No Longer In The Dark
Karen was nervous.
She hadn’t expected to be. This was Frank. If there was anyone in the world she didn’t have to put on a face for, it was him.
She trusted him. He was a criminal, and a killer, and the Punisher, and she should not trust him. To the naked eye, it should be simple. But it wasn't, because this was Frank and Karen. And at its core, they knew each other.
And yet, as she stood outside the small café—one of those quiet, tucked-away places with more books than customers—she hesitated.
Her fingers hovered over her phone, considering texting him again even though she knew he was inside. It had been easier through the screen, where she could think before she spoke, where she could control the conversation. In person, there were no second drafts, no delete button. She couldn't pace around her bed wondering what to type.
She thought back to the messages—how it had started as sporadic, almost accidental check-ins. Neither of them had admitted it outright, but the consistency had crept in slowly, unspoken. A message every few weeks. Then every few days. Then every night, like a routine they weren’t willing to acknowledge but weren’t willing to break, either.
Frank: You sleeping?
Karen: No. You?
Frank: Not really.
Some nights, that was all it was. Other nights, the conversations stretched longer.
Karen: You still keeping up with the news?
Frank: Trying not to. Makes me angry.
Karen: Yeah. Same.
But it was the calls that changed things. The second time, it was a quick accident, a miscalculated press. But when he answered, low and gruff with a simple "Karen," she hadn’t been able to hang up. They had talked, really talked. It wasn’t easy for either of them, but it was real. No pleasantries, no small talk. Just honesty in a way neither of them had found anywhere else.
"Why do you still answer? " she had asked once.
Frank had been quiet for a beat before saying, "Why do you still call?"
She never had an answer for that. Maybe because it wasn’t just about Foggy. Or Matt. Or even New York. It was something deeper, something neither of them had ever said aloud.
And now she was here, standing outside this café, finally about to see him after all the words they had shared through a screen.
With a slow breath, she pushed the door open.
The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans wrapped around her, warm and familiar, but it did nothing to ease the tightness in her chest. She scanned the room, heart beating just a little too fast.
And then she saw him.
Frank Castle looked almost the same. Maybe a little leaner, a little more tired around the eyes, but still solid, still him. His dark jacket was slung over the back of his chair, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee that had probably gone cold. He hadn’t seen her yet.
For a moment, she just watched him. The last time they’d been face-to-face, he had been walking away. Now, here he was, waiting for her.
Then, as if sensing her, Frank lifted his head. Their eyes met across the room.
He didn’t smile, not exactly, but something in his expression softened. He gave her a small nod, and just like that, the tension in her chest loosened.
Karen crossed the room and slid into the seat across from him. “Hey.”
Frank tilted his head. “Ma’am.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t start with that.”
Frank smirked but didn’t argue. He looked her over, taking her in the way he always did—like he was assessing her for injuries, for hidden wounds. It was a habit he probably couldn’t break, not after everything.
The silence stretched between them, not awkward, but expectant. It had been so much easier over the phone, through messages. But now, in the flesh, she wasn’t sure what to say.
Frank smirked, breaking the silence. “You gonna just stare at me, or you actually gonna order something?”
Karen let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I’ll get something.”
She waved over the barista, ordered a black coffee, and sat back in her chair, fingers wrapped around the edge of the table. Frank watched her, his gaze steady but not pressing.
“You look good,” he said finally.
She huffed. “I look exhausted.”
“Yeah, well. You always looked like that.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was warmth behind it. “Thanks, Castle.”
He grunted. “Anytime.”
Her coffee arrived, and she took a sip, the bitter warmth grounding her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this—sitting across from someone who didn’t expect anything from her, who didn’t need her to be fine when she wasn’t.
Frank leaned back in his chair. “So, California treating you alright?”
Karen shrugged. “It’s different.”
“That good or bad?”
She exhaled slowly. “Both, I think.”
Frank nodded, like he understood. And maybe he did.
A comfortable quiet settled over them as they drank their coffee. The world outside bustled on, but inside this little café, it felt like time had slowed just for them.
Karen traced the rim of her cup. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up.”
Frank’s brow lifted. “That right?”
She shrugged. “Yeah.”
He considered that for a second, then nodded. “Could say the same about you.”
A small smirk pulled at her lips. “Guess we both made it, then.”
Frank took a slow sip of his coffee. “Guess so.”
The conversation lulled again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was easy. Familiar. Like falling into a rhythm they hadn’t realized they still had.
Finally, Frank broke the silence. “So… this a one-time thing, or we doing this again?”
Karen met his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she felt something steady beneath her feet.
“We’re doing this again.”
Frank smirked. “Alright, ma’am.”
And just like that, they weren’t just voices in the dark anymore.