A/N:

All the stuff with Ellison is straight out of Daredevil.

She texted Karen while she waited for the plane to Shanghai. It simply hadn't occurred to her when she'd told Isaiah she'd take the job that she'd be missing her night with Karen. It was like two different parts of her life had collided. She wasn't sure she'd ever had more than one part of her life before.

Sorry again to miss out. Hope to see you Tuesday.

It's okay. Me too!

But the job ended up with complications. Mr. Lin's son turned out to not so much be in danger as be trying to kill her, having taken up his dead brother's mantle of Iron Scorpion. Natasha managed to text Karen on Monday that she wouldn't make Tuesday, but it was a full nine days before Natasha was trudging back up the steps to her apartment, sparing a pat for the stray cat who lived outside her building and cursing the fellow for getting away. She flipped open her phone.

I'm home. Finally.

It was a few minutes before she got a reply.

You would not believe what's happened here. Too long a story for text.

Short version?

The mob pulled some shit. Got a client. Gunman shot up the hospital to get him. DA tried to pull some shit. Client died, but the police got the gunman, who's a Daredevil copycat. Then we picked up the gunman as a client.

Natasha blinked.

Where's Clint Barton when you need him? Could've used some of that 'can handle the mafia' mojo.

Are you okay?

Yeah, fine, Frank wasn't gonna shoot me.

Frank?

Frank Castle, you ever heard of him? Because I know there's more to this than we're hearing.

Natasha was halfway through typing a No, sorry text when the next message came in.

He had a wife and kids, and they all died, and nobody's talking about it. And his house, it's exactly the same, all the kids' stuff is still there.

What were you doing in his house?

A pause. Then, Broke in.

You broke into the house of a murderer to find evidence for his own trial?

No, this was before he got arrested.

You broke into the house of a murderer at large?

Another pause. Natasha's hands, she realized distantly, were shaking.

Well, when you put it like that… Natasha hit call.

"Hey!" said Karen at once. "I can only talk for a little bit, we've got loads to do before the trial."

"Karen."

"Yeah, okay, so it's not the safest thing I've ever done, but you know what Natasha, I work for a law firm, sometimes that involves criminals, and sometimes criminals involve danger, and you cannot tell me that you've been away for a week on a work thing not able to even text, the whole time being perfectly safe and not doing anything dangerous."
"I'm an infiltration expert who's been doing this for sixty years!" said Natasha. "It's hardly the same thing!" She felt as though a layer of skin had been ripped off, allowing emotions about ten times stronger than she was used to in.

"Really, 'cause I think you can probably still get shot even with sixty years' practice when the practice is in infiltration," said Karen. "At least I didn't sneak into his house while he was still there. And you're mad 'cause you worry, but I worry too and you'll notice I'm not telling you that you should have come home when things got complicated." A voice on the other end. "Foggy needs me, Natasha, gotta go, bye," said Karen, and hung up.

"Everyone I know does superhero work. But her, she's only doing basic B&E, no aliens, no HYDRA, and I can't calm down," said Natasha, pacing. "My adrenaline's up so high I can't focus enough to be anyone."

"What?" Clint frowned.

"I can't be Natalie, I can't be Steve's Natasha, I certainly couldn't be an escort or interrogator Black Widow or Avenger Black Widow, and I can't even tell if I'm your Natasha or hers or anyone at all. I don't understand."

"Well, what does she make you feel when she isn't scaring you silly?" asked Clint philosophically from the couch, seemingly unconcerned with Natasha wearing a hole in his floorboards.

"Understood," said Natasha after a moment's thought, finally slowing to a standstill. "Cared for." And, after a longer pause, "Safe."

Clint nodded. "And what would you do to keep her safe?"

Natasha thought a moment, and her lips pressed together tightly.

"I don't know," she said, twisting her hands in a rare display of anxiety. "But I want to say I'd burn down the world to save her."

"You're in love with her," said Clint softly. Natasha stopped dead.

A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind, starting with "I am?" going to "But I can't be," and ending at "Is this what it feels like?" but nothing came out of her mouth.
"I need to go," was what she said, hating that she couldn't be anyone diplomatic, that she had to trust even Clint this raw, but she had no choice.

If this, this was where they were heading, careening toward at a pace which Natasha was sure terrified her on whatever level she still processed that kind of fear, then she needed to warn Karen.

But Karen wasn't home. Before she knew what she was doing, Natasha had traced the tracker still on Karen's car and was on her way to the precinct. When she stopped to think, she almost turned around and went back home. Karen at the precinct probably meant Karen working. She did have a life outside of Natasha. But what if she wasn't?

A truly mad idea popped into her head, and encouraged by an imaginary Clint. With an offhand thought to blame him when this inevitably went wrong, Natasha punched out the first cop she could find.

She slipped a piece of plexiglass into the lock of the door to the interrogation room. The cops cuffed her to the table inside and left. Perfect, she didn't even have to carry on a conversation at the same time. And the time it had taken to get arrested had allowed her to calm down somewhat. But listen as she might, Natasha could hear no sign of Murdock, Nelson, or Karen. After a few minutes of this, Natasha dislocated a thumb, slipped out of the cuffs, and opened the door. She made her way to the security screens, giving the guard a heap of bullshit that she wouldn't even remember later. And there was Karen, sitting in what looked like a room full of back issues, judging by the newspaper she was leafing through. Natasha blinked at the screen, and went to find her.

Karen, it seemed, was not in the least surprised to see her.

"Hey, Natasha!" she said cheerfully.

"What are you doing?" asked Natasha curiously.

"Research on Frank Castle."

Natasha didn't have a good answer, so she just smiled. Karen grinned happily.

"You're in a good mood," Natasha observed.

Karen looked down, bit her lip, and took a breath.

"Matt kissed me," she said, as though relating a secret.

Oh. Natasha only nodded.

"And, he asked me out, and, well, I said yes," said Karen, looking up at Natasha again. "And it was awkward at first, but then it was really nice."

"I'm glad you're happy," said Natasha, careful to keep up a blank mask.

"So, what are you doing here?" asked Karen casually.

"Just wanted to come see how you were." She almost winced at the transparency. Karen raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"Want to help me look through these files?" she asked, proffering a stack. Natasha settled down beside her and assigned part of her brain to listen to Karen explaining what they were looking for while she tried to parse.

She almost wished she could say she was jealous, or disappointed, but it was far from that simple. A confusing mess of feelings boiled over her, so she couldn't have said what composed it. If she had to guess, she would say jealousy and disappointment were in there, but not strong enough to pick out clearly. She was also genuinely happy that Karen was, and… Protective? Odd. Matt might beat people up in his spare time, but he wouldn't lay a hand on Karen. On the other hand, she didn't know he was Daredevil, and Clint's words came back to her.

Have you ever built a relationship on honesty?

Before Natasha abandoned Karen for the night, she pulled her into a tight hug. Nonsensical words tugged at her brain, like "don't let him get away with anything just because you like him." But she said nothing, just smiled and waved at Karen's confused expression.

But it was only days later that Karen called.

"I left Matt," was what she opened with.

"What did he do?" asked Natasha, stopping dead.

"Found another woman in his bed," said Karen shortly, tears audible beneath the surface.

"What."

"I actually don't think he was having sex with her," Karen continued, and Natasha wrenched herself away from a fantasy of slowly murdering Murdock. (Which was odd. Quite the overreaction, for her anyway.) "They were both wearing clothes, and there was an old guy there too, and they only looked stressed and in pain, not sexed up. But whatever is going on in his life that he won't tell us about is way bigger than I thought, and I can't be with him when seventy percent of his life is secrets and lies."

"Want to play terrible board games and complain about men?" Natasha found herself asking. Karen giggled wetly.

"God, yes. But, rain check until after this whole thing is over? There is shit going down in Hell's Kitchen and I need to know what it is."

"I could help you research," offered Natasha. "Or just provide moral support."

"God, I love you," said Karen, and Natasha's heart stopped. "Meet me at the Bulletin office?"

Natasha agreed and drove over on sheer autopilot.

Clint found it hilarious when Natasha told him.

"You were her coffee gopher? You sat in the background and made it more comfortable for someone else to do the heroing?"

Natasha blanked her face through a stab of hurt. Clint noticed and sobered.

"Hey, I'm sorry. It's not a bad thing. Just a little out of character." He slowly reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "She makes you happy. That's a good thing. Even if it means you have to learn to be someone new."

"I feel more things with her," Natasha admitted. Clint cocked his head at her, and she shrugged.

"Have you talked to her at all?"

She didn't pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. "She's under a lot of stress right now. They're in the middle of Frank Castle's trial. It seems selfish."

"Maybe she'd appreciate knowing how much you care," said Clint, smiling sadly.

"I know the books all say I'm just protecting myself from rejection," she told him, "but they're putting up a character witness tomorrow and she's barely sleeping trying to find something that will help the case."

"It's Frank Castle," said Clint, frowning. "We know full well he murdered all those people."

"They're not trying to prove him innocent, I don't think," said Natasha. "Just reduce the sentence."

"You think?"

"She sometimes thinks she's already told me something, and it's more important that she talk it out than that I follow, so I don't ask for clarification. And it didn't seem important enough to look up," she added, catching his raised eyebrow. "I'm not a lawyer, I'm a spy."

The headline news the next day informed Natasha along with the rest of the city that Frank Castle had had an outburst in court and essentially threw his own trial. She texted Karen.

You okay?

I wish I could just hit pause and not be okay for a bit, honestly.

You want me to come visit?

There was a long pause before Karen started typing again.

Yeah, okay.

Natasha was half out the door before she thought about it.

"Hey," said Karen, opening the door and giving her a tired smile. "God, you would not believe the day I've had." She stepped back and let Natasha in.

"I heard about the trial," Natasha offered.

"Not just that." Karen sagged against the doorframe. "I think Matt and Foggy are calling it quits. Which leaves me out of a job. And I know there's more to this, it doesn't make any sense. I can't stop thinking about it. And there's nothing I can do anyway, so I don't know why."

"Is the Bulletin closed?" And didn't it say something how that wasn't a non sequitur.

"Got kicked out. Apparently I need to spend some of my time in a room with windows." She thudded her head back against the wall and shut her eyes. "God, everything was so easy just, like, a week ago."

Natasha would have shifted about nervously if she was anyone else. She didn't have a script for this.

"Anyway," said Karen, opening her eyes, "Terrible board games and tea?"

"Sounds like a plan," said Natasha, and followed her into the kitchen. Karen pulled out mugs, teabags, and sugar from the cabinets and set them down and leaned against the counter for a moment. Tentatively, Natasha reached out and pulled her closer, and Karen went willingly into her arms.

"I feel so adrift, and then there's you," Karen whispered, and Natasha swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth.

Clint says I love you, she wanted to say, and I think he might be right because you paint the world in color, but all she did was tighten her arms around Karen and fist her hands in Karen's shirt and tilt her face up just slightly when Karen pulled back just enough to look at her.

"Can I kiss you," breathed Karen, and

"Yes," whispered Natasha, and Karen leaned down and pressed their lips together.

They were soft like flower petals, and a small warm buzz seemed to permeate Natasha, which already made it the best kiss she'd ever had. She was too old to feel disappointed that there was still no feeling of fireworks that the romance novels she always denied reading talked about.

Karen broke off and tilted her forehead to rest against Natasha's.

"Yeah, that's not going any further, at least right now." She laughed a little, and Natasha let her go to finish making the tea. "Scrabble?"

"How many languages am I allowed to use?" asked Natasha, and Karen laughed for real.

"You can pick one more to use if I can use Spanish."

"Deal. I'll even do French instead of Russian."

"What am I missing?" asked Karen, cocking her head at Natasha confusedly. It was Natasha's turn to chuckle.

"I'm Russian. I can't promise I don't have an unfair proficiency in French, but at least it's not my native language."

"Wow. You have no accent at all."

"Lots of practice."

"I'll say."

Natasha set up the Scrabble board, and Karen brought in the tea when it was ready.

"You don't mind, right? That I don't want to have sex?" Karen laughed self-deprecatingly and gazed into the depths of her tea. "God, I shouldn't even need to say that. That's internalized misogyny for you."

"Of course not," said Natasha, and then pondered her next sentence carefully. "You know already that my life has been rather more complicated than a lot of people's."

Karen nodded.

"My relationship with sex is just as complicated. We definitely do not need to be navigating that tonight."

Karen relaxed almost imperceptibly. "In that case, I shall prepare myself to get my ass kicked at Scrabble with a clean conscience despite the patriarchy." Natasha grinned. And did just that.

Karen got to bed under her own steam that time and wakes up perhaps not literally less tired than her norm of late, but mentally rested, like her brain had finally gotten a much needed break.

So naturally she went to the police department and searched the files of the case until she found something useful, and then to the Bulletin. And in the harsh light of day, her own involvement in this case became distressingly obviously disproportionate. She was far too invested in it, and for what? Literally everyone, except maybe Natasha, had been telling her she was taking it too far.

She was waffling about what exactly to do with the files when Ellison spotted her.

"Karen Page. Well, you guys had a hell of a day in court. Front row seats to the trial of the decade. Did you bring me a t-shirt?" She laughed a little.

"No." Then, swallowing her nerves, she added, "I might have something better."

"These are from the NYPD files on Castle's family's autopsy report," she explained, and pointed out the discrepancy. "I think this is the John Doe the medical examiner said he covered up."

"Said when?" asked Ellison, and Karen gave him a weird look.

"During the Frank Castle trial."

"Tepper's testimony wasn't public," Ellison reminded her. Karen felt like an idiot.

"They cleared the courtroom. I was one of a handful of people who heard it."

"Okay," said Ellison, "So we find out who John Doe is, and then we find out why he was important enough to hide."

"Uh…" said Karen. "You know what? Actually, I think that, um. I think you should do this." It was the smart thing to do. She was getting obsessive about this case, she knew it. Ellison, however, just stared at her. "Trial's over," she reminded him.

"So?" said the editor.

"So, Frank is in prison, and everyone's retreated to their corners, including my bosses, one of which has repeatedly told me to let it go and move on."

"And do you?" asked Ellison. "Do you want to move on?"

"Case is closed," said Karen, trying not to feel like she was trying to convince herself more than him. "Castle tanked his own case." And damn, that had hurt after the effort she'd put into it for him. "He got put away. I just think you should carry the torch on this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She gulped. Let it go.

"Okay," he said. "So, I just wanna rewind this informal meeting we're having by about thirty seconds."

"What?"

"You come to me with a lead, a really good lead, right, and now you just wanna take off? Right? I mean, it's like a pitcher going into the eighth inning with a no-hit shutout, and just walking away."

"Look," said Karen, "This was supposed to be about saving my law firm, and I didn't-" But he cut her off.

"I get that. At first, yeah." He paused. "But I gotta tell you, I've gotten about ten phone calls in the last week from people wanting to know where I'm getting my information."

She took a second to process that. "Really?"

He made an agreeing noise.

"What'd you tell them?"

"What do you think I told them, I took all the credit, but the point is, that when my phone starts ringing like that, that means that you're shaking the right trees. So yeah, sure, I mean, the case is closed. Frank Castle's in prison. But this thing ain't over. Not yet, not by a long shot. You know it. 'Cause you know you're on to something."

You're not crazy, Karen heard underneath. You're not yelling into the abyss just because you're frustrated.

"Yeah," she said, letting out a breath. "Okay. Okay."

"Okay. All right, so, um, I pull some strings, we, um, find out the last known address of medical examiner Tepper, and maybe he'll be more willing to have a conversation outside of the courtroom, away from the icy death gaze of Frank Castle."

"No, but wait," said Karen. "Talk to who?"

"Whom."

"Wait. Talk to me? I-"

"No, no, no. To us, Karen, to us. Don't get cocky, you're not that good yet. Got a long time to go." And he walked out.

So that was how she and Ellison ended up outside Tepper's apartment, trying to convince him to open the door.

"Sir," Karen tried, "I know your testimony in the case against Frank Castle hurt your career. I think I can help you." Nothing. "But I also think there are other people involved who could really use your help."

Finally the door opened. Tepper stared at Karen.

"I remember you. You were with the defense."

She shrugged self-consciously. "I'm not with them now."

"We're with the New York Bulletin," Ellison cut in.

"Please," added Karen, and at last Tepper stepped aside to let them in.

"After what happened at the courthouse, the mayor asked me to step down. I know I sound paranoid, but…" He glanced over his shoulder, although the door was now closed. "There have been people following me."

"You're a target because of what you know," confirmed Ellison. "'Cause whatever that is, they want to keep it in the dark. Karen has found something-" and he gestured dramatically at her, "that will bring the truth to light."

"Here," said Karen, opening her folder. "Is this the body they asked you to make disappear?"

"I shouldn't be talking to you," he said.

"I understand you're afraid," Karen told him, sincerity overflowing from every word. "You can either continue to be trapped by what you've done or you can tell us what you know, so that we can go out and expose the real bad guys. And then you can get back to living your life, because this place, this place is not where your story ends."

"That's him," admitted Tepper at last. "That's the John Doe."

"Okay. Did he have a wallet?" Tepper shook his head. Too easy, thought Karen wryly. "What about any, any identifying marks? Scars, tattoos, anything?" He was still shaking his head, but then he turned to face her.

"I tell you this, you have to substantiate it before you print a word of it."

"Of course," said Ellison.

"All right, he didn't have a name, but tucked inside his left shoe, he did have something."

What?

"A police call sign. A special code." He sighed. "Look, John Doe wasn't a criminal, and he wasn't some innocent bystander in the park, either. He was an undercover cop."

"It wasn't just a random gang shootout." Karen worked through her thoughts out loud as she followed Ellison back inside the Bulletin. "It was a sting. Who knows who's involved? Cops, DA's office, obviously. The mayor? How high does this go?"

"I don't know. But I can tell by that look in your eye that you're not gonna get any rest till you figure it out. So, if you wanna camp out in here…" And he opened the door to an office Karen remembered very well. "It's all yours. Start digging."

"Are you serious?" Was this even happening? Was he implying what she thought he was implying?

"I'm very serious."

She walked inside as Ellison flicked on the light, gazing at the framed articles still on the wall. No one had cleaned out the office, as though it was some kind of monument. And it seemed to now be hers.

She spotted a file with her name on it, literally, sitting on the desk, and opened it. And burst into tears. The top article was the report of her brother's death.

"Ben was the best researcher I've ever known," said Ellison from the door.

"I remember," said Karen, trying her best to get her breathing under control. "Did you-"

"Read that? Yes, I read it. Look, Ben didn't care, and I don't, either. Get to work, okay?" And he closed the door behind him.

Karen took several deep breaths, then did as she was told.