Frank/Claire, “I’m alive… I can tell because of the pain.”
Claire, dressed hastily in a set of scrubs from the hospital where she no longer worked, followed Karen down to the street and to an illegally parked car with her extensive first aid kit. The sedan looked like it has seen better days, but it started up on the first try, so Claire didn't worry much.
Even at this time of night, the streets of New York weren't empty. Karen wove in and out of traffic, finally turning the wrong way down a one-way street and into a shady looking warehouse. She turned off the engine and signaled for Claire to stay put, opening her own door slowly. "Frank? It's me. You alive?"
Somewhere in the dark, a man laughed. "Yeah, I'm alive. I can tell 'cause it hurts like hell."
"Good," Karen said. "He's over here," she added, this time toward Claire.
Claire followed Karen out of the car, toward what looked like it had been an office. A large pitbull lay on the concrete outside the open door, a threatening growl morphing into a welcoming bark when Karen murmured to it. Inside the office, a man was slumped against the wall, one hand pressed into his side. Even in the dim light given off by the single swinging bulb, Claire recognized Frank Castle from his trial. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered to herself. Aloud, she said, "Okay, I want to know nothing about the circumstances of this. Take off his shirt."
Karen knelt next to Frank and obeyed, over his weak objections. His midsection was a mess of bruises and cuts, with bright red blood oozing from a nasty-looking gash that was at least eight inches long. "Did you hit your head? Take any painkillers?" Frank shook his head, wincing when that jostled whatever injuries he had. Claire rummaged in her bag, pulling out two pairs of latex gloves, some iodine antiseptic wipes, sterile gauze, and a suture kit. She handed one pair of gloves to Karen and pulled the other ones on her hands with a snap. "This is going to sting," she warned, opening one of the iodine wipes and cleaning the area immediately around the wound. The muscles under her hand tensed, but Frank didn’t make a sound.
The cut was long, but shallow, and it didn't take Claire long to close it up. Karen sat silently by her side, wiping up the blood when Claire directed her. He winced when she ran firm fingers over his chest. "You have at least two broken ribs," Claire said. "Probably more, but I'd need to see an x-ray to confirm that. I assume you won't be going to the hospital?"
Frank huffed out a laugh that turned into a groan of pain. "Don't think that would be a good idea, ma'am."
"Yeah well," she said, taking the gloves off and tucking them into a bio-hazard bag, "you keep this up and you'll end up in the morgue." She turned her attention to Karen, handing her a bottle of antibiotics she'd swiped from Metro-General before she'd quit. "He needs fluids and rest. Give him one of these and two ibuprofen every four hours, and don't let him do anything strenuous for at least three days. Seven would be better. Watch that wound; if it starts to smell or ooze anything but blood, call me immediately." She paused. "You have my number, right?"
Karen nodded. "Thank you," she said, voice soft.
"Don't thank me. Just… don't."
Karen didn't argue, instead stripping off her gloves and grabbing her car keys. "I can at least give you a ride back home."
Claire sighed, suddenly very, very tired. "Yeah, that would be good." She spared one last look at Frank Castle, sprawled half-dead on the floor, and followed Karen to her car.