Except, maybe she did
It didn’t matter how many times they saw each other in a week—Tuesday nights were always for the coffee shop.
Frank knew, without even needing to ask, that come Tuesday, Karen would be waiting at their usual booth, two mugs on the table—both black.
Tonight was no different.
When Frank walked in, the bell over the door gave a soft jingle, and Karen glanced up from her phone. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” she teased.
Frank grunted, sliding into the seat across from her. He wasn’t late—she was just always early.
Karen pushed his coffee toward him. He took it without a word.
For a while, they just sat there.
The café was warm, smelling like espresso and vanilla, the low hum of conversation blending with the quiet jazz playing over the speakers. The rest of the world faded, just for a little while.
Karen stirred her drink, watching him over the rim of her cup. “How’s Trouble?”
Frank huffed a small laugh. “Got his head in my boot when I left. Think he’s pissed about the shots.”
“Poor guy.” She smirked. “He’s learning fast, though—just like his owner. You didn’t correct me when I called you that.”
Frank sipped his coffee, raising an eyebrow. “You were wrong about somethin’?”
Karen rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying, you’re getting attached.”
Frank didn’t argue.
He was getting attached. To the dog. To these damn Tuesday nights. To her.
The thought settled into his chest, heavy and warm.
Karen tilted her head. “You okay?”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was still early. And for some reason—maybe because of the coffee, maybe because of the way she was looking at him—he didn’t want the night to end yet.
“Come by,” he said.
Karen blinked. “What?”
“My place.” Frank shrugged, like it was nothing, like it wasn’t the first time he’d ever invited her there. “Trouble’s gonna wanna see you anyway.”
For a second, Karen just stared.
Then she finished her drink, stood, and grabbed her coat.
“Alright, Castle,” she said, grinning. “Lead the way.”
Frank’s apartment was exactly what she expected.
Bare bones. Functional. A couch that looked like it had seen better days, an old wooden table with a single chair, and a kitchen that probably hadn’t been used for anything more than coffee.
It smelled like gun oil and soap, like the kind of place that wasn’t really lived in—just occupied.
Except for the dog bed in the corner.
And the boots by the door.
And the quiet feeling that somehow, against all odds, Frank Castle had started building something again.
Trouble perked up when they walked in, tail thumping against the floor.
Karen knelt, scratching behind his ears. “Miss me already?”
Frank set his keys down. “Spoiled.”
Karen smirked. “Like you’re any better.”
He grunted but didn’t argue.
She wandered toward the bookshelf—mostly old military manuals, a few well-worn paperbacks. The Iliad, Blood Meridian, a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird that looked out of place but well-read.
She traced a finger along the spines. “Didn’t peg you for a literature guy.”
Frank leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Used to read to my kids.”
Karen stilled.
He almost never talked about them. About her.
Slowly, she turned.
Frank was looking past her, like he wasn’t really seeing the room at all. “Lisa liked the classics. Had a whole thing about Greek myths for a while. She said Achilles was overrated.”
Karen’s throat tightened.
She set the book back carefully, then turned toward him, her voice softer. “And Maria?”
Frank exhaled, something like a ghost of a smile flickering across his face.
“She liked poetry.” His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “Never let me forget a birthday without some kinda book.”
Karen swallowed.
This was rare. These pieces of him, offered up so plainly.
She stepped closer, careful, deliberate. “Frank…”
But before she could say anything else, he reached out.
A hand on her wrist—light, hesitant. Testing.
Karen’s breath hitched.
"I'm not good at this."
"What?" She whispered
"Living without them. I'm used to surviving, in the military all I did was survive. And when I came home I could finally live. Breathe. Exist in a home with my kids and woman. They're gone and I get that now but I don't know how to do this. The war gave me something to survive for. Havent had anything to live for in a long time."
He's talking about the dog. Of course, he's talking about the dog.
"Troubles a good dog. I'm glad you got him."
"Yea me too." He paused
"It's not just him though."
Karen's breath hitched in her throat and she looked up at him. His hand was still on her wrist, a little more confident now that she was looking at him.
"What do you mean?"
He hesitated, she noticed. He wanted to pull back, to run and to forget this happened. But then Karen laced her fingers into his,slowly, like he was a stray dog scared of people.
"I like it here. The group and the dog, and with you. I can breathe a little easier with you around."
She smiled and nodded, "Yea, it's always been simple like that with us. You get me and I get you and that's all to it."
Frank wanted to run away from her, that was his first instinct. She didn't know him. Nobody knew him, except maybe his wife, and she was gone. Dead. She was dead.
Karen Page did not know Frank Castle. Except she did, better than anyone on the planet. Because he was no longer Frank the father or Frank the husband. That man died that day at the carnival. He died with his wife.
But Frank now. The broken man who wakes up every day with his trigger finger bouncing on his leg and the urge to start another war, that Frank, Karen knew. Deeply and truly. He knew that the day they met. She looked at him without fear. The Punisher had her and instead of being scared, she looked at him like she would see all that he was. All that he could be. And it scared the shit out of him.
“Don’t know what this is,” Frank murmured. His thumb brushed against her pulse. “But when I’m with you, I feel a little better than when I’m not.”
Karen’s heart stuttered in her chest.
She could’ve laughed it off. Could’ve made a joke.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she just held his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Me too.”
Frank didn’t move.
Didn’t pull away.
Neither did she.
And for once, they let the silence speak for itself.
The food sat between them on Frank’s old wooden table, the low hum of the city outside filling the silence. Karen shifted, sitting cross-legged on one of the chairs, flipping open the takeout containers.
“Alright,” she said, glancing at Frank, “you’re a lo mein guy, right?”
Frank, who was leaning back in his seat, watching her with something unreadable in his gaze, grunted. “Yeah.”
Karen smirked. “Knew it.” She handed him the box and chopsticks, which he ignored in favor of a fork.
They ate in silence for a while. Not tense, not awkward. Just quiet.
Trouble stretched out on the floor, letting out a deep sigh like even he knew the weight of the night.
Karen stole a bite of Frank’s food. He didn’t stop her.
Frank took one of her dumplings. She narrowed her eyes.
“That’s stealing,” she said, pointing her chopsticks at him.
Frank didn’t look remotely guilty. “Sue me.”
She huffed, shaking her head, but there was a softness in her smile.
Something unspoken, lingering between them.
Then—
A knock at the door.
Frank went still. His hand, which had been resting against the table, twitched toward his waistband before he exhaled, recognizing the pattern.
“Curtis.”
Karen set her chopsticks down. Frank stood, moving toward the door, unlocking it in one smooth motion.
Curtis stepped in, the weight of his prosthetic leg making his footsteps heavier than most. His eyes flicked around the room, scanning, always aware.
Then his gaze landed on Karen.
He hesitated.
Karen gave a small wave. “Hey, Curtis.”
Frank shut the door. “Something wrong?”
Curtis’s gaze shifted back to him. “Nah. Just… wanted to check in.” His eyes flicked to the table, the food, the empty chair Karen was sitting in.
Frank said nothing.
Curtis took a slow breath. Processing.
He glanced back at Karen, something thoughtful in his expression. “You been here long?”
Karen tilted her head. “Not long. Just dinner.”
Curtis nodded, and something in his face softened.
He looked at Frank again. Not questioning, not prying—just noticing.
Frank had always been a man isolated by grief, by rage, by a mission that didn’t leave room for anything else. But now, here he was. In an apartment that had been nothing but a ghost of a home, eating dinner with someone, with a dog at his feet.
Living, even if he didn’t realize it yet.
Karen could see it.
Curtis could see it.
And Frank…
Frank shifted under the weight of the silence. “You need somethin’ or just standing there?”
Curtis exhaled, shaking his head. “Nah, man. I’m good.” He hesitated, then patted Frank on the shoulder as he moved toward the door.
But just before leaving, he looked back at Karen. “Glad you’re here.”
Karen’s throat tightened.
She smiled. “Me too.”
The door shut behind Curtis, leaving them alone again.
Frank didn’t move.
Karen watched him, waiting.
After a long moment, he exhaled, shaking his head like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
Then, quietly—
“He thinks I’m getting better.”
Karen’s heart ached. “Is that a bad thing?”
Frank swallowed. His fingers flexed against the table.
Then, almost absently, he murmured—
“Yes, ma’am.”
Karen stilled.
She looked at him, really looked at him, and something flickered in his expression. A tell.
She smiled, just a little. “You only call me that when you’re nervous.”
Frank’s jaw twitched. “I ain’t nervous.”
Karen hummed, reaching across the table, resting her hand over his.
His fingers curled around hers, tentative but steady.
Neither of them said anything.
They didn’t need to.