He really shouldn’t be here. Has no goddamn right to be standing at her door again after all this time. But she walked up her building’ staircase fifteen minutes ago, and still hasn’t turned on her apartment light. The light he used as a sign that she was home and safe. A ritual that he did with more consistency than he would care to admit. And after everything that went down tonight, he’d be damned if he stayed away now.
But it isn’t until he is standing in front of her door that he hesitates. He hates the uneasiness that grows inside him. Nervousness is not an emotion that he experiences much these days, but it rears its ugly head as he brings his hand up to knock.
He hears a sharp intake of breath from inside and then silence. He can only imagine who she wonders is at her door at this time of night, so he clears his throat and ignores his nerves.
“Karen, it’s me. Open up.” Frank calls, his voice like gravel.
There’s a momentary pause, and then the door is opening, and she’s right there. Karen Page, and her pretty blues eyes are staring at him, and it’s both the best and worst thing he’s experienced in a long time. Karen has always been unique in the fact that she never shied away from his gaze. While others would look away in fear of the big bad Punisher, she would stare defiantly back at the man. Now is no different, even if her eyes are tinged with confusion and so much crushing grief. Having it turned on him for the first time in years was a heady experience. One that he was afraid that he’d get addicted to.
Frank notices that she is still holding her gun slightly behind her body. Not drawn but ready to be used in a moment’s notice. Atta girl.
There is no denying the that she’s a mess. Her eyes are red rimmed and puffy, and her cheeks are still streaked with tears that she couldn’t completely wipe away before answering the door. Her clothes are disheveled and covered in what must be a fatal amount of someone’s blood. No, not someone’s, Nelson’s blood. Some of which she must’ve tried to wash off at the station because he could see a spot she had missed at her hairline. But she is alive and relatively unharmed, and Frank feels himself slightly relax for the first time since hearing the police scanner earlier that night.
She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s okay. A silent chant of thanks to whatever god chose to listen.
She’s staring at him. A small furrow between her brows as she takes him in.
“Frank.” She acknowledges. A greeting, a question.
“Hey, Karen.” He softly responds. Eyes never straying from her face. After a moment, she turns away from the door, leaving it open for him to follow.
Karen walks over to her couch, falling onto it, looking more exhausted than he has ever seen her. Frank closes and locks the door behind him before following her into her living room where he stands in the middle of the floor.
He takes in her apartment. It’s small, mostly clean, but cluttered with piles of paperwork and case files that she must have taken home from the office. He can’t help but notice the few picture frames throughout the space. Most of them consisting of various combinations of her, Murdock, and Nelson.
“What are you doing here, Frank?” she asks, pulling him from his snooping. He looks back down to find her staring at the floor, her shoulders curled in on herself and her hands laying limp in her lap. Her tone sounds so defeated, so unKaren-like that he feels his heart twist a little.
“I heard about what went down at Josie’s. I came to check on you. Make sure you’re alright.” His gruff tone belied the truth of the matter.
The truth was that when he heard that Karen’s favorite watering hole was shot up by no one other than fucking Bullseye, his blood had turned to ice in his veins.
The truth was that he was so overwrought with panic that he burst out of his hideout with nothing more than the unloaded gun he had been cleaning at the time. Desperate to find out if Karen had been another person that he lost to a fucking bullet. He couldn’t even remember the commute to her side of the city, lost in his own head about how stupid he felt for not killing that son of a bitch sooner. He already tried to kill her before, and yet that piece of shit was still breathing. A mistake he wouldn’t let himself make again. He was no fucking Murdock.
It wasn’t until he reached the bar, police sirens and lights greeting him as blended in with the mingling bystanders that he understood the situation. Karen was violently crying over an unmoving Nelson while a policewoman tried to usher her away so the medical examiners could take the body. Bullseye was apparently alive, but horribly injured. Looks like Red had thrown him off the fucking roof. Good.
His mind had cleared enough from his panic to know that he couldn’t run into the scene without being swarmed by cops in seconds. But the gut-wrenching wails of Karen cut him deeper than a knife to the gut. He stayed long enough to see her escorted to a police car before melting back into the night. He had been outside her apartment for the last four hours, waiting for her to return. Wanting, needing to see her up close. To know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was alive.
“I am so fucking far from being alright.” She replied bitterly, looking up at him “But I’m not hurt if that’s what you mean…. This isn’t mine.” She gestures to the dark red that has covered nearly the entire front of her torso. The bitterness in her tone melted away to a deep grief that had him aching on her behalf.
“I know.” He says it gently “I heard about Nelson. I’m so sorry, Karen. He was a good man.” Frank could admit that he liked his former attorney. And yea, while Nelson was one of the many people who was fucking scared shitless of him, he still did his best to defend his client. Plus, the guy was always good to Karen.
Her faced crumbled a little at that, but she was able to manage a choked “Thanks” before lapsing into silence. For a minute, the only sound was the ticking of a clock somewhere in her apartment. When she did finally speak, anger laced each word.
“I just don’t get it. We haven’t heard from Poindexter in years, and out of nowhere he kills Foggy? To settle some score with Matt?” Karen stares up at Frank, willing him to give her the answers she desperately wants. But before he can respond, she continues.
“It’s just so random, so out of nowhere. One minute, we’re hanging out as Josie’s, and then the next, Foggy is dead in front of me.” Her voice breaks in the middle of the sentence, her voice barely a whisper by the end of it. He has never heard her sound so lost.
“I tried to save him.” She insists “Tried to stop the bleeding, but I failed.” She’s looking at her hands again, as if she can still see the blood of her best friend staining them red. Frank can see she’s shaking.
“Oh, Foggy.” Karen collapses in on herself with a keening, broken sound, and Frank acts on instinct.
Within two short strides, Frank plants himself next to Karen on the couch, one arm curling around her waist, the other clasping her smaller hands in his larger one. Without another word, she sobs and leans on him for support. Frank begins to rub soothing circles into her back, murmuring words of comfort into her hair. This goes on for what Frank guesses is about half an hour, but he doesn’t dare to move a muscle away the entire time.
Eventually her sobs subside enough, and she goes quiet and still. This sets Frank on edge. Crying is natural, and the silence he understands. But he doesn’t like that faraway look in her eye as she sits staring at nothing. He knows that look. He knows how the loss is playing in her head over and over again, making it impossible to think of anything else.
Frank finds himself asking, “What do you need? What can I do?” His tone bordering on desperate.
“I need for Foggy to be alive.” She says quietly to the open space. “For this to be an awful dream. But failing that, I need a drink.” She starts to get up, but he is already moving to the kitchen.
He searches her cabinets, quickly finding an opened bottle of scotch and a lowball glass. He walks it over to her, pouring the amber liquid into the crystal as he goes. He sits back down next to her, leaving no space between.
“Here.” He offers the glass. Karen mumbles a thanks and takes a sip. They sit like that for a moment. But Karen is not one to keep him waiting for long.
“I’m gonna go take a shower.” She says abruptly. She isn’t quite meeting his eyes, and the smile she gives him is more of a grimace, but he tries not to take it personally. Lord knows that he isn’t a fan of being vulnerable in front of others either.
Instead, he gives her a “’Kay. You want something to eat?”
“No thanks,” she says as she makes her way toward what is presumably the bathroom door. “I’m not hungry.”
Frank’s brow furrows. “Karen, when was the last time you ate?” His tone brokered no tolerance for lies.
“I had a big breakfast this morning.” Karen explains, as if a meal that probably occurred eighteen hours ago could possibly last her till then. Frank wasn’t having it.
“You need to eat something.” He started moving towards the front door intent on getting her some real food, on doing something for her. “Go take a shower and I’ll-“
“Please don’t leave.” Karen says too quickly, taking a small step in his direction before pulling herself up short. Frank doesn’t move another inch, only watching her. She seems startled by her own request.
“I mean…I have food here if that’s okay. You’re welcome to any of it.” Frank can tell she is embarrassed to ask this of him. Embarrassed to need someone to stay with her after everything she’s been through. Well, he wasn’t gonna make it any harder for her.
“Something from here sounds great.” Frank reassures her softly. “But you gotta eat too. Deal?” He asks her.
“Deal.” She agrees, her smile a fraction more genuine now that she isn’t afraid that he will run away while her back is turned. She pads her way over to the bathroom and with one last look at him, shuts the door behind her.
Frank makes his way over to the kitchen, and when he’s there, curses himself. The fuck does he know about cooking? He’s been living off microwave dinners, MREs, and take out for nearly a decade now. What the hell was he gonna make for her. He pilfers through her cabinets for inspiration. Mercy takes the form a can of tomato bisque. His raid of the fridge scores him cheese, butter, and bread. Grilled cheese and soup it is, he thinks to himself, and begins preparing his simple meal.
Karen is just stepping out of the bathroom in old sweats when Frank places two plates on her small dining table. He sits at the table before pointedly looking at the empty spot next to him. She sits down obediently.
He watches from the corner of his eye as she takes hold of the sandwich, biting into it tentatively. He was either a better cook than he thought, or she was just that hungry, because it isn’t long before she is digging hardily into her meal, dipping her sandwich in the bowl.
He tries to fight the sense of satisfaction he feels watching her eat, but he just can’t manage it. It feels good, knowing that at least for right now, she is better off with him around. They eat in companionable silence until they are both scraping their bowls clean with their spoons.
Once the meal is finished, Frank asks a question that has been plaguing him since he arrived. “Where’s Red?”
Frank hates to see the slight tightening in Karen’s shoulders. “He uh, got pretty hurt fighting Poindexter. He’s at a friend’s place getting patched up….I think.” Karen doesn’t meet his gaze during her answer.
This brings Frank up short. “You think?” he asks needing to make sure he heard her right.
“That was a few hours ago. He called me to make sure I was alright and to let me know that he was there and safe.” Karen explains, fiddling with the paper napkin in her hands, pointedly avoiding Frank’s gaze. “I texted him when I was leaving the police station, but he hasn’t replied.” Karen continued.
“Is that so?” Frank says sardonically, anger and disgust lacing every syllable. What kind of man doesn’t check in on a friend like Karen after the shit she just went through?
“His friend probably gave him painkillers that knocked him out. I’m sure he’ll call me in the morning.” Her tone is defensive, but she still doesn’t meet his gaze.
Frank just shakes his head. Angry but not surprised by Murdock’s inability to see what the fuck was in front of him. It’s a terrible thing that happened to Foggy, truly, but Matt isn’t the only person that lost somebody tonight.
The fact that Karen has been dealing with this alone and would still be if Frank hadn’t come over has his fists clenching on his thighs underneath the table. But Frank can see that this conversation was upsetting her, and he’d rather eat glass than be an additional cause to her pain.
He goes for levity. “Well, it’s a good thing I happened to be in the neighborhood, aye Page?” he cracks her a small half smile and nudges his foot against hers under the table.
But she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, Karen tilts her head as she looks at him, eyes narrowing slightly. Frank knows this look; Reporter Karen is about to come out to play. He should be more nervous about her questions, but mostly he’s just excited to see this new light shining in her eyes.
“How did you know where I live, Frank? You still keeping tabs on me?” She asks this with a flippant tone, but he can tell she is completely focused on his answer.
“Uh, I mean, yea, I am.” He confirms gruffly, fidgeting a little in his seat. “Nothing creepy, ain’t like I’m stalking you or some shit.” He reassures her. “I just wanted to know where to find you, in case you needed my help.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a small piece of paper. “That reminds me. Take this.” He says handing her the slip.
Karen stares at it for a beat before turning her gaze back on him. “….Are you giving me your number, Frank? What happened? The flower shop closed?” she quips, some bitterness seeping into her tone. Frank doesn’t mind though; he knows he deserves it.
“Roses won’t cut it this time, Page.” He responds gruffly. He waits till she is looking at him again before continuing. “I want you to be able to contact me if you ever find yourself in trouble like tonight again. I don’t care where, or when, or what I’m walking into. You call me, and I’ll come.” Frank promises.
“Why?” she asks after a beat, her tone soft but demanding.
The silence in his pause feels heavy; loaded in a way that makes Frank’s skin itch. He stands up needing some space, and ain’t it just like Karen Page to not give him an inch? She rises in almost the same moment he does, and now they’re facing each other with not even half a foot of space between them.
She gazes at him, her ocean eyes pining him to the spot. She repeats her question, “Why, Frank?”
He knew this question would be coming. It has been years since they’ve last spoken. Since he basically kicked her out of his life because it was easier to embrace the Punisher than her. And sure, he has left her the odd sign that he was alive. A white rose at her door after one of his more deadly missions ends up on the news. But this was different. This was more.
This was an open line of communication. A line that only existed for her. Frank had other phones, other contact numbers he could’ve written down. But giving her the same number that he gave to his weapons guy, or the retired army medic that sometimes fixed him up just didn’t feel right. So, as he waited for her to get home, he couldn’t resist the urge to walk into the corner drug store and buy a new burner phone.
But that doesn’t answer her question. Why? Why invite her back into his life? He still believes that she is way better off without him. That she deserves someone good like altar boy Matt, even if he can be an asshole at times. So why give her his number and basically beg to be her personal guard dog?
The simple and gut-wrenching truth was that Frank fucking misses her.
He misses talking to her. He craves the peace of mind that he only gets when she’s near. He even misses how she would call him out on his bullshit in a way no one else could. The thought of this moment with her being a one-off thing has him internally panicking. God, maybe he was an addict. One hour with her has him aching for more.
But of course, he can’t, won’t, say any of this. He only looks at her and says “Because when someone matters to you, you show up for them. Because you deserve someone who shows up for you, Karen.” Franks voice gets lower even more gravely with emotion. “I know I’m not much. That I’m the last person that someone should ever have to rely on. That I’ve let you down before. But if you need me Karen, I’m there. For anything.” He vows.
Her gaze flickers across his face, searching for something. Blue locks on to brown, and he is transfixed.
Slowly, as if not to spook him, Karen wraps her arms around his broad shoulders, and buries her nose in the crook of his neck. Frank is all instinct again, pulling her in by the small of waist, holding her just as tightly as he buries his own nose in her silken golden strands. He subtly but deeply breathes her in.
He remembers a similar and yet so different embrace from long ago. In a different apartment, and under very different circumstances. But the feeling of holding her to him hurts in the exact same way.
“Thank you.” She says. Her voice so soft and her tone so sincere that all Frank can think to do is mumble back a rough, “’Course.”
They stand like that for a minute, fitting like two goddamn puzzle pieces. He can’t remember the last time he was in an embrace like this, but the only answer his mind supplies is that it has been too fucking long. Frank can feel his heart hammering in his chest, and wonders if she can feel it too.
Karen is first to break the hug, and Frank would be a liar if he said that he wasn’t a little disappointed in it ending so soon. She pulls back to look at him, her arms folding over her chest as she curls forward slightly. She’s looking at everywhere else but him.
“I should probably head to bed; the detectives asked me to come back in the morning to answer some additional questions.” Her face crumbles again, at the fresh reminder of what she has lost. He hates that this is happening to her.
“You want me to go with you?” He offers automatically.
This unexpected offer pulls her from the dark place she was sliding into. She smirks at him. “I’d rather avoid getting you locked up again. Hard to protect me from in a cell.” She points out.
‘Right.” He drawls slowly in agreement, feeling like an idiot for his lack of impulse control.
Karen snorts in amusement, but she still has that look in her eyes.
“It’s pretty late.” He is looking toward the clock in the kitchen. He feels rather than sees her tense at the comment. An idea hits him. “Do you mind if I crash here?” he asks, surprising himself.
After a short beat, she hastily replies, “Course you can.” And Frank sees the relief loosening the tension in her shoulders. “C’mon.” she says over her should, as she starts heading toward her bedroom door. A new kind of panic takes over him.
Clearing his throat, he calls after her. “Uh, that’s okay Karen. I can just sleep on the couch.” He feels frozen to the spot.
“Don’t be stupid, Frank.” Her tone admonishing. “That couch is way too short for you. Plus, the bed is big enough to share.” And with that she pads deeper into her bedroom.
She wants him to share a bed with her? Is she trying to kill him? Frank considers ducking out anyways, come up with some shit excuse as to why he can’t stay after all. But then he thinks of how relieved she was at the thought of him staying, and that idea stops him dead in his tracks.
Frank makes his feet move forward and then he’s standing in her bedroom door. She is already lying on her back, under the covers, on the far side of the bed. The lamp on the nightstand the only source of light in the room.
He makes his way to his side of the bed and sits down to take his boots off. Normally, he sleeps in just his boxers, but there was no way that was happening tonight. Instead, he digs out his wallet, phone, and gun from his pockets and places them on the matching nightstand. He gingerly lies down on the bed over the top of the sheet, resting his hands on his abdomen.
Karen turns off the light, and Frank welcomes the security that the darkness offers. It helps him ignore the fact that he is currently spending the night in Karen Page’s bed. But that illusion is broken when he feels her arm shifting closer to him. And because he seems to be a man of instinct tonight, he reaches out and slides his hand into hers, letting their fingers intertwine in the space between them.
“Thank you, for coming. For staying. I don’t know how I would’ve been able to do this alone.” Karen’s voice is thick with emotion.
“It’s my honor.” He says simply.
It’s quiet after that, and Frank thinks that she must have finally fallen asleep. Honestly, he’s almost there himself. His current sleeping arrangement was one of the most comfortable, albeit one of the most awkward ones, he’s had in God knows how long. His eyes are starting to slide shut when Karen whispers into the quiet.
“Frank?”
“Yea, Kare?” he answers back softly.
He can feel her hesitating, and he squeezes her hand in reassurances. “Is the number only for emergencies?” He feels her eyes on him.
The uncertainty in her tone causes a lump to form in the back of his throat. He did that. Put that note of sadness, of resigned disappointment there. He made her walk away and disappeared from her life. Of course, she is wary of his help.
Frank doesn’t know what the future looks like for them. He doesn’t see how he can be in her life consistently and still do the things he does. But there’s got to be a middle ground. A line for him to walk to make it happen. He’s gotta try.
His reply takes so long, that she starts pulling her hand from his. His grip tightens in response. “Nah Karen, it’s not just for emergencies.” He finally decides.
“Okay. Good.” She whispers back. “Goodnight, Frank.”
“Night, Karen.” He murmurs quietly.
It doesn’t take long for Karen to drift off after that, and Frank, like always, follows her.
XXX
In the morning, he makes them coffee and eggs, walks her as close to the station as he dares, and finally heads back to his own place.
Later that night, Frank is sitting at his workbench, cleaning a healing wound on his bicep, and nursing his next cup of caffeine. He hears an unfamiliar text alert go off and can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips at the sound.