Chapter Text
Matt started his day by casing an alley, taking his place amid the garbage and the grime.
It was the perfect spot for a clandestine meeting, and Special Agent Nadeem showed up right on time.
But Matt didn’t budge. He needed to make sure that Nadeem was as good as his word. Fisk could get to anyone.
Nadeem already had a suspect in mind, an FBI colleague who could have worn the devil suit. Matt thought that was pretty damning on its own. But he couldn’t get played again. There was too much on the line.
The minutes slid slowly past. Nadeem was nervous, but not overly so. No other heartbeats announced their presence; no accomplice was poised to betray him.
Matt dropped onto the pavement from above.
After a pointed back-and-forth, Nadeem finally gave up the name Matt wanted: Special Agent Ben Poindexter. They would hit his apartment to search for evidence together.
“Tonight. And, remember, if we don’t find anything, you don’t touch him.”
Matt didn’t know if it would be enough. This could all end the same way as Jasper Evans.
But it was one more shot at making things right for the people he loved. He had to try.
Foggy had a theory. Foggy had a plan. Foggy wanted to take another shot at Fisk.
The very idea filled Karen with dread, but she looked at the paper he handed her anyway. It was a list of terms of Fisk’s house incarceration. Number three, he’d said, was key. Fisk couldn’t commit or conspire to commit a felony. And Foggy’s plan was to accuse him of doing just that — of giving up criminals involved in bribery and corruption to the FBI, with the goal of becoming the only crime boss in town running a government protection racket.
Foggy was going to make his big splash tonight, during a spontaneous “debate” with Blake Tower at the Hell’s Kitchen Club. He wanted Karen to write about it for the Bulletin.
And there was his first problem. Karen didn’t work for the Bulletin anymore.
“Yikes,” Foggy said when she explained. “OK, well, Ellison wants Fisk as badly as we do. Just tell him our plan, watch how fast he gives you your job back. And then we'll hook up at the dinner later. You're my plus-one.” He smiled. “Can you have salmon? Because I got you the salmon.”
Karen shrugged. “I’ll check, but if it’s cooked, I think so. The lox might be dicier.” She tilted her head toward the impressive spread on her coffee table. Foggy had shown up on her doorstep extremely prepared. Fresh juice, bagels, cut fruit, yogurt.
His phone had gone straight to voicemail when she called on her way back from Queens, so she’d ended up sleeping — well, trying to — in her own apartment. But Foggy had come over early, excited by the clues he’d found in Marci’s paperwork and bearing provisions.
Karen was eating what she could, despite her depression over Ellison’s ultimatum. Despite the terror that haunted her every time she thought about the blood-spattered newsroom. Despite the sadness that wrung her heart when she remembered that Amber was being taken off life support.
Frankly, Foggy’s plan scared the shit out of her. Both he and Matt were running headfirst into new leads, but for once she wished they weren’t. Fisk always knew. Fisk always won.
“I’ll see you tonight, OK?” Foggy said.
Karen nodded, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“I’m sure we’ll hear from Matt soon.”
She smiled weakly. She hadn’t told Foggy that it was an FBI agent who had been wearing the Daredevil suit. She was afraid even saying the words aloud might ruin any chance Matt had of outmaneuvering Fisk. He’d clearly gone through hell just to get that tiny scrap of information.
Karen tried to keep her voice light. “We should be able to call him. Why can’t he just get a phone like a normal person?”
“You know he never answered it anyway,” Foggy said with a shake of his head. He patted her shoulder. “Try to get some sleep before dinner.”
Karen watched him go. She took another bite of bagel and chewed it mechanically.
You shouldn’t count on me, Matt said again in her head.
The pain in his voice. That was the scariest part. Seeing Matt brought so low.
What if she lost him again?
What if they really couldn’t do this?
But Matt had gone to confront Nadeem. He was still moving forward. He was still trying. Matt and Foggy still had fight in them, and she could find hers. She had to be strong for her family.
Karen picked up a grape and forced herself to pop it into her mouth. She needed to stay healthy. Losing her job meant losing her health insurance, and she hadn't even been to the doctor's for an initial appointment yet.
A knock sounded at the door, and she pulled her exhausted body from the couch with a groan. She padded across the floor in her socks and pulled the door open. “What did you forget?”
But it wasn’t Foggy.
Standing in her hallway was Fisk’s lawyer. Donovan.
She immediately flushed. Along with her socks, she had on sweatpants and a bright purple t-shirt. She wasn’t exactly dressed for the occasion.
“Hello, Ms. Page. I’m Benjamin Donovan of Donovan and Partners. I represent Mr. Wilson Fisk.”
“I know who you are,” Karen said warily, crossing her arms over her chest.
“My client has sent me to offer you and the New York Bulletin an exclusive interview.”
“What?” Karen shook her head in confusion.
“May I come in, Ms. Page? I’m sorry to bother you at home, but as your office is currently a crime scene, I thought it unlikely you’d be there today.”
She stepped back and allowed him inside. This day had just become incredibly surreal. “Bagel?” she asked, gesturing to the coffee table. She almost laughed, and not in a funny way.
Donovan’s face registered a brief hint of distaste. “No, thank you. As I was saying, Mr. Fisk feels pained by the tragedy at the Bulletin perpetrated by the terrorist vigilante known as Daredevil, and he would like to set the record straight about some matters pertaining to his ongoing cooperation with federal authorities.”
“I’m not a puppet, Mr. Donovan. I won’t be Fisk’s mouthpiece for some staged interview.”
“I understand your concerns. But Mr. Fisk offers you the opportunity to ask any questions you so choose, so long as you understand that he may choose not to comment. And, of course, whatever you decide to publish is completely under your control.”
Karen shifted her weight uneasily. She had no control over what the Bulletin published anymore, but she wasn’t going to tell Donovan that. “The FBI is going to allow this?” she asked.
“We’ve cleared the interview with the Bureau. You will be monitored by the cameras for your own security. The agents will be able to see you, but the contents of your interview will not be listened to or recorded.”
Karen hesitated. There was no way that Fisk was deluded enough to think she’d actually write some puff piece, but clearly he wanted something. And knowing what he was after would be revealing.
“Consider the offer, Ms. Page,” Donovan said. “There won’t be another one. If you choose to accept, report to the security station in the lobby of the Presidential Hotel at 7 p.m. sharp. He’ll be expecting you.”
Donovan closed the door behind him with a bang, and Karen collapsed on the couch, rubbing her hand over her eyes. A one-on-one meeting with Fisk? It was crazy to even consider it. Fisk had at least one rotten apple at the FBI working for him, and there could be others.
It was crazy — but she was definitely considering it.
She thought of Matt’s bowed head in the passenger seat last night, of the wild hope on Foggy’s face this morning. She could pretty much guess how the two of them would react — the words hell and no came to mind — but they needed her to do this. Any information she could gather about Fisk’s next move would be useful. It was time for her to pull her weight, to follow her own lead.
But first, she had to go throw up that stupid bagel.
Stupid. He was stupid.
Matt made his way back toward the church, cursing himself for letting the promise he’d made to Nadeem overrule his judgment. He’d missed his chance to confront Ben Poindexter, and now Poindexter knew they were on to him. They’d just made him even more dangerous.
And to make matters worse, Nadeem was nursing a gunshot wound. A nice thank you gift for giving Matt a guided tour of Poindexter’s apartment. Working with Daredevil certainly had its perks.
Matt needed to clean up his own injuries, and then he wanted to check on Karen again. He had a burner phone now, so Nadeem could stay in touch, and he knew he should give her the number.
He’d tried earlier, before the rendezvous at Poindexter’s place, lingering outside Karen’s apartment just long enough to know that she was OK. Her shower was running, and he’d used that as an excuse for not going inside. He didn’t want to scare her.
But he knew he’d already scared her. Given what had happened at the Bulletin, she had to understand finally that he couldn’t keep her safe. What good was he now? The courage of his convictions had drained out of him; all that righteous fire he relied on was flickering. He couldn’t tell Karen everything was going to be OK. He couldn’t tell her they’d get through it together.
Especially now, after his failure to confront the imposter. He knew it meant that sooner or later, more people would die.
And all he had to show for his efforts was the tape recorder he’d taken from Poindexter’s apartment.
He played it while he bandaged himself back at the church. He heard echoes of his own past in Poindexter’s isolation and anger, but Poindexter seemed to have been a killer since childhood. Matt was many things, but at least he wasn’t a psychopath.
That comfort arrived ice-cold, though. He would still have to face one.
A set of footsteps drew nearer, interrupting Matt’s thoughts. “I was hoping you’d come here tonight,” Sister Maggie said.
“I know who was wearing my suit,” Matt said. “He’s an FBI agent. He’s—mentally, he’s seriously disturbed.”
Sister Maggie clicked off the tape recorder. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“A guy like that, working for Fisk. Who knows what—”
“Matthew.” Her voice was firm. “I understand you’re upset, and rightly so, but we need to talk. The truth is, we’ve needed to talk for a long time.”
Now that the moment was here, Karen wasn’t sure she was ready to talk to Fisk. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears as she took in the grandeur of his suite. She could hardly believe it.
Dazzling. That was the only word for it. The white walls and the sheer curtains and the chandelier. Like something out of a magazine. Felonious Living.
“You gotta be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath.
But this wasn’t a joke. And she had the goosebumps to prove it.
“Miss Page.”
She bit the inside of her lip and turned around to face him. Wilson Fisk, dressed in shimmering white, descending from the upper floor like some kind of twisted angel arriving from an upside-down hell.
“I must admit, I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”
She gave him a hard look. He couldn’t have had much doubt she’d show up.
The side of his mouth curled up slightly as he approached. He took a few steps past her, toward the open kitchen, before turning back around. “Tea?”
Karen shook her head. “We’re really going to do this? Sit here and sip tea like you haven’t tried to have me killed?”
“Crimes for which I’m still paying.” Fisk curled and uncurled the fingers of his right hand. “You’ll have to excuse me, Miss Page. I believed your acceptance of my offer meant that you would be able to speak to me in a professional capacity. But by all means, if you’re too personally uncomfortable…”
“No.” Karen stiffened her spine. “I’ll stay.”
“Then perhaps we should get to the business at hand. Please sit.”
She pulled out one of the leather chairs at the expansive dining table and sat down, glad to be off her feet. She tired so easily these days, and she needed all her strength to match Fisk’s wits.
“I do have some questions I’d like to ask you,” she said, pulling from her back pocket a reporter’s notebook and pencil — all the feds had let her bring in. “Your lawyer said that was part of our agreement?”
Fisk nodded once, then folded his hands in his lap.
“What can you tell me about Red Lion Bank? You have significant assets with them, don’t you?”
“I’ll have to refer all financial questions to my attorneys, Miss Page. My control in these matters has been restricted, as you know.”
“I’ll keep it simple then. Do you own this hotel?”
Fisk lifted his eyebrows slightly. “It seems unlikely, doesn’t it, that the FBI would choose a property that I own for my incarceration?”
“Not really. House arrest happens all the time.” Karen gestured around her with her pencil. “Just not usually at this level of privilege.”
“Your grievance seems to be with the federal government, then. Perhaps you should direct your ire, and your questions, at them.”
“But if they don’t know—”
“I have nothing more to say on this subject. I do not wish to speak about a laundry list of what I may or may not own. I invited you here to talk about Hell’s Kitchen. Lately, it has come under attack. Your own newsroom has suffered.”
“And you had nothing to do with that, I’m sure.”
“From all accounts, the perpetrator was Daredevil.”
“You know that’s not true. The attacker was an imposter.”
Fisk tilted his head. “You seem very confident of that, Miss Page. But then, you know Daredevil very well, don’t you?”
Karen narrowed her eyes. She’d expected this. “I know Daredevil doesn’t kill people. He’s not like you.”
“Anyone can be pushed past his limits.”
Her brain flashed to what she’d told Matt the night before, as he sat in her passenger seat, and she swallowed. She needed to shift this conversation away from Daredevil.
“What is it that you think you can offer the people of Hell’s Kitchen?” she asked. “Do you think they’ll accept condolences from you? Our newsroom has been devastated before. We still mourn Ben every day.”
“Mr. Urich.” Fisk turned his face slightly away. “He was your mentor, I believe, when you were merely a secretary, working at the law firm of Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson.”
“I was the office manager,” she corrected. Just hearing Fisk say their names set her teeth on edge. “But yes, I learned a lot from Ben. For example, he told me about your mother.”
“My mother.”
“Yes. Apparently, she remembered a lot about your childhood, despite her condition. They say the oldest memories stick around the longest.” Karen watched Fisk’s face, expecting his hackles to go up, but his expression was enigmatic.
“It’s…interesting that you mention my mother.” Fisk breathed out heavily. “My mother suffered a great deal for me. I’m afraid that’s a rather common story, mothers suffering for their children. But then, so much depends on their fathers. What kind of men they are. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Karen thought of young Fisk and his hammer, and she wrinkled her forehead.
“It’s been on your mind of late, hasn’t it, Miss Page? What kind of father Mr. Murdock will be to your child.”
Karen’s blood ran cold and her jaw dropped open. She shook her head. “How—?” she breathed, hardly able to speak. Without touching her, the monster had seized her by the throat.
“Yes. Thank you, thank you.” Fisk looked pleased. “The FBI are such faithful servants of the public good. If they think you are in contact with a known fugitive, they take action. Watch your home. Search through what you throw away. But of course paternity can’t be determined by two pink lines.”
Horror crushed down on Karen, holding her paralyzed. This was why Fisk brought her here. To see the confirmation written all over her face.
Fisk’s eyes glinted with triumph. “Mr. Murdock is a man who keeps many secrets. But this must surely be the most precious of them all.”
Karen clenched her fists, trying not to tremble, trying not to think of what sick plans Fisk had in store for her. He wanted to use her to damage Matt. There was no limit to what he might do.
And it was clear that Fisk knew all of it — Matt’s secrets. Their secrets. What was the use of fighting against him when he held all the cards?
Fisk knew everything.
Except he didn’t. Not everything.
An odd calm spread like warmth through Karen’s limbs, and she sat up straighter in her chair. “You think that’s what I am? A weak spot for Matt?” She smiled. “You really have no idea, do you?”
Fisk met her gaze with a spark of displeasure. Maybe he’d expected her to cry. To beg.
“OK, you want a secret?” Karen asked, leaning in slightly. “James Wesley. Was he a weak spot for you? Not at first, maybe, he was just a useful tool, but over time you trusted him more and more. To the point where he was carrying out your dirty work without even letting you know.”
Fisk glowered at her. There was no doubt she had his interest.
“He hated it here. You knew that, right? He hated the rancid, filthy crush of this city. But he stayed. For you.” Karen let every ounce of her hate fill her face. “He stayed for you, and he kidnapped me for you, and he died—because of you.” The realization began to dawn over Fisk’s features. “That’s right. I’m the one who killed him. I put seven bullets in his body because he threatened the people that I love. I am no one’s weak spot, Wilson.”
Fisk let out an inhuman sound and surged to his feet. He stood over her, breathing heavily, his fists tightening and the veins in his face bulging. She had no doubt that he wanted to kill her. That he would send someone after her once she left this suite. But maybe he couldn’t quite bring himself to attack a pregnant woman with his own hands.
Karen stood up without flinching. “I think we’re done. We can stop pretending I was ever here to write a story. This city has had enough of your lies.”
And she turned and walked out of the room without looking back.
Sister Maggie couldn’t quite look at him, even though she knew he couldn’t look back. Matt could tell by her voice, which was directed not straight at him, but off to the side.
“You remember I told you that I once considered a very different life?”
Matt nodded. He was sitting on his bed. Sister Maggie was several steps away, leaning against the shelf. As his senses narrowed in on her, Matt tingled with a feeling of almost… danger. Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. His skin prickled.
“What I didn’t tell you is that when I was a young novitiate, I met someone. A man. He was so unlike anyone I’d ever met before,” Maggie said. “It was…exhilarating. He was a little rough around the edges, but he had a generous heart. And I decided to leave the order. I put away my habit and we started a life together. We were happy, blissfully so at times, and before long I was… I was pregnant.”
Matt jerked his chin as a piece of the puzzle clicked into place. This was why she had reacted so strongly to the news of Karen’s pregnancy.
“But once the baby was born, things got… darker. I was scared and so alone with my twisted thoughts. I couldn’t find the words to explain myself, to ask for help. I worried all the time about hurting the baby. Eventually I couldn’t even bring myself to answer his cries.” Maggie gulped in a breath. “I understand now that I was ill, that I was suffering from postpartum, but I knew nothing about it in those days. I thought I had made a mistake. That I had turned my back on God, and he was punishing me.”
Matt made a sympathetic sound. The guilt in her voice was immense.
“So I left. I was a danger to my son, so I abandoned him and went back to the church. I never got treatment. The church assumed I would get better with prayer. And over time, my symptoms did improve. But by then I had convinced myself he didn't need me anymore. That I would only confuse him by trying to see him. And as the years went on, I justified myself with elaborate excuses. I've been a coward.”
Matt shifted on the bed. "Maybe it's not too late—"
“I'm telling you this now, in the hopes that you can avoid my mistakes,” she said. “I've wrestled with it every day since you were dragged in here a bleeding mess. Because that man I met, his name was Jack. And the son I abandoned... his name was Matthew.”
“No.” No no no no no. It couldn’t be true, it was unthinkable, but her heart mocked him with its insistent beat.
“What you told me yesterday, it woke me up. I've ruined things for us, but you can still have a family. You can still have what you've deserved all these years.” Maggie walked closer, wringing her hands, her voice pleading. “But, Matthew, you have to hold on to it.”
That was all Matt could do — grip the mattress with his fists and hold on for dear life — because the room was spinning, whirling ever faster, the words buzzing like radio static in his ears.
His whole world was falling apart.