“Let me guess,” Matt says, around harsh, panting breaths, when the man’s lying on the ground beneath his boot. “Nothing random about this. This guy wanted you, and you know why.”
Stepping closer, Karen says, “Three gas leaks in this building in the past six months. Old pipes. City guys come in each time. No move to repair, no move to replace, no move to condemn the building and get these people to safer homes. Somebody wants it to blow.” She’s beside Matt now, staring down at the man on the ground. “Maybe he knows who.”
A glance at Matt shows a muscle twitching in his cheek. Then he’s hauling the guy up and slamming him against the basement door. “Oh, please give me a bunch of shit about not knowing anything,” he says. “Please. Make my night.”
“Jay, I do business for Jay, he hangs out at a bar on 43rd. Probably there right now -”
Matt sighs like he’s been let down before driving a fist into the man’s skull and letting him crumple to the ground.
In the sudden quiet, Karen’s breath catches in her chest. His blood, his blood must still be pounding; hers is. The last time Daredevil stood next to her in that red leather suit, he touched her, reached out and held her cheek in his heavy fighter’s glove; Karen’s struck with fury suddenly, a match held to straw. She isn't sure what happens next, but it won’t be that.
Matt took that from her. He gave her the Devil’s name, but he took the Devil’s touch.
A thought her mind can’t shake: touching her mouth to his jaw, feeling past the skin and stubble she knows for the pulse of anger just beneath, drinking it in. A little kiss of thanks, that’s all it would have been if she’d done it last time; so much more complicated now. Karen says, “You, ah. You know Jay?”
“Yeah, we’ve met.” A twist in Matt’s voice that says: my fists met his face. “Busy guy, Jay. It’ll be fun. Catching up.”
“Yeah? Well, I can't wait to meet him too.”
It’s a test. Karen pauses, waiting him out, but he doesn’t say, “Karen, Karen, Karen,” in that way that always makes her think you’re not my father. Instead, after a long beat, he says, “Okay. But I'll be bringing him to you.”
In pieces, the tone adds, or at the very least, worse for wear. Karen has no complaints.
It’s so easy to see Matt’s lips there in the gash in the mask, now that she knows. The way they press together, quirked up, just before he speaks; the shape of them around words. Would they feel the same as she remembers, soft and sweet and careful? Or would he finally let go?
There must be other threats out there in the city tonight. The fact that he’s making no move to leave, with this one neutralized, is... unexpected. The last time they saw each other, back in the closed offices of Nelson and Murdock, he spilled his secrets like grains of sand; at every prod from her, every question, they came pouring out, and she rushed around with cupped hands, desperate to catch them all.
“I’ll, ahh, I’ll give you some space,” he’d said then, soft, soft, and left her to turn off the lights and lock the door alone.
But tonight, standing here in the dark with blood on his gloves and a beaten man at his feet, he seems planted to the earth. Karen thinks, you saw him ugly and you saw him raw, and you're not walking away. He knows that, now. You're not walking away.
[FILL] Matt/Karen, Daredevil's rage/violence turns her on [5/?]
Stepping closer, Karen says, “Three gas leaks in this building in the past six months. Old pipes. City guys come in each time. No move to repair, no move to replace, no move to condemn the building and get these people to safer homes. Somebody wants it to blow.” She’s beside Matt now, staring down at the man on the ground. “Maybe he knows who.”
A glance at Matt shows a muscle twitching in his cheek. Then he’s hauling the guy up and slamming him against the basement door. “Oh, please give me a bunch of shit about not knowing anything,” he says. “Please. Make my night.”
“Jay, I do business for Jay, he hangs out at a bar on 43rd. Probably there right now -”
Matt sighs like he’s been let down before driving a fist into the man’s skull and letting him crumple to the ground.
In the sudden quiet, Karen’s breath catches in her chest. His blood, his blood must still be pounding; hers is. The last time Daredevil stood next to her in that red leather suit, he touched her, reached out and held her cheek in his heavy fighter’s glove; Karen’s struck with fury suddenly, a match held to straw. She isn't sure what happens next, but it won’t be that.
Matt took that from her. He gave her the Devil’s name, but he took the Devil’s touch.
A thought her mind can’t shake: touching her mouth to his jaw, feeling past the skin and stubble she knows for the pulse of anger just beneath, drinking it in. A little kiss of thanks, that’s all it would have been if she’d done it last time; so much more complicated now. Karen says, “You, ah. You know Jay?”
“Yeah, we’ve met.” A twist in Matt’s voice that says: my fists met his face. “Busy guy, Jay. It’ll be fun. Catching up.”
“Yeah? Well, I can't wait to meet him too.”
It’s a test. Karen pauses, waiting him out, but he doesn’t say, “Karen, Karen, Karen,” in that way that always makes her think you’re not my father. Instead, after a long beat, he says, “Okay. But I'll be bringing him to you.”
In pieces, the tone adds, or at the very least, worse for wear. Karen has no complaints.
It’s so easy to see Matt’s lips there in the gash in the mask, now that she knows. The way they press together, quirked up, just before he speaks; the shape of them around words. Would they feel the same as she remembers, soft and sweet and careful? Or would he finally let go?
There must be other threats out there in the city tonight. The fact that he’s making no move to leave, with this one neutralized, is... unexpected. The last time they saw each other, back in the closed offices of Nelson and Murdock, he spilled his secrets like grains of sand; at every prod from her, every question, they came pouring out, and she rushed around with cupped hands, desperate to catch them all.
“I’ll, ahh, I’ll give you some space,” he’d said then, soft, soft, and left her to turn off the lights and lock the door alone.
But tonight, standing here in the dark with blood on his gloves and a beaten man at his feet, he seems planted to the earth. Karen thinks, you saw him ugly and you saw him raw, and you're not walking away. He knows that, now. You're not walking away.
Let him know it, then.