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peterjakes · 2 years

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Frank x Karen - 'I look to you to see the truth’

A small argument occurs, but these two always find a way back to each other.

yeah this was definitely suppose to be posted before the previous fic but who cares really (apart from me)

hope you enjoy this one! x

also posted on ao3;

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38600268

Karen’s wounds had healed quicker than she’d expected, and she’d managed to cover up the bruise well enough with her foundation. Not that she could get away with not telling Foggy or Matt. She hadn’t wanted to particularly, there was a part of her that was still embarrassed about the whole thing. But if she hadn’t have gone, maybe things wouldn’t have gone the way they had. Maybe it would have gotten worse, and she had to do something. She knew that. She had a responsibility.

Spending the night at Frank’s always brought some sort of comfort to Karen. It was a strange feeling, being so comfortable and contented somewhere that wasn’t her own apartment, someone else’s space. She couldn’t remember a time she had felt like that. But it was a good feeling, a nice one. It was a feeling she didn’t want to let go of for a long time.

Karen awoke suddenly, realising how late it must be. She was alone in the bed, the covers engulfing her body. The afternoon light escaped through Frank’s small bedroom window, the curtains flowing ever so slightly along the breeze. Karen could hear the world moving on outside, although it wasn’t too loud, as if it feared waking her up. Her face still ached a little, but it was overall feeling much better. The cuts had healed, and the bruises were barely visible. Her body was still tired, as if she had to catch up with herself. She’d been told to take it easy, by almost everyone that knew, but she wasn’t very good at that. Frank had been an excellent caregiver the past few weeks, constantly checking up her, looking after her. It was nice to have that, to know he would always be there.

But Karen didn’t need that, not anymore. She was on the mend and ready to get back into everything. She still struggled to get out of Frank’s ridiculously comfy bed, but that was less to do with her aching and more to do with how nice it felt to be lying in it. Managing to prize herself up, Karen found herself wandering into the living room of Frank’s apartment. It was relatively tidy, only Karen’s wine glass from last night ruined the perfect scene. Karen thought back to the night before, it was calm, relaxed and had helped her in a way she didn’t think it would have.

Karen notice a newspaper clipping sitting on the edge of the kitchen counter. It was sitting along black duffel bag zipped up tightly and a few more newspapers, laid open on similar articles. Intrigued by the set-up, Karen walked over to closely read the articles out in the open. Frank wasn’t anywhere to be found, so in that moment Karen was alone. She hadn’t seen much about these people in the article, which was a surprise. They sounded dangerous, but no more dangerous that anything she’d heard of before. There could only be one reason Frank would have these articles spread out in his apartment. Of course, he was going to go after them. Karen didn’t always disagree with it, sometimes people deserved it, but it wasn’t always the right way. Someone always ended getting hurt. And that someone was usually Frank, just not in the way you’d expect. She couldn’t expect Frank to completely change, and she didn’t want him to, that was what made him who he was. But sometimes she wished he would just stop and think, stop, and listen. He couldn’t do it all by himself, not all the time.

Hearing footsteps coming from the bathroom, Karen quickly threw the newspaper down, trying to look as natural as possible. “Hey.”

“Uh, hey.” Frank came into the kitchen properly now, but he seemed to be somewhere else. He moved around the room obviously searching for something. Karen had never been in Frank’s presence when he was ‘preparing’. It was a strange sight. He was so focused, it seemed as if nothing could get in his way now. Karen watched his closely for a moment, it seemed like he was retracing his steps, trying to find whatever it was he had lost.

“You going somewhere?” Karen asked, still watching Frank closely, not taking her eyes off of him.

“Yeah.” Frank nodded, still looking, trying to do anything but look at Karen.

“It to do with this?” Karen motioned towards the newspapers, indicating she had read them. Frank had expected that, he had left them out for Karen to see and she wouldn’t be sleeping forever. There was a part of him that wished she would have, slept through it all so he wouldn’t have had to explain. But that was only a small part of him. It wouldn’t be fair on Karen to do that, not now at least. Things were different now, they had to be.

Frank looked Karen right in the eye, their eyes locked into each other, only seeing one another. He didn’t answer but nodded slowly, knowing he had to give Karen something.

“That sounds dangerous.”

Frank didn’t answer immediately, he sighed to himself, rifled through his bag in search of something. He didn’t find it, so moved away from Karen to search the living room. Karen didn’t follow him, she leant up against the kitchen counter, her elbow brushing against the opened newspapers. She didn’t want to follow him; she could see him clearly where she was standing. However, her eyes didn’t have any problems with following him, watching him move across the room almost frantically. Frank could clearly feel Karen’s eyes on him, he knew she was watching him closely. “We’ve been over this.”

“Have we? Because I don’t remember that conversation.” Karen wasn’t getting angry, but to say she was fine with what was unfolding would not be true at all. Karen never wanted to change the way Frank was, of course she didn’t. She knew who he was, what he did, and she understood that. She understood him and even accepted it. But that didn’t mean she had to accept everything that came with it. Understanding someone and the things they did, didn’t always mean they were right. Things that had happened in the past, with Frank, there were times when Karen had wished things hadn’t gone the way they had. Maybe she could have helped or stopped him. But there was no point going back to the past, she had to look forward, to the future. She could do something now.

“Karen…” Frank had stopped now, gripping his jacket tightly. He knew they hadn’t spoken about it, not really. After the last time, it had never properly been settled. They’d both just let it go, focusing on Karen’s injuries. They hadn’t spoken about what had happened much since that night, but they couldn’t ignore it forever. It would eventually come to pass.

“Frank.” Karen answered back sternly, putting her foot down. She wasn’t going to let this go, she wasn’t going to let this slide. Not today. She had to find a way to actually get through to Frank, to actually get him to listen.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I thought…” Karen wasn’t sure exactly what she had thought. Maybe things couldn’t change, maybe things were set in stone. You followed down one path and couldn’t change it halfway through, that was your lot forever. She didn’t want to believe that, though. She wanted to believe that people could get a second chance, people deserved that. Things could divert, you could go down that different path, if you wanted to. Maybe Frank didn’t want to, things had changed, but not everything had. And maybe Karen needed to realise that.

“What? That everything was different?” Frank almost laughed at how ridiculous it was. Maybe things could never really change, not truly. Not for him. Too much had happened, he had done too much. This was how it was, how it had to be. He had never expected Karen to accept it, but he did think he understood it, at least.

“Yes!”

“Maybe it isn’t.” Frank said this quietly, he sounded so different with that voice. It almost shocked Karen to see him like this. At least he was being honest, that was important. Maybe she had been fooling herself into thinking things had changed or things would be different. Maybe everything was exactly the same as it was before. But it couldn’t be, Karen thought. Something had to have switched. Frank came back, they’d found each other. That had to count for something.

“Okay, then why come back?” Karen raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer she knew she wouldn’t get. The answer to that question was something Karen was sure of, but still hadn’t heard from Frank. She knew why he came back, maybe not entirely for her and that wasn’t what bothered her. What bothered Karen was how he just wouldn’t admit it, he couldn’t just tell her. It hurt to feel like Frank couldn’t be completely honest. That was what she liked about him.

“You can’t just..”

Frank shook his head in anger, in almost disappointment. Frank thought he had opened himself to it, opened himself to Karen. Karen thought things had changed, clearly, she was wrong. Clearly, she was mistaken. “I thought I could stop, but maybe I can’t.” Admitting that was hard, one of the hardest things Frank had said in a long time. He didn’t hate that part of him, but it was a part of him. It was natural, just like routine. He did those things because he had to, not necessarily because he wanted to. And stopping completely? That just wasn’t possible, not even for Karen.

“I’m not asking you to stop, just to think for a minute.” Karen knew she could never ask that, and she didn’t want to. It wouldn’t be fair, but she did wish for some stillness, no haste. To think things through, to actually sit down and have a plan, a proper one, surely would be better than not.

“To think? ‘cos thinking solves everything, right?” Frank shook his head in almost disbelief. Throwing his jacket on the couch, he sat down, placing his head in-between his legs. Just to give himself a moment, a slight moment of peace. He needed that.

“I’m not saying that.” Walking over to where Frank sat, Karen carefully sat down next to him. She watched him for a minute before placing her hand on the back of his neck, caressing it slowly. “Look, I know, okay. I know… but you know I don’t care, just about you. Even if you don’t, I do.”

“Karen…” Frank looked back up, directly at Karen. He looked hurt, but it wasn’t directed at the woman beside him, more at himself. He’d been an idiot, that much was true. And there was only so much Karen would stay for. He couldn’t lose her, not again. He’d never let that happen. “’m sorry, I’m an asshole.”

“Maybe.” Karen gave him and quick smile, edging ever so slightly closer to him. “But you’ve just gotta talk to me. I can help, you don’t have to leave me in the dark.”

“I know.”

“You sure?”

“Can’t let go of that mind, eh?” Frank let himself smile at Karen, a smile that she’d cherish for a long time. Moving closer to Karen now, his hand found itself smoothing over the top of Karen’s head, her hair getting entangled with his fingers. She longed to be touched by Frank like this, she never wanted to stop. Closing her eyes, Karen found herself getting lost in the moment, not wanting to let go. Wanting to everything else to stop, but not Frank. Never Frank.

Snapping back into reality, Karen opened her eyes, looking directing into Frank’s. They no longer looked hurt or sad, almost contented. “No, you can’t. And that mind isn’t letting go.” Karen knew her worth, but so did Frank. “But it can stop, sometimes, even just for a moment.” This was the reassurance Karen knew Frank needed. This was the reassurance Frank wanted from Karen.

“Okay.”

Edging closer to Frank, Karen allowed his hands to let go of her and placed her right hand on the bottom of his chin, stroking it slowly, stroking it softly. She pressed her lips onto his, but didn’t rush, not wanting to rush or miss. She planted one kiss, two kisses, three before Frank’s own lips reciprocated the kisses. They kissed slowly, they kissed as if their lips had never met, they kissed without a care in the world. They were gentle, they were careful kisses. Sad kisses too. They were enough for the moment. They were enough for each other.

“Is this all you know about them?” She directed her eyes onto the newspaper sitting on the coffee table. This one had a small article on the front page concerning the people Frank wanted to go after. There wasn’t a photo or much information in the article, but Karen expected that was what they wanted.

“No, it’s not.” Shaking his head, Frank picked up the newspaper and seemed to be reading through the article. From what Karen could tell, this article left out some very heavy details. Details that she assumed Frank knew all about.

“You’ve got a location, then?” Karen knew Frank had, otherwise he wouldn’t have planned anything. He had to be sure about these things.

“Yeah, there’s a location.” Rubbing his face with his right hand, Frank leant back into the couch. He was clearly exhausted, maybe more than Karen.

“Anything else?”

“Bits and pieces.”

“Bits and pieces, right.” Karen turned away from Frank as her eyes focused on her wine glass from the night before. She wasn’t sure how to react, almost wishing she hadn’t said anything. But honesty was important, the most important thing to Karen. They had to be transparent with each other, they just had to.

“I won’t go.” Frank said this, and he had meant it. Things couldn’t change as quickly as anyone wanted. Not as quickly as Karen wanted. Not as quickly as Frank wanted. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t try, they had to try, make the effort. There was that small part of Frank that meant this, that didn’t want to go. Maybe that part needed to get bigger, for both Karen and Frank.

“I didn’t say that. Not that I could stop you anyway.” Karen couldn’t help but let a small smirk escape from the corner her mouth.

“But?”

“I can help.”

“Yeah, I know. You help, I go, I call the cops. Deal?”

“Sounds like a deal.” Karen thought for a moment before speaking again. “Better than the me cooking deal.”

“I don’t know, Karen. It’s coming along.”

#frank x karen #karen x frank #kastle #frank x karen fic #frank x karen fanfic #frank x karen fanfiction #kastle fic #kastle fanfic #kastle fanfiction #the punisher #daredevil #my writing #mine #I look to you to see the truth

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connie-banana · 8 months

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Do you ever think about how Jane Austen decided that the prettiest, loveliest and kindest Bennet sister, who marries an equally lovely handsome man who just happens to be really rich and falls in love with her at first sight, should be named Jane?

Because I do.

And then I think; if one of the most famous authors of all time can put a blatant wish fufillment self-insert into her greatest work, maybe fanfiction writers can do whatever the hell they want.

And then I think about 15 year old edgelord me - who spent way too much time in forums making fun of people who wrote about their mary sues falling in love with Legolas and Draco Malfoy - and how she should get over herself and stop being mean to people who enjoy things because she's jealous of them.

And I think about that other 15 year me - who was terrified about what people in school would think about the fact she wrote fanfiction and that it wasn't even any good - and how she will never see, or indeed think about, anyone she goes to school with ever again in 3 years time, and maybe she shouldn't waste her youth worrying about what people think about her hobbies.

And then 35 year old me - who worries that she's too old for any of this now, that there's more productive things she could do with her time and she isn't even a good enough writer to become a published author - thinks that life is too short and too stressful to feel embarrassed and guilty for doing something that makes her happy.

And then I remember that zombie apocalypse Kastle fic that I read in one go, which was the best piece of writing I read all year and I sent to everyone I know.

And that story about Captain America and Thor going to Dennys, which I reread everytime I feel down and have stored on my phone for just such an occasion.

And that ongoing 1977 Gwen Stacy AU fic that made me cry the other night.

And I also remember that Sansa Stark two shot I wrote, which made one girl reach out to me privately to say it had helped her.

And then I think that maybe I can write.

#just something I needed to put into words #fanfiction #writing #jane austen #kastle #marvel mcu #game of thrones #spiderman across the spiderverse #gwen stacy

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starkholme · 6 months

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What do you mean there's no good boy Frank x troublemaker Karen fanfictions? The material is right there, LIKE RIGHT THERE

#kastle #karen page #frank castle #frank x karen #karen x frank #kastle au #I'm also accepting both of them being completely chaos #maybe im also vouching for vampire karen and hunter frank #but that's just me #i swear i'm fine #and not just reading their fanfictions non stop for the last couple of weeks

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annabelle1901 · 3 months

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Lost Frank Castle x Karen Page fic

Hi! So I don't really interact with anyone on Tumblr but I don't really know what else to do, so here we go. I'm back on my Kastle bullshit <3 and I've been trying to find this old fan fiction on AO3 that I started reading years ago. Stopped reading after a certain point but had the tab open on my phone and I thought I'd continue reading eventually.. And then my phone got stolen, and I forgot the title & author name. Not great. I've dedicated the past few days to looking for it and so far I got nothing.

So what I'm gonna do is write down everything I remember like a mad woman in the hope that this jogs someones memory. Please help me this fic haunts me. ANY sort of reference or whatever could potentially help (Tumblr posts, links, screenshots, Google history, etc)

Fandom: Daredevil/ the Punisher obv

Pairing: Frank Castle/ Karen Page

Rating: probably explicit (canon typical violence and eventual smut)

Published: 2016-2017 (started post s2 Daredevil but pre The Punisher s1 because I don't remember any of the plot or characters from that show showing up) might have been deleted in 2020ish

Length: has to be +10 chapters (long chapters as well, don't know if it was finished)

Characters: Matt Murdock/ Daredevil, Foggy Nelson, Claire Temple, Elektra Natchios (I vividly remember them making some sort of appearance)

now let's get really unhinged...

Plot:

Pretty sure the story starts on Karen's birthday but her mood is meh.. She's on her way home or something, gets in her car and Shining Star starts playing which let's her know that Frank was recently there. Something else must have alarmed her because she goes looking for him and finds him in like an alley around her building. He's in really bad shape, bloody practically dying. She carries him to her apartment and either helps him herself or calls Claire Temple.*

*Don't think it was in this part of the story but she helps Frank and makes a joke about him not being healthy enough to be sleeping with Karen anytime soon which makes them blush. Don't think they were intimate yet but tensions were rising.

For the next couple of chapters I remember it was mainly beautifully written angst between them in this contained space while he's healing. Karen doesn't want Frank to get killed while being the Punisher, he resists her care and tries to hurt her by saying "You aren't Maria and could never be" or something.

I also vividly remember a scene where he's grieving and keeps like tugging on this necklace Karen has on while he cries in her arms. She leaves her necklace at his family's graves and the groundskeeper or something tells her not to do that because it'll get stolen but she knows that but does it anyway as a sign of respect.

They sort admit their feelings eventually but don't sleep together yet because they know they can't go back after that. For some reason Frank needs to leave the city for a little while to re-home a dog I believe he found while on a "mission" and the idea is that the time apart will help them decide whether or not they want to be together. They reunite on a sunny, lovely day in the city and go back to her apartment and lots of smut ensues. Daredevil shows up at midnight/ morning to get Frank. Something's going down he needs his help. It doesn't end well somehow Karen gets involved and they both go to the same hospital. Frank is in a coma and Karen visits him when she's allowed and urges him to live sort of mirroring when he first got shot in the head at the carousel. He wakes up but needs to go back to prison. Everything is really bad. The press somehow knows about their relationship as well. Last scene I remember is Karen and Foggy talking about all this and a newspaper printing a picture of Karen's legs with the caption Keys to the Castle? or something. Gross everything sucks and that's where I stopped reading.

So that's about all I can remember, feels like a fever dream. If anyone could help me out I'd really appreciate it. Thx!!

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garglyswoof · 6 months

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:D Ahhh, prompt prompt prompt - how about a mash up, vampires meet kastle?? :D

She found out about it purely by chance. Some part of her had been thinking of life in Vermont that day, the skies in New York the same sheet metal grey as the dreariest of days in Fagan Corners. Her thoughts drifted enough for her to battle with her phone in a losing effort that ended with her searching the surprisingly online tiny local paper. She’d trawled through the articles, smiling at the news of 4H Club awards and greased pig races. There was a comfort in these reminders of her small town history, and when she hit the obituaries section she continued out of morbid curiosity. Was old Mrs. Wilkie still alive? Stern in her housecoat, fuzzy slippers, and ever-present broom like some modern-aged witch? How about the bank president who had tried to buy coke from her? Sure, it was a college town, but it was also a small town and most people didn’t ever get out. She had certainly felt trapped.

“Former Penny’s Place owner Paxton Page…” The words crept into her brain slowly, as if reluctant to enter. She dropped her phone, her hand rising to stifle the sharp intake of breath.

Dad.

Things willfully ignored; things pushed back, hidden, and thought drowned rose to the surface, crested, and broke. She slid down to the floor, her hand shaking and still cupped over her mouth as if to hold it all in.

--------------

The drive was a long one and she went alone with her thoughts. She knew Foggy would have dropped everything to come along, and part of her still wished she’d asked, but…. this was better. She’d face this alone rather than explaining, though she owed Foggy the truth soon. She just wasn’t…she wanted a little more time, ok? From Kevin to Allied to almost dying in a prison to Fisk to now, Karen hadn’t had much good in her life, and Foggy and Matt, when he was tempered by apologies and guilt, were good.

Sometimes your heart makes judgments that aren’t logical, fueled by something just on the edge of your vision, just out of reach. In hindsight it’s why she latched on to them so quickly, something in her recognizing something in them. Enough to have her paying Matt’s bills when he’d vanished for months, enough to have her jumping right in as a strangely happy unpaid employee of Murdock and Nelson. Her heart panged at the memory of those first days, replete with casseroles and more flan than she could possibly eat in a week. Stretching the dollars to keep them afloat, the sound of Matt’s text to speech software and Foggy’s muffled curses whenever he tried to fill out forms on the ancient typewriter and failed miserably.

A flash of brake lights ahead jolted her out of her reverie and into the present, barrelling down the highway directly to a place she’d been forced to leave behind. Dad.

One hand gripped the wheel tighter, to prevent the shake, and the other hit the console in frustrated grief. Her phone jostled in its cubby from the motion and she wet her lips as she glanced at the screen, a picture of her and Foggy at Rosie’s, making bunny ears over what they’d thought was Matt’s oblivious face. Heh. She still loved it. If anything it made her realize that Matt had loved it too.

Damn it. “Call Foggy”

“Mmpf? Karen?” His voice sounded far away, muffled.

“Did i wake you?”

“Yes but it’s ok because apparently,” she heard the sheets rustle, “ I am lying in a puddle of my own drool and it’s clearly time to flip.”

Karen smiled, her cheeks stinging with the stretch of it. “Late night at Rosie’s?”

“I’ll have you know I also frequent high class establishments.” A pause. “But then I went to Rosie’s. We missed you there.” His voice was losing the grittiness of sleep and she could tell he must be upright now, imagined his hair stuck up in 10 different directions like it did after a face first desk nap.

“Yeah I uh, I went to bed early. I’m driving to Vermont.”

“What’s in Vermont?” Karen could hear the subtle eagerness in his voice and her heart panged with it. She really hadn’t told them much about her life, and she vowed to change it.

“Grew up there. Needed to take care of some family stuff.” She’d failed her first chance to open up, clearly, and tried to make it less obvious. “Dumb paperwork!” Even though she was driving she closed her eyes for a brief moment from the awkwardness of it.

Foggy was quiet for a moment, his voice soft when he spoke. “Well be safe, Karen. You back soon?”

“Yeah.” Her throat was closing up and she had to end the call soon. “Just, let’s hang out when I get back? Sunday maybe?”

“Of course.” Still soft, still accepting. Still more than she deserved.

----------------------------------------------

The town was bright with spring green as her old Cherokee rumbled onto Main Street. She passed the hardware store, sun-faded display from her childhood still advertising weedkiller, the old barrel she’d always tried to climb on top of anchoring the door open. Many shops were closed, and she saw that most of them had town curfew signs plastered in the windows. When had that started up, she wondered.

She wasn’t immune to nostalgia, obviously, or she’d never… her heart clenched with the reality of what she was here for, and she turned on Sycamore, right on Laurel, her blinker clacking loudly. There were a lot of church signs up, not something she remembered from last time she was here. Not…not signs saying “St Luke’s Lutheran Church” either, these were like that weird stretch of road Marcie had talked about on I-70 outside Kansas, where every other billboard was Hellfire and Brimstone.

THE DEVIL WILL TAKE YOU

FAGAN CORNERS IS DAMNED

She thought it strange, but when she crested the hill the diner was a shock piled on top of another. The sign was bright and clean, Sue’s Vittles, and she felt the rage rise up in her, an urge to tear it down, before she came to her senses. It wouldn’t just… have sat there forever. The town had to move on. She wondered when her dad had lost it, and how far in debt he’d taken Penny's Place. She wondered if she could have saved it.

She knew she could have, if he’d let her.

The return home tour continued on, her eyes rimmed with red now, wet with tears both shed and not. She had never felt so alone in her life. She drove three miles in the wrong direction to avoid the bridge and tried to think of what she was doing here even as she pulled into the town cemetery. She knew he’d be buried next to mom, and pulled a small bouquet of peonies out of the passenger seat as the engine settled, ticking.

There was a new stone next to her moms, and she knelt, tracing the letters with her fingers. Paxton Page. She remembered her and Kevin making fun, popping the syllables, “Paxton and Penny Page” before they’d dissolve into giggles. Everything she thought of made her heart ache.

She sat there for hours, talking to her mom, saying what she couldn’t say to her dad. That she’d thought herself beyond redemption until Father Lantom had gotten through to her, that she still did, sometimes. She told her mom about Foggy and Matt, and then she told her about Frank. God, she’d needed this. She knew her mom would understand, more than anyone, about seeing through to the heart of people. She wondered where Frank was, wished she knew, wished she had some way of contacting him. Despite their last meeting and her anger towards him, she would never let go, not really.

“Sometimes, just someone makes you feel safe, at least when you’re with them. And then when you’re not… I don’t know.” She shifted, sitting back on her haunches and idly rubbing a peony petal between her fingers.

“Me and Frank. Wrong place, wrong time, maybe that’s what it will always be for us.” She said, staring at her mother’s name, carved in stone.

The gravestone stared back, mute, as the light dimmed and she ached with the silence. Evening fell quick in this neck of the woods, without the conflagration of light that made up the city. She shivered in the fall of the spring evening, her throat aching with tears spent but feeling better in the spending of them.

She leaned over the gravestones one last time, peonies settled at the base, and said goodbye.

Gathering her things she startled at the sound of a footfall, the first time she’d heard any noise since she’d settled in. It was hard to see in the fading light, but the man standing at the hood of her car looked like no one she knew, though she waved anyway, small town and all. He didn’t wave back and she shrugged and rounded the back of her car, warily eyeing him as she slipped behind the wheel, the curfew signs flashing in her mind.

Was there some sort of crime ring? Her brain ticked as she started her engine and the man stepped away from the Jeep, a dark slick of a smile caught in the headlights. Karen felt a frisson of fear and pulled away back onto the gravel, eyes in the rearview as she turned down the lanes that led to -

A closed gate, though she remembered from illicit midnights with friends that it was like a fence gate, unbolted and something she could lift and swing out. Karen reached into her purse and felt the comforting weight of her gun slip into her palm. The man wasn’t in her rearview mirror, but it was too dark to tell where he was. She put the Jeep in park and left it running, sliding quickly out of the seat and lifting the gate latch, spinning around and slipping her other hand up to grip the gun two-handed. It was no use, the darkness was complete, no lights to break up the dim beyond the Jeep's headlights, and she rounded the vehicle, shoulders tense, her mind racing, her -

A hand across her mouth, an arm across her chest, pulling her arms down and pointing the gun at the ground. She screamed behind the clamped hand, stamped her foot where she thought the man’s instep would be, snaked a hand up and smashed her elbow backward, hearing a satisfying grunt as the blow landed. She spun away from the arm banded across her middle, trying to transfer the gun to her now free hand, but he was too fast. Her wrist wrenched back, pain shooting up it, the gun falling to the gravel below.

She could see him now, his hair dark, unkempt, his face attractive if it weren’t for the gleam of satisfaction in his gaze, if not for the - oh god oh god she’d known they were real Matt and Foggy had made fun of her but she’d known it and oh god she fought she kept fighting she had to escape, her arms thrashing, trying to duck and use his weight against him, but nothing shook that iron bar of an arm loose from her chest and the smile descended and with it those fangs, sharp and oh god she closed her eyes she let them slip closed because maybe this was redemption, this was closure, maybe this was…

----------------------------------------

ONE MONTH LATER

The city reeked of hot dogs. Hot dogs approaching rancid as the last of the summer sun baked the scent of an overturned delivery truck’s escapees into the street. Frank’s nose wrinkled with the stench as he ducked into an alleyway. The smell of piss here wasn’t much better, but Frank wasn’t here to avoid smells, knocking hard on an unmarked door. He waited, knocked again, heard an irritated voice shout back at him, accent thick even through the door.

“Don’t expect a delivery til -”

Frank lodged his foot in before the man could pull the door closed, stepping in and locking the man in a headlock with an athlete’s grace.

“Get the fuck off -”

“Shut the fuck up.” Frank squeezed tighter, feeling the trachea beneath his arm.

The man floundered feebly, choked gasps ragged as he lost the air to function. Frank maneuvered him into an office close to the door, pulling out some duct tape and lashing him to the chair, gagging him for good measure.

The warehouse would be empty this late in the day - Frank had been monitoring it for weeks. Still, he let the captive’s head loll as Frank pushed out of the office and scanned the warehouse, moving low to the ground in a room clearing pattern ingrained into his bones. Clear. He checked the warehouse door, ensuring it was locked, and placed a nearby bucket of loose hardware on the lip of the door’s bottom edge, advance warning should someone decide to open it.

He circled back through the warehouse, eyes still darting about, up to the loft, behind the stacked crates, his footsteps less than a whisper on the concrete as he circled back to the office, unfolding a chair and straddling it, arms propped on the headrest, waiting for the man to awaken.

He did with a start, his eyes bulging and curses muffled behind the tape.

“I’m just here for a few questions Aron,” Frank said, watching as the man’s eyes widened at the use of his name. “Word on the street is that your little Albanian enterprise here is bigger than Rudaj ever was,” Frank said. “Something about a secret weapon, huh?”

Aron’s eyes narrowed. You didn’t live long if you weren’t able to face a little questioning, and something in Frank’s demeanor told him that Aron held all the cards here. Frank needed to flip the program.

He looked up, spotted the beam he’d seen in blueprints, and rummaged through his bag for some rope, tossing it over the beam before knotting one end through a set of shelves and forming a noose in the other. He slipped it around Aron's neck, patting the man on the cheek with a smile, before hoisting the man up to his feet, looping the slack in the shelves.

He removed the tape at his mouth then, deftly avoiding the spit and rolling his eyes at Aaron’s Balkan curses. “So what can you tell me?”

Silence, and once again a discomfiting smile spread across Aron’s face. Frank hated when they were difficult. He pulled the rope, reknotted it. Aron's back was rigid now, spine stretched as far as it could to lessen the pressure, breath harsh in the closed space of the office.

“If you don’t already know,” Aron smiled despite his struggle to breathe, “There’s no harm in telling you. You’ll be dead within a matter of hours.”

“Yeh? Good to know.”

“Even if you are the Punisher.” A ragged breath. “Yes your reputation precedes you. It also means nothing.”

Aron’s idle threats were wearing thin. “Okay.” A tug at the rope.

“Superhumans.” Aron rattled out. “Stronger than you. Faster than you.” His eyes glittered. “They’ll drain you dry.” He coughed, and Frank caught what it was trying to cover. A shift in the eyes to a point over his shoulder. Frank ducked and rolled and heard the swish of air above his head, shot back with an elbow and caught air himself. A faint footfall, a flap of fabric, where the fuck was this guy?

Fast. Too fast. Impossibly fast, Frank thought as he was thrown out of the room, his head cracking on the wall outside. He shook it off even as he was moving, realizing he needed to put distance between him and the threat. He vaulted into the main warehouse, analyzing the terrain, potential weapons. Superhuman. Drain me dry, huh? He knew he had only seconds, ducked behind a crate and backed against a wall where pallets stood leaning. A flash of movement and Frank heard laughter as the heel of a hand smashed against his ribs. Broken, he had a moment to consider while the other hand closed around his throat.. Pain and rage clouded his vision and he knew he had one chance, one chance or it was all over.

In hindsight he’d probably wonder if it was worth the choice, but for now survival instincts kicked in and he cracked a plank off the pallet behind him and brought it up with all of his strength, trying not to breathe in to avoid the pain dulling the blow. His assailant’s grip on his throat proved his downfall, removing the advantage of speed. The plank hit its mark, the adrenaline and training allow the jagged edges to pierce through skin and muscle, through ribs. A high-pitched keening, terrible in its inhuman sound, issued from the assailant’s throat, and Frank watched features swim in and out of view. Pale skin, a jagged scar cutting across a pair of thinned lips. A mouth split in pain, and there, there - he couldn’t be sure but he also knew it couldn’t be anything else - incisors long and sharp.

The hand tightened on his throat briefly, muscles trying to continue past the ceasing of life, and the vampire in front of him dropped to the floor, wheedling noise still issuing from its throat, fading now with the dying of light in his eyes. The eyes, Frank thought, were the worst. Sclera shot through with red, but so human. Equal in death, the light gone. He fought his failing consciousness, he needed to get out of here before more showed up. He knew that face. Knew him from the papers, when he was human. The Albanians leg up on gang activities needed no more explanation than this, he thought as every inhale felt like ground glass in his bruised throat, his chest.

He stumbled back towards the office, lurched through the doorway to the shocked face of the mobster who still stood, throat noosed. Frank tugged at the rope anchored to the shelving and looped it a few more times with the rest of his strength, ignoring Aron’s choked breaths and gasps.

--------------------

Lana almost killed him when he returned. The pit bull / boxer mix hadn’t yet learned to not jump up, and her paws on his chest earned a pained grunt.

“Fuck. Down, Lana. I need you to be a good girl, please.” She tilted her head at him, boxer jowls flopping. He couldn’t help smiling through his pain. Pushing past her into the small kitchen, he grabbed a steak out of the freezer and some aspirin and eased himself down on the couch, steak pressed against his ribs.

This was as close to home as he’d had in a long while, this warehouse unit in Queens. Secure enough with Micro’s help - he still couldn’t call him David. David was for the married guy, with kids, that Frank shouldn’t be bothering. The separation helped. His chest panged again, but not from pain this time, as he thought of those he’d lost in his unceasing war. Curtis had let him go. David wanted nothing to do with him. Karen -

Karen had disappeared off the face of the earth a month ago and it was driving him crazy. If he knew where she was, if he just knew, then she was safe. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with a grimace as Lana’s tail thwacked against the couch cushions, her brows alternating as she looked up at Frank, face nestled in her paws.

He found her last byline - a little over a month ago - a report on the growing presence of Eastern European crime families, actually. It…didn’t seem enough of a report for her to be targeted but who knows what she had gotten into. He knew her, she was persistent beyond what was safe. Karen wouldn’t let go.

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want her to, despite his claims otherwise.

So where was she? He slid a palm down his face, frustrated.

He checked his sources, found nothing. Reaching over his shoulder with difficulty - you forget that the simplest of actions is immeasurably harder when you’ve got a broken rib - he flipped on the police scanner. He and Lana listened for news of vampires, caught no mentions, nothing unexplained. The warehouse he’d invaded was off the radar, so he had some time before that would be circling around the airwaves, at least police ones. The steak was partially thawed now, so he tossed it in the dog bowl where Lana inhaled it as if it were her only meal in weeks.

Where was she?

-----

TWO WEEKS LATER

The Albanians were still expanding their empire, despite the setback at the warehouse. Frank wondered how many vampires there were. It clearly wasn’t an epidemic, which he’d feared initially but understood now - hard to keep power when you’re just spreading the source of that power around. Frank was on the streets, ribs starting to heal but deep breaths still causing sharp twists. He knew he needed more time. He also knew he didn’t have it.

He had to find her, and so he was here in Hell’s Kitchen, eyeing the neon Rosie’s sign as he approached, it flickered Ro ie' tonight, the esses flickering in and out. He didn’t want Red catching him out here, instead hoping his friend would be the first to leave. It was a flip of the coin whether Murdock would find a way to turn him in, that high-and-mighty morality of his a ticking time bomb, Frank thought.

His eyes shifted from the flickering sign as a voice called out.

“Spare some change?”

That voice...he'd know it anywhere. “You’re alive, oh god I thought -”

Karen laughed, blanket wrapped over her telltale locks, ball cap pulled low over her brow. “Nice to see you too, Frank.” She reached out a hand, as if to take change from him, and pressed a folded paper into his grip. He held on a beat too long, her grip cold in his own, taking in the details of her face, what he could anyway. He ducked down to catch her eyes and her own darted away.

“Not now, ok?”

He nodded and walked away, waiting until he was back in the warehouse to open the paper. The smile spread unbidden across his face.

Grand Ferry Park. You know where. 1 hour.

She sure had a sense of drama, he thought, thinking of a time long past, jokes of hipsters and her hair a bright flag in the breeze off the water. He thought of the softness of her cheek, and when he took a deep breath this time he didn’t even notice the pain.

-----------------

Lana was losing her mind, and not in a good way. He’d brought her with him, knowing Karen loved dogs, but she was having none of this meeting. This sweetheart of a dog had her hackles raised, growl low and deep as Karen put up her hands and squeezed her eyes shut, as if pained.

“What is wrong with you, girl?” He knelt down beside Lana, hand tight at her collar and glancing up apologetically at Karen. “Sorry, she’s the calmest dog usually, I thought you might like to see her.”

Karen slowly lowered to the ground, her hand held out. “Do you have a treat I can give her? Maybe that will help.”

“Yeh, sure.” He tossed her a packet from his bag and she opened it, shaking out some near where she knelt. Lana licked her chops but still growled low in her throat, if a bit more of a confused growl.

“Here, what’s her name?” A glance up at Frank as he responded. He noticed her hand shaking. “Lana, sweet girl. Got a treat for you!”

Frank encouraged Lana when she looked up at him, her expression almost hilariously human and clearly saying “you trust this lady??” The dog edged forward, tentative, and snatched the treat from the ground where Karen had placed it, backing up but calming her growl.

“Well, progress at least.”

Her smile was just as he’d remembered.

“Where have you been, Karen?”

A flash in her eyes. “Didn’t know you kept tabs on me, Frank. You seemed pretty clear about me staying away.”

It hit him like a blow he deserved, and he fought for a response and lost. There was nothing he could say, he knew that, but he still wanted to try. It came to him in as he saw her eyes damp and hard, but still not hiding the hope behind them.

“I’ll always want you to be safe, Karen.”

She scoffed at that and stood up. “It’s a bit late for that.”

“What, what is it, what happened to you? Do I need to punch Red’s light’s out?”

Karen laughed at this, bitter and so unlike her it closed his throat. He did this.

“Just…stop, Frank. I need you to listen.” A barge horn sounded in the distance as if to punctuate her words and her brows eased, just a little, at the humor of it. “I’m…” She stepped closer, Lana alert at the motion, and cupped his face in a hand. “I know the Albanians are after you. The vampire you killed was one of their sires from the old country. I don’t even - Only you, Frank. Older vampires are so strong, you had a one in a million chance.” She shook her head at this, as if still disbelieving.

“How do you know?” he asked, leaning into her touch, cold yet still a comfort. He searched her eyes, gripped Lana’s collar a little tighter.

“I know, because I’m one of them.”

He tore away from her, the motion and the tension in him sending Lana into a fit of barking, her muzzle flecked with spittle. He couldn’t - he heard that high-pitched keen in his head, tried to reconcile it with the expression on Karen’s face. He pulled his Beretta out, trained it on Karen’s anguished face, looked around for bystanders. He backed away towards the railing bracketing the East River. If he needed to he’d escape in the water. But Lana…

He’d let down his guard, bringing her here. Letting himself dream and hope and wish and here was Karen and goddamn she looked beautiful, her eyes bright and hair streaming in the wind off the river and he could not reconcile the pieces.

His voice was a shadow of itself when it rasped from his mouth. “Explain, Karen. Tell me you’re not a monster. Tell me -” he stopped, unable to say more.

He saw her eyes close and the resoluteness stiffen her spine. Hope bloomed in his chest. She…she was still her. Her stubbornness, her implacable will.

“I’m not a monster, in the same way you aren’t.”

He worked his jaw, thinking, eyes casting about, settling on anything but her now. Her words were ones he’d normally deny in his heart, but it seemed the stakes had shifted, and his gut reactions fell flat in the face of the fact that Karen Page was here, and she was a vampire.

“Guess that’s why Lana’s losing her mind,” he said finally.

Karen laughed at that and goddamn if it still didn’t make his heart flip with the sound. What was wrong with him.

“Look I -” she started, uncertain. “I was bitten a month ago in Vermont.” She noticed his quizzical expression. “My Dad, he…I saw his obituary in the paper, so I drove up there. The town was riddled with vamps, some offshoot of the Albanians taking root in Fagan Corners of all places. They’ve locked it down since, but lucky for me!” She lifted her hands, her tone mocking. “Not my favorite trip ever. One star.” She joked, and cast her eyes down when it fell flat.

“Came back and have been feeding off criminals. Not like they're hard to find in this town. Frank -” She caught his gaze in her own. “I wanted to see you, wanted to see you and…I don't think anything can stop them, not anything human." She stopped, searched his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if she found what she was looking for but somehow knew what her next words would be all the same. Still, he let the pause linger. It was a moment, one to let go in. If there was anyone he trusted, it was her, goddamn, and maybe...maybe it was finally time to show that.

She inhaled then, and he idly wondered if that was force of habit or if vampires needed oxygen. He breathed a breath of his own, rib aching with the effort, and drew closer, sliding his hand into the silk of her hair, fingers sifting through it. He looked at her then, full on, not letting his gaze wander, not letting himself look away. He nodded then, an answer to the questions in her eyes, and bared his neck to her.

also on ao3

#kastle #kastle fanfiction #kastle ff #idk what genre to tag this as tbh #hello i will be editing this after posting like an insane person #gotta stop this has been swirling for two weeks in my brain i hate how slow i am #tw: parent death

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confused-pyramid · 1 year

Text

Maybe I'm Not Scared

pairing: frank castle x karen page

summary: A few moments in time following the events of 1x10 of The Punisher.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: angst, yearning, canon!typical violence, drinking

a/n: This is my first fic that isn't 'x reader' and I'm a bit nervous but very excited:) The title comes from the song "Bare" by Wildes. Fic mentions events and episodes for Daredevil season 2 and The Punisher season 1.

The door to her apartment shuts behind her and Karen Page collapses to the ground. It's been an especially long day and after Madani finally finished with her questions, Karen needed to get out of there.

Her apartment has always felt like her safe place. It shouldn't, and she knows this, but it helps her fall asleep with all of the things that go bump in the night hiding right under her bed. It was less than a year ago that her old apartment was shot up, and that itself should have been her first sign to get out of the city, but for some godforsaken reason she stuck around.

If she forces herself to remember, she knows that Frank had been there that night. When bullets were flying over her head, puncturing her walls with holes that never got patched up, Frank had been laying on top of her, covering her body with his own. He always managed to show up, right when she needed him.

So maybe it's not her apartment. Maybe she has no safe place at all. No where to turn to when she feels the walls closing in on her.

Nowhere maybe, but not no one.

Frank, who had been there at every turn, right when she was starting to think that all hope was lost. Just like today.

Karen picks herself up, pressing her hands against the wall for a moment to steady herself. Her ears still ring from the bomb that went off in the congressman's hotel room, but it's nothing that a gulp of whiskey won't fix. Nothing ever is.

She floats into her kitchen, unsure of how her legs are still working, and pours herself a glass, before her eyes land on the bouquet of flowers still sitting out on her counter. A large bunch of white roses that now just looks like a few wilted stems. They have long since passed their prime and probably should be let go (there's a metaphor in there somewhere), but she can't bring herself to throw them out. Not if they may be the last thing of Frank's she will ever have.

Her hand reaches for the glass of whiskey, but she misses and her body presses up against the cool countertop. She closes her eyes and his words from earlier flash across her eyelids.

"I will come for you."

Karen had believed him completely. There had been no doubt in her mind that he would have torn the building apart if it meant getting her back from Lewis. But what does that mean?

What does it mean for them that she is so certain he would stake his life down for her in a heartbeat, but she has no clue whether he would answer the phone if she called right now?

She tries to remember what Frank said to Lewis when they were in the hotel. Something about pretending that what they were doing was noble. He has to know he isn't like Lewis. That what he did may not have been noble but at least it wasn't cowardly.

The memory of the cold metal of the barrel of her gun stings her skin and she gulps the contents of her glass in one go. The clink of her cup hitting the counter sounds loud in the silence surrounding her, and she stumbles over to the window, flinging it open.

Traffic and chatter filter up and the nausea rising within her calms down momentarily. That was part of the reason she moved to New York. The noise.

The city was never silent, and that helped to quiet the demons always clawing at her heels. Even when she was lonely, she was never by herself, and with no family left - at least none that would speak to her - she couldn't handle being completely alone.

Maybe that's what drew her to Frank. They both look around and all they see are the threats hiding in the dark corners of the city. Matt and Foggy never understood that part of her. They had never held a pistol in their hand and known exactly what it could do to whoever it was pointed at. They didn't have to live every single day knowing exactly what it felt like to hold someone's life in their hands and choosing to end it.

The shrill sound of her phone ringing jolts her from her thoughts and she scrambles to her bag, ripping it open when the zipper doesn't come undone.

"Hello?" she gasps, pressing the device against her ear like it's a lifeline.

"You home?" Frank asks, his voice tinny over the receiver. “Did you make it back okay?”

“Yes,” she sighs, nodding even though he can’t see her. “I’m in my apartment. I actually just got back, Madani had a lot of questions.”

He chuckles lightly, but it’s hollow. “Sounds about right.”

He’s silent for a few moments and she wants him to speak so badly, but she doesn’t know what he would say if he did.

I’m done? I’ll stop?

He would never say either of those things, and in her heart, she knows she would never ask him to. At least not again.

“So what do you want? Should I let it go?”

She had almost said yes. Yes, yes, please yes. But she didn’t.

Instead she blinked away the tears that she convinced herself were just from the wind and shook her head.

“I want there to be an after. For you.”

That was all she had ever wanted. All she still wanted for him. She knew what his family’s death had done to him, and she knew what killing the people who had wronged him meant, but there had to be an end.

“Are you safe?” she asks him, her hand still pressed over her phone like it will disappear at any moment. “Did you get out?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, not giving anything away. She knows this is to protect her, and that’s also why she holds back from asking the one question that is sitting on the tip of her tongue. Will I see you again?

He must hear it in her mind - he always was able to sense exactly what she was thinking - because his breathing gets uneven. She can imagine him pacing around, his hand bringing his burner phone down for a second as he collects his thoughts.

“I’ll try to come by,” he states gruffly, his voice somehow going even lower. “Before I leave, I’ll try.”

The weight pressing on her chest lifts ever so slightly, and she can hardly believe this is the same man who said “You want to?” the first time she had asked when she would see him again.

“Get some sleep,” he instructs right before the line goes dead. He never did say “goodbye”. She finds it somewhat comforting. Like maybe if he doesn’t say it, then she will see him again.

It’s the small things that she holds onto that keep her going. Day by day. Minute by Minute. Second by second.

Before today, the last time Karen had seen him was when he asked for help finding a man named Micro, and even then she had been afraid of what he was going to use that information for. She was scared that her two hands would lead to more bloodshed, but more than that, she was scared for him.

He had come to her apartment and brought her flowers and made a joke about being a hippie, and to an outsider, it might have seemed normal. Like two old friends (with a bit of inexplicable history) catching up.

He had asked for help and she had agreed, but as he was leaving, she hadn’t been able to help herself. He was so strong and sturdy and when his arms came up around her too, the waves crashing onto her started to let up. She didn’t feel like she was drowning anymore, but then he had let go, and it had all come rushing back.

She asked him then, before he could escape into the night, what his end game was. What he was going to do when he could finally stop killing.

He hadn’t needed to think for a moment. "I didn't go into this life with a plan. I didn't have an end in mind when I set off down this road."

She knew what he was saying. That he didn’t expect to survive this…and even though that thought likely brought comfort to most of the city, she could feel bile rising in her throat.

“I’ve gotten my fill of seeing you like this, Castle,” she had sputtered, trying in vain to keep her voice steady. “I don’t want to have to see you covered in bruises and cuts anymore.”

He had finally met her eyes then, his expression turning somber. “I won’t come here anym-”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Frank.”

Her tone was harsh and agitated, but his name sounded soft on her lips. It took his breath away, how easily she could cut through his bullshit.

For one single, self-serving moment, he wishes he could see himself the way she seemed to. “I know. I know what you want me to say…but I don’t want to lie to you either.”

He never did lie to her. In a world where she couldn’t trust anyone, he was the one person she had come to rely on. His honesty, no matter how blunt or harsh. But not cruel. Never cruel.

Karen thinks back to the hotel and the look on Frank’s face when they finally made it into the elevator. She had convinced him to hold her own gun against her, so that he could escape without being caught. She could see the uncertainty in his eyes, even after taking the clip out, but she had worn him down.

Even if the clip had stayed in, she wouldn’t have feared for her life. Not with him right there behind her, his heart beating frantically against her spine.

For a man whose resting heart rate was probably in the teens, she had been surprised to feel the sudden uptick when the barrel of her gun pushed up against her chin.

But it had worked, and they had both gotten away. That was all that mattered. Not that she can still hear the ticking of Lewis’ bomb whenever she’s alone, or how she sees his splattered corpse whenever she shuts her eyes. She has lived for years with ghosts haunting her every waking moment, and a few more wouldn’t hurt.

She makes the executive decision to take a shower before heading to bed, and as she peels her clothes off in her bathroom, she tries not to think about how vulnerable she is making herself. Dark corners. All she sees is dark corners.

When she steps into the shower, the water washes away what it can, but after she’s dried off and in her pajamas, the silence is louder than usual.

“You have championed the common hero before, Miss Page.”

Sleep stopped coming easily the day her brother died. When her mom succumbed to cancer, the pain was unimaginable, but at least she had a support system. Other people to share the pain and make it manageable. After Kevin’s death, she was hurt and guilty and shunned by her town, and never again did she underestimate just how much more painful grief is when you have to bear it alone.

"But awful things happen to people everyday, and they don't murder people because of it."

She could practically hear Frank's voice in her head as she said those words over the radio. Don't goad him, Karen. Ease up.

She never did know when to ease up. If she had, maybe she wouldn't have been in that hotel at all today.

Sleep takes its time, but when it finally comes, she welcomes it with open arms.

~~~

A few more days pass and Karen slowly gives up on the hope that Frank will come by before leaving the city. She has a couple of days left on her week-long leave from work that Ellison mandated, but she’s already going stir-crazy. She wasn’t built for this. For rest and relaxation.

Another way that she and Frank are the same. They share that burn for the truth, for the answers to the questions that have been hidden from them.

One thing she doesn’t do is watch the news. She already knows what happened that day. She doesn’t need the world telling her she’s a victim or a perpetrator or something in between.

There’s a rustle on her fire escape and she jumps in her chair, before realizing who it is. She can’t remember if she locked her window, but it doesn’t matter, because a few moments later, Frank is standing in her kitchen.

“Hi Karen,” he greets her, his demeanor more guarded than usual.

“I’m glad you came,” she whispers, her hands itching to reach forward and hold him. “Thank you…for coming.”

He nods slightly, but there’s a sadness there too. “You shouldn’t thank me. I’m putting you in danger just by being here.”

Danger. That word has meant a lot of things to her, but right now, she can’t bring herself to feel it. He’s here - he’s actually here - and she wants to soak it in for what she anticipates will be the last time.

“What’s next for you?” she asks gingerly, her eyes scanning him as she tucks her hair behind her ear.

He follows the movement of her hand with his eyes as he ponders what to tell her. Any information in this world paints a target on your back, and he has gotten quite enough of putting her in danger.

She is one of the strongest people he has ever met, but she is the last person left in this world that he will do anything to protect.

But she knows that. What she doesn’t know is that she’s also his biggest weakness. That he has been fighting this battle for months, but every time he looks at her, he wonders what it would feel like to simply live. To put down his weapons and cease.

But that’s not who they are.

He doesn't have to think about what it could’ve been like if they had met before. Before that day at the park; before Kandahar; hell, before he'd even enlisted in the military.

Because that isn't who they are. They're not in a secret forbidden love story that will begin once the bad guys have been defeated. They are two people who found each other because they had to. Because it was the only thing that managed to keep them alive.

What’s next for him? Whose blood will be on his hands now?

“I have to find Billy,” he says, his eyes dark under the hood of his jacket, “so I can finish this.”

Finish. Neutralize. Eliminate. There have been a lot of different words he has used but they all mean the same thing. She doesn’t know if she has it in her to fight with him anymore. Anyway, the further in she has been dragged, the more she understands.

Besides, her supposed moral ground isn’t much higher than his.

Karen can remember that day in the prison like it was yesterday. Frank can too, no matter how much he would like to forget.

“Look Frank, I can’t judge you.”

He didn’t know how much she had meant that. The pretty little journalist who everyone expected to just stand back and write about the action instead of being in the thick of it.

She remembers how Matt had told her to stop acting like a kid, and how it had felt like a slap to the face, because she was many things, but she was not naïve. But she didn’t fight back, because his black and white view of who everyone was would never go in her favor.

So when Frank had said “maybe it’s not your first rodeo”, her life had exploded into color again. He saw her immediately for who she was. Not as a villain but as someone who had hurt and been hurt and who knew what it meant for there to be shades of gray in a world that always seemed so black and white.

She sees him now. Sees the pain written into his features, the weariness etched into the cracks and lines of his face. He sees the pain and apprehension outlining each of her movements, and he wants her to know that he would take it all way if he could. But that was always their problem.

He can’t.

He’s going to leave and nothing feels like it will be the same so when she steps forward, he doesn’t step back. And when her fingers reach up to brush his cheek, he doesn’t pull away.

She runs her thumb lightly over the cut on the edge of his mouth, and he doesn’t flinch, even if it hurts.

She takes another step forward and this time they’re chest to chest, face to face. She has pushed farther than she ever has before, but if not now, when?

But Karen doesn’t want to take more than he is willing to give, so instead of doing what her body is begging her to, she reaches up and wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down for a lumbering hug.

He feels familiar in her arms, like maybe in some other life, this was natural. Like they would get to do this every day.

Just when she thinks he may pull away, he squeezes her tighter, and all of the broken pieces of her find their way back together again. They press together and the echoing loneliness between them feels just a bit smaller.

When she finally pulls back, she does it slowly, and just as she starts to turn her head, his lips find hers. He is so strong and solid, but his lips feel soft and warm against hers.

This moment feels too real and she half-expects her phone to ring or some other interruption to present itself, because there’s no way she’s finally getting what she has wanted for so long.

Her body feels malleable in his arms, like she’s molding herself into every crack and crevice of him. To fit into all of the places where he has lost a piece of himself. It’s like she’s saying I’m here. I’m in this with you. Whatever you don’t have, I’ll fill in. Whatever you can’t do, I will.

Eventually they both come to the same understanding and they pull back, but not all the way. He still holds her in his arms and she still runs her fingers down his jaw.

She can’t bring herself to let go just yet, but when the sound of a car honking filters up through her window, they spring apart.

This is it. She can feel it. It’s all about to end.

“I need you to be safe, Karen,” he tells her as he adjusts his jacket around his shoulders. “Don’t go instigating any more fights with terrorists over the radio or in your newspaper.”

He says the last part like it’s supposed to be a joke, but his heart isn’t in it. It’s just too real.

The "I love you" she’s been holding onto sits thickly in her throat, hanging on for dear life as she swallows it down. It’s not the time, but the longer she holds it in, the more she realizes it may never be.

He makes his way towards her window and she expects him to leave without another word, but then he pauses.

“Goodbye.”

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