Karen wasnât sure what she was looking for in San Francisco. A new start, maybe, but it wasnât as easy as that. It never was. She knew she had to leave New Yorkâ Hellâs Kitchen stopped being home after Foggy diedâ but escape, even a thousand miles away, was impossible.  She still dreamed about him, still felt the moment his heart stopped beating beneath her bloodsoaked hands.  She still mourned him.  She mourned Matt, too, because sheâd lost him that night just as much as sheâd lost Foggy. He abandoned the Daredevil moniker and all but disappeared into himself. Karen tried to reach him, to pull him back, but eventually she had no choice but to stop. She had to take care of herself. There was no outrunning her memories, thoughâ ghosts that felt shackled to her like irons.  All she could do was try, not for something better, exactly, but for something different.
Thatâs exactly what California was. Â The coffee was twice as expensive and half as strong. Â Every cafe and bodega was staffed by at least one young up-and-comer with Hollywood dreams. There was a lofty air of hope in San Francisco, but there was also the grind that Karen was used toâ the working two jobs to make ends meet because cost of living was astronomical; the doing everything you could to keep your head above water because, if you didnât, the city would eat you alive. Â It didnât feel like home, not by a long shot, but it felt like something she could get used to.
She got a job as an investigative journalist, leveraging her time at the Bulletin to get her foot in the door at some small-time newsrooms. Her routine was simple: She went to work, got takeout on her way back to her studio apartment, and kept working until the whiskey ran out or she fell asleep, whichever came first.  She had no intention of making friends.  Then, Eddie Brock came along.
My Daredevil: Born Again AU.
Karenâs affinity for finding trouble (and black-clad killers) follows her out West. Thank you, denizens of tumblr, for putting this in my head.
âYou gotta walk away. Right now. Thatâs what has to happen, you hear me?â
Frankâs voice is unwavering, but his eyes are pleading as he stares at Karen. Sheâs standing at the foot of his bed like a sentry, her arms folded defensively across her chest. Sheâs wearing one hell of a poker face, but the look in her eye is obvious. Heâs hurting her, and he hates himself for it.Â
âYou donât get to do this,â she exclaims. âYou donât get justâŚÂ decide who gives a shit! Thatâs not on you, Frank.â
âNot on me?â He looks to the side, a huff of dry laughter rising from his throat. âNo, it is on me.â Throwing off the scratchy hospital blankets, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed with more effort than he cares to think about. Â
âBecause I know you, Karen. Youâre strong, and youâre brave, but youâre so goddamn stubborn; youâll do whatever it takes when it comes to me.â He pauses, dark eyes boring into her. âTell me Iâm wrong.âÂ
But she just turns her head away, scoffing.Â
âYeah.â Frank hums. âThatâs what I thought.â
He pushes himself to stand. More effort. The cuts on his face and the bruises on his body weigh him down, but not as much as the knowledge of how he got them. Heâd been one-upped by Russo, played like a jackass; beaten. Beaten so badly that Karen dropped everythingâ the good, stable life sheâd been building for herselfâ to sit by his side and wait for him to wake up. Â
âYou put yourself before others,â he says. âAnd I canât let you do that. Not for me.â
Blue eyes, alarming in their brightness, shoot toward him. Karen motions toward the door, where Midani and Amy are probably waiting somewhere outside, hearing every word. âSo it's okay for them to risk everything, but not me?â Â
It isnât, but thatâs beside the point. This is different. Everything is, with her.
âWhat do you thinkâs gonna happen?â He growls. Â
He takes slow steps in Karenâs direction. Itâs like wading through water, trying to get to her, being drawn in and pushed back by the same current. Part of him thinks itâd be easier to just lay down, let the current sweep him in, but he knows that life isnât meant for him, not while breath still fills Billy Russoâs lungs.Â
Frank allows his expression to harden. He has to puff out his chest, show his teeth; be the monster everyone thinks he is. Â
Everyone except Karen.Â
When she looks at him, he sees something else behind her eyes. Heâs now sure what it isâ or maybe he is and is too much of a coward to admit itâ but he knows it's dangerous. Every time he sees it, sees her , his heart rattles a little harder against his ribcage; whispers things he knows he canât have. That feeling has no place here. He needs to change her mind; make her see him like the rest of the world. Maybe then sheâll walk away⌠so he doesnât have to.
I was among the people who didnât fully grasp this as first. I couldnât hear a lot of the performance (TV volume/background noise), but just seeing it I knew a statement was being made. Still, I read some commentary and re-watched and man am I glad I did.
Art is (among many things) about making a statement, and this did just that. Hats off to Kendrick and everyone who made this happen.
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