part 2
Karen takes a sip of the coffee, holding the mug with both hands like she might drop it otherwise. She tries not to let the fact that it's the most perfect cup she's ever had distract her, but it's smooth going down, and her eyes flutter shut for half a second. She tells herself to focus, that she has a reason for coming here that has nothing to do with the way he's looking at her. “What the hell happened to my source Frank?”
He walks over to the couch, settling in and taking a long pull from his cup. She knows what happened, but she wants him to say it, to admit that he's been keeping an eye on her, trying to protect her. “He was going to kill you.”
Shaking her head, she sits down beside him, clutching the cup so she doesn't give herself away with dramatic hand gestures. She has a secret, and it pains her because she never wanted to lie to Frank.
“No he wasn't.” She's not sure about this, but short of Alan telling Frank his intentions she's sure there's no way he can be sure either. “I trusted him. He was my source.”
“He was going to kill you.”
She sits the coffee a little too forcefully, rattling the cup against the glass top. “Listen, Frank, this is important. I need to get to the bottom of everything, and if you keep killing my contacts it'll never happen. I think I know who’s giving the orders.”
He snaps, slamming his own cup down beside hers. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulls her close. “Karen, I swear to God. I can't do this.” She knows what he means, he can't be responsible for someone he cares about. He can't face another bad day, the loss would any progress, shattering him from the inside out. “Do you hear me, Karen?”
She's alarmed, hearing his pain laced words, seeing the passion contorting his features. It breaks her heart that she’s hurting him like this. She aches for him, reaching up to cradle his face in her hands. There are more bruises and cuts than the last time she saw him. They tell a story of little scuffles here and there, nothing major. It's the devastation she can see behind his eyes that makes her resolve crumble. She can't lie to him. “Frank, I think it's my father. I think he's the one. I can't stop till I find out. This has nothing to do with you.”
She never intended to tell him. She hates that it's the truth, but she knows the code Frank lives by, and that he could never let Paxton Page continue to hurt people. But it's her father, and deep down beneath all the terrible things he's done, she still thinks he could be the man who taught her how to ride a bike and kissed her scraped knees, the man who held her when she was scared.
When Frank doesn't reply, she holds him fast, willing him to understand the predicament she's in. “Frank?” His name is a whisper, a plea to stay with her, not just physically, but to stay with her, to understand.
He nods, and she nearly collapses against him in relief. Releasing her shoulders, he begins to pull away, but she doesn't let him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding tight.
She finds his lips, soft and warm against her tongue. He's passive at first, and somehow she's always known it would be like this, that she would have to be the one to lean in, initiate first contact. He's so strong, but this part of him is as fragile as spun glass, distrusting of every signal. But God, he's so warm it's hard to think, and he tastes like the expertly brewed coffee that's still sitting on the table.
When he finally takes control, pushing her back against the deep cushions of the couch, she loses every train of thought that was zipping through her mind. Everything falls away, and the only thing left is Frank, touching her like she might disappear if he goes too fast, kissing her like he's trying to memorize the shape of her mouth.
No matter what happens, she won't forget this, won't forget the smell of gently brewed coffee and the feel of strong hands gently mapping the length of her body.