Those Who Remained

Clear as Day

Karen decided that she was done with feeling hollow.

She decided that she was pissed instead.

She'd learned a long time ago that anger in the place of helplessness and guilt gave her focus--a focus that made her useful, voiding the unceasing barrage of bullshit that liked to parade around in her head. It gave her a sense of direction; a reason to continue on.

Anger was useful.

Anger was meaningful.

And now, once she figured out what the hell she was pissed at, she'd be right as rain.

After pausing at the steps of the C Train, she decided that she would take Foggy up on his offer to clear her head. Today was a stark, beautiful day-- the air was cool without windchill; the sky cloudless and endlessly blue. The day, and what it represented, deserved to be appreciated. She, in forward march towards the general direction of their office, was now appreciating it. It was sure as all hell better than appreciating the trainwreck that just happened.

No, her anger wasn't directed at Frank. Any feeling she'd ever had for Frank Castle was never anger, just... pure, utter frustration. Sure, he had his own, completely justified reasons for making her frustrated. She understood why had to be such an evasive son of a bastard, but it grated on her like the unending sound of nails on a chalkboard. Yes, his life was the metaphorical and literal edge of death, but would it kill him to admit that--

She stopped for a second to drag in a breath of cool air.

Snarl a little bit too.

Yeah, it would probably kill him to admit that.

To admit anything for that matter.

The harsh slap of the deli door she'd stopped in front of brought her back to reality. She continued forth upon the trash-bag-ridden sidewalk.

Was it Matt she was angry at?

Yes.

Partially.

The mess of emotions she had stored for one Matthew M. Murdock didn't even breach the bounds of anger. It was like a floating mass without definition; without end. The enigma that is Matt Murdock and his actions gave said mess only temporary, overblown labels, and, as much as Frank Castle liked to preach about stability, Matt was a disaster in all the ways that Frank was stable.

She shook her head, walking around the line of urine which originated from a leashed golden retriever ahead of her. God, the two of them were so hard-headed sometimes. The last thing that she needed was for the two of them to be in such close proximity again. And that sentiment was to be held true indefinitely.

The dog barked at her as she passed.

Maybe she couldn't blame him for hating a man like Frank Castle. It wasn't hard thing to do really-- it was easy to hate him. Karen paused at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green. A sedan ahead was blowing its horn at the taxi that crawled its way across the intersection. But still, why, why, didn't he at least try to recognize that Frank wasn't some raving lunatic? He, like Matt, like Daredevil, had reasons for doing what he did--he had crap that pushed him into being the way he was. And, instead of giving up and letting himself drown in the lake of shit that life had put him in, Frank was still trying to fight his way out.

He was still screaming. He was still struggled to keep his head above the surface.

Matt should at least realize that.

Because if it wasn't true, Frank would've just killed her to get to Grotto.

She sighed as she crossed the street, less force in her step. She was only fifteen minutes away from the office.

She had been so, so sure the other night.

She'd been sure that what they had together--could have--was good.

It just about broke her heart to doubt her conviction now.

...On his account, at least.

Matt seemed so genuine.

A group of guys congregated on the stairs of a brownstone looked her way as she passed. One whistled, another catcalled. She glared at them until she got to the corner, discreetly flipping them all off.

One of them laughed behind her, finally noticing as she stepped behind the building.

The problem with Matt-- genuine, selfless, sensitive Matt--was that he could be such a gigantic, selfish, goddamn prick sometimes. She squinted at a cross-street before continuing straight, the hoard of trash bags lined along the curb only growing in number. Sure, maybe he doesn't know any better than to be an invasive jackass-- maybe he can't help it --but she didn't know if she had what it takes to maintain a healthy, good relationship with someone who--

She faltered in her step, staring blindly ahead as she tried to collect her thoughts.

--who cared so much about where and what she was doing to the point that--

Karen shouted, almost breaking her ankle when someone pushed past her on the empty sidewalk. The judgement of "Asshole!" passed halfway through her lips as she stumbled to regain her footing.

She realized the absence of her purse and the stinging of her arm.

Are you fucking kidding me?

She began to give chase to the cascade of long, brown hair ahead of her, heels clicking noisily against the ground. She hauled it to the alleyway that the girl turned down-- to the chain link fence she was climbing on.

The girl was smiling at her.

Smiling.

Karen thought about the gun in that bag.

Her goddamn gun.

"Hey!" she yelled savagely, grabbing the girl's ankle and yanking her off. The girl screeched at her while scrambling up to her feet. "What the hell--" the girl tried to punch her, and she missed. Karen used one hand to grab her wrist and the other to snatch the purse off her arm, "--is wrong with--"

A presence suddenly appeared at her back, a hand grabbing the lower half of her face as its shadow loomed past her.