Dangerous Women (Karen Page/Kate)
“Thanks for fixing the lock,” a woman says, somewhere above Kate.
Kate jerks her head back so hard it makes her jaw ache, to stare up—and up—and up at the tall blonde smiling down at her, offering her a coffee.
Kate shrugs, and smiles.
“Ms. Bishop has her jaw wired shut,” Nelson helpfully interjects. “Kate Bishop, Karen Page.”
“Kate Bishop,” Karen Page offers Kate her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Kate grins as wide as she can, because Karen Page has no idea.
Kate writes and rewrites what she’s going to say to Karen when her jaw gets unwired. She goes over it with Clint, and then with Nat. How many people get to plan what they say to their soulmate? Nobody is this lucky.
Only it’s sort of a lot of pressure.
When her jaw finally gets unwired, she makes sure to practice talking again, pacing her words and measuring her breaths.
God, she hopes she doesn’t fuck it up.
(she’s probably going to fuck it up)
She does, in fact, fuck it up, which is fine, because when Kate finally manages to say, “So, it’s nice to meet you, soulmate,” at the end of her almost amazing speech, Karen Page turns beet red.
“No, sorry,” Karen looks stricken. “I’ve already met my soulmate. Well, sort of.”
“Sort of?” Kate barely manages to find her voice. What’s she’s supposed to do?
“We met. Sort of. During the battle of New York.”
“Oh,” Kate’s head is buzzing in an utterly stupid way and she feels so idiotic, never thinking that people without matching marks—that one of them would be her.
“I’m sorry, Kate, I really am.”
“No, it’s fine,” Kate hears herself say, but it’s like her ears are stuffed with cotton. “It’s totally not your fault, Ms. Page. I’m just—sorry, that was awkward.”
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Matt asks once Kate has left.
Karen should have known he was listening in. She knows he can’t help it, but it would be nice if hideously embarrassing conversations were kept private. At least Kate doesn’t know that Matt heard all of it; perks of a secret identity, she supposes.
“Not really.”
“Wanna drink about it?” Foggy calls from his office.
“Do I have no privacy?”
“Big Brother is always watching!”
Matt’s smile is fond and exasperated at Foggy’s proclamation.
“Have I mentioned lately how I think you should mainstream a little more and do an Avengers team-up?” Karen sidles up to Matt.
“You have, and I won’t. I don’t think they want me.”
“Who doesn’t want you? I’ll beat the crap out of ‘em,” Foggy finally emerges from his office, bag slung over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Karen. Your crazy bird lady archer chick is bound to turn up eventually.”
There is a crash, a thump, and a wheeze, and a voice that is tantalizingly familiar hissing, “Keep it down, Hawkeye.”
Karen slides out of her bed as quietly as she can, reaching between her mattress and box springs to pull out her gun.
Another thump, and the sound of air hissing through someone’s teeth.
“Hawkeye,” a male voice says, and Karen’s heart leaps into her throat. “I think ‘m bleeding. Or is this your blood? Where are we?”
“Clint, please be quiet,” the voice that Karen had almost forgotten says. Another thump, a low, pained groan.
Karen isn’t afraid as she creeps into her living room, not really, but she keeps the gun on her just in case—she leads an improbably dangerous life and isn’t stupid, after all, not foolhardy and boneheaded like Matt and Foggy—
She sees the dim outline of two shapes, slumped against her door, barely illuminated by the light filtering in from the streetlamps.
It’s enough, though.
Enough for her to see—
“Hawkeye?” Karen can see her long, dark, hair, face obscured by some sort of goggles. She flicks on the light and gasps, rushing over to the woman’s side. “Oh my God, what happened?”
Hawkeye’s jumpsuit is stained dark with blood, still fresh enough to be tacky along her right side where her hand is pressed. There’s a scarlet handprint smeared across Karen’s door and the man—she thinks he’s Hawkeye, too—is leaning on the woman, a bruise under his left eye, blood at his temple.
“Oh, God,” Karen swears again, unsure if she should touch them or move them or call 911 or—
She scrambles back to her bedroom, fumbling with her phone. “Matt? The woman, the one who fixes—your special friend, I need her, I need her now—“
Matt’s—Daredevil’s—nurse friend is named Claire Temple, and Karen likes her immediately. She can understand why Matt likes her so well, the way she isn’t phased by two unconscious, bleeding archers sprawled across Karen’s living room, the way she’s efficient and unworried.
“I don’t think they’ll be moving anytime soon,” Claire says with a sigh. “Not unless we get a dolley and roll them out."
“That’s fine,” Karen says--too fast, Claire is looking at her with a fair amount of skepticism. “Ma—uh, our mutual friend, he’s going to come by and stay with me until they wake up."
“That’s Hawkeye?” Matt asks in his you’re kidding me, right? voice. “Your soulmate Hawkeye is laying on your couch? Currently?”
“Yes, Matt, I’m sure of it!” Karen shoves the sleep mask into his hand. “Can you go put that on her? I don’t think her goggles are very comfortable to sleep in, but I don’t want to learn her secret identity without her permission. That’s just—that seems like a bad way to start a relationship.”
Matt’s smile fades from his face. “You really don’t know what she looks like? Who she is?”
“Nope,” Karen admits. “I was thinking about hiring our friendly neighborhood PI but then—that just would have been awkward.”
She can tell Matt is biting back a laugh but doesn’t know why.
“Right,” he says. “Safe to look, Ms. Page. No secret identities being revealed tonight.”
“Thank you, Matt.”
He crosses back to her and pulls her into a one-armed hug. “Nothing I’d rather do.”
They both know it’s a lie, but not much of one, so Karen lets it slide.
“No! Don’t!” Karen snaps when her Hawkeye bolts upright, hands fumbling at the sleep mask.
“What? Why?” Hawkeye’s hand is frozen on the elastic, jaw clenched so tight Karen can tell from across the room.
“Oh, no, it’s—you’re fine, I’m sorry! I just didn’t want you to—I don’t know who you are, when you’re not in the mask,” she explains in a rush. “I didn’t look, Hawkeye.”
Hawkeye tilts her head, her hand dropping to her lap. “You know who I am?”
“Of course I do,” Karen knows it’s silly, that those words hurt. How could she expect a superhero to remember a rushed interaction on the day of an alien invasion? “Uh, you and I met, during the Battle of Manhattan. Grand Central Station. You told me, ‘They’re listening to you, they’ll follow you. You can do this—“
“Just think ‘murder’ and walk,” Hawkeye finishes softly.
“You do remember,” Karen can’t help the giddy smile she feels cross her face. “It’s not like—I didn’t just memorize that,” she hastens to clarify. “Well, I did, but only because those are my Words.”
“Your words?” Hawkeye frowns at that, biting her lower lip. “Oh. Shit. Um. That’s not—I already—um—“
“Oh,” Karen feels the heat rush to her face, wished the floor would open up and drop her into the core of the earth, suddenly understanding what this was like for Kate Bishop several weeks ago.
“We can—“ Hawkeye stands with a grimace, listing to her right as she probably pulls at her stitches.
“No, no,” Karen backs into her bedroom, “it’s fine, really, don’t worry about it. I’m just going to grab you some clothes to change into—I don’t have much that will fit you, I’m sorry, I’m taller than you—“
“Wait,” Hawkeye’s hand reaches for the mask again, but her expression is puzzled now. “Karen? Karen Page?”
“How did you—“
“Uh—“ Hawkeye pulls the sleep mask off and Karen gets a good hard look at her soulmate.
It’s—it’s—
Karen can’t remember what happened after that, how she got from Point A to Point C, only that there’s a throat being cleared from the doorway that interrupts Karen cradling her soulmate’s head and interrupts how she’s trying to kiss her soulmate, Kate Bishop who is also Hawkeye for as long as humanly possible.
“Does this mean you’re not pining anymore?” the other Hawkeye grouses from the doorway.
Kate looks at Karen, who can’t help but smile, and laughs.