Matt has forgotten how byzantine his filing system was before Becky. It’s all spatial relations and loose association and muscle memory, organized by no rules he can recognize in retrospect.
“This is a nightmare,” says Foggy. He’s halfway through a mountain of papers that mostly seem to be from the Miller foreclosure suit. “Next time I’m in the mood for petty revenge, I’m going to tell Karen that you use takeout menus as dividers.”
The name knocks Matt back like a blow. Of course Karen’s still alive here. Matt hadn’t thought of that, and now that he has, it’s all he can do to keep from pulling out his phone and dialing the number that he still hasn’t deleted and probably never will. Karen.
“Matt?” asks Foggy. “You there?”
“I swear the menus made sense at the time,” Matt tells Foggy, forcing himself to keep his tone light. “Something about the textures. Or the smells, maybe? Anyway, there was a system. I’m pretty sure there was a system.” He tries to push Karen out of his mind; slides aside the Thai Garden stack and starts in on Luigi’s. “Look, maybe can we just take it as read that I’m an idiot?”
“Way ahead of you, buddy,” says Foggy. He reaches out on reflex to ruffle Matt’s hair, but stops and pulls back at the last second; and Matt wishes he could think of any way to tell him that it’s okay, that they still do that, without making it weird.
There’s a shrill whine of a kettle from the kitchen, and a minute later, Strange pops his head around the corner, mugs in hand. “Tea?”
“God, yes,” says Foggy. “And thank you. You’re my favorite wizard, and I take back everything I said about your cape.”
“Sorcerer,” says Strange, “And you’re welcome.” He hands the second mug to Matt. “Any luck?”
The blend in the mug is one that Matt recognizes from Strange’s sanctum and absolutely nowhere else, and he wonders if that means Strange carries his own tea around with him; and if so, whether it’s a sorcerer thing or just a Stephen Strange thing. “None yet. I don’t suppose you’ve got a spell for this?”
Strange pokes dolefully at a pile of papers. “The temporal ecosystem is fairly delicate, as such things go. I’d prefer not to tempt fate with frivolous use of magic.”
“Right,” says Foggy. “Don’t pee in the timestream.”
Matt wonders just how badly it would break the universe if he called Karen. If he didn’t even say anything, just listened to her voice. If he warned her. If he made Strange find a way for them to take her back with them. Karen Page is dead, he tells himself, as firmly as he can. This is an echo. A recording. Listen, but don’t touch. Don’t overwrite the tape. And, sheepishly: Kirsten would kill you.
In the next room, he can hear the other Matt’s heartbeat and breathing shift as he starts to wake up. Tell her you love her, Matt thinks silently at his past self. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her. He will eventually, Matt knows; but here, now, knowing that she’s alive somewhere, he’d give damn near anything for the grace of even a single extra day.
The other Matt groans and shifts on the couch, and Matt can hear his ribs grind while he pulls himself gingerly up, and then a thump and a swear as he stands too fast and stumbles into the coffee table. Foggy sighs. “One of us should probably go talk him out of doing anything stupid.”
“That’d be you, buddy,” Matt tells him. “He doesn’t know Strange, and talking myself out of doing anything stupid isn’t exactly my strong suit.” He’s acutely conscious of the hand he’s got in his pocket, still thumbing the edge of his phone.
[FILL] And Again (4/?)
“This is a nightmare,” says Foggy. He’s halfway through a mountain of papers that mostly seem to be from the Miller foreclosure suit. “Next time I’m in the mood for petty revenge, I’m going to tell Karen that you use takeout menus as dividers.”
The name knocks Matt back like a blow. Of course Karen’s still alive here. Matt hadn’t thought of that, and now that he has, it’s all he can do to keep from pulling out his phone and dialing the number that he still hasn’t deleted and probably never will. Karen.
“Matt?” asks Foggy. “You there?”
“I swear the menus made sense at the time,” Matt tells Foggy, forcing himself to keep his tone light. “Something about the textures. Or the smells, maybe? Anyway, there was a system. I’m pretty sure there was a system.” He tries to push Karen out of his mind; slides aside the Thai Garden stack and starts in on Luigi’s. “Look, maybe can we just take it as read that I’m an idiot?”
“Way ahead of you, buddy,” says Foggy. He reaches out on reflex to ruffle Matt’s hair, but stops and pulls back at the last second; and Matt wishes he could think of any way to tell him that it’s okay, that they still do that, without making it weird.
There’s a shrill whine of a kettle from the kitchen, and a minute later, Strange pops his head around the corner, mugs in hand. “Tea?”
“God, yes,” says Foggy. “And thank you. You’re my favorite wizard, and I take back everything I said about your cape.”
“Sorcerer,” says Strange, “And you’re welcome.” He hands the second mug to Matt. “Any luck?”
The blend in the mug is one that Matt recognizes from Strange’s sanctum and absolutely nowhere else, and he wonders if that means Strange carries his own tea around with him; and if so, whether it’s a sorcerer thing or just a Stephen Strange thing. “None yet. I don’t suppose you’ve got a spell for this?”
Strange pokes dolefully at a pile of papers. “The temporal ecosystem is fairly delicate, as such things go. I’d prefer not to tempt fate with frivolous use of magic.”
“Right,” says Foggy. “Don’t pee in the timestream.”
Matt wonders just how badly it would break the universe if he called Karen. If he didn’t even say anything, just listened to her voice. If he warned her. If he made Strange find a way for them to take her back with them. Karen Page is dead, he tells himself, as firmly as he can. This is an echo. A recording. Listen, but don’t touch. Don’t overwrite the tape. And, sheepishly: Kirsten would kill you.
In the next room, he can hear the other Matt’s heartbeat and breathing shift as he starts to wake up. Tell her you love her, Matt thinks silently at his past self. Tell her. Tell her. Tell her. He will eventually, Matt knows; but here, now, knowing that she’s alive somewhere, he’d give damn near anything for the grace of even a single extra day.
The other Matt groans and shifts on the couch, and Matt can hear his ribs grind while he pulls himself gingerly up, and then a thump and a swear as he stands too fast and stumbles into the coffee table. Foggy sighs. “One of us should probably go talk him out of doing anything stupid.”
“That’d be you, buddy,” Matt tells him. “He doesn’t know Strange, and talking myself out of doing anything stupid isn’t exactly my strong suit.” He’s acutely conscious of the hand he’s got in his pocket, still thumbing the edge of his phone.