Many thanks to my beta Phil.
The first time it happens, Karen Page chalks it up to garden-variety paranoia, the kind few girls escape middle school without. When she walks into the office one morning she gets this feeling, simultaneously like a stone in the pit of her stomach and spiders creeping up the nape of her neck, the feeling that they were just having a conversation and her presence cut it short. There's no empirical evidence to back this up, though. Matt's at his desk, working on a case, and Foggy's making coffee in the other room. Her eyes move over the lines of Matt's shoulders and she frowns. Something about him is stiff, almost guilty.
Or maybe his chair is just uncomfortable. Karen stows her purse at her desk and goes to help Foggy with the coffee, even though he insists he can do it better. Her paranoia has dissipated by the time she greets him, but it comes back full force when she sees the strain in his smile, hears falseness in his voice.
Maybe he's just tired, she tells herself as she settles in for the day's work. Just tired from a late night.
By lunchtime she's forgotten all about it.
But no—she hasn't forgotten, not all of her. She's lived too long to ignore instincts. Only a few weeks ago she sat across the table from a smirking man and the weapon she used to murder him. And underneath her terror, her helplessness, thrummed the knowledge that she would kill him, could kill him, and she trusted it, trusted herself. And when he'd scoffed that the gun wasn't loaded she knew he was lying, because even bullets have weight, and her gut told her to go for it.
Karen has instincts, but the waters she wades in now have always been murky. The second time she gets the feeling her arrival cut off something between Matt and Foggy she starts to wonder if they're talking about her. The natural progression from that line of thought is, of course, that they know—about her, what she did. All of it.
She's sitting in a cafe trying to decide if the world is ending again. After a few minutes of staring at her sandwich, feeling her appetite drain away to make room for panic, she realizes that they couldn't know. If they did, they would say something to her. This is Matt and Foggy. Neither of them have a malicious bone in their bodies. They wouldn't secretly plot to have her arrested for murder without getting her side of the story first.
She starts to breathe again and finishes her lunch. When she gets back to the office she feels as if a veil separates her from the rest of the world, like a thin layer of drying blood.
Matt asks her if everything is alright, and she lies. He doesn't buy it, but then, he never does.
As she accidentally eavesdrops, Karen tells herself that she's not spying. Not really. Foggy is trying to be quiet but he's not quite hitting the mark, and yeah, maybe she has earbuds in, and that implies she's actually listening to something like music that would drown out his words, and maybe when Foggy walked into Matt's office with a newspaper she paused the song and concentrated. But that isn't spying. Spying involves a lot more leather and spandex.
"Hey," Foggy says, sounding awkward, "about last night—"
"I'm sorry." Matt's voice is lower but she's straining to hear now.
"No, it's okay. I mean, you're okay, right? That's what matters." Foggy shoots a glance over his shoulder through the glass and Karen only just manages to pretend she's working. "Should we tell her? I feel like we should tell her."
At the mention of her, Karen's pulse picks up.
"Let's talk later. Out of the office." Matt's voice is tense, worried.
She turns her music back on and doesn't meet Foggy's eye as he crosses the room.
It's Friday and Foggy suggests they all go out for drinks after work. Karen agrees, thinking that a few shots might erase the background radiation of paranoia she carries inside her now. The bar is bustling with familiar faces and Karen feels at home as she walks in, flanked by Foggy and Matt. They get a table and a few beers, and an hour later, as she's laughing at a terrible joke Foggy made, Karen realizes that the three of them could travel anywhere in the world and it would still be home, because they're part of this feeling of belonging, of being settled in her own skin.
The epiphany shatters and the peace inside her skitters away. They don't even know her, not really. They don't know what she's done. She hides her faltering smile behind her glass and tries to push all of it away and enjoy the moment, even if this is just a temporary illusion.
Something changes inside Matt. He sits up, back straight, shoulders rigid. "Well, I think I'll call it a night."
"Oh, come on," Foggy claps him on the shoulder. "Tired already? What're you, eighty years old now?"
"I just don't want to spend my weekend hung over." He stands and unfolds his cane. Though his smile is easy and warm, there's something in his voice that doesn't sit right in Karen's heart.
"Right, yeah," Foggy hurries to stand as well. "I'll get you a cab."
As they leave Karen watches them, their heads close together, lips moving. She is taken by the overwhelming suspicion they're using this as an opportunity to talk without her, to exclude her. Like she's a third wheel—
Puzzle pieces shift in her mind and click into place. "Oh," she sighs aloud, because the boys are outside now, having an animated conversation, and they can't see the dawning realization on her face. She doesn't bother to hide it as she feels cracks form around the edges of her universe.
In the minute or so Foggy is gone, she reviews her memories of the two of them together, from the first time they walked into the interrogation room and changed the course of her life. Those moments are hazy, clouded with panic and desperation, but others are clear. This puts everything in context, erases the mystery of their fight.
What hurts isn't that they are together, in a relationship or just fooling around or whatever it is, because that makes sense. Karen's heard of the multiverse, of possible worlds spinning out infinitely, each a little different, but she can't imagine any universe in which Matt and Foggy aren't partners. Maybe in some they aren't lawyers but butchers or bank robbers, and maybe in some of them Matt isn't blind and Foggy has a handlebar mustache. No matter what, though, they're together, a perfect match. But in most of these hypothetical worlds she is dead, Karen reflects, and they never meet her. Never need her.
What hurts is that they don't trust her enough to tell her. Part of her understands it's a selfish way to feel, because whatever romantic or sexual entanglements they have isn't her business, or anyone's, but she considers herself their friend. She wants to be happy for them, to make dumb jokes and congratulate them on anniversaries and see them be at ease around her, not having to tiptoe around anything. But knowing without their consent feels dirty, wrong, grimy on her skin.
Foggy returns to the little table with fresh drinks and starts telling her about their college days, how they stayed out until 4 in the morning and made it to class at 8 on a regular basis. She's heard the stories a hundred times already, but she takes her loneliness and fear and folds it neatly up inside her with the one spark of relief—at least they don't know about her.
When she laughs at a stupid pun Foggy makes five minutes later, she's surprised to find it's genuine.
Two weeks later Karen arrives to work before the boys, which is odd, because she's running late. She unlocks the door, settles in, and stares out the window for a few seconds before calling Matt. He doesn't pick up, so she tries Foggy.
When he answers he sounds a little breathless, but there's a smile in his voice.
"Hey—sorry, meant to call you. We'll be a little late, but if you could go ahead and get started on the—"
"Are you okay?" she cuts him off, "because you sound a little, uh, weird, and Matt didn't pick up—"
"No, yeah, I'm fine. We're fine. Just, you know." He pauses, undoubtedly trying to think of a lie and coming up empty. "Should be there in an hour. Maybe."
He hangs up after that and what fills her is indignant anger. She's supposed to sit here and listen to their lies without any explanation? Karen stands and decides she's going to live in a universe where she marches right up to those two and chews them out for treating her this way, for keeping her in the dark and causing her problems without any reason. Matt and Foggy are literally fucking around and she's supposed to just research legal precedents like a nice little secretary? She's going to tell them that if they want a doormat they can hire someone else.
Karen's halfway to Matt's place before she even questions herself, and then it's only a vague worry that they're somewhere else. But she has a feeling she'll find them there, and as she raises her hand to knock on the door she hears Foggy's voice.
"It just feels wrong that she doesn't know. She won't have a problem with it—I mean, your priest even knows, and if anyone was gonna take issue—"
A pause and a murmur she can't make out.
"Oh, shit. Hurry, get a shirt on—"
Karen knocks so hard it hurts her knuckles but she doesn't care. "I know you're in there!"
A few seconds pass and Foggy opens the door a crack. "Oh, hey, what's up?" His smile is so brittle she imagines a nice slap would shatter it.
"I'm tired of this, alright? Please, let me in. We have to talk." She fills those dreaded words with as much ominous meaning as she can.
"Let her in, Foggy," Matt calls from the living room.
"No more secrets." Karen strides into the apartment with her chin up. "I know what's going on, anyway, so we might as well clear the air—" Her words falter as she catches sight of Matt lying on the couch. He never did manage to get a shirt on, and she can see bright bruises scattered over the skin of his torso, arms, even face.
"Let me guess," she recovers quickly because she's full of fire and rage, "another car hit you?" The fact that he's obviously been beaten up doesn't factor into the whole secret relationship thing, but it's another mark against them that they'd hide the fact someone finds two no-name lawyers threatening enough to try to silence them with fear.
The silence that follows crackles through the air and she feels almost vindicated. They're both noticeably uncomfortable with her presence, and she twists the knife by making herself at home in a chair and smiling up at Foggy.
"This isn't what it looks like—" Foggy, bless his heart, tries to lie his way out of this, but Matt raises a hand and silences him.
"It's okay. She's figured it out already. Parts of it." He struggles to sit up, pain passing over his face. "Karen, I wanted to tell you—"
"Really?" she laughs and feels tears sting her eyes. "Because if you wanted to, you could have. A million times. But instead you two have been sneaking around and telling obvious lies, like I'm an idiot."
"This isn't that simple," he presses on, voice so patient it infuriates her. He's not wearing his glasses, and she can see regret etched in the lines around his eyes. "We wanted to protect you."
"Bullshit. You wanted to protect yourselves." A tear trickles down her cheek. She wipes it away. "I just don't understand why. Keeping it from the world is fine. But from me? After all we've been through?" She stares at her hands as she bunches her fingers in the fabric of her skirt. "How can you not trust me?"
"We do," Foggy sits beside her, "but knowing could get you hurt."
"There are certain parties that want to eliminate me from the equation," Matt adds, gesturing to his body. "I don't want that for you."
"That's not what I'm talking about. Whatever criminal element did that has nothing to do with this."
"Uh," Foggy stares at her, "It's kinda the whole point, though?"
Karen feels like she's missed the last step walking down a staircase. "What?"
"You know," Matt jokes, "she's taking this better than you. I'm surprised she hasn't asked how I do it, yet."
Blood rushes to her face and Karen gapes. "Th-that's a bit personal, don't you think? I don't need the details—"
"Really?" Foggy gives her an excited grin. "It's actually kinda cool—"
"Okay, I get it," she stands up. "You can stop trying to freak me out about this." Karen laughs and feels something dislodge from the pit of her stomach and evaporate. "I just hope you two are happy together, and I want you to know I'm happy for you."
"Happy?" Matt says, sounding confused, "That's, uh, okay. Thought you'd be worried."
"Well, I am, about the assholes who did this to you, but not about you dating Foggy."
"Dating?" Their voices make a harmony of bewilderment and panic.
"Oh," Karen backpedals, "I didn't mean—if it's just more casual, you know, not putting any labels on it—"
"Karen, Foggy and I aren't dating, or sleeping together." Matt tries to stand up but Foggy snaps for him to lie still or he'll rip his new stitches.
"Then—then—" Now she feels like she's missed the last step, tripped, and fallen through a window. "Then what have we been talking about this whole time?"
"Uh, the fact he's the Daredevil?" Foggy says, like it's nothing.
She cracks up, "Right, yeah, no offense, Matt, but you're blind—"
"Yeah, I noticed," he deadpans, and she feels like an ass.
"What's really going on? Foggy?"
"Let him tell you," he gestures to Matt, who launches into an explanation that makes her hyperventilate for a few minutes.
Half an hour later, when the world is settling back down and she's coming to terms with it, she says, "You saved my life."
"Yeah," Matt ducks his head. "Part of the job."
"Right," she giggles, "just another day at Nelson and Murdock." Karen rubs her eyes. "This is way less believable than you two being in love. You aren't, right? Just to clarify?"
"No," Matt chuckles, and Foggy says the same half a second later.
She's about to laugh away the rest of her shock when she notices Matt's eyebrows rise, his lips part, then close.
"Foggy?" Matt's never sounded so kind, so gentle.
"Yeah?" He's smiling, but his eyes are panicked.
"You—you're lying—"
"What? C'mon, why would I—"
"I can tell. You know I can tell."
Foggy's smile becomes almost manic and he rubs his eyes. "Shit. This is, uh, awkward. Literally a nightmare come true. How about that?"
Karen and Matt are frozen in place, but Foggy is all motion.
"Didn't want you to find out like this—or ever, really." He claps his hands. "Worst moment of my life. I'm just gonna see myself out, okay, bye."
The door slams behind him and Karen sinks down to sit across from Matt again. If this were a scene in a movie, crickets would be chirping. She can't stand the silence, so she breaks it.
"You're going after him, right?"
"Definitely," Her voice snaps Matt out of his daze and he stands, one hand clutching his side. He pulls a shirt on and leaves, almost forgetting his cane and glasses.
Alone now, feeling like she just sat through a tornado, Karen stands, moves over to the window. Staring out past the glowing billboard, at the brilliant blue sky, she smiles.