A/N: This first chapter takes place after S1 of The Defenders. Karen and Foggy learn that Matt is alive and help him with his recovery.

Thanks to dmcreif for serving as Beta.

It was five days since Matt's death and Karen still hadn't spoken to the priest.

It wasn't for lack of opportunities. She'd been coming to his church all week; not for mass, just to light a candle and sit in the shadowy quiet of the pews. She'd seen him a number of times coming in and out of the sacristy, doing whatever sorts of chores priests did around the altar. She'd even seen him glance her way more than once. She'd had plenty of chances to say something...and hadn't.

Part of the problem, she told herself, was that she didn't know exactly what she could say. She knew Matt had been close to Father Lantom. Matt had referred to him as "my priest" on numerous occasions and she'd observed the two of them speaking privately at Ben Urich's and Grotto's funerals. It had been clear they knew each other well. And given that Matt was a heavy-duty Catholic, Karen was quite sure he would want Father Lantom to perform services for him. The sticking point was how to tell the priest that Matt was gone when there was no plausible explanation for how he died, and why there were no remains. Well…no explanation other than that Matt was Daredevil and lay buried somewhere under Midland Circle.

Would Matt mind if she revealed that little tidbit to the priest after his death, she wondered? Or did Father Lantom know it already, from Matt's frequent visits to the confessional? She recalled that priests were bound by the Seal of Confession not to disclose anything they learned during the Sacrament. So maybe Matt had felt secure enough to tell the priest all about the devil suit and the punching. But then again, maybe he hadn't.

Karen's experience with Catholicism was limited. She wasn't Catholic herself; and until Matt, most of the people she knew who called themselves Catholics were CAPEs (attending mass on Christmas, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday and Easter). That Matt faithfully followed the sacraments, particularly confession, seemed to Karen anachronistic and more than a little out of character. After all, the man wore horns on his head and beat up criminals; he hadn't exactly turned the other cheek. On the other hand, she supposed being Daredevil had given Matt a lot to confess - if he had decided to open up. And if he had, she thought wryly, Father Lantom had probably given him a shitload of Hail Mary's as penance in return. He looked like that kind of priest.

Karen sat back in the pew and stared at the flickering lights of the votive candles in the rack near the altar. She could see why Matt liked this church. It felt timeless, with its dark wood and stained-glass windows. There was an impenetrable tranquility about it, as if all hell could break loose in the real world and still not touch whatever was inside. She closed her eyes and breathed in the lingering scent of incense, hoping to inhale a little of that tranquility.

If she were honest with herself – and sitting in this church made her want to be honest - there was another reason why she hadn't spoken with the priest about Matt; a more painful reason. And that was that the minute she said the words, she knew Matt's death would become real and irreversible. Until now, she'd been holding onto the notion that the man might pull off a miracle. After all, the fact that he could do the things he did was a miracle by itself.

But now it was five days and there had been no sign. Five days since she and Foggy had held hands in the police station and waited in vain for Matt to return with the rest of The Defenders. She needed to face reality and talk to Father Lantom about putting Matt to rest. It never occurred to her to question whether the responsibility was hers. No matter where they stood with their relationship, she and Foggy were still the closest thing Matt had to family, so it made sense for her to make the arrangements. And – anyway - it certainly seemed like his superhero friends weren't going to take care of his services. So she would do it…as soon as she could work up the nerve.

In the end, Father Lantom solved the problem by coming to her. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed him approaching. One minute she was sitting alone, and the next he was sitting beside her on the hard wooden seat of the pew. He said nothing for a moment, before remarking quietly, "Don't you think it's time you told me why you've been warming this bench all week? It's not that I'm not happy to have people show up in my church, but I get the impression there's something on your mind. You might feel better if you talked about it."

His tone was matter-of-fact – almost blunt - which Karen found oddly comforting. It was not unkind; just very New York, as if Father Lantom were as much a part of the City as Central Park or Times Square. She thought he seemed like the kind of man who might take the whole my blind parishioner was really an ass-kicking martial arts fighter in his stride.

She took a deep breath. "It's about Matt," she said.

"Matthew Murdock?" he asked, as if there were any number of Matts that the two of them had in common.

She nodded, and to her dismay, could feel her eyes starting to fill with tears. She hated that – hated losing her composure in front of strangers, especially when she had a task to complete. She wanted to get through this with as little fuss as possible.

She cleared her throat. "There was an accident a few days ago," she began, although accident was a crappy word to use. She searched for a better one and came up empty. Finally, she said instead, "Did you know what Matt did…what he used to do…besides being a lawyer?"

Father Lantom paused before answering. "I'm aware that Matthew has some special talents," he said.

Special talents? That didn't help very much. Karen felt the tears start to spill over and roll down her cheeks, as much from frustration as from sorrow. She wasn't sure she had the energy to keep tap-dancing around the whole Daredevil thing. Matt should have left instructions about who she could tell. "There was a..," she hesitated as her voice grew unsteady, "there was this thing that happened in Midland Circle last week. Matt was there and he… um…he…" She felt the remnants of her self-control slipping and reached forward to grasp the back of the next pew.

The priest put his hand over hers. It was dry and warm. "I think you'd better come with me," he said.

She sniffled and stared at him. "I'm sorry?"

"I think you'd better come with me," he repeated. "I believe I know the problem and I'm fairly certain I can help. Let's take a walk."

And without waiting for her assent, he stood up and headed for the back of the church. Karen watched him for a few seconds and then followed. She expected him to take her to a room where they might talk privately, but to her surprise, he exited the church entirely and continued walking down the street. She hurried to catch up.

"Where are we going, Father?" she asked, walking by his side.

He waved one hand in a vague motion. "Just another three or four blocks," he said. "You'll understand when we get there."

She noted that they were heading deeper into Hell's Kitchen, walking west towards the Hudson River. After crossing 10th Avenue, the priest turned down a smaller side street and stopped in front of a plain concrete building, five stories high. It reminded Karen of a college dormitory.

"We'll go in here," he said.

She followed him up the steps and paused to read the small sign at the doorway: The Sisters of Saint Agnes. He was taking her to a convent? She wondered how he thought that would help, unless he expected her to join the sisters in prayer – which wasn't going to happen. Once inside, however, she saw that the building was actually an orphanage, run by nuns. It looked exactly like what she had always imagined an orphanage would look like. There were small rooms on both sides of the hallway, each containing a single bed and a desk with one chair. The rooms were remarkably uniform and plain; off-white walls, tired wooden floors, with every bed neatly made using the same white sheets and grey blankets. The few toys and games that were visible looked as tired and worn as the floors. Karen guessed that the kids themselves must be in school, because she didn't see any of them wandering the hallways.

She recalled that Matt had been sent to an orphanage after his father's death and wondered if this was the same place. She still didn't understand how Father Lantom thought bringing her here would help. The rooms looked cheerless and only served to remind her that Matt had had a screwed up childhood.

The priest led her down one flight of stairs and then to the end of a hallway, stopping in front of a closed door that looked like any of the other doors in the orphanage. Then he knocked gently.

Karen heard a woman's voice reply, "Come in."

Father Lantom swung the door open and gestured for Karen to follow. She stepped into the room and saw a nun seated on a chair next to a bed. Then she looked at the bed.

She gasped…and almost laughed.

Because apparently Matt Murdock hadn't run out of miracles, after all. He was lying in the bed with the blanket pulled up to his waist and his eyes closed. He looked horrible; covered in cuts and bruises - more bandages than skin. But he was most definitely alive. She could see that by his uneven breathing and the occasional small movement of his hands. His brow was puckered as if he were in pain.

But he was alive.

"Matt?" she said softly.

There was no response. Karen looked anxiously at the nun and the woman said, "He's woken up a few times, but mostly he's been unconscious." Like the priest's, her voice was matter-of-fact.

"Has he been to a hospital?"

The nun shook her head. "He asked us not to take him to one. It's about the only thing he's said."

Well, that sounded like Matt. Karen didn't know whether she was encouraged to hear that he was acting like himself, or angry because he was avoiding medical attention.

She shook her head in frustration. "He could have internal damage – a ruptured spleen or fractured spine. How the hell did he even get here?"

The nun shrugged. "He just showed up on the doorstep – we have no idea how he got here. And we agreed that if he got any worse we'd call an ambulance, regardless of what he said. But he seems to be improving."

This was improving? Karen wondered what he'd looked like when he'd first arrived at the orphanage. She fumbled in her purse and pulled out her phone. "I know a nurse who can come and examine him," she said. "He won't mind – she's taken care of him before. Then at least we'll have a better idea of how badly he's hurt." She stepped closer to the bed and touched Matt's hand. "Matt," she said quietly, "it's Karen. I'm going to call Claire and ask her to take a look at you."

Matt's eyes didn't open. But Karen thought she felt him grasp her fingers for a few seconds.

She called Claire. And then she called Foggy.

Claire Temple received the news that Matt Murdock was alive in stunned silence. She'd been at Midland Circle when the bombs had gone off and seemed certain that no one could have survived. Karen had to repeat herself several times before Claire would agree to come to the orphanage – and even then she sounded skeptical, as if she suspected someone might be impersonating Matt. When she got to Matt's room, she gazed at the bed for a long moment, her face gradually transitioning from doubt to astonishment. Karen wondered if her own face had looked anything like Claire's when she'd first walked in.

"I can't believe it," was all Claire said. Then she got to work.

Foggy didn't require nearly as much convincing as Claire. Karen's call caught him in the middle of a meeting at his law firm, and he simply walked out of it and caught a cab. He hugged her briefly when he arrived, then watched nervously as Claire examined Matt. The nurse was being very thorough; flexing Matt's limbs, testing his reflexes, and listening to his chest.

Foggy turned to Karen. "You said it didn't feel like he was gone," he muttered, as Claire carefully tapped Matt's abdomen. "I guess you were right." He shook his head and Karen thought she saw a glint of tears in his eyes. "I don't know whether to hug him or punch him," he added. "I'm really happy that he's alive and really pissed off at him for putting us through this."

"Maybe you could hold off the hugging and the punching for a few days - at least until I feel a little better."

The voice came from the bed and sounded infinitely tired. Karen and Foggy looked down to see Matt grimacing in pain, but awake and coherent.

Claire stopped examining Matt's abdomen. "Good," she said to him. "You're conscious. Can you tell me where it hurts?"

There was a long pause. "Just about everywhere," Matt replied.

"Your head?"

"Yes."

Claire frowned. "Then can I talk you into coming to the hospital for a CT scan? It'll give me a much better shot at finding any internal damage. I'd particularly like to examine your skull-"

"Wouldn't we all," Foggy interrupted.

"—for brain swelling and bleeding," Claire finished, shooting Foggy an annoyed glance.

They all looked at Matt for his response. He didn't say anything, but it was clear he wasn't on board with the hospital plan.

Claire rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Oh, of course not," she said. "I forgot that Matt Murdock doesn't do hospitals." She reached down and tapped Matt's shoulder. "So, here's the deal, pal. You've got broken ribs, more contusions than I can count and a concussion. On the bright side, your reflexes seem to be responding normally, so that suggests the spinal column isn't too badly damaged. However, that could change if the swelling gets worse." When Matt said nothing, she turned to Karen and Foggy. "What I can't tell without a scan, is whether he has a subdural hematoma. If he does, and the bleeding in the brain raises the pressure too much, then he could die."

She let that last statement hover in the room. Karen felt her insides sink. Matt wasn't out of the woods yet.

"Matt-" she began.

She didn't get any further. "No hospitals, Karen," he said.

Karen looked at Foggy. He shrugged helplessly. "He's not going to listen to me."

She sighed. "So then, what do we do?"

Claire started putting her medical instruments back in her bag. "About the only thing you can do in these circumstances," she said, "is keep a close eye on him. There's a list of symptoms that will present if the intracranial pressure gets too high – things like slurred speech, amnesia, irritability, irrational behavior-"

"Oh great," Foggy mumbled. "Most of that sounds like Matt on a good day."

There was a small cough from the bed, but Matt said nothing.

"I can give you the list," Claire continued, as if Foggy hadn't interrupted, "but I mean it when I say that you need to keep a close eye on him. It's got to be really close, like checking on him every hour."

Karen noted that Claire had said you and not we. Apparently she was not including herself as part of Matt's twenty-four hour nursing staff.

There was the sound of a throat clearing and Karen realized that it came from the nun who had been caring for Matt. She'd almost forgotten that the woman and Father Lantom were still there. "I don't think I can give him that much time," the nun said defensively. "I have other duties here at the orphanage. And I don't know him well enough to know what would be normal behavior and what would be abnormal for him."

Foggy laughed. "Join the club."

"Foggy-" Matt began tiredly.

Karen looked at Matt's face and decided to stop the argument before it could get started. It wasn't a good time; Matt was too ill and everyone's nerves were too raw. "We can take care of him," she said abruptly to Claire. "Foggy and I. We'll take him back to his place and take turns watching him." Foggy raised his eyebrows but made no objection.

Claire glanced at the two of them and smiled a sort of half-smile. "Okay," she said. "That should work. You've got my number - call if you see any change. And I'll stop by every other day to check on him myself."

"Thank you, Claire," Matt said, his eyes closing, "and thanks, Foggy and Karen. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." He sounded as if he was beginning to drift back to sleep.

Karen looked at Foggy. She couldn't tell what he was thinking – whether he was angry at her for bringing Matt back into the middle of their lives or pleased.

"That's what family is for," she said.

Matt Murdock turned out to be a better patient than Karen had anticipated. She'd expected him to insist on getting up, even when common sense dictated that he should rest. But the extent of Matt's injuries was such that he remained cooperatively in bed, sometimes so still that Karen and Foggy would check for signs of breathing.

"He meditates," Claire told them, on her first visit to Matt's apartment. "He does it to deal with the pain and he says it helps him heal faster. That's why he gets so quiet."

Karen didn't know why she was surprised by that. At this point, nothing Matt did should surprise her.

She and Foggy developed a schedule for Matt's care that was designed to provide twenty-four hour coverage, with Karen there during the day and Foggy covering the nights. However, it quickly evolved to both of them spending as much time at the apartment as possible. They rationalized it by saying that Karen couldn't lift Matt by herself and Foggy was at risk of falling asleep on night watch, but the truth was that they just liked having the three of them together. It reminded them of the old Nelson and Murdock days and it felt comfortable – like wearing a favorite pair of jeans. Foggy went into work for meetings and depositions, but came back to plan his cases. And Karen convinced her editor that she needed a break from investigative reporting and wrote a series of opinion pieces from Matt's living room. The Daredevil suit was packed neatly away in Matt's trunk – out of sight if not exactly out of mind. It was nice.

Which is not to say there weren't a few awkward moments.

One of them occurred when they first got Matt back to his place. He'd more or less passed out from the pain of being moved, and lay motionless in bed while Karen checked his bandages. Foggy hovered in the doorway, watching her.

"Have you ever noticed," he said conversationally, "that no matter how badly Matt gets hurt, he always manages to keep his face free of scars?"

Karen frowned as she studied one of the stitched-up wounds on Matt's chest, trying to decide if the redness indicated infection. "What?" she asked absently.

"I mean, look at him," Foggy continued. "He must have five or six big scars on his body – he'll probably have more after this. But that handsome mug of his just doesn't change. It's kind of unfair. The man has a building fall on top of him and he'll remain more attractive to women than I am."

Karen looked at Matt's torso. There were indeed a number of old scars, and as Foggy said, there would probably be more as the latest wounds healed. They did nothing to diminish Matt's attractiveness, but they certainly begged a lot of questions about how he'd gotten them. She wondered if they were one of the reasons he hadn't gone to bed with her all those months ago when they were dating. He really was in amazing shape, she thought, too muscular and lean for a lawyer. You would never guess it by seeing him in a business suit. She regretted their relationship hadn't progressed to the bedroom.

"Karen?"

She looked up to see Foggy staring at her. "Hmmm?" she answered.

"Were you ogling Matt's abs just now?"

She flushed. "No…no. I was just looking at his scars."

Foggy shook his head. "You were ogling, weren't you? You were checking him out."

She opened her mouth to deny it again, but then decided to say nothing. She suspected anything she said would only make matters worse. And the truth was she had been checking Matt out – just a little.

She glared at Foggy, then went back to inspecting the bandages.

Matt had been home for several days when Jessica Jones came to see him.

She knocked on his door in the early evening. Karen and Foggy were both in the living room, watching the news on Foggy's laptop with the volume low while Matt slept in his bedroom. Foggy answered the door and lifted one eyebrow when he saw their visitor. He made no effort at a welcome - just led Jessica down the short hallway to where Karen was seated. He gestured at The Defender and said sardonically, "Look who's here. It's one of Matt's super-friends." The minute the words were out he knew they were childish. He also knew he wasn't going to apologize.

Jessica narrowed her eyes but didn't respond to the gibe. Instead, she tilted her head toward the bedroom and said to Karen, "He's in there?"

Karen nodded from her chair. "He is, but he's asleep. And he should stay asleep – he needs rest." She didn't add, after you and the gang left him to die, but Foggy knew that was what she was thinking. He was pretty sure Jessica knew it as well.

Jessica shrugged. "I promise I won't make him go five rounds," she said flatly.

Then, without waiting for permission, she slid the door to Matt's bedroom open and strode in. Foggy followed worriedly. He was afraid that Matt, with his acute senses, would feel her energy and wake up, even if she was silent. She stopped at his bedside and looked down.

"Jesus Christ," she said.

Foggy glanced at Matt. Of all the exclamations Jessica could have chosen, she'd picked the one that Matt tried hardest to avoid; and she hadn't exactly said it quietly. Matt wasn't above cursing, but he'd told Foggy that when he was a kid the nuns threatened to wash his mouth out with soap any time he swore using "God" or "Jesus." He was far more likely to drop an f-bomb when the situation called for it. Fortunately, it appeared that Matt hadn't heard. He remained still – not even a flutter of his eyelids.

In all fairness, Foggy could understand Jessica's shock. His friend looked worse now than when Foggy and Karen had first seen him at the orphanage. Deep purple bruises had developed around many of the cuts and his cheeks were hollow after living on liquids for over a week. It wasn't at all hard to believe that a building had fallen on Matt. Foggy still couldn't stop checking for signs of life every time he walked into the bedroom.

Jessica studied Matt for what felt to Foggy like a long time, then tentatively reached out and traced a bruise on his upper arm with one finger. The gentleness of the gesture surprised him. For a fleeting moment she looked distraught, and it dawned on Foggy that she'd already been dwelling on the fact that The Defenders had left Matt behind – nothing he or Karen said could make her feel worse about it. But then her face hardened and she gave Matt a last look before turning and leaving the bedroom, brushing hastily past Foggy. He followed more slowly.

For a moment he thought Jessica was going to keep going – down the hall and out the door - but she didn't. She stopped in the living room. "Has he said anything about Elektra?" she asked.

Foggy saw Karen stiffen in her chair. He shook his head. "He's kinda been in and out of it," he replied. "He asked after her a couple of times," (more like a couple dozen), "but I don't think he knows what happened to her. I'm not sure he even knows how he made it out of the explosion."

Jessica bit her lip and nodded. Her large hazel eyes made a startling contrast with her dark hair and Foggy decided that she was pretty, in a tough-chick kind of way. But then she hung out with Matt, and Matt was a magnet for attractive women.

"Matt probably should wear cat's ears instead of devil horns," Jessica said with a wry smile. "He certainly seems to have extra lives. I can't believe the sonofabitch got out of that hole."

"He shouldn't have gone down in the first place." Karen didn't try to disguise the edge in her voice.

Foggy glanced at her appreciatively. Karen might not be able to throw a punch, but she was every bit as tough as Jessica – maybe even tougher, in her own way. She didn't have super powers, yet she never ran from a fight. That took guts.

"I gotta admit," Foggy said, giving Karen a supportive nod, "I'm with Karen on that one. Matt should have let the police deal with The Hand."

There were a few beats of silence during which Jessica glanced curiously between Karen and Foggy. Then she sighed and walked over to perch on the arm of Matt's sofa. "Am I sensing disapproval for Matt's alter ego?" she asked.

Foggy exchanged another look with Karen and answered for both of them. "The man has a degree from Columbia law school. He has plenty of skills that can help New York City without putting on a devil suit and beating the crap out of people. He doesn't need to resort to solving problems with his fists."

As soon as he'd finished speaking, it occurred to him that Jessica was probably very comfortable solving problems with her fists. She frowned, but didn't appear insulted. "Did you ever meet Stick?" she asked.

Foggy's eyebrows went up at the change in subject and he saw a puzzled expression cross Karen's face. He shook his head in reply to Jessica. "Matt mentioned Stick but I never met him." He turned to Karen and explained, "Stick's the guy who trained Matt to fight."

She nodded. "I think I might have met him once, at Matt's apartment. He's also blind?"

Jessica ran her fingers through her hair. "Yup – that's Stick. Well, I got the chance to spend a little time with him. He is…or was… a weird old bastard, and he didn't just train Matt to fight. He trained him when Matt was a kid, something like ten or eleven years old."

Foggy shrugged. "Yeah. So?"

"So think about it," Jessica continued. "Matt's not even a teenager, his parents are gone, and he's handed over to this old ninja guy who tells him he's destined to be a warrior in some mysterious army. The two of them spend hours every day sparring. "

Foggy and Karen looked at her with blank expressions.

"Christ," Jessica shook her head. "Don't you get it? Matt's a fucking kid, and this authority figure keeps pounding into his head that he's not a person – he's a weapon who should have no friends and avoid emotional attachments." She paused, and lowered her voice. "If you ask me, it's a freakin' miracle that Matt finished school, let alone went to college and became a lawyer. And it's a miracle that he has friends and cares about people the way he does. He must have been one tough kid to stand up to a guy like Stick and not let himself become the weapon Stick told him he was."

Foggy frowned. He hadn't thought about it like that.

"I know it's none of my business," Jessica went on, "but you might want to cut him some slack – at least about the fighting." She grinned suddenly. "The suit, on the other hand – I think you should give him plenty of crap about that. It's pretty stupid looking."

Karen didn't smile, but she did look like she was considering Jessica's words. She gave a tiny shake of her head. "I don't know. I can't help but wonder what it's doing to Matt's soul," she said, "every time he goes out at night. He feels guilty about it – and I know he doesn't want to kill people - but at the same time I think he likes putting on the suit and fighting. It's tearing him in two."

Jessica shrugged. "Maybe. But then maybe you should think about how you can help him deal with the guilt rather than criticizing him and making him feel guiltier. Matt's already good at beating himself up; he doesn't need you two helping him with it." She turned to Karen. "And if you're worried about Matt's soul, think about how he'll feel if he does nothing about a wrong that he knows he can fix. Trust me," she said soberly, "I've been there. It's tough to have certain…skills…and balance them with a normal life. I haven't known him as long as you, but I think Matt's trying to figure out how to live in both worlds and he needs your support, not your disapproval. And if it makes you feel any better, he tried pretty damn hard to talk us out of going up against The Hand. He kept reminding us about the people in our lives that we love. For him, I'm guessing that's you two."

Foggy and Karen looked at each other. Foggy decided Jessica might have a bit of a point, but couldn't tell if Karen agreed with him. They'd have to talk about it later, he thought.

"Fair enough," Foggy said.

Jessica nodded and straightened up from the arm of the sofa. Then she grinned again. "Wow. That was a long speech. I don't suppose Matt keeps any beer in his fridge? I could really use one. I had a tough day, and talking to you two hasn't made it any easier."

Foggy and Karen were quiet for a while after Jessica left. Foggy reread the same legal brief four times without really taking any of it in, and he suspected Karen wasn't doing any better with the article she was writing. He finally gave up and closed his laptop.

"Do you think she was right?" he asked.

Karen looked up. "Who?"

"Jessica. Do you think she was right about cutting Matt some slack over Daredevil?"

Karen frowned. "I don't know," she said slowly. "I do think I'm less down on vigilantes than I used to be, though."

That caught Foggy by surprise. "Really? Why?"

She shrugged. "I can't point to any one reason. Some of it was getting to know Frank Castle and his story. The system failed him, that's for sure. I don't think he had any choice except to take matters into his own hands. And some of it is because the problems we've seen lately are just too weird for the police. I mean – The Hand? A secret organization destroying the city to hold onto immortality? I don't think that's something they prepare for at the police academy."

Foggy shook his head. "But how does a vigilante keep from becoming the thing he's fighting? What makes it okay for Matt to hurt people but not the guy he's going after?"

Karen closed her own laptop and set it aside. Foggy got the sense that she'd thought about the question a lot. "At some point, I think you have to trust that someone like Matt has a…," she was searching for words, "a moral compass that makes him act for the right reason and not the wrong one. You have to believe that he's going to do the right thing." Then she smiled. "And anyway, Matt's got the whole Catholic guilt thing going for him. Father Lantom would never say how often he goes to confession, but I'm guessing it's a lot."

"I usually go once a week…sometimes more."

Foggy and Karen looked up to see Matt standing in the doorway of his bedroom. He was leaning against the frame and not at all steady on his legs. Foggy jumped up from his chair and rushed over.

"Easy, Matt," he said, placing a hand under Matt's elbow. "You should get back in bed. You're not ready to be on your feet yet."

Matt didn't move. "Can I…can I sit with you guys - just for a few minutes? I'm really tired of lying down." Foggy opened his mouth to protest, but Matt added, "I won't stay up long, Foggy, I promise. I just need to feel like I'm getting better – and I need to start building up some strength."

Foggy glanced at Karen. Her expression said, why not? "Okay," he agreed. "But just for a few minutes."

Matt nodded and grasped Foggy's arm. Foggy led him to the closest chair and helped him sit, then tucked a blanket around Matt's legs. Matt grimaced as he settled into his seat, but then his forehead smoothed and he looked as if his pain had become bearable, if not exactly acceptable. The room fell silent.

"So," Matt said after a minute, "what were you both doing just now?"

Karen met Foggy's eyes. "Working," she said. And then she added, "And talking."

"About?"

Foggy chuckled. "Give us a break, Matt. If you were awake in the bedroom, then you heard exactly what we were talking about. Don't pretend that you didn't."

Matt smiled apologetically. "Maybe I heard a little." He shifted in his chair and grimaced once more as he moved. "So, what's the consensus on Daredevil? Is he still persona non grata?"

Trust Matt to get right to the point. His voice was even, but Foggy thought he detected a nervous undertone. Matt cared about this answer. The problem was, Foggy wasn't sure about the answer he wanted to give.

He looked at Karen. "Persona non grata - that's Latin, you know. He's a smart boy, our Matt." He was stalling and everyone knew it.

Karen shrugged. "He's smart about some things," she agreed. "But not everything."

Foggy nodded. "Yeah, you're right about that. He always manages to get involved with the wrong woman, for starters."

Karen narrowed her eyes at him. "Careful, Foggy."

"Guys-" Matt interjected weakly.

Foggy held up one hand. "Okay, Karen," he conceded, "he always manages to get involved with the wrong woman, present company excepted."

Karen smiled at him. "That's better. And I don't think a man who goes to a woman like Marci for booty calls is in any position to judge – Foggy Bear."

"Guys-"

Foggy rolled his eyes. "Marci has her good points. Don't forget she helped us take down Wilson Fisk. And anyway, we're talking about Matt here, not me."

Karen nodded. "True."

The room got quiet again.

"Guys?" Matt said, for the third time.

Karen looked at Matt and then Foggy. She sighed. "You were never persona non grata, Matt. But you have to appreciate that this pretty tough for Foggy and me to deal with. Every time you go out as Daredevil, there's a chance you'll end up dead. We were pretty sure you had, this last time. How would you feel if Foggy and I kept putting ourselves at risk?"

Matt fumbled with the blanket on his lap. It looked like he was having a hard time sitting still, even though it hurt when he moved. "But you do put yourselves at risk – especially you, Karen," he said quietly. "Once you start investigating something, you don't let go. So, I know all about worrying." He shook his head. "There's more on your mind than that."

Karen looked once more at Foggy, as if measuring his reaction to her words. "Well, I can't speak for Foggy," she said, "but I think I could be better with the Daredevil thing if you didn't try to solve every problem alone, Matt. There are other people who care about the City and other people who can help. You need to learn to lean on them."

Matt frowned. "You sound like, Claire," he said. "She's always accusing me of being a martyr."

"She has a point." Karen got out of her chair and walked over to Matt. She briefly touched his cheek. "If you promise that you'll trust others to do their jobs - if you promise that Daredevil is a last resort and not your go-to position, I might be more okay with it."

Matt nodded and looked relieved. He turned to Foggy. "And what about you, Fog, what do you think?"

Foggy stared at the floor. He wanted to say the same thing as Karen - that he would accept Daredevil if Matt only suited up when there was no other solution - but he wasn't sure he meant it. Going outside of the law was a slippery slope. And he knew that Matt would know if he was lying.

He went for the truth. "I think I care about Matt Murdock," he said, "no matter what stupid-ass thing he decides to wear at night. I'm hoping he decides to give up the suit, but if he doesn't - well, he's still my friend."

The three of them were once more silent. They weren't in complete agreement - but then, Foggy thought, when were they ever?

It was close enough.