks like she’s been in hiding for months.
But she’s still Karen.
“Can you please take that wig off?” you say. “It’s freaking me out.”
She cracks a tiny smile and you feel like the wind’s been knocked out of you.
“Why?” She teases as she reaches up towards her head, removing the wig and letting her blonde hair down. “I think I look good with dark hair.”
“Um, no, try again. Maybe a redhead.”
You crack a smile as she runs her fingers through her hair. Her shampoo wafts over to you and your knees almost buckle at the sweet smell of it. Your feet move without your permission and take a step closer.
You stare at each other for another long moment. She breaks the silence.
“Did you kill that guy who attacked you?”
For a minute you’re too stunned to speak.
“What the fuck, Karen?”
“I’d get it. If you did," she says quietly. "I just need the truth.”
You think back to what she told you about James Wesley, and it makes you soften slightly towards her question.
“No, I did not kill him. I got away.”
“How?”
Something in you doesn’t want to tell her. You don’t want her to know Ben Poindexter knows where you live, and you absolutely do not want her to know he’s been inside your apartment. You’re thankful the knife and the screw are hidden in your closet.
You settle for a loose interpretation of the truth.
“He wanted to know where you were, and obviously I couldn't answer the question. He was about to hurt me, but he went down. I don’t know why or how. I ran like ten blocks before I realized he wasn’t following me. I stayed at a coworker’s house that night and when I came back he was gone. I just figured he got up and left.”
Honestly, it’s what you wish you had done instead of walking right up to your apartment like it was any other normal day. Then maybe Bullseye wouldn’t be treating the place like it had a revolving door.
“He didn’t get up and leave,” Karen says. He was killed, and the body was moved before we could figure out what happened. We only just found out you were involved.”
“We?”
“Yes.” She looks at you but doesn’t elaborate. It makes you furious. This was your best friend. The person you’d shared your thoughts, your past, your body with. And now she’s looking at you like she doesn’t trust you with the truth.
“Okay, cool. Well it was good to see you,” you say, taking off your shoes and walking towards your bedroom. “I have to get to bed. Lock the door on your way out.”
Karen quickly steps in front of you. “I can’t give you more details. It'll put you in danger.”
You can’t think with her this close.
“A little late for that,” you mutter.
“That's why you need to leave.”
She continues as you roll your eyes. “There’s too many threats here. Fisk has people everywhere. He will come after you again. He has something big planned for the free port, we just don’t know what it is yet. And there’s Poindexter. He hasn’t shown himself yet, but he will.”
You’re mildly surprised by this last fact. You'd figured Bullseye would have made himself known to Matt at least. You ignore this, though, still hurt and angry at the use of a we and an us that doesn’t include you.
“Listen, I was in a tough spot for a minute there, but they haven’t been back. I’m fine now. I’m making friends. I have a good thing going here,” and because you’re still pissed, you lift up a salute and add, “I promise I won’t get in Daredevil’s way. Scout’s honor.”
Hurt floods her expression and she doesn’t bother to hide it. “I’m here because you have no idea what you’re up against here, and you’re going to get hurt. Just thought you should know.” She starts to walk past you, presumably headed for the door.
But you can’t let her go. Not like this. It would be like losing her all over again.
“Wait. Karen.” You speed up to her and grab her arm, turning her towards you.
She smells like Karen. Like vanilla and the tiniest hint of coffee from her afternoon decaf.
And now that you’re in each other’s space, breathing the same air, you can’t hide how desperate you are to hold her. How you truly thought you might never see her again and now that she's here, now that you’re touching her, you don’t dare stop.
Your left hand trails up her arm, slowly, so she has every chance to move away or tell you to stop. But she doesn’t do either of those things. Instead, she leans her forehead against yours, and takes your other hand in hers.
She rubs circles with her thumb around the back of your right hand as you slide your left one up her shoulder, stroking your fingers gently up and down the side of her neck.
“I just want you safe,” she whispers. “When I found out it was you who was attacked I-“ she stutters, lacing your hands together more tightly, “I lost my fucking mind. I ran out and didn’t tell-” she gives the tiniest shake of her head. “I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.”
You understand what she’s not saying. Matt Murdock must be worried sick about her right now. You certainly would be.
“You should get back,” you whisper even though it’s the absolute last thing you want her to do.
She just wraps both arms around your lower back, bringing your body flush against hers. Your right hand, now free, finds her hip and squeezes. She doesn’t stop you, doesn’t say anything as you slip your hand into her back pocket to pull her closer to you.
There you both stand, in the middle of your living room, glued to each other, sharing breath. You’re intoxicated. She’s everywhere. You fight the almost overwhelming urge to grind yourself against her and lick your tongue into her mouth. It’s not a line you'll cross, for her sake and yours.
She lowers her head into the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath. You circle your arms around her shoulders, holding, supporting, for as long as she needs you to. As long as she'll let you.
You really have no idea what she’s going through, but it has to be difficult. It has to be lonely. All you want in the entire world is for her to be okay, for her to have a future where she is happy and safe and whole. Even if it’s not a future you’re in.
“I can’t come see you again,” she says finally.
“I know,” you whisper, and place a kiss to the top of her head, nuzzling in.
She lifts her head and presses her lips once to your jaw, once to your mouth, and once to the tear that has fallen from your lashes, before gently moving away.
"I'm glad you're doing well," she says as she grabs her stuff and moves towards the door. "Please just be safe. Stay out of it. Please."
"I will," you respond before she closes the door behind her.
You pray it's the truth.
── .✦
Dex peels off the rest of his suit and takes a heavy step into the shower. The water takes a second longer to heat up to his preferred 101 degrees, and then he’s standing in its stream, blood and sweat trailing down his chest, arms and legs before pooling around the drain.
He’s mesmerized by the swirl of red in the drain. Completing a cycle in his day. Clean, dirty, clean. It usually calms him, but today it’s a marginal improvement at best
He’s supposed to be making things right. Doing what the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen refuses to do. What he's now made Dex’s problem.
But it’s taking too long. He was bothered tonight. By his own ineptitude taking him off schedule. By staying to watch you for way longer than he should have.
He’s bothered by you. Why couldn’t you just go home so he could have stayed on task? Instead you’re at a bar flirting with a fuckwit who can’t even play a competent game of pool.
And then Dex was late to his next spot. And he was sloppy. Two task force fuckers were there meeting an informant, and they spotted Dex immediately.
Something in his right shoulder had snapped as he launched his knife into the first one’s jugular, and as he'd gritted his teeth against the pain, gunshots started whizzing past his head. They had someone on the roof, and Dex had missed it. He'd killed the shooter easily, but the second cop on the ground got away. And then, through the rage and burning pain, he’d turned and eviscerated the informant.
And Dex was bothered by that.
He scrubs every inch of his body, but it doesn’t help. He turns the water hotter, colder, scalding then freezing himself, but his skin still crawls. His shoulder still burns. He wants to kill something.
His mind wanders back to you. Why does it always fucking wander back to you? He’s bothered by it. The emptiness on your face that had mirrored his own. The way you'd taken his knife and kept it close. The way you hit every target on the pool table tonight except the ones you meant to miss. The way you laughed in the bar, like you were actually having a good time.
The way you whimpered as you fucked your hand in your sleep.
Vile scumbag, he thinks to himself as he reaches his left hand down to roughly grab his growing erection. He strokes it at a brutal pace. Your face in his mind, your tight work pants and the way your throat worked as you swallowed your beer and your fucking smile when you high-fived that asshole. He wants to throw you over his shoulder. He wants to fuck you raw. He wants to slit your throat.
The wave of self-loathing that washes over him as he spills all over the shower floor finally brings him to a place of tentative equilibrium.
Evil piece of shit, he thinks as he watches it all spiral down the drain.
But not for much longer.
── .✦
Matt Murdock hears her before she steps in the building. He’d heard her coming down the street. He waits, focusing on her steps as she walks through Josie’s abandoned bar and up the stairs. She smells strongly of the clothes she brought back from San Francisco, and suddenly he knows exactly where she’s been.
He doesn't care about anything other than the fact that she's not dead.
She steps through the door of their hidden apartment, undoubtedly noting the shattered contents of their table that he’d thrown to the floor. He doesn’t care enough to be ashamed of that either as he hears her stuttering breaths, smells the tears falling down her cheeks.
“Karen,” he starts, a question and an invitation. She walks right into his arms and begins sobbing in earnest.
“Shh,” he soothes, pulling her to him. He holds her tight, relief and worry and, yes, anger, coursing through him as her tears wet his suit and he reminds her to breathe.
He knows she needed to go. He knows how much she’s given up for him.
He walks her to bed and rubs her back until she falls asleep.
more notes:
I wrote multiple versions of this chapter. I wanted to bring Karen back into the story, but having sex with her ex while she's in hiding with Matt just didn't seem true to character. Though I did draft that version, and it is pretty fun.
Similarly with Dex, I want to write him true to how I interpret his character-- pragmatic, self-centered (most of the time), with a logic that usually only makes sense to him, and a healthy dose of self loathing. Hope I'm doing him justice!
Let me know what y'all think and thanks everyone for the support <3
Have had an awful past few days of self-loathing but can confirm kind friends on here and elsewhere as well as Matt in his blue suit in DDBA S1E3 are healing ✌️
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